Ficlet: Entrechat Cinquante: grumpy
Jan. 25th, 2009 06:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Entrechat Cinquante: grumpy
Pairing: VigBean
Rating: PG-13
Author: Alex
Warning: AU
Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
seans_50 challenge.
Beta: the most excellent![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kimberlite.
Disclaimer: Utterly untrue.
Prompt: Grumpy
*
“Come on in. Sit down.” The man who invited Sean into the little office had a swingers’ mustache, a comb-over, and a tan safari jacket open to reveal a medallion and a great deal of chest hair. His skin was the color of well-done bacon, and when he smiled, he exposed blindingly white capped teeth. Sean tried not to stare as he lowered himself into an opposite chair.
“Sorry, Mr. Walzer,” Sean said, indicating his sweat-glazed body. He wiped at his face with the towel around his neck. “Kit said it was important.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Larry Walzer leaned back and lit a cigarette. “Smoke?” He offered Sean a gold lighter. “She’s a gutsy lady, huh? So how do you like Copenhagen, Sean?”
“Oh, it’s – fantastic,” Sean lied. All he’d seen of Copenhagen was his hotel room, the Royal Ballet School studios where the company had staked a temporary claim, and the Royal Danish Theatre where they performed. It was the last stop on the tour, and Sean was sick of socializing with the same people he’d seen sixteen hours a day for eight weeks. The dancers clustered together, smoked pot, gossiped, fucked, fought, ate, and when they’d had enough, wandered the hotel corridors looking for more gossip, another fuck or another fight. They were all on the brink of killing each other, and Sean was one of the few who had sense enough to retreat to his room with a book. He could have gone sightseeing, but all the picturesque and charming scenery had begun to melt together in Germany – or was it Austria – and all he wanted was the refuge of blank walls and silence.
“Isn’t it? A little bit looser around the collar than the States, don’t you think?” Walzer grinned.
Sean feigned ignorance. “Everyone seems quite friendly.”
Walzer’s grin dissolved a little. “Yeah. Well, to business, right?”
“Right.” Walzer worked for a film company, Triton Pictures, that had a film about ballet dancers in development. The leads would be played by non-dancers, but they needed real dancers for the performance scenes, and to give the film what Walzer called ‘authentic color.’ Walzer had been following the tour for three weeks, and awareness of his presence had made the dancers edgy. There wasn’t one of them who didn’t want to be in a movie, and Sean was no exception. He’d tried to be cool about it, though, not fawning over Walzer or jockeying for position at the barre when Walzer observed company class. He’d danced his best, though, and now – maybe – Walzer had taken notice.
“You’re a hell of a dancer. But you probably know that.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush. I’m considering you for the film.”
Sean tried not to let elation show on his face. “That would be absolutely great.”
“It’s a body double role.”
“I’m sorry – a what?”
“Well, it’s like this. Our star is a gorgeous guy, absolutely gorgeous.” He named the actor, a famous one, celebrated for his handsome face. “Thing is, he hasn’t quite got a ballet bod. Know what I mean? And there are nude scenes in the film, and what we’re going for here is a real air of authenticity. And you, Sean, you’ve got a terrific body. Just terrific.” Walzer revealed his white grin again. “So what I’m thinking is that you would be a stand-in for him. We could dye your hair for the long shots, and we’d shoot you from the neck down. There might be some dancing, but God knows...it’s kinda technical, but of course we’d explain everything thoroughly. So what do you think?”
Sean absorbed it. “So you just want me from the neck down.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Yeah. Hey, look, no offense. You’re a fantastic dancer, and a heck of a handsome guy. But you – well, I won’t beat around the bush. Your nose is kind of big, and your eyes are a little too narrow. It makes you look nasty, or pissed off a lot, you know? I mean, I can’t even tell what color they are.”
“They’re green,” Sean replied quietly.
“See? No way I would have known that. I just don’t think you’d film well, you know what I mean? Well, give it some thought, anyway. Here’s my number.” He passed Sean a card and offered him a quick, meaningless smile. “Call me before you leave Copenhagen. We’ll talk some more.”
“Thanks.” Sean rose, stubbed out the cigarette, and left the office. On the way back to the studio, he methodically ripped the card into tiny pieces, scattering them as he walked.
Jens, the ballet master, was in the studio, talking to a young man who had his leg hooked over the barre. They were chattering in Danish and didn’t hear Sean come in until he thumped his bag on the floor. “Oh, Sean,” Jens said. “Come here. I want you to meet our new soloist. Sean, this is Viggo. Viggo, Sean. I told him you’d take him around, introduce him to people.”
The young man had straightened and was moving toward Sean with his hand extended. He was blond, blue-eyed, handsome. When he smiled, his teeth were white and slightly gapped. “Hi, Sean. Nice to meet you.” The accent, surprisingly, was American.
“Hello.” Sean shook the proffered hand with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, then stepped to the barre. Northern light streamed through the dirty windows. He did one grand plié and looked glumly at his reflection.
Jens seemed disconcerted by Sean’s mood. “So! How did the meeting go?”
Sean snorted. “If my nose were smaller and my eyes a millimeter wider, I’d be a film star.”
“But I thought he was planning to cast you –“
“He wants a body double. Not me, not my dancing.” Sean abruptly stood, collected his bag, and marched from the room. He found the bathroom, let the water run until it was cold, and splashed some on his face. He stared into the mirror, at his too-big nose and too-small eyes. “Fuck yourself,” he muttered.
The door creaked. The young man who’d been with Jens stuck his head inside. “Can I come in?”
Sean straightened and picked up his bag. “Of course. Excuse me.” He knew Jens wanted him to introduce the young man around, but he wasn’t in the mood for putting up a front of small talk and dance chatter. He wanted a shower and some food before the performance, and he wanted to be alone.
“Hey – wait a second. You met with that casting director? The sleazy guy?”
“Yes.”
“What a jerk. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about ballet. All he wants is to ball every corps girl in sight.”
Sean shrugged. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t put into words what he was thinking and feeling. He’d always been admired for his skill, or slagged off for it; he’d tolerated skinhead taunts, screaming choreographers, groping disco boys, and the lustful gazes of balletomanes of both sexes. But he’d never been made to feel so much like a piece of meat before. An unattractive piece of meat, no less.
"Has he actually seen you dance?”
“He said so.” Sean did his best to sound indifferent.
“Well, I have. You’re fantastic.”
Usually compliments gave Sean a momentary glow, but this one felt like a consolation prize to a game-show loser, a verbal box of rice and pasta mix. “Thanks.”
The young man smiled. “You know what he told me? He said I had funny teeth and that my legs would photograph weird, but he might be able to use me in a crowd scene if I kept my mouth shut.”
Sean met the candid blue eyes. “What an arsehole.” He felt ashamed suddenly, self-absorbed and self-pitying. “Sorry about that.”
“Screw it. Most movies suck anyway.”
“Look, I’m sorry I was so grumpy,” Sean said, putting his hand out. “I didn’t quite catch your name.”
The hand that took Sean’s was strong, and slightly rough. “Viggo.”
“Sean.”
*
picture bygovi20
My table is here
Pairing: VigBean
Rating: PG-13
Author: Alex
Warning: AU
Written for the
seans_50 challenge.Beta: the most excellent
kimberlite.Disclaimer: Utterly untrue.
Prompt: Grumpy
*
“Come on in. Sit down.” The man who invited Sean into the little office had a swingers’ mustache, a comb-over, and a tan safari jacket open to reveal a medallion and a great deal of chest hair. His skin was the color of well-done bacon, and when he smiled, he exposed blindingly white capped teeth. Sean tried not to stare as he lowered himself into an opposite chair.
“Sorry, Mr. Walzer,” Sean said, indicating his sweat-glazed body. He wiped at his face with the towel around his neck. “Kit said it was important.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Larry Walzer leaned back and lit a cigarette. “Smoke?” He offered Sean a gold lighter. “She’s a gutsy lady, huh? So how do you like Copenhagen, Sean?”
“Oh, it’s – fantastic,” Sean lied. All he’d seen of Copenhagen was his hotel room, the Royal Ballet School studios where the company had staked a temporary claim, and the Royal Danish Theatre where they performed. It was the last stop on the tour, and Sean was sick of socializing with the same people he’d seen sixteen hours a day for eight weeks. The dancers clustered together, smoked pot, gossiped, fucked, fought, ate, and when they’d had enough, wandered the hotel corridors looking for more gossip, another fuck or another fight. They were all on the brink of killing each other, and Sean was one of the few who had sense enough to retreat to his room with a book. He could have gone sightseeing, but all the picturesque and charming scenery had begun to melt together in Germany – or was it Austria – and all he wanted was the refuge of blank walls and silence.
“Isn’t it? A little bit looser around the collar than the States, don’t you think?” Walzer grinned.
Sean feigned ignorance. “Everyone seems quite friendly.”
Walzer’s grin dissolved a little. “Yeah. Well, to business, right?”
“Right.” Walzer worked for a film company, Triton Pictures, that had a film about ballet dancers in development. The leads would be played by non-dancers, but they needed real dancers for the performance scenes, and to give the film what Walzer called ‘authentic color.’ Walzer had been following the tour for three weeks, and awareness of his presence had made the dancers edgy. There wasn’t one of them who didn’t want to be in a movie, and Sean was no exception. He’d tried to be cool about it, though, not fawning over Walzer or jockeying for position at the barre when Walzer observed company class. He’d danced his best, though, and now – maybe – Walzer had taken notice.
“You’re a hell of a dancer. But you probably know that.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush. I’m considering you for the film.”
Sean tried not to let elation show on his face. “That would be absolutely great.”
“It’s a body double role.”
“I’m sorry – a what?”
“Well, it’s like this. Our star is a gorgeous guy, absolutely gorgeous.” He named the actor, a famous one, celebrated for his handsome face. “Thing is, he hasn’t quite got a ballet bod. Know what I mean? And there are nude scenes in the film, and what we’re going for here is a real air of authenticity. And you, Sean, you’ve got a terrific body. Just terrific.” Walzer revealed his white grin again. “So what I’m thinking is that you would be a stand-in for him. We could dye your hair for the long shots, and we’d shoot you from the neck down. There might be some dancing, but God knows...it’s kinda technical, but of course we’d explain everything thoroughly. So what do you think?”
Sean absorbed it. “So you just want me from the neck down.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Yeah. Hey, look, no offense. You’re a fantastic dancer, and a heck of a handsome guy. But you – well, I won’t beat around the bush. Your nose is kind of big, and your eyes are a little too narrow. It makes you look nasty, or pissed off a lot, you know? I mean, I can’t even tell what color they are.”
“They’re green,” Sean replied quietly.
“See? No way I would have known that. I just don’t think you’d film well, you know what I mean? Well, give it some thought, anyway. Here’s my number.” He passed Sean a card and offered him a quick, meaningless smile. “Call me before you leave Copenhagen. We’ll talk some more.”
“Thanks.” Sean rose, stubbed out the cigarette, and left the office. On the way back to the studio, he methodically ripped the card into tiny pieces, scattering them as he walked.
Jens, the ballet master, was in the studio, talking to a young man who had his leg hooked over the barre. They were chattering in Danish and didn’t hear Sean come in until he thumped his bag on the floor. “Oh, Sean,” Jens said. “Come here. I want you to meet our new soloist. Sean, this is Viggo. Viggo, Sean. I told him you’d take him around, introduce him to people.”
The young man had straightened and was moving toward Sean with his hand extended. He was blond, blue-eyed, handsome. When he smiled, his teeth were white and slightly gapped. “Hi, Sean. Nice to meet you.” The accent, surprisingly, was American.
“Hello.” Sean shook the proffered hand with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, then stepped to the barre. Northern light streamed through the dirty windows. He did one grand plié and looked glumly at his reflection.
Jens seemed disconcerted by Sean’s mood. “So! How did the meeting go?”
Sean snorted. “If my nose were smaller and my eyes a millimeter wider, I’d be a film star.”
“But I thought he was planning to cast you –“
“He wants a body double. Not me, not my dancing.” Sean abruptly stood, collected his bag, and marched from the room. He found the bathroom, let the water run until it was cold, and splashed some on his face. He stared into the mirror, at his too-big nose and too-small eyes. “Fuck yourself,” he muttered.
The door creaked. The young man who’d been with Jens stuck his head inside. “Can I come in?”
Sean straightened and picked up his bag. “Of course. Excuse me.” He knew Jens wanted him to introduce the young man around, but he wasn’t in the mood for putting up a front of small talk and dance chatter. He wanted a shower and some food before the performance, and he wanted to be alone.
“Hey – wait a second. You met with that casting director? The sleazy guy?”
“Yes.”
“What a jerk. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about ballet. All he wants is to ball every corps girl in sight.”
Sean shrugged. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t put into words what he was thinking and feeling. He’d always been admired for his skill, or slagged off for it; he’d tolerated skinhead taunts, screaming choreographers, groping disco boys, and the lustful gazes of balletomanes of both sexes. But he’d never been made to feel so much like a piece of meat before. An unattractive piece of meat, no less.
"Has he actually seen you dance?”
“He said so.” Sean did his best to sound indifferent.
“Well, I have. You’re fantastic.”
Usually compliments gave Sean a momentary glow, but this one felt like a consolation prize to a game-show loser, a verbal box of rice and pasta mix. “Thanks.”
The young man smiled. “You know what he told me? He said I had funny teeth and that my legs would photograph weird, but he might be able to use me in a crowd scene if I kept my mouth shut.”
Sean met the candid blue eyes. “What an arsehole.” He felt ashamed suddenly, self-absorbed and self-pitying. “Sorry about that.”
“Screw it. Most movies suck anyway.”
“Look, I’m sorry I was so grumpy,” Sean said, putting his hand out. “I didn’t quite catch your name.”
The hand that took Sean’s was strong, and slightly rough. “Viggo.”
“Sean.”
*
picture by
govi20My table is here
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-01-29 06:12 am (UTC)i'm loving this. and i was so curious as to what role viggo would play; it's exciting to finally 'meet' him! :)
no subject
Date: 2009-01-29 03:37 pm (UTC)