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It seems a strange, empty world, one without Benji and his opened box of chaos. But Luke, with his slow, sonorous voice, so convincing and so calming, makes the idea sound appealing. Perhaps that’s what leadership is, then — the ability to reassure the flustered, neurotic masses.
Slowly, Luke circles me. When he pauses behind me, I glance over my shoulder, all too aware of not just Luke watching me but Finlay, too. Am I standing straight enough? Is my shirt neat? It takes effort not to fidget; I feel like a piece of clay being molded by the strength of their thoughts, the concentrated heat of their gazes.
Luke reaches toward me and caresses the side of my neck with his knuckles. The baby hairs tickle my skin and I hold back my shiver. His finger strokes me all the way down my nape, and I meet Finlay’s watchful, hot gaze with parted lips and a quickened breath.
He steps away from me with only the slightest upturn to his mouth, as though pretending not to know how easily he’s weakened my knees.
“So once you have attracted the crowd’s attention, which I have no doubt you would manage…”Smooth bastard, I think to myself, “we next turn to the delivery of your message.”
“The delivery?” I ask blankly, trying to compose myself. “Not… the actual message?”
“Of course not. Content is almost universally the least important element. Without the first two in place, people will have no interest in listening to you.”
Luke spins me around so that I face him again. “An extreme example, but if your message is addressed in deep, incoherent sobs, then you ruin the opportunity to make a positive impact for your message. All anyone would remember is the speaker crying their eyes out, barely being able to hear a word through their tears. Whereas if the same words are spoken lucidly, it does not render the words any less powerful nor any less heartbreaking, and this time you would be able to hear them.”
I think I get what Luke is saying, that it’s better to be seen and heard, and to be heard as clearly as possible.
“When making a speech, there is no room for weasel words. There is no time for long-winded anecdotes. There is no room for vague declarations of passion. Be succinct, be clear, and above all be confident. Make your point and do it concisely.”
“Okay,” I say, giving a slow nod as I absorb Luke’s infinite wisdom. “I guess that’s a benefit for me. I don’t wanna talk in front of anyone for an extended period. I’m not in love with the sound of my own voice. Icanbe succinct.”
“In which case, my final point would be to correct your diction.”
I stare at him. “My diction?”
“Yes, it is an unfortunate quirk of your accent,” Luke comments dismissively, scrutinizing me with his chin poised thoughtfully against his curled hand. “It is a wholly American phenomenon — why use one vowel when three will do? Charming in conversation but a potential disaster on stage. I must say, it is a real hindrance to your development as a master speaker, especially if you were to do so in Britain.”
I summon my fiercest scowl but Luke’s lips quirk, as though my disagreement is in some way adorable.
“No matter. It is a simple question of spoken exercises to fix your damaged speech patterns. Rhoticity — of rolling your R’s.”
“I won’t be rolling anything for you, mate,” I mutter, and Finlay gives a loud hoot of laughter.
Luke ignores this remark, as though trying to rise above it. “Full words only. Nowannas, nogonnas, nogotchas. None of that dreadful language.”
“Dreadful language?” I snap, growing more and more offended. “That’s basically half of Finlay’s vocabulary!”
“Fin does whatever he wants, and I have no control over that accent of his. Allegedly it is Scottish, though upper-class Scots from Fin’s neck of the woods have the most peculiar tendency to sound like half-hearted Englishmen. I swear he is pretending half the time.”
“Oi!” Finlay snaps, pressing himself away from the wall as though preparing to pick a fight. “Comin’ faeyou?”
“In order to improve in this area,” Luke continues, ignoring Finlay entirely, “it is a mere requirement of repetition. A rigorous diet of speech exercises, several times a day, until you crack the language barrier.”
I blanch. Suddenly, this is starting to feel a lot like hard work.
“What do you mean? Speech exercises?”
“Aye, I’d like tae know, too,” Finlay remarks testily. “Just tae see how biased ye are when it comes tae regional accents. It’s no’ even unconscious bias, it’s flat-oot discrimination.”
“Oh, no, you have discovered my top-secret Received Pronunciation conversion camp,” Luke says, completely expressionless. “If it were up to me, the world would be a much better place if we all spoke RP.”
“I just betcha do,” I mutter, wincing when Luke turns his unimpressed eyes upon me.
“Bet. You. Do,” he emphasizes sharply. “We will begin with a series of exercises—”
“No,” I say, surprising myself. Finlay slides a sly glance at me, and this single word seems to have stopped Luke in his tracks. “You aren’t a prince anymore, so the way you talk is unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary?” Luke repeats, with a disbelieving stare. “This has been mylife.”
