Ficlet: Entrechat Cinquante: birthday
Apr. 11th, 2009 07:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Entrechat Cinquante
Pairing: VigBean
Rating: G to NC-17
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: birthday.
Interlude: April 2009
*
Yearning desperately for a breath of fresh air, Sean scrubbed a hand over his dry lips. “I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re going to be fantastic,” Kit countered, though she looked a trifle anxious herself. “I don’t get you. You’ve danced live in front of thousands of people – this is fifty, seventy-five tops.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a talker, Kit. Can’t you do it? Viggo, tell her.”
Viggo shook his head. He and MBT’s four most prominent dancers, dressed to the nines, were watching Sean and Kit's volleying with interest and amusement. “She’s right. You’ll be great. Give me your hand.” He began some extemporaneous reflexology on Sean’s left hand. “This’ll take care of the nausea.”
“I’m not the face they’ve come to see, Sean,” Kit said. “You’re on television enough – you won’t have a problem.”
“Those are soundbites, not speeches.” Sean leaned back, covered his eyes with his free hand, and tried to recite from memory. “In order to reduce costs, MBT is taking the following steps: performing without a live orchestra, freezing salaries, executive pay cuts, only one new ballet – fuck! What are the others?”
“Reducing marketing expenses,” Viggo said.
“Mounting ballets that don’t require costly sets or costumes,” chimed in Grace Washington, one of the dancers.
“Right, right.” Sean groaned. “I’m fucked.”
“Sean, you’ve got to get ahold of yourself,” Viggo said softly, continuing to massage Sean’s hand. “Remember when we did that pledge drive thing for WNET? This is the same thing, essentially.”
“It’s just difficult to comprehend that the future of the bloody company depends on me not being a fuck-up in front of the whole country, Vig.”
“You can’t fuck up. You’re the best-looking panhandler I’ve ever seen in my life.” Viggo straightened Sean’s tie, then leaned in to bump foreheads. “Come on, you’ll be great.”
Lincoln Center’s press officer, a trim blonde, exquisitely groomed, popped into the green room. “Everybody ready? You all look fantastic. Knock ‘em dead!”
Gripping Viggo’s hand, Sean rose and made his way to the door. Kit and the dancers followed. From behind wavy glass, Sean saw the unmerciful lights of a dozen TV cameras, and heard the restless stirring of at least a hundred people. A wave of nausea did a slow roll in his stomach.
Just before letting go of Sean’s hand, Viggo darted a quick kiss on Sean’s cheek. “Merde.”
*
“Pretty day,” Viggo remarked, plucking a flowering bud from a tree without slowing pace.
Sean sipped at his coffee, giving the delicate pink flower a hurried sideways glance. “Yeah.”
“You don’t have to be so pissy.”
“I’m not pissy,” Sean protested. “I’m just...I’m just a bit down. All morning I’ve been thinking about how I’ve spent the last thirty years living to go to work – even on the worst days, it was still bloody fantastic.”
“It was. It still is,” Viggo agreed.
“And to have that come to an end –“ Sean shook his head.
“Yeah, but we’ve had a good run, haven’t we?” Viggo stopped and gestured around him. “We’ve made a decent living doing what we love. We live in a great city, and we have family and close friends who care about us.” He smiled at Sean. “And we’ve got each other. We’re the luckiest damn people alive. If MBT folds, we’ll still have all that. It won’t be the end of the world – sure, we’ll have to adjust, but that’s the way life works.”
“Not everyone in MBT has been as lucky as we have, Vig,” Sean said gently.
“You took a chance yesterday, a huge goddamn gamble. Those kids trust you. Kit trusts you. So do I. If it doesn’t work out, they know you did the very best you could. You can’t ask for more than that.”
Sean couldn’t speak for a few seconds. He offered Viggo a shaky smile.
Viggo slung an arm round Sean’s shoulders and steered him toward MBT. “Listen, your birthday’s in a couple of days. How do you want to celebrate?”
“Oh – somewhere terribly posh,” Sean said. “McDonald’s?”
“I was thinking somewhere even swankier,” Viggo said. “How about Burger King? They flame-broil.”
“Now you’re talking,” Sean laughed. “Let’s do it.”
Inside MBT was the usual chaos: the thumping of pianos and feet, dancers both dashing back and forth and loitering in the hallways, eating, chattering and gossiping with visitors and colleagues. The receptionist grinned and waved hello and mouthed See Kit, wagging a finger back and forth between Sean and Viggo. Seth, their part-time webmaster, brushed by, grumbling and swearing to himself, some unidentifiable equipment in his arms. A dresser was arguing vociferously with the costume designer.
Sean breathed it all in. Viggo’s right. It’s been a good run. But it would take the heart from me if I had to leave it all behind.
Kit’s door was ajar, and they heard her talking on the phone. Sean tapped softly and poked his head inside. Kit waved them in. “Yes, Ms. Margo. Absolutely. Oh, so am I, I can’t tell you. Yes. Thank you very much. ‘Bye now.” She hung up with a decided click and sat back. “So did you watch the press conference last night?”
“I did,” Viggo said. “Sean said he couldn’t stand to watch himself. I Tivo’d it, though, so he can see it later. He did great, don’t you think?”
“Fantastic, just like I said he would. I had a look at our website this morning.” Kit tapped her laptop. Seth had set up a donation page a few days before, in hope that the on-air plea might work.
Sean felt a sting of apprehension. “Yeah?”
Kit spun the computer around so Sean and Viggo could see the screen. They leaned in close.
Sean’s heart beat wildly in his chest. “Is that...is that a mistake?”
Kit shook her head. A grin spread across her face. “No mistake. We almost blew the server or something. Seth’s been working on it all morning. And there’s more news. I was just on the phone with the chair of the President’s Committee on the Arts. A couple of big-time Democratic party donors must have leaned on them. They’re going to match all funds donated as a result of the press conference.”
Sean and Viggo traded a glance, almost timidly, then looked at Kit. “So that means....”
Tears shone in Kit's eyes, but her smile was brilliant. “That's it, boys. For the moment, at least, MBT’s been saved.”
*
picture bygovi20
My table is here
Pairing: VigBean
Rating: G to NC-17
Author: Alex
Warning: AU
Written for the
seans_50 challenge.Beta: the most excellent
kimberlite.Disclaimer: Utterly untrue.
Prompt: birthday.
Interlude: April 2009
*
Yearning desperately for a breath of fresh air, Sean scrubbed a hand over his dry lips. “I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re going to be fantastic,” Kit countered, though she looked a trifle anxious herself. “I don’t get you. You’ve danced live in front of thousands of people – this is fifty, seventy-five tops.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a talker, Kit. Can’t you do it? Viggo, tell her.”
Viggo shook his head. He and MBT’s four most prominent dancers, dressed to the nines, were watching Sean and Kit's volleying with interest and amusement. “She’s right. You’ll be great. Give me your hand.” He began some extemporaneous reflexology on Sean’s left hand. “This’ll take care of the nausea.”
“I’m not the face they’ve come to see, Sean,” Kit said. “You’re on television enough – you won’t have a problem.”
“Those are soundbites, not speeches.” Sean leaned back, covered his eyes with his free hand, and tried to recite from memory. “In order to reduce costs, MBT is taking the following steps: performing without a live orchestra, freezing salaries, executive pay cuts, only one new ballet – fuck! What are the others?”
“Reducing marketing expenses,” Viggo said.
“Mounting ballets that don’t require costly sets or costumes,” chimed in Grace Washington, one of the dancers.
“Right, right.” Sean groaned. “I’m fucked.”
“Sean, you’ve got to get ahold of yourself,” Viggo said softly, continuing to massage Sean’s hand. “Remember when we did that pledge drive thing for WNET? This is the same thing, essentially.”
“It’s just difficult to comprehend that the future of the bloody company depends on me not being a fuck-up in front of the whole country, Vig.”
“You can’t fuck up. You’re the best-looking panhandler I’ve ever seen in my life.” Viggo straightened Sean’s tie, then leaned in to bump foreheads. “Come on, you’ll be great.”
Lincoln Center’s press officer, a trim blonde, exquisitely groomed, popped into the green room. “Everybody ready? You all look fantastic. Knock ‘em dead!”
Gripping Viggo’s hand, Sean rose and made his way to the door. Kit and the dancers followed. From behind wavy glass, Sean saw the unmerciful lights of a dozen TV cameras, and heard the restless stirring of at least a hundred people. A wave of nausea did a slow roll in his stomach.
Just before letting go of Sean’s hand, Viggo darted a quick kiss on Sean’s cheek. “Merde.”
*
“Pretty day,” Viggo remarked, plucking a flowering bud from a tree without slowing pace.
Sean sipped at his coffee, giving the delicate pink flower a hurried sideways glance. “Yeah.”
“You don’t have to be so pissy.”
“I’m not pissy,” Sean protested. “I’m just...I’m just a bit down. All morning I’ve been thinking about how I’ve spent the last thirty years living to go to work – even on the worst days, it was still bloody fantastic.”
“It was. It still is,” Viggo agreed.
“And to have that come to an end –“ Sean shook his head.
“Yeah, but we’ve had a good run, haven’t we?” Viggo stopped and gestured around him. “We’ve made a decent living doing what we love. We live in a great city, and we have family and close friends who care about us.” He smiled at Sean. “And we’ve got each other. We’re the luckiest damn people alive. If MBT folds, we’ll still have all that. It won’t be the end of the world – sure, we’ll have to adjust, but that’s the way life works.”
“Not everyone in MBT has been as lucky as we have, Vig,” Sean said gently.
“You took a chance yesterday, a huge goddamn gamble. Those kids trust you. Kit trusts you. So do I. If it doesn’t work out, they know you did the very best you could. You can’t ask for more than that.”
Sean couldn’t speak for a few seconds. He offered Viggo a shaky smile.
Viggo slung an arm round Sean’s shoulders and steered him toward MBT. “Listen, your birthday’s in a couple of days. How do you want to celebrate?”
“Oh – somewhere terribly posh,” Sean said. “McDonald’s?”
“I was thinking somewhere even swankier,” Viggo said. “How about Burger King? They flame-broil.”
“Now you’re talking,” Sean laughed. “Let’s do it.”
Inside MBT was the usual chaos: the thumping of pianos and feet, dancers both dashing back and forth and loitering in the hallways, eating, chattering and gossiping with visitors and colleagues. The receptionist grinned and waved hello and mouthed See Kit, wagging a finger back and forth between Sean and Viggo. Seth, their part-time webmaster, brushed by, grumbling and swearing to himself, some unidentifiable equipment in his arms. A dresser was arguing vociferously with the costume designer.
Sean breathed it all in. Viggo’s right. It’s been a good run. But it would take the heart from me if I had to leave it all behind.
Kit’s door was ajar, and they heard her talking on the phone. Sean tapped softly and poked his head inside. Kit waved them in. “Yes, Ms. Margo. Absolutely. Oh, so am I, I can’t tell you. Yes. Thank you very much. ‘Bye now.” She hung up with a decided click and sat back. “So did you watch the press conference last night?”
“I did,” Viggo said. “Sean said he couldn’t stand to watch himself. I Tivo’d it, though, so he can see it later. He did great, don’t you think?”
“Fantastic, just like I said he would. I had a look at our website this morning.” Kit tapped her laptop. Seth had set up a donation page a few days before, in hope that the on-air plea might work.
Sean felt a sting of apprehension. “Yeah?”
Kit spun the computer around so Sean and Viggo could see the screen. They leaned in close.
Sean’s heart beat wildly in his chest. “Is that...is that a mistake?”
Kit shook her head. A grin spread across her face. “No mistake. We almost blew the server or something. Seth’s been working on it all morning. And there’s more news. I was just on the phone with the chair of the President’s Committee on the Arts. A couple of big-time Democratic party donors must have leaned on them. They’re going to match all funds donated as a result of the press conference.”
Sean and Viggo traded a glance, almost timidly, then looked at Kit. “So that means....”
Tears shone in Kit's eyes, but her smile was brilliant. “That's it, boys. For the moment, at least, MBT’s been saved.”
*
picture by
govi20My table is here
