Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2013-05-30 02:49 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2013-05-30 02:49 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News | ensemble | PG-13 | Shout*For, chapter 4
Title: Shout*For, chapter 4: Open All Night
Characters/Pairings: "Stephen"/OC, Olivia, Steve, Jon, Jimmy, Mackenzie McHale
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Alcohol, background creeping.
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
Olivia drags Stephen and Steve out for an undercover night on the town. Drinks are had. Action is gotten. Rivalries are set aside. And Stephen inadvertently picks up some essential inspiration (though he scares his friends back home pretty thoroughly in the process).
Dialogue in «angle brackets» is in Italian. Credit topoliticette for the blockquoted text.
Sunny LA.
Jon was actually trying to play Kilborn's script straight today. Just his luck he'd be distracted enough to flub his lines at least once a scene.
Tucker tried to lecture him about it when they took a break. The usual scathing retorts didn't even come to mind. Instead Jon just went "uh-huh" a couple of times, then hauled Jimmy off to a corner of the Shout*For dressing room where they could get some privacy.
"Do you think Stephen has a thing for Olivia?" he blurted.
Jimmy blinked. "No," he said, as matter-of-factly as if Jon had asked whether he thought their predecessor Keith Olbermann would win the 2012 elections. "Why?"
"Oh, good," breathed Jon. "I got some, uh, ambiguous texts from him over lunch, and there was a weird vibe, and...yeah, I was probably freaking out over nothing."
"Probably," agreed Jimmy. "Why, would you be upset if they got together?"
"What? No!" stammered Jon. "It would just be weird, you know? Besides...." He tugged at his collar. "Stephen's basically a ten-year-old at heart, right? I can't even picture him knowing what to do if someone did hit on him, let alone, you know, starting something."
"Yeah, that's true." Jimmy bit his lip. "So...he was texting you? Because he hasn't texted me today."
"Most of what he said to me was complaining, so he probably just didn't want to get you down," said Jon quickly. "Check again. Maybe he sent you something before he went to bed."
Jimmy retrieved his phone, while Jon pulled out his own and tapped in the passcode. "Nothing," sighed Jimmy, while Jon's heart sank. "What about you?"
There were two texts on Jon's screen, dated from about an hour after their conversation had ended:
Stephen*Colbert
fa;lse alarm jon 6this ohter steveis not s0 bad atferall
Stephen*Colbert
did u know tehr are l8ke 20 kindds of vremooth??/
"Nothing," he said to Jimmy, shaking his head. "I'll tell him to get in touch when he wakes up, okay?"
Jon S.
GO HOME - SLEEP - BE SAFE
~*~
Still Venice!
Olivia had no idea what color this couch would be in normal light. As it was, the fabric kept alternating between green and purple, in time with the strobe lights overhead and the zippy techno beat from the dance pit below. (There was another raised platform on the far side with professional, or at least costume-coordinated, dancers, but it was too far off to properly appreciate.)
She had downed two drinks before hitting the floor while waiting for their snacks to arrive. When she got back to their table, there was a plate of some kind of sugar-glazed pretzel-y things waiting, and the boys were still on their first glass each (not counting a few sips from hers for sampling purposes). Also, they were embracing like long-lost brothers and sobbing on each other's shoulders, which, one, was Olivia brilliant or was she brilliant?, and, two, lightweights.
"You guys are adorable!" she yelled over the music, before snapping a photo of the sugar-pretzel-rings for Kristen.
"We have so much in common!" wailed Stephen, wiping his eyes with one hand while hanging by his other arm from Steve's shoulders. To Steve he added. "Do you wanna be my Best Mean Friend?"
"I thought Olivia was your Best Mean Friend!" roared Steve. Cripes, that kid could be loud when he wanted.
"Olivia's my best lady friend!" countered Stephen. "There's a difference!"
Olivia's head hurt. "This is great! Will one of you get your best lady friend a glass of water?" She had brought her own cash, but was mostly letting the guys dole it out, because being young, hot, female, and able to wave around stacks of bills was just a few too many targets to paint on her back.
"Sure!" Steve leaned over the back of their couch, voice carrying as he flagged down a waiter...and yelled something in what as far as Olivia could tell was passable Italian.
A minute later there was a big glass of ice water in her hands, and Stephen was gaping at Steve. "Where did you learn such good not-American?"
"Grandparents!" said Steve with a modest shrug, snagging a handful of not-pretzels. "They didn't come to the US until they were grown up. My dad changed his name from Caroselli. Poppi didn't like it, but what was he gonna do?"
Stephen's eyes were going freshly misty. "My dad wanted to change his name but my grandpa didn't want him to!"
"Really? What to what?" asked Olivia. Was there no one in this business who could keep their names straight?
"Col-bert," said Stephen, pronouncing it the normal way, "to Colbert."
"So exactly the same word but with a French accent?" said Steve. "That's not a real name change!"
Before they could start fighting again, Olivia shoved the menu in front of them. "Are you guys getting any more drinks or what?"
~*~
Everything was beautiful and floaty and happy and Stephen loved everyone in this bar.
"C'mon, Stephen, play along," said Olivia, finally shoving him hard enough that he noticed it. "I'll give you an easy one. Th' girl in the red halter top, or the one with th' tattoos."
"They are both beautiful flowersh a' womanhood," declared Stephen. He was actually seeing four women where Olivia pointed, but trusted her judgment that there were only two. "Can I have another of th' blue ones?"
"No more drinks! Some other time, when we have a car to take you home in if you pass out. Also, the girl in the halter top is obviously hotter, so...ooh."
Stephen squinted. Both of the fine young women in red were making out with the pair of stunning tattooed brunettes.
"Guess it doesn't matter what we think a' them after all!" said Steve, way too loudly. Stephen couldn't tell if it was just his headache, or if Steve was actually yelling everything now. "Besides, th' girl with the green hair is cuter than both of them!"
"That's not her hair color, that's the lights," giggled Olivia. "Steeeephen, you gotta have a favorite. Who's the best dancer right up here on the edge? You can pick anyone."
Well, when she put it like that, it was no contest! Obviously it was the one (two?) Stephen had been trying to watch before she interrupted him with all these stupid questions. He aimed one wobbly finger through the token railing, down into the crowd. "Sleevelesh tank top."
"Ooooh," cooed Olivia. "You like a boy."
"I do not!" wailed Stephen. "I just happened to notish that he has ver' competent motor skillsh!"
"Suuure," singsonged Olivia. "Steve! Go ask the hot guy to dance with Stephen!"
"Which one?"
This was too much hilarity for Olivia to take. She nearly fell over with giggling.
"Not which hot guy!" shouted Steve. "Which guy is hot! I'm actually straight, I don't know these things!"
Olivia gave him some directions which Stephen did not track, as he was too busy grumbling to himself about how he was very straight, geez, it was in his contract and everything. Then Steve was heading for the dance floor — didn't even bother to go around to the stairs, just swung right through the railing — and actually talking to the guy, the amazingly aesthetically pleasing Italian man in the dark sleeveless top and very tight jeans, which Stephen appreciated from a fashion-conscious point of view only.
Aesthetically Pleasing bent his ear to catch Steve's questions, nodded, then turned and looked Stephen right in the eye.
And smiled.
"Go!" hissed Olivia, practically shoving him out of his seat, while Aesthetically Pleasing beckoned Stephen down with one lean, tanned arm.
Stephen wasn't entirely sure how he got down there without falling over. Seemed like the next thing he knew, he and Aesthetically Pleasing were face-to-face, with Pleasing's hips gyrating to the bass in a way Stephen couldn't have replicated in his wildest dreams. «Is this your first time in Italy?»
"I have no idea what you just said!" panted Stephen, trying at least to sway a little. Up this close he could see that Pleasing was maybe an inch taller than him (that was, what, three kilowatts in metric?), with dark eyes, darker curls that were a lot like Jon's, and a dusting of stubble along his highly photogenic jawline.
«Okay, let's try something simpler!» Pleasing tapped Stephen's chest. «American?»
That was more like it. "Yes!" exclaimed Stephen, nodding so hard it made him dizzy. "American! The greatest bestest country on Earth! Not that Italy isn't very good too."
«I would ask if you have a boyfriend back in America,» Pleasing informed him. «But I'm betting you've never even danced with a boy before. Does that sound right, Princess?»
Stephen caught "America" and principessa. "No!" He shook his head while patting himself on the chest. "I'm not the princess!" Now, if he could figure out how to explain that Olivia was the —
Pleasing caught Stephen's waist with one hand and used the other to caress his cheek. "Principessa."
"Mguh," said Stephen, melting against him.
When Pleasing's lips pressed against his, Stephen was pretty sure he started floating.
~*~
Stephen was pretty sure he had died, and was now being forced to walk the earth as a zombie.
His head felt like it had been hit several times with a very large rock, his tongue was about three sizes too big for his mouth, and he managed to walk into every piece of furniture between his bed and the shower. The fact that he got through it all without throwing up was a miracle. One more night like this and he could be canonized after he died.
Cold water helped. But not much.
He was staggering out of the bathroom when there was a sharp knock and a call of "Room service!" Turned out Olivia had ordered coffee on his behalf. The delivery person didn't bat an eyelash to be greeted by a bleary, drippy Stephen wearing nothing but a towel, and he downed a couple of gulps (it tasted like mud) before giving up on the idea and pulling on some clothes. Time to stumble downstairs for orange juice and some carbs.
Olivia left breakfast right after he arrived, only staying long enough to say, "You got the aspirin?" When Stephen stared blankly at her, she palmed him a bit of wrapped paper and grumbled, "Dude, check your phone."
Turned out Stephen had had instructions waiting all along:
<3 Olivia <3
drink the coffee + lots of h2o + some asprin & u will be right as rain
And sure enough, what she'd slipped him was aspirin. Stephen downed it with water and picked at a muffin while checking the other unread text in his queue.
Jon S.
GO HOME - SLEEP - BE SAFE
How had Jon known?
...Oh. There were a couple of texts Stephen didn't remember sending.
He had to rush to makeup, but once he was safely in a chair with someone else working diligently on his coiffure, Stephen tapped in a surreptitious reply.
Stephen*Colbert
not to wory jon i am v. safe
Stephen*Colbert
altho i may just have respawned as a zombie the jury is still out
Stephen*Colbert
dont let jimmy worry
On the bright side, at least Stephen's poorly spelled texts had made no mention of handsome Italian boys, or the kissing thereof. Jon seemed pretty discreet so far, but the fewer people who knew about that embarrassing (amazing) little tidbit, the better.
~*~
The reshoot of the conversation with Steve's character went great. They finally put on a convincing act as friends, all while doing an equally convincing act of people who were not hung over.
Steve and a couple of the other minor characters were swept out of the country later that day, while an adorably tousled Stephen ran into Olivia, now back to Pop Star Olivia in her own place, on the balcony where he and the disguised Princess Olivia had sort-of made out.
"I never wanted to hurt you, Justin!" insisted a heartfelt Pop Star Olivia. "I swear! I...guess I just really wanted to know what it felt like to be a princess."
Stephen was in full soft-voiced, doe-eyed mode. "You were always a princess to me."
They inched (kilowatted?) ever closer....
Make it good, Col-bert. You're great at this, remember? Just imagine it's Pleasing you're moving in on.
But his memory of Pleasing's face was pretty fuzzy by this point, and Pleasing had been taller anyway —
— so it was Jon's face that flashed into his mind —
— Liplock.
The boom camera pulled out, taking a gentle arc around them, while Stephen closed his eyes and thought of Jon.
~*~
"Watch how many grapes I can fit in my mouth!"
It was two sleep-deprived teenagers who had stumbled into opposite chairs for dinner that night, running mostly on caffeine and adrenaline. At least they could pass it off for pride: after four takes on the Big Kiss, the director had called it a wrap, saying they weren't going to get any better shots than the ones already in the can.
(She had a hunch Stephen had been thinking of Hot Italian Guy. As for who Olivia had been picturing...not important. As long as it got the job done.)
After a performance like that, nobody had any grounds to mess with them. Not even to complain about the lack of dignity in Stephen stuffing his cheeks full of grapes, while Olivia snickered and guffawed and was bright red and sweating by the time he maxed out.
"Ga'a phh'phrr!" urged Stephen, shoving his phone at her. After a second Olivia translated get a picture!, poked through the options for a second, and snapped one.
"Look," she added, grabbing a circle of soft crusty bread from the complimentary basket as Stephen coughed grapes all over his plate. She poked her fingers one by one through the fluffy center, then curled her hand into a fist. "Brass knuckles!"
Stephen clapped. Olivia pushed her own phone across the table, fitted her other hand with a slice of bread, and was ready to do a Chun-Li fighter pose with both of them by the time Stephen found the photo settings.
It only got more ridiculous from there. Stephen wedged an apple slice between his cheeks and had Olivia film him breaking into a slow, greenish-yellow grin. Olivia put on Stephen's glasses, wielded a couple of forks, and mimed a virtuoso performance of playing chimes on the edges of their cups of water. Apparently Stephen had a fruit thing going on; he peeled a banana and oh-so-slowly slid his mouth over more than half of it. For her own part, Olivia got her hair full of crumbs trying to achieve Princess Leia buns. When their celebratory slices of pie showed up, Stephen used the spoon to solemnly adorn Olivia with a whipped-cream mustache and goatee. She retaliated by crowning him with the now-empty breadbasket as a stylish hat.
"Can I tell you something? Seriously?" giggled Olivia, as she thumbed the last of the whipped cream off her cheeks. (She'd already licked her plate.) "I was really afraid this whole thing was going to suck without Kristen and Wyatt around, and that I was going to be totally miserable by the end of it. And, well, it did suck not having them around. But I am so not miserable."
"Yes, I know, my presence is a source of joy in the cold, cruel world," preened Stephen. "Hang on while I finish sending these to Jon."
Olivia craned her neck to watch his screen, just in time to see the banana photo transmit.
Huh. Maybe the hot guy from the club wasn't the one Stephen had in mind after all.
~*~
The camera connected to a feed of Stephen alone, not so much as a body part of Olivia to be seen.
"Cannot do movie day tonight," he said sleepily. (Jon was anxiously scanning him for signs of impaired health, but the uneven light plus the flimsy webcam meant you could be an athlete and still come out zombified.) "Probably gonna pass out in a couple minutes without even my pill. Just wanted to say hi. See your pretty faces."
"Good to see you without uncomfortable-looking amounts of fruit in your mouth, Stephen," said Jimmy. "We really have to watch The Lion King, but I know you've seen it a million times, so we could get it out of the way tonight and work on the rest when you get back."
"Hang on," interrupted Jon. "Are you still on the Vaxasopor? How long have you been taking that?"
"Dunno. Since my doctor told me to," shrugged Stephen. "And no, you're not allowed to skip The Lion King! Get Jon up to speed on his Merrie Melodies if you need something to put on."
"I actually have an English paper to write," admitted Jon. "So I would just as soon work on that."
Stephen frowned. "Aren't all your papers in English?"
"No, I mean...." Jon sighed. Not worth it. "It's this critical analysis of Hamlet. Does it make sense when I say it that way?"
"See?" exclaimed Jimmy. "I told you!"
Jon blinked. "What did I say?"
"Oh, fine," huffed Stephen. "You can watch The Lion King. But we're watching it again after we finish the rest of the list."
"Deal," said Jimmy.
"Will somebody tell me what's going on?" pleaded Jon.
It was Stephen who answered. "The Lion King is Hamlet if they all had fur. The deceptive and murderous uncle, the young prince struggling with his sense of responsibility to family and country versus his own tragic flaw of indecision, the poetic justice in the way the villains' methods of betrayal ultimately come full circle. Granted, the heroes are way better at cooperating in the Disney version, which is what leads it to ultimately come out as a romance — in the classical sense — rather than a tragedy. That's something you could analyze, though, right? Also Claudius is the one who mopes to a skull, and there's one scene where Rosencrantz hula dances, but you can't get distracted by the little details."
Jon stared.
Stephen's smirk was no less smug for being washed-out and in low-res. "Just because I never finished the eighth grade doesn't mean I'm dumb."
~*~
When Olivia got to her trailer in the morning, her manager, the apparently-disorganized executive savant MacKenzie McHale, shooed the wardrobe and makeup crew out. "Yes, thank you, won't be a minute, I need a short meeting with my client."
"Am I in trouble?" asked Olivia.
"Of course you're not in trouble!" said Mac, then pressed her lips together and made another futile attempt to re-bun all her flyaway hair. "I shouldn't say that. You are not in any trouble that cannot be managed." She broke into a wide smile. It faltered. "Probably."
Before Olivia could start cataloging all the potential trouble she was in by level of severity and nature of excuse, they were joined by Stephen, escorted by Ned...whose arm was around Stephen's waist, in a totally gratuitous way. Olivia stood by her earlier judgment. Ned was way creepy.
The two actors were planted on one side of a table, Ned and Mac took up seats on the other, and from somewhere Mac whipped out a perfectly crisp sheet of paper. (This was the same woman who only managed to do up her shirt buttons in the right holes about 75% of the time. See? Savant.) "I'd like you to read this, please, and tell me what you think."
She slid it across the table, revealing a printout of a blog entry with the banner of an iconic gossip site across the top, and a block of highlighted text in the middle:
"I think it's fantastic," said Olivia. "Great to see the Mouse finally taking up the banner of tolerance. Granted, it might be a stretch for Stephen, but I think he can handle it."
Ned stared. "What are you talking about?"
Olivia frowned. "Is this not the pitch for our next movie?"
Mac facepalmed. With both hands.
"Young lady, it is not cheap to be here in the first place, and definitely not cheap enough for us to sit around while you play games," said Ned, before turning on Stephen. "Is this a genuine sighting of the two of you?"
"Nope," said Stephen.
"Definitely not," said Olivia.
"I mean, it can't be," added Stephen, confidently. "Because Steve was with us, and this doesn't even mention him."
Now the managers were both staring.
"With us in a hotel room," added Olivia, with as much derision as she could manage while making up BS on the fly. "We spent the evening watching a movie. Long-distance syncing with Stephen's co-stars. You can call Jon Stewart and Jimmy Fallon if you want collaboration."
"Oh," said Mac, deflating, before Ned could voice his clear disbelief. Then she frowned. "Wait. This doesn't mention a date. How would you know it was from the evening you watched the movie?"
"Well," began Olivia, and promptly blanked.
"Could it have been the evening before all three of you made call time with bloodshot eyes and pounding headaches?" suggested Ned.
"There's a very good explanation for that!" protested Stephen.
"Uh-huh."
"No, no, I'm sure I can think of one," insisted Stephen. "Give me a minute."
Olivia groaned. Yeah, they were sunk.
Ned covered Stephen's hand with one of his own, making Stephen visibly tense and Olivia wish for something to throw at him. "Stephen. Buddy. Remember the talk we had about you making trouble?"
"This will not be trouble," said Mac firmly. "We won't let it. We have plans for this sort of thing! First up: distraction. The press is going to get some lovely photos of the two of you having lunch this afternoon, in a very sober and not overly sexual —"
"Mac," interrupted Ned, still touching Stephen. "We talked about this. This is a Plan D situation."
On someone who wasn't a grown woman, Mac's expression would have been called a pout. "Must we?"
Ned nodded.
"Oh, I suppose we must." Mac turned back to the two of them, and went back to that kind of smile that was not encouraging at all. "Congratulations!"
"Oh my god what are you doing to us," said Olivia.
"Absolutely nothing," said Mac brightly. "In about a month, in response to public speculation and with absolutely no prodding from your management, the two of you are going to admit that you've been dating."
Characters/Pairings: "Stephen"/OC, Olivia, Steve, Jon, Jimmy, Mackenzie McHale
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Alcohol, background creeping.
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
Olivia drags Stephen and Steve out for an undercover night on the town. Drinks are had. Action is gotten. Rivalries are set aside. And Stephen inadvertently picks up some essential inspiration (though he scares his friends back home pretty thoroughly in the process).
Dialogue in «angle brackets» is in Italian. Credit to
politicette for the blockquoted text.Jon was actually trying to play Kilborn's script straight today. Just his luck he'd be distracted enough to flub his lines at least once a scene.
Tucker tried to lecture him about it when they took a break. The usual scathing retorts didn't even come to mind. Instead Jon just went "uh-huh" a couple of times, then hauled Jimmy off to a corner of the Shout*For dressing room where they could get some privacy.
"Do you think Stephen has a thing for Olivia?" he blurted.
Jimmy blinked. "No," he said, as matter-of-factly as if Jon had asked whether he thought their predecessor Keith Olbermann would win the 2012 elections. "Why?"
"Oh, good," breathed Jon. "I got some, uh, ambiguous texts from him over lunch, and there was a weird vibe, and...yeah, I was probably freaking out over nothing."
"Probably," agreed Jimmy. "Why, would you be upset if they got together?"
"What? No!" stammered Jon. "It would just be weird, you know? Besides...." He tugged at his collar. "Stephen's basically a ten-year-old at heart, right? I can't even picture him knowing what to do if someone did hit on him, let alone, you know, starting something."
"Yeah, that's true." Jimmy bit his lip. "So...he was texting you? Because he hasn't texted me today."
"Most of what he said to me was complaining, so he probably just didn't want to get you down," said Jon quickly. "Check again. Maybe he sent you something before he went to bed."
Jimmy retrieved his phone, while Jon pulled out his own and tapped in the passcode. "Nothing," sighed Jimmy, while Jon's heart sank. "What about you?"
There were two texts on Jon's screen, dated from about an hour after their conversation had ended:
Stephen*Colbert
fa;lse alarm jon 6this ohter steveis not s0 bad atferall
Stephen*Colbert
did u know tehr are l8ke 20 kindds of vremooth??/
"Nothing," he said to Jimmy, shaking his head. "I'll tell him to get in touch when he wakes up, okay?"
Jon S.
GO HOME - SLEEP - BE SAFE
~*~
Olivia had no idea what color this couch would be in normal light. As it was, the fabric kept alternating between green and purple, in time with the strobe lights overhead and the zippy techno beat from the dance pit below. (There was another raised platform on the far side with professional, or at least costume-coordinated, dancers, but it was too far off to properly appreciate.)
She had downed two drinks before hitting the floor while waiting for their snacks to arrive. When she got back to their table, there was a plate of some kind of sugar-glazed pretzel-y things waiting, and the boys were still on their first glass each (not counting a few sips from hers for sampling purposes). Also, they were embracing like long-lost brothers and sobbing on each other's shoulders, which, one, was Olivia brilliant or was she brilliant?, and, two, lightweights.
"You guys are adorable!" she yelled over the music, before snapping a photo of the sugar-pretzel-rings for Kristen.
"We have so much in common!" wailed Stephen, wiping his eyes with one hand while hanging by his other arm from Steve's shoulders. To Steve he added. "Do you wanna be my Best Mean Friend?"
"I thought Olivia was your Best Mean Friend!" roared Steve. Cripes, that kid could be loud when he wanted.
"Olivia's my best lady friend!" countered Stephen. "There's a difference!"
Olivia's head hurt. "This is great! Will one of you get your best lady friend a glass of water?" She had brought her own cash, but was mostly letting the guys dole it out, because being young, hot, female, and able to wave around stacks of bills was just a few too many targets to paint on her back.
"Sure!" Steve leaned over the back of their couch, voice carrying as he flagged down a waiter...and yelled something in what as far as Olivia could tell was passable Italian.
A minute later there was a big glass of ice water in her hands, and Stephen was gaping at Steve. "Where did you learn such good not-American?"
"Grandparents!" said Steve with a modest shrug, snagging a handful of not-pretzels. "They didn't come to the US until they were grown up. My dad changed his name from Caroselli. Poppi didn't like it, but what was he gonna do?"
Stephen's eyes were going freshly misty. "My dad wanted to change his name but my grandpa didn't want him to!"
"Really? What to what?" asked Olivia. Was there no one in this business who could keep their names straight?
"Col-bert," said Stephen, pronouncing it the normal way, "to Colbert."
"So exactly the same word but with a French accent?" said Steve. "That's not a real name change!"
Before they could start fighting again, Olivia shoved the menu in front of them. "Are you guys getting any more drinks or what?"
~*~
Everything was beautiful and floaty and happy and Stephen loved everyone in this bar.
"C'mon, Stephen, play along," said Olivia, finally shoving him hard enough that he noticed it. "I'll give you an easy one. Th' girl in the red halter top, or the one with th' tattoos."
"They are both beautiful flowersh a' womanhood," declared Stephen. He was actually seeing four women where Olivia pointed, but trusted her judgment that there were only two. "Can I have another of th' blue ones?"
"No more drinks! Some other time, when we have a car to take you home in if you pass out. Also, the girl in the halter top is obviously hotter, so...ooh."
Stephen squinted. Both of the fine young women in red were making out with the pair of stunning tattooed brunettes.
"Guess it doesn't matter what we think a' them after all!" said Steve, way too loudly. Stephen couldn't tell if it was just his headache, or if Steve was actually yelling everything now. "Besides, th' girl with the green hair is cuter than both of them!"
"That's not her hair color, that's the lights," giggled Olivia. "Steeeephen, you gotta have a favorite. Who's the best dancer right up here on the edge? You can pick anyone."
Well, when she put it like that, it was no contest! Obviously it was the one (two?) Stephen had been trying to watch before she interrupted him with all these stupid questions. He aimed one wobbly finger through the token railing, down into the crowd. "Sleevelesh tank top."
"Ooooh," cooed Olivia. "You like a boy."
"I do not!" wailed Stephen. "I just happened to notish that he has ver' competent motor skillsh!"
"Suuure," singsonged Olivia. "Steve! Go ask the hot guy to dance with Stephen!"
"Which one?"
This was too much hilarity for Olivia to take. She nearly fell over with giggling.
"Not which hot guy!" shouted Steve. "Which guy is hot! I'm actually straight, I don't know these things!"
Olivia gave him some directions which Stephen did not track, as he was too busy grumbling to himself about how he was very straight, geez, it was in his contract and everything. Then Steve was heading for the dance floor — didn't even bother to go around to the stairs, just swung right through the railing — and actually talking to the guy, the amazingly aesthetically pleasing Italian man in the dark sleeveless top and very tight jeans, which Stephen appreciated from a fashion-conscious point of view only.
Aesthetically Pleasing bent his ear to catch Steve's questions, nodded, then turned and looked Stephen right in the eye.
And smiled.
"Go!" hissed Olivia, practically shoving him out of his seat, while Aesthetically Pleasing beckoned Stephen down with one lean, tanned arm.
Stephen wasn't entirely sure how he got down there without falling over. Seemed like the next thing he knew, he and Aesthetically Pleasing were face-to-face, with Pleasing's hips gyrating to the bass in a way Stephen couldn't have replicated in his wildest dreams. «Is this your first time in Italy?»
"I have no idea what you just said!" panted Stephen, trying at least to sway a little. Up this close he could see that Pleasing was maybe an inch taller than him (that was, what, three kilowatts in metric?), with dark eyes, darker curls that were a lot like Jon's, and a dusting of stubble along his highly photogenic jawline.
«Okay, let's try something simpler!» Pleasing tapped Stephen's chest. «American?»
That was more like it. "Yes!" exclaimed Stephen, nodding so hard it made him dizzy. "American! The greatest bestest country on Earth! Not that Italy isn't very good too."
«I would ask if you have a boyfriend back in America,» Pleasing informed him. «But I'm betting you've never even danced with a boy before. Does that sound right, Princess?»
Stephen caught "America" and principessa. "No!" He shook his head while patting himself on the chest. "I'm not the princess!" Now, if he could figure out how to explain that Olivia was the —
Pleasing caught Stephen's waist with one hand and used the other to caress his cheek. "Principessa."
"Mguh," said Stephen, melting against him.
When Pleasing's lips pressed against his, Stephen was pretty sure he started floating.
~*~
Stephen was pretty sure he had died, and was now being forced to walk the earth as a zombie.
His head felt like it had been hit several times with a very large rock, his tongue was about three sizes too big for his mouth, and he managed to walk into every piece of furniture between his bed and the shower. The fact that he got through it all without throwing up was a miracle. One more night like this and he could be canonized after he died.
Cold water helped. But not much.
He was staggering out of the bathroom when there was a sharp knock and a call of "Room service!" Turned out Olivia had ordered coffee on his behalf. The delivery person didn't bat an eyelash to be greeted by a bleary, drippy Stephen wearing nothing but a towel, and he downed a couple of gulps (it tasted like mud) before giving up on the idea and pulling on some clothes. Time to stumble downstairs for orange juice and some carbs.
Olivia left breakfast right after he arrived, only staying long enough to say, "You got the aspirin?" When Stephen stared blankly at her, she palmed him a bit of wrapped paper and grumbled, "Dude, check your phone."
Turned out Stephen had had instructions waiting all along:
<3 Olivia <3
drink the coffee + lots of h2o + some asprin & u will be right as rain
And sure enough, what she'd slipped him was aspirin. Stephen downed it with water and picked at a muffin while checking the other unread text in his queue.
Jon S.
GO HOME - SLEEP - BE SAFE
How had Jon known?
...Oh. There were a couple of texts Stephen didn't remember sending.
He had to rush to makeup, but once he was safely in a chair with someone else working diligently on his coiffure, Stephen tapped in a surreptitious reply.
Stephen*Colbert
not to wory jon i am v. safe
Stephen*Colbert
altho i may just have respawned as a zombie the jury is still out
Stephen*Colbert
dont let jimmy worry
On the bright side, at least Stephen's poorly spelled texts had made no mention of handsome Italian boys, or the kissing thereof. Jon seemed pretty discreet so far, but the fewer people who knew about that embarrassing (amazing) little tidbit, the better.
~*~
The reshoot of the conversation with Steve's character went great. They finally put on a convincing act as friends, all while doing an equally convincing act of people who were not hung over.
Steve and a couple of the other minor characters were swept out of the country later that day, while an adorably tousled Stephen ran into Olivia, now back to Pop Star Olivia in her own place, on the balcony where he and the disguised Princess Olivia had sort-of made out.
"I never wanted to hurt you, Justin!" insisted a heartfelt Pop Star Olivia. "I swear! I...guess I just really wanted to know what it felt like to be a princess."
Stephen was in full soft-voiced, doe-eyed mode. "You were always a princess to me."
They inched (kilowatted?) ever closer....
Make it good, Col-bert. You're great at this, remember? Just imagine it's Pleasing you're moving in on.
But his memory of Pleasing's face was pretty fuzzy by this point, and Pleasing had been taller anyway —
— so it was Jon's face that flashed into his mind —
— Liplock.
The boom camera pulled out, taking a gentle arc around them, while Stephen closed his eyes and thought of Jon.
~*~
"Watch how many grapes I can fit in my mouth!"
It was two sleep-deprived teenagers who had stumbled into opposite chairs for dinner that night, running mostly on caffeine and adrenaline. At least they could pass it off for pride: after four takes on the Big Kiss, the director had called it a wrap, saying they weren't going to get any better shots than the ones already in the can.
(She had a hunch Stephen had been thinking of Hot Italian Guy. As for who Olivia had been picturing...not important. As long as it got the job done.)
After a performance like that, nobody had any grounds to mess with them. Not even to complain about the lack of dignity in Stephen stuffing his cheeks full of grapes, while Olivia snickered and guffawed and was bright red and sweating by the time he maxed out.
"Ga'a phh'phrr!" urged Stephen, shoving his phone at her. After a second Olivia translated get a picture!, poked through the options for a second, and snapped one.
"Look," she added, grabbing a circle of soft crusty bread from the complimentary basket as Stephen coughed grapes all over his plate. She poked her fingers one by one through the fluffy center, then curled her hand into a fist. "Brass knuckles!"
Stephen clapped. Olivia pushed her own phone across the table, fitted her other hand with a slice of bread, and was ready to do a Chun-Li fighter pose with both of them by the time Stephen found the photo settings.
It only got more ridiculous from there. Stephen wedged an apple slice between his cheeks and had Olivia film him breaking into a slow, greenish-yellow grin. Olivia put on Stephen's glasses, wielded a couple of forks, and mimed a virtuoso performance of playing chimes on the edges of their cups of water. Apparently Stephen had a fruit thing going on; he peeled a banana and oh-so-slowly slid his mouth over more than half of it. For her own part, Olivia got her hair full of crumbs trying to achieve Princess Leia buns. When their celebratory slices of pie showed up, Stephen used the spoon to solemnly adorn Olivia with a whipped-cream mustache and goatee. She retaliated by crowning him with the now-empty breadbasket as a stylish hat.
"Can I tell you something? Seriously?" giggled Olivia, as she thumbed the last of the whipped cream off her cheeks. (She'd already licked her plate.) "I was really afraid this whole thing was going to suck without Kristen and Wyatt around, and that I was going to be totally miserable by the end of it. And, well, it did suck not having them around. But I am so not miserable."
"Yes, I know, my presence is a source of joy in the cold, cruel world," preened Stephen. "Hang on while I finish sending these to Jon."
Olivia craned her neck to watch his screen, just in time to see the banana photo transmit.
Huh. Maybe the hot guy from the club wasn't the one Stephen had in mind after all.
~*~
The camera connected to a feed of Stephen alone, not so much as a body part of Olivia to be seen.
"Cannot do movie day tonight," he said sleepily. (Jon was anxiously scanning him for signs of impaired health, but the uneven light plus the flimsy webcam meant you could be an athlete and still come out zombified.) "Probably gonna pass out in a couple minutes without even my pill. Just wanted to say hi. See your pretty faces."
"Good to see you without uncomfortable-looking amounts of fruit in your mouth, Stephen," said Jimmy. "We really have to watch The Lion King, but I know you've seen it a million times, so we could get it out of the way tonight and work on the rest when you get back."
"Hang on," interrupted Jon. "Are you still on the Vaxasopor? How long have you been taking that?"
"Dunno. Since my doctor told me to," shrugged Stephen. "And no, you're not allowed to skip The Lion King! Get Jon up to speed on his Merrie Melodies if you need something to put on."
"I actually have an English paper to write," admitted Jon. "So I would just as soon work on that."
Stephen frowned. "Aren't all your papers in English?"
"No, I mean...." Jon sighed. Not worth it. "It's this critical analysis of Hamlet. Does it make sense when I say it that way?"
"See?" exclaimed Jimmy. "I told you!"
Jon blinked. "What did I say?"
"Oh, fine," huffed Stephen. "You can watch The Lion King. But we're watching it again after we finish the rest of the list."
"Deal," said Jimmy.
"Will somebody tell me what's going on?" pleaded Jon.
It was Stephen who answered. "The Lion King is Hamlet if they all had fur. The deceptive and murderous uncle, the young prince struggling with his sense of responsibility to family and country versus his own tragic flaw of indecision, the poetic justice in the way the villains' methods of betrayal ultimately come full circle. Granted, the heroes are way better at cooperating in the Disney version, which is what leads it to ultimately come out as a romance — in the classical sense — rather than a tragedy. That's something you could analyze, though, right? Also Claudius is the one who mopes to a skull, and there's one scene where Rosencrantz hula dances, but you can't get distracted by the little details."
Jon stared.
Stephen's smirk was no less smug for being washed-out and in low-res. "Just because I never finished the eighth grade doesn't mean I'm dumb."
~*~
When Olivia got to her trailer in the morning, her manager, the apparently-disorganized executive savant MacKenzie McHale, shooed the wardrobe and makeup crew out. "Yes, thank you, won't be a minute, I need a short meeting with my client."
"Am I in trouble?" asked Olivia.
"Of course you're not in trouble!" said Mac, then pressed her lips together and made another futile attempt to re-bun all her flyaway hair. "I shouldn't say that. You are not in any trouble that cannot be managed." She broke into a wide smile. It faltered. "Probably."
Before Olivia could start cataloging all the potential trouble she was in by level of severity and nature of excuse, they were joined by Stephen, escorted by Ned...whose arm was around Stephen's waist, in a totally gratuitous way. Olivia stood by her earlier judgment. Ned was way creepy.
The two actors were planted on one side of a table, Ned and Mac took up seats on the other, and from somewhere Mac whipped out a perfectly crisp sheet of paper. (This was the same woman who only managed to do up her shirt buttons in the right holes about 75% of the time. See? Savant.) "I'd like you to read this, please, and tell me what you think."
She slid it across the table, revealing a printout of a blog entry with the banner of an iconic gossip site across the top, and a block of highlighted text in the middle:
Tween girls take notice! This on-screen power couple may not be a squeaky-clean as they appear. The duo spent an evening drinking and dancing in the exotic city in which their latest project makes its home. But while she seemed content to sit back and watch, he was spotted locking lips — and hips — with one of the local boys.
"I think it's fantastic," said Olivia. "Great to see the Mouse finally taking up the banner of tolerance. Granted, it might be a stretch for Stephen, but I think he can handle it."
Ned stared. "What are you talking about?"
Olivia frowned. "Is this not the pitch for our next movie?"
Mac facepalmed. With both hands.
"Young lady, it is not cheap to be here in the first place, and definitely not cheap enough for us to sit around while you play games," said Ned, before turning on Stephen. "Is this a genuine sighting of the two of you?"
"Nope," said Stephen.
"Definitely not," said Olivia.
"I mean, it can't be," added Stephen, confidently. "Because Steve was with us, and this doesn't even mention him."
Now the managers were both staring.
"With us in a hotel room," added Olivia, with as much derision as she could manage while making up BS on the fly. "We spent the evening watching a movie. Long-distance syncing with Stephen's co-stars. You can call Jon Stewart and Jimmy Fallon if you want collaboration."
"Oh," said Mac, deflating, before Ned could voice his clear disbelief. Then she frowned. "Wait. This doesn't mention a date. How would you know it was from the evening you watched the movie?"
"Well," began Olivia, and promptly blanked.
"Could it have been the evening before all three of you made call time with bloodshot eyes and pounding headaches?" suggested Ned.
"There's a very good explanation for that!" protested Stephen.
"Uh-huh."
"No, no, I'm sure I can think of one," insisted Stephen. "Give me a minute."
Olivia groaned. Yeah, they were sunk.
Ned covered Stephen's hand with one of his own, making Stephen visibly tense and Olivia wish for something to throw at him. "Stephen. Buddy. Remember the talk we had about you making trouble?"
"This will not be trouble," said Mac firmly. "We won't let it. We have plans for this sort of thing! First up: distraction. The press is going to get some lovely photos of the two of you having lunch this afternoon, in a very sober and not overly sexual —"
"Mac," interrupted Ned, still touching Stephen. "We talked about this. This is a Plan D situation."
On someone who wasn't a grown woman, Mac's expression would have been called a pout. "Must we?"
Ned nodded.
"Oh, I suppose we must." Mac turned back to the two of them, and went back to that kind of smile that was not encouraging at all. "Congratulations!"
"Oh my god what are you doing to us," said Olivia.
"Absolutely nothing," said Mac brightly. "In about a month, in response to public speculation and with absolutely no prodding from your management, the two of you are going to admit that you've been dating."
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Only the finest for Princess Stephen =3
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(Anonymous) 2013-06-03 06:30 am (UTC)(link)I thought the "kilowatts" aside was brilliant the first time, but its second mention blew the first out of the water, it was that great.
Perhaps I'm overanalyzing the dance with Aesthetically Pleasing too much, but: this version of Stephen seems to be less defensive about his sexuality than most versions. That is to say, he doesn't seem to be constantly vigilant about maintaining a (tenuous) heterosexual facade while blaming his feelings on anything but himself -- the Gay Agenda, baby carrots, etc. It seems to me this version of Stephen didn't require that much convincing before he was grinding with a handsome stranger, whereas most versions of him in fic would probably have screamed nononononono, no, no no!!! to drown out how he secretly felt deep down. And later he just thinks it's embarrassing, rather than a more extreme reaction, like anger or even just denying that it ever happened. But maybe it was because he was drunk, so his guard was down? Or he's young so he's had less time to internalize homophobia?
This comment was far longer than originally intended. Now back to lurking.
~ A. Fann
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This Stephen is definitely less defensive. Part of it is because he's young, and hasn't built up major things like a marriage and kids on top of a facade of heterosexualty. But the biggest thing is that he's modern -- in-fic time is currently 2011, and he's 15. Same-sex marriage came to MA when he was only 8; he's grown up in an era full of happily, successfully out LGBT celebrities; more of his acquaintances are gay-friendly than not. He's never had to marinate in that pervading atmosphere of "if you're gay you will be rejected and unloved and have no success and die alone."
Plus, there are a bunch of traits canon!Stephen would have felt the need to repress just becaue they're stereotypical of gay guys, and would have made people suspicious. Whereas Shout*For!Stephen is free to openly love fashion and musical theater, to be kind of swishy and femme-y at times, to show non-anger emotions. It still makes plenty of people raise their eyebrows, but he's in no danger of turning into a pariah over it, because it isn't such a radical departure from how he's expected to be anyway.
He still has some pressing reasons to stay closeted, namely his Disney contract and his father's approval. But he isn't very motivated to deny it to himself.
And yeah, the drinking made a difference in how relaxed he was about the gay stuff in this chapter, but it also helped that Olivia and Steve were both unsurprised and supportive when the idea came up. He only avoids telling Jon because he's afraid of the news getting back to their bosses, not because he has any doubts that Jon will be cool with it. (Shocking spoiler alert: Jon will be.) As indicated in the start of the chapter, Jimmy already knows. This Stephen won't be forced to develop the canon character's intense vigilance in the first place, growing up with an ever-widening circle of friends with whom he doesn't need to be afraid at all.
Delurk moar! I'd love more excuses to talk about this story =D