[CLOSED] When Tower Angels Fall | Dystopian Podcast Series
Project Overview
SYNOPSIS
An abandoned oil rig lies lost from the shore; the last corner of Eden in a world gone to hell. Fifty people used to live here, escaped and living new from the fallen government, but only six remain... until a pair of new runaways arrive. Grudges boil, agendas rise, and reason is thrown into the sea. It doesn’t help that two ominous radio towers seem to be watching their every move, a spectral white light leaving nowhere to hide when secrets come tumbling out.
QUICK INFORMATION
Title: “When Tower Angels Fall”
Project Type: Audio Drama
Length: Ten 20-30 page episodes
Roles Available: 11 major / 8 supporting / 5 minor / extras TBC
Recording Location/Period: Remote, solo records: 1 week of personal reading time; 1-2 weeks of group rehearsal/read-through; 8 week solo recording deadline with 3 week extension
Compensation: Through Paypal, flat rate
Audition Deadline: May 20th 2022, 11:59pm BST
READ BEFORE AUDITIONING
- You must be 18+ years of age and have Discord, so both director and cast can keep easily in touch and organise read-throughs.
- This story consistently deals with and contains heavy themes and content, including strong and occasionally derogatory language, sexual themes, assault, mild to heavy violence (including depictions of rioting and torture), mental health, substance abuse, and death. Please only audition if you are comfortable with this.
- Some characters are written without a specific gender, while others have set pronouns. I invite transgender, nonbinary, and gender nonconforming individuals to audition for any character they would feel comfortable playing.
- You are welcome to audition for as many characters as you want!
- If cast, your full name will be required for crediting. Usernames will not be accepted, but pseudonyms / stage-names are permitted. You need only disclose your name if you are cast. Please only audition if you are comfortable with this.
- The rates offered are not industry standard – I am a one-person production team based in London, where even breathing is expensive, and audio drama is not my primary means of earning. Tower Angels is first and foremost a passion project, and I wish to support my actors where I can, but at this time am not able to offer more substantive payment. Thank you for understanding.
RULES FOR RECORDING
- Please do not slate your audition(s).
- Please record lines in 123 123 format, and all in one file per character. Please do not submit separate takes for the same character as separate files.
- Please record minimum 2 takes per line. Failure to do so will result in your audition being removed from consideration.
If cast, multiple takes will be mandatory for full script records.
- Ad-libbing is welcomed, so long as it does not detract from the original line.
For more information, updates and teasers, follow: https://twitter.com/towerangels_pod
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Latest Updates
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Woof, now that's a lot of auditions. Thank you so so much to literally everyone who took the time to read for me, the response continues to blow me away. I've been hosting auditions outside of CCC as well, and have my hands full for the next day or so to go through everything (oof, everything) and ultimately decide on my cast. Your patience thus far has been amazing, I'd ordinarily have received follow-up messages and when am I casting, when am I casting, but this was a genuinely refreshing experience from start to finish. All I can ask is you continue to be just a little patient while I get through everyone's work, and make my decision. Thanks again, it's been a ride - and it's only just beginning. You're all brilliant. Liz
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2 weeks to go!
Thank you, once again, to all you incredible people who've sent in auditions! In just 2 weeks, the call will close, and I'll have the challenge of my life trying to assign these roles to you. I imagine, when the time comes, I may additionally reach out to those not cast as leads to play minor recurring characters and extras where I see your voice working well for them. So, be on the lookout ;) Thanks again. I'm honestly still kinda blown away. Liz -
"Just in case" reminder
Hi! Just wanted to drop in and thank the auditionees thus far, and leave this little bit of info in case people are on tenterhooks, as can sometimes be the case - I will not be casting ANY roles, including extras, until after the deadline (May 20th) has passed. I've never felt it fair to cast before deadline, and I don't want to remove any opportunities for any actors who want to try their hand at a role that may really resonate with them. I realise it may be a long ways off, but I've heard some wonderful work already, and I look forward to hearing even more. All I can ask for is your patience in waiting to hear back for casting decisions. Thank you, and have an awesome day!
Late 20s/early 30s. Insecure. Impulsive. Forgiving.
The rig’s last semblance of a leader. Life’s beaten him down, but he’s determined to keep others happy because of it - usually at the cost of his own fragile happiness. Ezra is a gentle soul at heart, but is often forced into harsh words and actions by the constant tensions aboard the rig.
Voice type: medium-low pitch, weathered, perhaps with a bit of growl or rasp.
A British Northern accent is compulsory - e.g. Manchester, Newcastle, Lancashire, Scottish, etc.
[jittery, awkward, angry, trying to maintain composure]
Start again. Jus’ – jus’ start again. We been bare arguin’ like an hour, so all o’ yous jus’ shut it. Ain’t even know their goddamn names, and you accusin’ ‘em of God knows what, so we gonna – okay – right… Right. I’m Ezra.
[hushed, distant, mournful]
Said she saw God’s eyes in the water. Tried to jump, couldn’t swim. Pulled her back inside, myself, but… think she went insane ‘fore the end...
[furious, authoritative, shouting]
Said they’re staying, didn’t I?! You don’t like it, go fuck off up to Wonderland! Now, for the last time, I’m in charge – HEAR?!
[bitter, agitated]
I didn’t leave. I was… I was gone ‘fore all the resurgence shit. Twelve years, or summin. Boat they stole, I stowed away. I ain’t plan for shit, ain’t stand for anti-establishment or freedom or nothing, I just couldn’t take sleepin’ at that pier no more.
Early-mid 30s. Begrudging. Complex. Emotional.
A man whose heart and mind are all over the place, but who will never ask for help. Once a respected enforcer of an underground crime ring, life without fire or substances has left him neurotic in how powerless he’s become. Seemingly existing at this point to lock heads with Ezra, he’s the kind who only lets his guard down when he absolutely can’t bear it anymore.
Voice type: any pitch, a voice that once was smooth and charming but now has a bite. He’s lived one wild life, and it hasn’t always been kind.
An Irish accent is compulsory; he originally hails from Drogheda, but the exact town’s dialect is not mandatory.
[incendiary, suspicious, mocking]
We don’t know anything about them. Could be one o’ them for all we know! Two years without a single boat try and find us, and suddenly two o’ the cleanest heads I ever seen show up in hers? Nah, nah, I don’t trust a lick of this shit…
[hushed, angry, intimidating; he has the target pushed against a wall]
You’re a lost little girl, chasin’ all the way through Hell for a man who does not want you. (Beat) Stop wading where you don’t belong, and go back to a bed you won’t get lost in, because I’m not the one who’ll be hurting you if you get in too far…
[soft, distant, heartfelt, sad]
Y’know, I… this one time I dreamt I was this tiny bird, right? Maybe, like, just before it all. Just after… This – this little black and white bird in their hand. And I felt so happy. Like I could only feel happiness when I was a bird…
[unhinged, emotional, faint; as if talking to himself, or a ghost…]
Gonna make it right. I’ll see you... I’ll see you... I promise... (his voice breaks) I’m scared... I don’t wanna die…!
Early 20s. Sarcastic. Volatile. Emotionally dependent.
The biggest troublemaker you’ll ever find. Never content with anything, Pom will use whatever and whoever to get what she really wants: to feel truly safe at last. To have someone who will finally stay by her side. She’s always, always her own worst enemy - and everyone else’s to boot.
Voice type: medium-low pitch, charismatic with an edge of darkness. Her voice is her best manipulator. Any accent, though the ability to execute/mimic some Irish is strongly desired.
**Pom does engage in mild NSFW content, so please only audition for her if you are comfortable with this.
[sarcastic, irritable]
Oh, yeah, let’s start taking survival advice from the foetus – great idea! Please, I have piercings older than her…
[seductive, dark, fully aware of the double-entendre]
You just know that what people really want, way deep down, is someone to tell ‘em what to do… I know I do. Not like how it was before, fuck no, but… Someone who’s really capable of takin’ control. Tell ‘em when to lie down, roll over, sit tight an’ be good…
[distraught, desperate, furious]
Don’t. Don’t you look at me like that. Don’t look so sorry for me! What, like I’m some kid – some kid whose dad fucked off for cigs?! Yeah, well, I’m not! He promised! He promised, alright?! So – so don’t pity me – DON’T YOU FUCKING PITY ME!
(an agonised scream, long and distraught, as gut-wrenching as you can go)
Mid-late teens. Bookish. Scatter-brained. Burnt out gifted kid.
The self-appointed ‘secretary’ of the oil rig. Hikaru is obsessively writing a book of their story, taking down everything that happens for the future of humanity. They’re so caught up in their own past that they think they can distract themselves with the future. It’s like Hikaru lives in a world of their own fiction, keeping the loneliness at bay – one chapter at a time.
Voice type: medium-high pitch, any accent, flexible, on the edge of laughter or a mental breakdown with every breath - they never quite know which
This role is exclusively open to non-White VAs who identify as Trans, NB and/or gender non-conforming.
[awkward, breathless, fast]
Hi– hi, Sol – how’s everything down here? Weather’s bit mad at the mo, huh? Can you hear it? Probably. I mean, you hear everything in this place. Not you, like, specifically, but – y’know – the collective ‘you.’ Plural. All-inclusive. Us. Not you. But also you, because – sorry, forgot what I was gonna say - fuck!
[irritable, sincere, sad]
It’s important to me! Books are important, okay? Words, stories – they’re all we have. They’re about all we have that keeps us human anymore. (Beat) Not that I really feel all that human these days…
[distant, emotional, soft; reading from a book and falling apart as they do]
“Winter, and his children shivered at the front gate, silhouetted against a blazing house. Winter and a man walked into the street, dropped his glasses, and show a dog. S-Summer, and he… watched his children's heart break.
Early-mid 30s. Aloof. Intelligent. Protective.
Sol isn’t really one for conversation, preferring to form connections without speech. Constant talking puts him on edge. He loves music, however. It’s one of the only things that keeps him going in a world where he feels without use - stuck working as the rig’s mechanic when all he ever dreamed of was becoming a musician.
Voice type: low pitch, soft-spoken but with the capability of true ferocity. It’s not often he snaps, but when he does there’s nobody who shouldn’t want to hide. He doesn’t talk much, so a bit of rasp to convey the lack of use of his voice would be great. Experience/comfort with singing would be ideal.
This role is exclusively open to Black VA’s.
[talking without realising it, going where his mouth takes him]
All my life, had people running they mouth off, like Usain got ‘em challenged. Always got they noise in my head, even now. Got me asking, why’s everybody always talking? Y’know? Only so much you need to say. Almost feels I can’t feel nothing no more (small laugh)
[soft, pensive, tentative]
At the end, if you were... if you were holding someone when it happened, always wondered if… I mean, do you collapse into the next phase with each other? Do both sets of matter jus’ carry on as one, if you hold on tight enough?
[seething, vicious, positively spitting with rage]
No, you do NOT say that in front of me! You do not, Dublin!
[singing – soft, gentle, loving]
Hush, little baby, don't say a word… Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird…
And if that mockingbird won't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring…
Early teens. Mischievous. Curious. Uncouth.
The youngest on the rig, and she’s going to milk it for all it’s worth. She looks up to Hikaru like an older sibling, but positively lives to tease them the second she gets bored. Which happens a lot. She sees their escape to the rig as a triumph, an ‘F-U’ to society, but is at last beginning to feel the weight of its monotony.
Voice type: Any accent. December is roughly 13 so her voice should have a youthful quality, but should not sound like a full-blown child with a high-pitched ‘girly’ voice. She’s much more of a ‘tomboy,’ and her voice should have an edge to reflect this. Just experiment and have fun!
[conversational, upbeat, far too invested in the story]
There’s this bit of wall upstairs, show you it later. Been watchin’ it for, like, two hours. Paint’s peelin’ in this really weird way, makes it look like a dick. Well, sort of. Kinda like one o’ those diagrams you get in the textbooks? ‘Cept, obviously, it’s peeling down – not up – so, y’know, sad day for the wall boner.
[impatient, theatrical]
Ugh, hurry up already! What, d’you wanna say a prayer? “Our Father, who fucked off from Heaven, shallow be thy grave!”
[furious, accusatory]
You didn’t even know him! He wasn’t yours, he was mine! My family, so why do you get to keep pulling this shit about losing him – it’s fucking weird! I mean, isn’t it?!
[nervous, stuttering, growing slowly in confidence - reading a story she has written out loud for the first time]
“There was a girl who… who loved a man who loved… to talk. But the girl was different… E-Everyday, she could only say five words before her voice was stolen. It was a curse from a witch who had loved her father. Her father spoke all day of how he loved the witch, but he never meant it once…”
Mid to late 20’s. Empathetic. Articulate. Passionate.
Newcomer to the rig. He wants desperately to see the good in people, even if it gets him into trouble. He sees the oil rig as a ray of hope: somewhere to start again. Is the sole carer for his twin sister, Ophelia, and would put her wellbeing above anything. In the grand scheme, he’s really quite naïve, but what will it take to break him out of it?
Voice type: smooth, medium pitch, any accent.
[distressed, stumbling, pleading]
For the last time, we found it! It was on the shore, I swear it was just there! Little green boat, just caught up in some rocks -- Ophelia, it’s -- look, I’m gonna sort it, I swear!
[angry, mocking, rising to an argument]
Oh, I don’t know the first thing, do I? Okay, so, enlighten me. Y’know, for someone who chats so much shit, I’d hate for you to go quiet now![thoughtful, a little lost; trying to piece things together in his head]
You ever been in love? (beat) ‘Cause I haven’t. Not sure it’s something I’d even be good at, but isn’t that what people are meant for? Finding love…? So have… you…? I mean… (clears throat, embarrassed) Sorry.
[with serious conviction; his last resort to convince the rig to let him stay]
Everything everywhere is wrong. And it’s always about money, about power, sex, while they shit on the planet and set it on fire with guns and police brutality. Food’s running out – oil, water, jobs, freedom! Some of the last trees are dying, and bees are being replaced by fucking robots. The Four Horsemen are everywhere, and they’ve got their fingers glued to the nuclear button.
Mid to late 20’s. Introspective. Honest. Hopeful.
Oscar’s twin sister. Almost entirely non-verbal due to unknown reasons, Ophelia lives by actions, but finds it hard to stand up for herself - especially around the more aggressively vocal members of the rig. She finds her feet through music; her favourite means to communicate how strong she really is inside.
Voice type: medium-high pitch, any accent.
Her voice, when she does speak, is rather meek and shaky from lack of use. Her resolve is always strong, however, so this will not always be the case for her in performance. Because Ophelia does not often speak, her VA must be comfortable and flexible with non-verbal sounds and reacts in their acting.
[soft, kind]
We… w-we’ll make th…them a garden. They’d… like that.
[sombre, sad yet firm; with conviction]
I really… d…on’t pity you. You aren’t n-nice enough to me for… that. But I think… actually, I – I ad-admire you... S-S-Somehow…
(distressed breaths and moans, growing in intensity) - a fight has broken out and she’s trying to calm herself down but to no avail
(deep breath in, then a long, monotonous scream – a release of energy, for the sake of it, screaming at the sky as if to outmatch. The kind of continuous scream you’d give at the top of a mountain just to hear it echo.)
Mid to late 20s. Poetic. Innocent. Forceful.
Eden was the last person to vanish from the rig, a few weeks before Oscar and Ophelia’s arrival. It is clear she (and her disappearance) had a profound impact upon the remaining survivors. Deeply religious, she believes the light from the radio towers was sent by angels. She’s also starting to believe she has become one herself.
Voice type: medium-high pitch, any accent, but with an edge of whimsy. A breathy quality would be ideal, something akin to Luna Lovegood’s airiness. However, Eden goes to dark, occasionally psychotic places, so her VA must be able to navigate between real softness and something very harsh and unsettling. Please only audition for Eden if you are comfortable with this.
**The ability to execute or mimic an Irish accent, even briefly, is greatly desired.
**Singing experience / comfort with singing is also desired.
[soft, wistful, romantic – slipping slowly into Irish, if possible]
When the sky goes red on the ocean, and the mist has cleared, do you think of the man who danced a ceilidh as you framed him in-between your hands, saying, “This, I’ll never forget…?”
(ceilidh pronounced kay-lee)
[confused, as if waking from a dream, but with a strange intensity]
Angel… I’m an… He said… he said I was… Yes…! (delighted gasp) You are my angel. My – my guardian – he said I must be one, but you – you’re guiding me… guiding…
[breathless, exhilarated, growing intensity/psychopathy]
I am a cloud... I am the wind... I am wings made of water as the angel pulls me down by my feet. The surface dances, and I see it – (sudden, terrible gasp, then an excruciating scream) I SEE IT – I SEE – THE LIGHT!
[singing softly, growing in strength - https://youtu.be/mmsYF9yCzZ4 ]
Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows… Fair is the lily of the valley…
Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne… But my love is fairer than any…
Mid to late 40s. Blunt. Formidable. Empty.
A woman to command and demand authority, Ksenia Moltenore is a seasoned interrogator, tasked with extracting some unknown information from her subjects. She’s been through 18 bodies under the same operation, and thinks she may finally be closing in on what has eluded her for two long years. Woe betide anyone who gets in her way.
Voice type: low pitch, any accent. A voice to strike fear in others, even when at a whisper, that doesn’t back down for anyone. She’s hardened over the years as a means to survive, and her voice should reflect this – some husk or bite to her tone, perhaps.
[agitated, angry, trying to form a plan]
She’s been in there six days and tell me a single crack we’ve found that doesn’t lead to more fucking angels! (Beat.) We should issue another before she forgets again. Call ahead while the storm’s still up.
[uncharacteristically soft and sincere, almost mournful]
And I just sat in the rubble after, a long, long time… watching the sky turn dark through the stained glass till all the cracks gave way and there wasn’t a window at all. Sometimes, here, I almost expect it to happen too.
[cold, intimidating, slightly disgusted]
I won’t say what I feel about it. I can at least recognise you’re more than equipped for this line of work. But, as unbridled as you were, that is not how this facility runs. You get that sweet little temper of yours under control, and none of us have to suffer a repeat casualty. I warn you now, because I am not going out like that, but I sure as shit can make sure you will. (Beat.) Do I make myself clear?
Early 30s. Impressionable. Attentive. Unpredictable.
Amos Emmens is Ksenia’s newest partner (more like assistant), assigned to his first case of interrogation. He’s just about aware of the dark reality of his work, but has a strangely morbid curiosity for it all that seems at odds with his gentle demeanour and dislike of violence. Perhaps being neck deep in those end-of-the-world riots affected him more than most would realise to look at him.
Voice type: medium-high pitch, any accent. A little jittery and soft-spoken, but with the capability to go to dark places and extreme emotion.
**Comfort with singing is desired. Amos doesn’t necessarily need an outstanding singing voice – in fact, almost the opposite is preferred – but know he has a scene where singing briefly is required.
[nervous, trying to piece together his thoughts; not quite frantic but trying hard to prove himself right]
Specifically, she – before she lost it, she was listing notes – musical notes, I mean. They might’ve seemed random – she was pretty delirious – but, I… Y’know, I think they were a sequence. An actual melody, just… fragmented…!
[soft, manipulative, doubling down as he goes along]
Angels tell their darkest secret – just once – to earn their wings. You want that, don’t you? Angels tell their secret to be free of it forever. You understand… we have to hold everyone else’s to keep them safe. Don’t we?
[starting soft but growing in intensity and anger, shouting by the end]
I need your secret, Eden… Where have you been hiding…? Eden… (Beat.) Answer me. (Beat.) Eden. (Beat.) EDEN!
50s-60s. Controlled. Authoritative. Cold.
The enigmatic yet imperious director of the Institute within which Ksenia and Amos are investigating. Ruthless and unattached sociopathy lie inches beneath a refined and level-headed exterior; a side he only truly shows with those he sees as equally heartless, or those very soon to meet with their end. He does, however, have a weakness where his children are concerned – just not in the way you would hope…
Voice type: medium-low pitch, any accent. He speaks swiftly and with calculation, very much a no-nonsense type. Despite this, he’s capable of switching on a smooth charm… which is where he is most truly frightening.
[cold, domineering, with a hint of disgust]
Do not allow your obsession for superiority to cloud a universal judgement. Ideas are more powerful than anything, which is how this all began. Some inscrutable persuasion that ‘freedom’ might just be possible, and then the actual defiance to enact it - and here we are, years later, still corralling the damages.
[stern yet smooth]
No amount of history together saves you from the fall if you don’t find your feet again. I will not sour my reputation at this Institute to save anyone - not even you.
[cold, irritable, authoritative]
Did I give you permission to continue? (Beat, choosing his words) Nothing changes. He’s no different to you, should the time come. (Beat, softening) I don’t doubt you resent that.
Mid 30s. Intellectual. Down to earth. Warm.
Seen only in flashbacks, Mr. Leighton is an English teacher who cares deeply about maintaining art in a time it is deemed redundant, banned from schools for the sake of focus on ‘more important’ things. He’s dedicated to smuggling classic literature to certain students in the hopes of rekindling some semblance of connection again.
Voice type: medium pitch, any accent. Warm and inviting, the kind you’d want to tell you about art and listen to your thoughts - a voice that puts you at ease, but can still maintain authority.
[dismissing a class, jovial yet authoritative]
Thank you all – some great work today. Appreciate the attentiveness, I know the curriculum’s still got some getting used to. See you guys tomorrow – hey, don’t forget your masks; remember the smog warning, huh, guys?
[sincere, wistful, sombre]
When I was about your age, they were still discovering new breeds and it was always so exciting for people. Younger than that, I’d lay out hair from my sister’s brush so the magpies could make their own nest instead of pushing eggs from another. (Beat) They never did. Feels telling, in its own way.
[angry, panicked, shaking]
He knows. He knows, that’s enough – it – it is too late. And don’t say we can reason, he’s selfish as the rest of ‘em – no, we’d have to kill him, and I’m not… You’re not, for starters!
[firm, reassuring, but with an edge of darkness; this is serious]
Words are all have. You’ve got words, and everything outside this cupboard will take them from you. But here, these shadows, this black is only safe a while. Penumbra is – is the grey, the fuzz, the fade from everything that’s hidden. And we can’t hide any longer, because there’s gonna be an eclipse. Papers are hidin’ it, but we can feel it. We know, because we’ve been plannin’ for it, but it will change – everything.
Mid 30s. Detached. Domineering. Calculated.
The formidable leader of Fionn’s once-untouchable cartel, falling steadily from grace thanks to the riots unwittingly sparked by her subordinates. Despite a short temper and even shorter emotional reach, she harbours a genuine care for those in her underground family, but will do what she must to keep herself afloat above all others.
Voice type: low pitch, any accent. Authoritative and with a decent roughness to reflect her lifestyle.
[distracted, muttered, harsh]
He’s here. I mean, he was… Hidin’ in the crowd. (Beat.) No, the ghost o’ Prince Philip – ‘course it was fucking Turner!
[furious, dominating, hissing]
CHEL! ENOUGH! Keep runnin’ that mouth of yours, you’ll wish you had anywhere left to run in this city – you understand?!
[venomous, hushed]
That’s all it is, my darling – two lines and I’m ‘ere forever. V for Vendetta… V for viper right over your empty little heart.
[wistful yet strangely firm, with a hint of threat]
My own are… many things, dearest. Wretched things, almost always, but good people, in their own way. Whatever they are, I built a nest and made sure every egg could fit, that I could help them hatch. I would’ve shared – I wanted to share. But you, two-faced as black and white, couldn’t resist being the fucking magpie because you could.
Early 20s. Neurotic. Insecure. Jumping for a fight.
Saved from the streets by Victoria’s cartel, Chel has a near manic desperation to prove herself and earn her leader’s favour. After escalating a fight with a rival gang, however, the ensuing riot has earned them a crippling stay of isolation within the den – feelings of insecurity only made worse by the effects of a bright light the others insist is not real.
Voice type: any pitch, any accent. Chel speaks without thinking, always with a kind of frantic, breathy strain to her speech patterns. They suffer from claustrophobia, so when we meet them – trapped inside for over a week – the negative effect on should be evident through the voice.
This role is open exclusively for Trans, NB & gender non-conforming VAs.
[muttering, hoarse, fast and frantic]
Summin’s comin’. Ughh, can feel it - itchin’ - whole body’s itching! Like, know how Trista says her knees starts to tremble all frantic-like ‘fore it rains? S’like that, but my whole body…!
[suspicious, breathy, coming to a realisation as she speaks]
What if she’s with him? (Beat) Think about it – nobody this side of the city doesn’t know his face. Nobody’d even touch him if he killed the person right next to ‘em. So – so what’s a girl playing at to get in his way if she’s not?!
[crying out with agitation, shouting, almost pleading]
AARGH! I AM NOT HIGH, I HAVE BEEN TRAPPED IN THIS CLUB FOR EIGHT FUCKING DAYS, HASSAN!
Late 30s to early 40s. Firm. Diligent. Resigned.
As close as Victoria has to a right-hand man, Hassan finds himself tasked most frequently with breaking in new recruits. With a riot on their front door, it is up to him to keep the peace within the den – an increasingly difficult task, what with a strange light beginning to affect certain members beyond his control.
Voice type: medium-low pitch, any accent. He’s not one for words of encouragement, and only really speaks to ‘lay down the law’ of Victoria’s club, so should have a cooler, less emotive tone of voice. Having been stuck inside with Chel, his patience is running very thin indeed.
This role is exclusively open to non-White Vas.
[weary, annoyed]
Told you not to touch it. That shit’s stronger than it’s meant to be.
[firm, warning, agitated]
You have any idea how lucky you are, still breathin’ to feel this shit? I don’t go round fightin’ none of Turner’s boys - don’t nearly kill ‘em, neither!
[cold, barely restraining his anger and disdain]
You just better keep kissin’ any boots V puts your way, and thank fuck we still got the police on our side. An’ that’s enough tastin’ their product, or we lost them too!
Early 30s. Disillusioned. Steadfast.
A realist against his dreamer tendencies, Cara was once the love of Sol’s life. Having given up music when the time came, she resents how Sol refuses to do the same, but will never follow through with the argument for the sake of her infant daughter, who almost seems to love Sol more than she does her mother.
Voice type: any pitch, any accent – Irish is preferred, but not mandatory. There should be an edge of strain to her voice; a woman with very little peace or quiet left, Cara’s near constantly on edge but unwilling to let it get the best of her and ruin a good thing.
[hushed, relieved, exhausted]
Well, thank fuck for that. Pigs’ll try anythin’, these days. (humourless laugh) Not like nobody knows they rub dicks with that fuck-off cartel or whatever. God… (deep breath, steadying herself) I’m just glad you’re safe.
[angry, dismissive, almost spiteful]
No, Sol, this – this is real! Poverty line’s bang above the clouds, and we’re still feet stuck in the mud down here, honey! There’s a reason they shut down unnecessaries – there’s no money in music, there never was even before all this shit!
[agitated, scatter-brained, accusatory]
He just… (grimaces) He’s a nightmare at work. Hits on me like I’m some kinda… I dunno, but it don’t exactly feel good when you’re sittin’ in chemicals like a dog out there, Sol. And I – I’d push back, throw the shit in his face if I could, but that ain’t how this goes. I keep my head down, take the money and I don’t look for who gives it, because I got my daughter to feed. Why can’t you?
Early 20s. Conflicted. Insecure. Trying.
Pom’s old boyfriend, a good-hearted boy with all the best intentions but often the worst execution. He finds it hard to read Pom often – who wouldn’t? – but he’s dedicated more time than just about anyone to actually trying to understand her. It’s only a shame how the smallest misunderstanding can cause him to escalate problems into existence.
Voice type: any pitch, any accent.
This role is open exclusively to non-White VAs.
[nostalgic, hushed, trying to lighten a tense situation]
We been here so long an’ we never got a frame for the fuckn mattress. Coulda carved initials in it like kids do, eh? (Beat.) An’ that’s where you fell an’ put ya hand through the wall – ‘member? First time we kissed right after, and you was bleedin’ on my face cause you hadn’t patched it yet. Man… things these walls have seen… (small laugh) An’ heard.
[soft, gentle, reassuring]
Tha’s why we’re leaving. So we can be safe. Not just feel it… (Beat.) I really love you, y’know.
[angry, exasperated]
You really doin’ this now, Pom? When we are literally about to ruin any kinda life we could have in this place – are we really?
[shouting, terrified]
Come on – we gotta get to the docks, you can make it!
40s – 50s. Warm. Patient. Hopeful.
Seen only in flashbacks, Siobhan is Oscar and Ophelia’s single mother; a woman miraculously capable of maintaining hope in a time when it is all but burnt out. She stands to be a beacon of strength to her two children, showing them equal but distinct expressions of love and devotion. She is poisoned against her ex-husband for reasons the twins were too young to know, and is fierce as a lion to protect them by any means necessary.
Voice type: any pitch, any accent. Capable of moments of both absolute tenderness and the harshness of a mother warning her children against things they cannot hope to understand.
This role is open exclusively to non-White VAs.
[with an air of magic, warm and reassuring a child who is upset]
This is one of the seeds from the family roses. They don’t put them out very often, but I’ve been collecting them years and years, ever since you were born. And this one you get to take care of, all of your own. Would you like that?[gentle but firm, trying to explain something very painful]
It’s because… the person you love is supposed to be your other half. They’re meant to make you better, see? But I never – never had room for him, not for a long time. Because there are two of you, aren’t there? You and Fee. You’re two halves, and you took both of mine.[firm, snapping, losing her cool]
You shouldn’t ever think about him again, you understand me? Ever. He lied, sweetness. Even if he didn’t, I would never let him do that - that much is for certain!
40s – 50s. Wry. Straight-forward. Cold.
Officer of the newly heavily empowered police force, and easily swayed by bribes. The epitome of ‘pig,’ he’s in uniform for the power it makes him feel. Finds it easy to charm people who want to be, and even easier to intimidate those who don’t.
Voice type: medium-low pitch, any accent – though preferably American – gravelly and perhaps with a bit of a drawl.
[weary but still heavy with authority]
Christ, Gray, just get him in the back. You – let her go. And you – here – now.
[cold, dry, definitely enjoying himself]
You have the right to remain silent. (They try talking back and his pace quickens) Meaning shut the fuck up, please, little girl, or the next time we catch you I’ll make sure your uncle can’t pay you the fuck back out again, do I make myself clear? (Beat.) Well done – we’re learning.
[low, threatening, but with the air of casual conversation that gives him plausible deniability]
Man like yourself walks alone, 3am, no lights, with a big old case on his back; could be anything. Man I know I seen before… My profession, that’s a little warning light, don’t you think?
30s – 50s. Cold. Crude. Dark.
A drunken scab of a man working under Turner, the leader of Victoria’s rival cartel. He’s low as they come on the food chain, but he’s gagging to prove his uses in whatever perverse way he can. Finds an opportunity to do so when he misconstrues someone’s identity, backing both her and himself into a corner.
Voice type: low pitch, any British accent – preferably non-RP.
[suspicious, agitated]
Hell d’you know about that drug whore, anyway? (His target begins walking away) Oi – oi – no, I wasn’t done with you!
[threatening, dark and rather enjoying himself; he’s chased his prey into a corner, but can’t see where she’s hiding]
You think I don’t know that door, little girl? Every junkie in the goddamn city knows the sound o’ those chains… Now, I don’t wanna hurt you. I don’t, truly. Can’t speak for Tommy back there, but… he does know how to treat ‘em right like that.
[sarcastic, soft; has discovered her hiding with a knife]
Ooh, very hard, aren’t you…? (He withdraws a switchblade) But, see… that makes two of us. So why don’t you—AGH! (he cries out in pain)
Many, many up for grabs - people from all walks in all kinds of flashbacks, ranging from school students, to rioters, lab technicians, and drunken bar-goers. You may upload your demo reel here as well if you wish to show more range than the lines provide!
As there are so many, these roles are unfortunately unpaid.
[matter-of-fact, serious]
You show an aptitude, things may change. There’s always higher to rise. Give it a few years, could be working what’s truly classified. But get one thing straight – there is no ‘back.’ Not from here. You understand me?
[reassuring, whispering, trying to stop someone from crying]
Hey… Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. (beat) Please, don’t. There’s nothing any of us could, or would have done differently. You got out, and that’s all he wanted. Believe me, it is.
[spluttering, afraid, trying to seem innocent despite clearly being guilty]
T-This guy attacked us – he’s got – i-in his case – knives, sir! On the ground, see? That’s one of ‘em, I swear!