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Entry tags:
Mist - Actor/Actress AU
Gokudera looks upon the stupid shitshow of a scene that's right there before him in front of his very eyes, and recalls the promise he once made to Director Tsuna once upon a time on how he really would quit smoking. Bad for the health, for starters, and he wanted his cameraman to be doing films with him for a long time. And anyway, they'd probably get complaints from enough big wigs in the industry if someone or enough someones complained about it.
It's just that he thinks that the lead actress for this stupid movie and one half of their costume team might be about to throw down in some sort of stupid sumo match, both their hands locked together and feet digging into the ground.
Fucking god damn, he regrets giving up smoking. And liquor. And never associating with fucking morons like this. Feeling a headache coming on, if it hasn't already set up shop in his skull already, he whirls onto the other remaining half of their costume team. "You," he hisses at the lead makeup artist. "What the fuck are you doing just sitting there when those morons look like they're going to cause a paparazzi incident!?"
Chikusa barely bothers to look up at him, because he's a lazy piece of shit whose very existence seems fated to grate against Gokudera's nerves. There's only a vague twitch of his eyes to indicate that he's even paying a single bit of attention to him. "Getting in the middle of that... That just seems like way too much trouble."
Too much fucking trouble - Gokudera points an offending finger over at where M.M. and Haru are hissing at each other, looking for all intents and purposes as though they're going to erupt into a cat fight. "And either of those two getting injured from some stupid fight ISN'T going to be troublesome!?" he snarls, feeling a vein close to popping. "We had to practically sell body parts just to get her to sign on for this film!" And he wouldn't say it, but when it comes to costumes and practical effects, Haru is one of the best in the business. People would kill for her, but she's too dedicated to Tsuna's works to run off on him. "What are the two of them even arguing about!?"
It is only through year upon unfortunate year of working with Chikusa that he can finally recognize the slow drift of his gaze isn't him ignoring him (this time) but the other man thinking back in an attempt at recollection. If he actually gave enough of a shit to pay attention is another matter entirely.
At last, he stirs a bit. "I think... it had to do with costuming choices," he says at last. "M.M. already didn't like that she wasn't really consulted about any particular choices... and then when she saw what Haru had in mind, she threw a fit."
God. Just shoot him down right the fuck now. Gokudera drags his hands down his face. Who in the studio smokes? Who could he steal a cigarette from? "And of course Miura got insulted that her artistic vision was being infringed upon... What a pair of morons. Why does this entire field have to be so full of entitled and dramatic idiots!?"
"...What did you expect from career paths that all start out from artsy bullshit and the need to be in the spotlight all the time...?"
Chikusa has a point, but Gokudera would rather swallow a lit cigarette than ever admit that. "Well we're going to have to stop them before we have to deal with losing her, or publicity bullshit, or any other kind of fuckery that I just do not have the time for," he snaps, running his fingers through his hair. He's lucky it's already fucking gray, or else this line of work would probably make him go premature. Last thing he needs is running commentary on that shit.
Another dead eyed stare is leveled his way. "...Who is 'we' exactly..."
Stupid fucking Kokuyo Costuming. Getting them to do shit outside of their actual jobs is like trying to fly with rock wings. Gokudera tries to remember what he can of his Catholic school upbringing before he ran away to be gay and in the movie business, if just to find some applicable saint that might help give him strength in a situation like this. They could get pretty specific; he's positive he could find one.
Nothing comes immediately to mind. Then again, he's kind of more focused on trying just to breathe instead of causing an arson incident from finally torching the whole set to the ground. "Both of us," he stresses to Chikusa, glaring at him. "And if that just means me tossing your stupid corpse right at both of them to make them knock it off-"
"I will spike your coffee with rat poison."
"Then that's just what I'll do!" He smacks his hand through the air empathetically, just to make a point.
Chikusa doesn't seem particularly impressed, but Gokudera has never seen him be impressed by anything in the entire time they've known each other. The fucking Holy Ghost could waltz into their studio, and he'd have no reaction besides maybe tugging his beanie down over his glasses so that he could go to sleep without the glow of the divine blinding him through his eyelids. "Don't touch me," he says flatly, before his gaze slowly shifts away from Gokudera. This is just in time for the sound of the yells to rise, and Gokudera jerks his head over to the pair of stupid yelling divas. "Anyway, I think they'll get it sorted out anyway..."
It's Haru who's made the first bit of escalation, her hands fisting in the front of M.M.'s jacket as she gets right in front of the other girl's face. M.M., matching that fiery intensity, has her lips drawn back in a snarl just like her hand is drawn back in preparation for a smack.
Gokudera tries to make a decision in a split second on what he really can throw - his clipboard? Tablet? A lighter aimed right at the eye? - when Haru drags M.M. forward and smashes her lips against the redhead's.
"What the fuck," he says, tone almost matching Chikusa's for flatness.
Not one to be beat, M.M. pushes Haru forward until her back hits the makeup station. Neither of them stop kissing. Gokudera kind of feels like they should stop kissing. "There, problem solved," Chikusa mutters, leaning back in his cheap folding chair and rolling his head back. "Give them five minutes."
Gokudera isn't entirely sure if he wants to waste five more minutes letting two morons make out on the make up. He also isn't entirely sure he wants to get in the middle of whatever bullshit is happening in front of him.
No one tells you about this kind of shit in film school.
While he's dragging his hands down his face, making a sort of guttural rattle, Chikusa makes a small noise of some vague interest. "...I'm stressed." He does not sound at all fucking stressed. He doesn't sound even a drop of the kind of stress Gokudera is feeling right this very second. "Wanna make out?"
Gokudera lets his hands finish their slow descent down his face, as though he might pry his own eyelids down far enough that his eyeballs might collapse and he can take sick leave.
"...Fuck it, sure."
It's just that he thinks that the lead actress for this stupid movie and one half of their costume team might be about to throw down in some sort of stupid sumo match, both their hands locked together and feet digging into the ground.
Fucking god damn, he regrets giving up smoking. And liquor. And never associating with fucking morons like this. Feeling a headache coming on, if it hasn't already set up shop in his skull already, he whirls onto the other remaining half of their costume team. "You," he hisses at the lead makeup artist. "What the fuck are you doing just sitting there when those morons look like they're going to cause a paparazzi incident!?"
Chikusa barely bothers to look up at him, because he's a lazy piece of shit whose very existence seems fated to grate against Gokudera's nerves. There's only a vague twitch of his eyes to indicate that he's even paying a single bit of attention to him. "Getting in the middle of that... That just seems like way too much trouble."
Too much fucking trouble - Gokudera points an offending finger over at where M.M. and Haru are hissing at each other, looking for all intents and purposes as though they're going to erupt into a cat fight. "And either of those two getting injured from some stupid fight ISN'T going to be troublesome!?" he snarls, feeling a vein close to popping. "We had to practically sell body parts just to get her to sign on for this film!" And he wouldn't say it, but when it comes to costumes and practical effects, Haru is one of the best in the business. People would kill for her, but she's too dedicated to Tsuna's works to run off on him. "What are the two of them even arguing about!?"
It is only through year upon unfortunate year of working with Chikusa that he can finally recognize the slow drift of his gaze isn't him ignoring him (this time) but the other man thinking back in an attempt at recollection. If he actually gave enough of a shit to pay attention is another matter entirely.
At last, he stirs a bit. "I think... it had to do with costuming choices," he says at last. "M.M. already didn't like that she wasn't really consulted about any particular choices... and then when she saw what Haru had in mind, she threw a fit."
God. Just shoot him down right the fuck now. Gokudera drags his hands down his face. Who in the studio smokes? Who could he steal a cigarette from? "And of course Miura got insulted that her artistic vision was being infringed upon... What a pair of morons. Why does this entire field have to be so full of entitled and dramatic idiots!?"
"...What did you expect from career paths that all start out from artsy bullshit and the need to be in the spotlight all the time...?"
Chikusa has a point, but Gokudera would rather swallow a lit cigarette than ever admit that. "Well we're going to have to stop them before we have to deal with losing her, or publicity bullshit, or any other kind of fuckery that I just do not have the time for," he snaps, running his fingers through his hair. He's lucky it's already fucking gray, or else this line of work would probably make him go premature. Last thing he needs is running commentary on that shit.
Another dead eyed stare is leveled his way. "...Who is 'we' exactly..."
Stupid fucking Kokuyo Costuming. Getting them to do shit outside of their actual jobs is like trying to fly with rock wings. Gokudera tries to remember what he can of his Catholic school upbringing before he ran away to be gay and in the movie business, if just to find some applicable saint that might help give him strength in a situation like this. They could get pretty specific; he's positive he could find one.
Nothing comes immediately to mind. Then again, he's kind of more focused on trying just to breathe instead of causing an arson incident from finally torching the whole set to the ground. "Both of us," he stresses to Chikusa, glaring at him. "And if that just means me tossing your stupid corpse right at both of them to make them knock it off-"
"I will spike your coffee with rat poison."
"Then that's just what I'll do!" He smacks his hand through the air empathetically, just to make a point.
Chikusa doesn't seem particularly impressed, but Gokudera has never seen him be impressed by anything in the entire time they've known each other. The fucking Holy Ghost could waltz into their studio, and he'd have no reaction besides maybe tugging his beanie down over his glasses so that he could go to sleep without the glow of the divine blinding him through his eyelids. "Don't touch me," he says flatly, before his gaze slowly shifts away from Gokudera. This is just in time for the sound of the yells to rise, and Gokudera jerks his head over to the pair of stupid yelling divas. "Anyway, I think they'll get it sorted out anyway..."
It's Haru who's made the first bit of escalation, her hands fisting in the front of M.M.'s jacket as she gets right in front of the other girl's face. M.M., matching that fiery intensity, has her lips drawn back in a snarl just like her hand is drawn back in preparation for a smack.
Gokudera tries to make a decision in a split second on what he really can throw - his clipboard? Tablet? A lighter aimed right at the eye? - when Haru drags M.M. forward and smashes her lips against the redhead's.
"What the fuck," he says, tone almost matching Chikusa's for flatness.
Not one to be beat, M.M. pushes Haru forward until her back hits the makeup station. Neither of them stop kissing. Gokudera kind of feels like they should stop kissing. "There, problem solved," Chikusa mutters, leaning back in his cheap folding chair and rolling his head back. "Give them five minutes."
Gokudera isn't entirely sure if he wants to waste five more minutes letting two morons make out on the make up. He also isn't entirely sure he wants to get in the middle of whatever bullshit is happening in front of him.
No one tells you about this kind of shit in film school.
While he's dragging his hands down his face, making a sort of guttural rattle, Chikusa makes a small noise of some vague interest. "...I'm stressed." He does not sound at all fucking stressed. He doesn't sound even a drop of the kind of stress Gokudera is feeling right this very second. "Wanna make out?"
Gokudera lets his hands finish their slow descent down his face, as though he might pry his own eyelids down far enough that his eyeballs might collapse and he can take sick leave.
"...Fuck it, sure."