Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2010-02-15 10:24 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2010-02-15 10:24 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News: Clover and Shadows, part 2
Title: Clover and Shadows (2/5)
Rating: R
Warnings (highlight for spoilers): Trans issues, angst, character death, (skip) dubiously-consensual sex work, brief violence
Characters/pairings: MtF!"Stephen", FtM!Charlene, Jon, families
Marvelous betas:stellar_dust and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
balljointed
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
In the past, Charlene and Stephen find gainful employment during the day, and follow less-respectable pursuits during the night. In the present, Jon has Stephen's back. (For those of you keeping score, this is a wifeless AU.)
Now featuring marvelous marvelous art of Stephen and Charlene, byaybara_max!
Part 1 |Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Transverse
Clover and Shadows - Part 2
Stephen was in makeup, eyebrows getting their daily dose of sculpting from a highly trained professional, when Jon knocked on the door. "Hi, Nadia. Can I have the room for a minute?"
"What do you want, Jon?" demanded Stephen when the stylist had left, with what few but Jon would have recognized as an unusual level of irritation. They hadn't spoken since the bombshell Stephen had dropped about Charlene. Jon still wasn't quite sure how to approach that.
"I talked to the higher-ups," he said instead. Brisk. Businesslike. "Promised there wouldn't be any lawsuits or public relations disasters because of...her. Staked my job on it, in fact."
Stephen's half-tweezed eyebrows jumped an eighth of an inch each. "Really?"
"Really." Jon folded his arms. "So as long as you're telling the truth, you should be in the clear."
"Well, good. Because I am." Stephen glared imposingly at Jon, as if daring him to suggest otherwise.
"Listen, uh, you do have a good reason for pretending she's alive, right? Because if I find out this is something to do with — with the Mafia, or an illegal gambling operation, or—"
"Hey! My inconsequential gambling debts are completely and totally paid off, mostly! And the Mafia was only that one time!"
"Stephen...."
"It's a good reason," insisted Stephen, more softly now. "There are a couple of people from Chicago who know, and nobody else. It's better that way."
"Got it." Jon turned to leave, then paused when Stephen called his name.
"I meant it when I said I don't need protecting," muttered Stephen, squirming in the makeup chair like a four-year-old trying to sit still. "Because I don't. I have my own bootstraps. But...I know you've got my back. In your liberal East Coast tree-hugging latte-sipping kind of way, I mean. And I, well, I, I...you know."
Jon smiled. "Any time, my friend. Any time."
Stephen loves Chicago the instant she sets foot in it.
They had ditched the car in the bus station parking lot, paid cash, and made it across the country with no one the wiser. When they find a cheap apartment, it's dingy and tiny and Charlene thinks he hears rats in the walls, but Stephen dances right across the suspicious stains on the carpet and bursts into a snatch of Joan Jett, and Charlene joins in for the whole triumphant chorus.
He makes Stephen give him a haircut first thing. Stephen pouts the whole time, complaining that she would love to have hair this long; she's been growing hers out for a whole two weeks now, and Charlene pretends he can tell the difference.
Stephen eventually lands a job at the Hair Force. She has to dress as a guy when she's on the clock, but there's enough room for flamboyancy that she doesn't have to worry about checking her behavior to match. Besides, it lifts her soul just to be in the presence of so many gorgeously cared-for styles.
Charlene gets hired by the local marina. The uniform is unisex; the work involves a lot of heavy lifting. He acts nonchalant when Stephen remarks on the muscle he's building, and pumps his fist in the air when he thinks she isn't looking.
It's been a decade since Ziggy Stardust, but there are still plenty of clubs where androgyny is in, and they can dance as themselves without anyone batting an eye.
It's microwave dinners at the beginning of the month and economy-size bags of rice towards the end.
It's the piles of discount stuff Stephen brings home from the salon: exfoliating scrubs and shampoo that smells like flowers and enough hair gel to choke a moose. Charlene fills condoms with the gel; wrapped in layers of latex, they make a decent DIY packer until he can buy something more realistic. Stephen hoards the shampoo while she saves for a high-quality wig.
It's the night Charlene gets in front of a mic and breaks into an alto cover of Springsteen, and on the way down from the stage nearly walks into a couple of guys wielding guitars, who want to know if he's singing with anyone else.
And it's the way Stephen clings to his arm when they get home, protesting that he was flirting with them, which is okay, he's allowed, but he's still hers, right?
It's pulling her close and filling her ears with a whispered reassurance that Charlene turns out to need as much as Stephen does: you'll never be alone again.
"They're a menace, Jon!"
"I don't think you have to worry that much about children, Stephen," said Jon with gentle indulgence, pushing away the headline Stephen was thrusting in his face.
"But they're out to replace us! Don't you see, we have to be vigilant!"
"It's just some two-year-old doing glorified finger paintings," pointed out Jon. "Which is basically all abstract art is in the first place. It's not like the pre-K set is going to suddenly start providing competitors for more difficult creative jobs. Like, say, television host."
"...Oh." Stephen sat down with a huff. "I knew that."
Jon hid a smile behind his fist. "Seriously, Stephen, kids aren't that bad," he continued. "I might even pick up a couple for myself one day."
"Out of wedlock? You really are a shameless heathen, aren't you."
"Well, it's not the kind of thing I would just spring on a girlfriend." Or a boyfriend, he added to himself, though he didn't feel like getting into a fight with Stephen about the existence of bisexuality just then. "But if I get married...or maybe I'll just adopt. How about you? I know you grew up with a ton of siblings—"
"Jimmy, Eddie, Mary, Billy, Margo, Tommy, Jay, Lulu, Paul, Peter, and Stephen," rattled off Stephen in a single rapid-fire breath.
"Right. You ever feel the urge to start working on a hockey team of your own? Or did you decide your childhood was so messy that you never wanted to be in a house that crowded again?"
"I had a happy childhood, Jon!"
"All right, all right!" Jon held up his hands in surrender.
"But I don't want kids." Stephen sank into the chair, fingers curled sullenly around the newspaper. "And I'm perfectly fine on my own."
Stephen comes home after her shift one day, a fresh bottle of lilac-scented shampoo in her bag, to find Charlene sitting vigil in the front hall.
It takes her a moment to notice the stuffed dog in his hands.
"How?" he asks flatly.
Stephen's bag slips to the floor. "It's nothing," she stammers.
"Nothing?" repeats Charlene, turning the dog over. The fraying seam in the back has been split all the way open, revealing just how much of the stuffing has been replaced by faded bills. "You don't make this kind of cash doing nothing!"
"It's not important," insists Stephen, clenching her hands to keep them from trembling. "Char, please, I don't want to talk about—"
"What's so bad you can't talk to me about it?" cries Charlene, jumping to his feet. "Are you pushing? Selling yourself? You didn't steal it, did you?"
"No!" shouts Stephen, on the verge of tears now. "Nothing like that! I did a couple of videos, that's all!"
"Videos," echoes Charlene, this time in horror. "How could you."
"I didn't do them as me!" protests Stephen. "I used a pseudonym — they thought I was a man — I had to do something, Char! Do you think our day jobs and your third-rate band are going to make enough for hormones? Surgery? Maybe adoption one day?"
It's the first Charlene has heard of this particular fantasy, and he's in no mood to be indulgent. "Adoption? You think they would ever let people like us have kids? Even if you weren't a porn star—"
"Damn it, I was meant to be a mother!" shrieks Stephen.
"Shake it off, Col-bert!" counters Charlene, and slaps her across the face.
Stephen slaps back — forgetting how broad her hands are, how Charlene for all his hard-earned muscle is still slender, how easy it is for her to send him flying.
For a moment everything is frozen, Charlene sprawled on the floor, the stuffed dog spilling C-note entrails beside him.
Then Charlene hauls himself up onto his elbows, wipes the blood from his nose, and hisses, "You hit like a boy."
Gulping down a sob, Stephen flees.
After an insomnia-fueled search on eBay turned up three entries, none for less than $100, Jon decided maybe he didn't need a hard copy of "Charlene" after all.
With only one single, and that only ever released on vinyl, Stephen and the Colberts must have been a massive flop in its day. And now the lousy thing was a collector's item, like the Mr. Goodwrench bobblehead looking disapprovingly down at Jon from atop his looming inbox.
Why hadn't anybody thought to re-release it? Surely, faced with the potential profit of Stephen's rabid fanbase, someone could work out who owned the rights.
Unless Stephen didn't want it released.
Maybe there was some kind of royalties dispute. It wasn't as if Stephen didn't want people hearing the song, even if it brought up bad memories. How many times had the video been run on the Report?
Taking another probably-futile gulp of warm milk, Jon clicked absently over to YouTube, and realized once again just how much he underestimated the Colbert Nation. Not only were there about a hundred copies of "Charlene", including what looked like fan-made music videos (Jon wondered briefly how the song had anything to do with Twilight, then decided he didn't want to know), there was a clip with a bright blue preview image and the title "STEVEN COLBERT - CHARLENE (B-SIDE)."
The video turned out to be a slideshow of the lyrics, against a wildly oversaturated background — Jon could practically feel his graphics team hyperventilating at the sight. The audio started off as a lone piano.
And then the vocals kicked in.
It was "Charlene". A slow, evocative, piano version of "Charlene", the lyrics spun like glass by a haunting female voice, as if Vienna Teng had fallen back in time a decade or two and decided to do a cover of an obscure synth-pop song while she was in the era.
Jon closed the window before it was halfway through.
When he finally got to sleep, the voice still stalked his dreams.
It's stammered apologies, and Stephen making up another ice pack for Charlene's bruises while she whispers that maybe he's right, maybe there's nothing in this for her, maybe she should just flee Chicago and cut her hair and repress repress repress for the rest of her life.
It's Charlene talking her down (not for the first time, or the last), swearing he didn't mean it, and promising the band will look for an actual agent. They can do this. It'll take some work, but they'll make all of this worth it. Together.
It's cash in the bank thanks to a line of work they plan to never speak of again: one more place they don't dare walk, especially in the dark.
And it's Charlene sending up a prayer of thanks to the patron saint of tragic irony for sparing them this time, while raindrops cascade past the streetlight outside their window and Stephen sleeps safely in his arms.
Rating: R
Warnings (highlight for spoilers): Trans issues, angst, character death, (skip) dubiously-consensual sex work, brief violence
Characters/pairings: MtF!"Stephen", FtM!Charlene, Jon, families
Marvelous betas:
stellar_dust and balljointedDisclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
In the past, Charlene and Stephen find gainful employment during the day, and follow less-respectable pursuits during the night. In the present, Jon has Stephen's back. (For those of you keeping score, this is a wifeless AU.)
Now featuring marvelous marvelous art of Stephen and Charlene, by
aybara_max!Part 1 |
Clover and Shadows - Part 2
Stephen was in makeup, eyebrows getting their daily dose of sculpting from a highly trained professional, when Jon knocked on the door. "Hi, Nadia. Can I have the room for a minute?"
"What do you want, Jon?" demanded Stephen when the stylist had left, with what few but Jon would have recognized as an unusual level of irritation. They hadn't spoken since the bombshell Stephen had dropped about Charlene. Jon still wasn't quite sure how to approach that.
"I talked to the higher-ups," he said instead. Brisk. Businesslike. "Promised there wouldn't be any lawsuits or public relations disasters because of...her. Staked my job on it, in fact."
Stephen's half-tweezed eyebrows jumped an eighth of an inch each. "Really?"
"Really." Jon folded his arms. "So as long as you're telling the truth, you should be in the clear."
"Well, good. Because I am." Stephen glared imposingly at Jon, as if daring him to suggest otherwise.
"Listen, uh, you do have a good reason for pretending she's alive, right? Because if I find out this is something to do with — with the Mafia, or an illegal gambling operation, or—"
"Hey! My inconsequential gambling debts are completely and totally paid off, mostly! And the Mafia was only that one time!"
"Stephen...."
"It's a good reason," insisted Stephen, more softly now. "There are a couple of people from Chicago who know, and nobody else. It's better that way."
"Got it." Jon turned to leave, then paused when Stephen called his name.
"I meant it when I said I don't need protecting," muttered Stephen, squirming in the makeup chair like a four-year-old trying to sit still. "Because I don't. I have my own bootstraps. But...I know you've got my back. In your liberal East Coast tree-hugging latte-sipping kind of way, I mean. And I, well, I, I...you know."
Jon smiled. "Any time, my friend. Any time."
Stephen loves Chicago the instant she sets foot in it.
They had ditched the car in the bus station parking lot, paid cash, and made it across the country with no one the wiser. When they find a cheap apartment, it's dingy and tiny and Charlene thinks he hears rats in the walls, but Stephen dances right across the suspicious stains on the carpet and bursts into a snatch of Joan Jett, and Charlene joins in for the whole triumphant chorus.
He makes Stephen give him a haircut first thing. Stephen pouts the whole time, complaining that she would love to have hair this long; she's been growing hers out for a whole two weeks now, and Charlene pretends he can tell the difference.
Stephen eventually lands a job at the Hair Force. She has to dress as a guy when she's on the clock, but there's enough room for flamboyancy that she doesn't have to worry about checking her behavior to match. Besides, it lifts her soul just to be in the presence of so many gorgeously cared-for styles.
Charlene gets hired by the local marina. The uniform is unisex; the work involves a lot of heavy lifting. He acts nonchalant when Stephen remarks on the muscle he's building, and pumps his fist in the air when he thinks she isn't looking.
It's been a decade since Ziggy Stardust, but there are still plenty of clubs where androgyny is in, and they can dance as themselves without anyone batting an eye.
It's microwave dinners at the beginning of the month and economy-size bags of rice towards the end.
It's the piles of discount stuff Stephen brings home from the salon: exfoliating scrubs and shampoo that smells like flowers and enough hair gel to choke a moose. Charlene fills condoms with the gel; wrapped in layers of latex, they make a decent DIY packer until he can buy something more realistic. Stephen hoards the shampoo while she saves for a high-quality wig.
It's the night Charlene gets in front of a mic and breaks into an alto cover of Springsteen, and on the way down from the stage nearly walks into a couple of guys wielding guitars, who want to know if he's singing with anyone else.
And it's the way Stephen clings to his arm when they get home, protesting that he was flirting with them, which is okay, he's allowed, but he's still hers, right?
It's pulling her close and filling her ears with a whispered reassurance that Charlene turns out to need as much as Stephen does: you'll never be alone again.
"They're a menace, Jon!"
"I don't think you have to worry that much about children, Stephen," said Jon with gentle indulgence, pushing away the headline Stephen was thrusting in his face.
"But they're out to replace us! Don't you see, we have to be vigilant!"
"It's just some two-year-old doing glorified finger paintings," pointed out Jon. "Which is basically all abstract art is in the first place. It's not like the pre-K set is going to suddenly start providing competitors for more difficult creative jobs. Like, say, television host."
"...Oh." Stephen sat down with a huff. "I knew that."
Jon hid a smile behind his fist. "Seriously, Stephen, kids aren't that bad," he continued. "I might even pick up a couple for myself one day."
"Out of wedlock? You really are a shameless heathen, aren't you."
"Well, it's not the kind of thing I would just spring on a girlfriend." Or a boyfriend, he added to himself, though he didn't feel like getting into a fight with Stephen about the existence of bisexuality just then. "But if I get married...or maybe I'll just adopt. How about you? I know you grew up with a ton of siblings—"
"Jimmy, Eddie, Mary, Billy, Margo, Tommy, Jay, Lulu, Paul, Peter, and Stephen," rattled off Stephen in a single rapid-fire breath.
"Right. You ever feel the urge to start working on a hockey team of your own? Or did you decide your childhood was so messy that you never wanted to be in a house that crowded again?"
"I had a happy childhood, Jon!"
"All right, all right!" Jon held up his hands in surrender.
"But I don't want kids." Stephen sank into the chair, fingers curled sullenly around the newspaper. "And I'm perfectly fine on my own."
Stephen comes home after her shift one day, a fresh bottle of lilac-scented shampoo in her bag, to find Charlene sitting vigil in the front hall.
It takes her a moment to notice the stuffed dog in his hands.
"How?" he asks flatly.
Stephen's bag slips to the floor. "It's nothing," she stammers.
"Nothing?" repeats Charlene, turning the dog over. The fraying seam in the back has been split all the way open, revealing just how much of the stuffing has been replaced by faded bills. "You don't make this kind of cash doing nothing!"
"It's not important," insists Stephen, clenching her hands to keep them from trembling. "Char, please, I don't want to talk about—"
"What's so bad you can't talk to me about it?" cries Charlene, jumping to his feet. "Are you pushing? Selling yourself? You didn't steal it, did you?"
"No!" shouts Stephen, on the verge of tears now. "Nothing like that! I did a couple of videos, that's all!"
"Videos," echoes Charlene, this time in horror. "How could you."
"I didn't do them as me!" protests Stephen. "I used a pseudonym — they thought I was a man — I had to do something, Char! Do you think our day jobs and your third-rate band are going to make enough for hormones? Surgery? Maybe adoption one day?"
It's the first Charlene has heard of this particular fantasy, and he's in no mood to be indulgent. "Adoption? You think they would ever let people like us have kids? Even if you weren't a porn star—"
"Damn it, I was meant to be a mother!" shrieks Stephen.
"Shake it off, Col-bert!" counters Charlene, and slaps her across the face.
Stephen slaps back — forgetting how broad her hands are, how Charlene for all his hard-earned muscle is still slender, how easy it is for her to send him flying.
For a moment everything is frozen, Charlene sprawled on the floor, the stuffed dog spilling C-note entrails beside him.
Then Charlene hauls himself up onto his elbows, wipes the blood from his nose, and hisses, "You hit like a boy."
Gulping down a sob, Stephen flees.
After an insomnia-fueled search on eBay turned up three entries, none for less than $100, Jon decided maybe he didn't need a hard copy of "Charlene" after all.
With only one single, and that only ever released on vinyl, Stephen and the Colberts must have been a massive flop in its day. And now the lousy thing was a collector's item, like the Mr. Goodwrench bobblehead looking disapprovingly down at Jon from atop his looming inbox.
Why hadn't anybody thought to re-release it? Surely, faced with the potential profit of Stephen's rabid fanbase, someone could work out who owned the rights.
Unless Stephen didn't want it released.
Maybe there was some kind of royalties dispute. It wasn't as if Stephen didn't want people hearing the song, even if it brought up bad memories. How many times had the video been run on the Report?
Taking another probably-futile gulp of warm milk, Jon clicked absently over to YouTube, and realized once again just how much he underestimated the Colbert Nation. Not only were there about a hundred copies of "Charlene", including what looked like fan-made music videos (Jon wondered briefly how the song had anything to do with Twilight, then decided he didn't want to know), there was a clip with a bright blue preview image and the title "STEVEN COLBERT - CHARLENE (B-SIDE)."
The video turned out to be a slideshow of the lyrics, against a wildly oversaturated background — Jon could practically feel his graphics team hyperventilating at the sight. The audio started off as a lone piano.
And then the vocals kicked in.
It was "Charlene". A slow, evocative, piano version of "Charlene", the lyrics spun like glass by a haunting female voice, as if Vienna Teng had fallen back in time a decade or two and decided to do a cover of an obscure synth-pop song while she was in the era.
Jon closed the window before it was halfway through.
When he finally got to sleep, the voice still stalked his dreams.
It's stammered apologies, and Stephen making up another ice pack for Charlene's bruises while she whispers that maybe he's right, maybe there's nothing in this for her, maybe she should just flee Chicago and cut her hair and repress repress repress for the rest of her life.
It's Charlene talking her down (not for the first time, or the last), swearing he didn't mean it, and promising the band will look for an actual agent. They can do this. It'll take some work, but they'll make all of this worth it. Together.
It's cash in the bank thanks to a line of work they plan to never speak of again: one more place they don't dare walk, especially in the dark.
And it's Charlene sending up a prayer of thanks to the patron saint of tragic irony for sparing them this time, while raindrops cascade past the streetlight outside their window and Stephen sleeps safely in his arms.
no subject
.. also, ♥!
no subject
Oh, Stephen. Baby girl. :(
no subject
The canon lines can always manage to be the most heartbreaking ones.
no subject
no subject
It's such a creepy song in the original that it makes it that much more fun to subvert.
no subject
A wise man, our Jon.
Jon wondered briefly how the song had anything to do with Twilight, then decided he didn't want to know
...want.
Jon could practically feel his graphics team hyperventilating at the sight.
Lol. Just...lol.
That last section is just...killer. Damn.
no subject
Making fun of YouTube: never not accurate. (Besides, there had to be some comic relief in this.)
no subject
♥ the image of Stephen dancing around happily singing Joan Jett is gorgeous! (tiny typo on "chorus"). Charlene acting tough, yet secretly pleased when Stephen comments on the new muscle in his arms is excellent!
Gel filled condoms as a DIY packer (hmm) reminds me of a movie where a girl stuffs her bra with balloons filled with pudding for a more realistic texture (of course, the pudding would go bad DX)
D: "Adoption? You think they would ever let people like us have kids? ::cries a little:: As an aside, I was more upset about the domestic violence, however minor, than the sex work. Not cool, Char or Stephen.
Jon! You make $100 in your sleep, fork it over!
Ohhh (after reading the next chapter already) Char's version <3 Would so love to hear that!
no subject
...Pudding? Eww. (To say nothing of the fact that it doesn't seem like it would be firm enough...)
Huh. I wouldn't even have thought to call this "domestic violence" - it's just a couple of stressed kids having a shouting match, with a dash of "slap you to snap you out of it"/"instinctive response".
Come to think of it, Jon probably does make $100 in his sleep. From, I don't know, the reruns in Japan or something. X3