Author: SyndicateGirl
Archive: Yes, definitely! But please keep my headers attached and let me know where it is if you can. Thanks!
Spoilers:
Rating: R
Classification:  Response to fanfic challenge: Krycek takes a professional development class. Between 500-1750 words.
Summary: Alex Krycek takes a theatre class.
Disclaimer: The X-Files characters are Chris Carter's and 1013 Productions', not mine, unfortunately; no infringement is intended. Please don't sue - I'm a writer, and have no money! :D

TITLE: Artistic Integrity

Krycek scanned the room, noting once again that he was the only man there.  One man, and 17 young women in a class titled, “Becoming Your Costumed Persona: The New You on Stage.”

It was a class that he had signed up to take a few weeks ago.  It was taught by a group of Broadway, and ex-Broadway, actors and actresses, and took place in an old, seldom used theatre building.  Most of the students were in it for the entire series, but Krycek had settled on taking only one of the classes.  One that would give him a professional leg up at the Syndicate.

Krycek took another glance around at the roomfull of young, hopeful actresses.  If he didn’t have work on his mind, and his Mare at home, he’d be enjoying the situation a lot more.  Still, it wasn’t a bad view while he waited for the instructor to arrive.

A few of the young women glanced over at Krycek, and giggled.  “First time taking a costuming class?” the young blonde asked, moving in closer.  

He nodded, “Yeah, well, what can I say - I love the theatre. Want to know everything I can about it,”    She slid in even closer, and gave him a small wink, “Well, if you need any help, I’ve been an actress for years.  My name’s Taylor.”  

Good God her sweet, fruity perfume was cloying, and Krycek fought a wave of nausea at the cheap scent.  

He was suddenly thankful for Marita’s no nonsense approach to beauty and scent selection, “Hey, Taylor. I’m Nathan...Yeah...thanks,” he moved back a foot, thinking of a lie as quickly as he could, “my boyfriend has been in theatre for years, too, he just loves it.”  

Taylor frowned, “Aha...well, good luck in the class.”

Thankfully that did the trick, and she was gone as quickly as she had arrived.  Krycek didn’t mind admitting that he was relieved.     

Finally, a middle aged woman came in to the room and announced herself as the instructor for the class, before immediately launching into a lengthy self-serving introduction.  She went on about her days of theater in he 1980s, the awards she had won for costuming over the decades, and her love of the art of drama.  

Finally, she stopped patting herself on the back long enough to get the class started.  

She started out the lecture with the foundations of proper costuming, makeup and wardrobe cohesion, gestures, facial expressions, and acting the part of your costume.  

Krycek listened half-heartedly, nodding when appropriate, but his mind was elsewhere.  Focused on the soft, creamy skin of a seemingly ice cold UN woman.  Focused on what he had to do tomorrow for the Syndicate.  Focused on whether or not what he was doing would actually have an impact on the alien invasion.

By the second hour of the lecture, he was getting restless.  

For fuck’s sake, here this old woman was prattling on about the supreme importance of hemlines when there was an apocalyptic war raging in the sky.  

When the invasion does happen, he doubts that her hemline will do much to save her ass.  A small smirk touched the corner of his mouth as he thought of her fending off bloodthirsty aliens with a Gypsy skirt.  

How ironic that, to do his job more effectively, Krycek needed to take this class.  

Without costuming, he wouldn’t be able to move as inconspicuously from one place to the next.  And he had gotten lax with his disguises lately.  

In fact, besides the unfortunate haircut that was finally growing out, he really hadn’t changed his look much in years.  He was out of practice, and becoming recognizable.  Precisely why he needed this class.  

If he wasn’t so bored he would have laughed at the irony.  

The instructor’s newly renewed, enthusiastic voice piped up, “All right, everyone, now’s your chance to give this a try for yourself.  Remember I told everyone to bring in a variety of different costuming supplies?  Well get them out, and we’ll see if you have been paying attention.  Remember, there are a lot of costuming supplies for you to use here, too, so don’t be shy about using them!”  

She clapped her hands together in a way that reminded Krycek of someone trying to get the attention of a dog.  He didn’t appreciate it.  Still, he had a job to do here, and the supplies and guidance that were available were worth the minor annoyance.  

He looked around the room as the women began pulling out their costuming supplies.  Some from their personal bags, others from the ample closets and trunks that filled the back room of this old theatre.  

He had to admit, the place had a certain charm to it, and he wondered how many theatre productions had been enjoyed here over the years.  He made a mental note to take Marita to a show on Broadway when he finished up his latest Syndicate job.  

Krycek reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a pair of dark toned pants, and a dark grey hooded sweatshirt.  Lastly he pulled out an stained, torn white shirt.  Now all he needed were the shoes, some gloves, and a few finishing touches.

He’d heard it a thousand time from Marita, “The secret is in the details, Sasha.”

He hated to admit it, but she was right.  Not that he’d ever give her the satisfaction of telling her that.  

Krycek got up out of his chair, and made his way to the old closet in the back that housed the men’s clothing.  No competition there, all of the other students were busying themselves with frilly, frou frou things from the front closets.  

He made his way past 2 budding “princesses”, past a “medieval warrior,” and finally arrived at the stuffed rack of men’s clothing.

Polo shirts, suits, Bermuda shorts, fedoras, prop machine guns, clown wigs...no.  

After more than 30 minutes of foraging, he finally came across it.  A wig.  Not just any wig, but the perfect wig, still in the original packaging.  A long, straggly, greasy looking mane of tangled brown hair.  

Krycek made his way to the dressing table, and tried it on, barely recognizing the reflection staring back at him.  He looked dirty, disheveled, and maybe even a little demented.  

Krycek started scrounging the makeup table for the perfect accompaniment and finally stumbled across an equally infested looking beard and mustache.  

A little spirit gum would do wonders.  He took a quick glance around, and slipped a container of it into his pocket for later.  

Krycek let out a little chuckle.  He couldn’t wait to scare the hell out of Marita when he got home tonight.  

“All right, people, 15 minutes until we need to meet on stage! Then we shall all try out our new, costumed personas!”

Krycek snagged himself a pair of dirty black loafers, and a pair of worn leather gloves, and headed for the changing area nearby.  He put on everything but the beard and mustache - those he would affix later.

After all, no since giving away your entire disguise, especially to a room full of giggling airheads.

He pulled on his costume, and made his way to the main theatre with the rest of the class.  

Amidst a group of princesses, office women, housewives, medieval wenches, doctors, and scientists stood Krycek.  Man of mystery.  Looking more like a drugged up Russian rock star than the young assassin who had been recruited by the Syndicate many years ago.  

After everyone had taken their seats in the audience, the instructor got started.  In turn,  she would ask each actress to get up on the stage and describe their costume, motivation, feelings about the role, expectations from the role, and the facial expressions and gestures that best matched the role they had chosen.  

Krycek had to admit, he was impressed by the instructor’s thorough technique, and she seemed to be getting each young woman to really think about the costume that they exhibited to their audience.

Maybe this would be helpful after all.  He was picking up quite a few useful pointers that he hadn’t thought about before, already filing them away in his mind for later use.

Finally, after a few more breaks, and nearly 2 more hours, the instructor reached the last of the students.  

“All right, now let us turn to the lone man in our course!”  She looked down at her class roster, “Nathan O’Brien, you certainly don’t look anything like you did when you came in this morning. Why don’t you get up there and tell us about your costume!”

Krycek stifled a flinch at the unrelenting chipper tone of her voice, and made his way on to the stage.   

He talked about the gestures and facial expressions he was planning to use with the costume, and went on about the key elements and details that made the costume convincing.  The instructor looked thrilled.  After all, he was essentially repeating back her own lecture.  

The instructor nodded along as Krycek talked, and leaned back in her chair.  “Wonderful!  So, Nathan, what is your motivation is behind that costume?”  

“Well, Ma’am, my motivation,” he paused, grinning, and donned his most impeccable Russian accent.  

“My motivation is that I am, how you say, disguised assassin from Moscow who is in hiding here in these United States.  I have been given duty of torturing high level FBI man with nanotechnology.  I will do what I have to do for my work in shadow government, before returning to my beautiful wife in Upper West Side of New York.”

The instructor sat forward in her chair, and a broad smile spread across her face.  She clapped her hands a few times before a few other students joined in.  The instructor stood, “Bravo, Nathan.  The accent - so convincing!”  She turned to the rest of the class, “Take notes, people! What an imagination this young man has!”

Krycek took a bow, still grinning.  If only she knew. 

CSM: Nothing vanishes without a trace...burn it!