Happy Halloween from lena_gieseke! >:)
Here's a new story written by
lena_gieseke , who managed to send it to me before some witches turned her into a big pumpkin. We're trying to solve the problem now, but I'm a poor wizard and it can take some time. Still I'm somehow tempted to make a good pumpkin pie, but, well...
...Ah, and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Happy Halloween to all
here's my contribution to celebrate our most favorite holiday on cut after note before feedback
Title: Bare Bones by lena_gieseke
Warning: PG13 for certain hints and bad language
Author's note: Halowe’en ‘07
(Danny)
Spooky Halloween. Once I said in a chat that I wanna go as a small penis but I never considered this idea as a possibility. Where actually could I have seen one?? I'll go Dracula as usual. My top hat and my cane dusty from the closet. Fangs of my own. Or as myself. For a change.
Bridget completely hates such gatherings. Plus Oliver is having crumps or tantrums or smth. I call Mali to check if she's available and she's engaged in prepping for one of those important races, while Lola is doing fine in Washington. Damn this Friendster thing! Don't wanna call Rick, tho. Erik is back to NYC with his puppet set, while Mr Kraft still busy promoting his 'Land.
Looks like I'm going alone. I'll pick somebody up at the party to mix up with. Not mess around with, mind you.
***
The room is staple stuffy so I give up the idea to climb second floor as usual to survive. I feel my neck turns pink immediately, so I grab a glass of white and go to the pool. It's breezy here, the spooky music bellows in the background. It's Jack's Lament I determine in disgust. Gothic kids, Japanese girls with too much grease on their faces and fishnet tights shake their wigs and sing out of tune to the baseline. They don't recognize me, they never know. How could they? And even if they could.
Then I turn around to go find a nice collection of discs or props or dolls at this vague acquaintance of mine’s house and bump into somebody. It's silly I know. I mutter excuses and proceed to go my way, when a voice you can't but recognize stutters
'Um, Danny, will you just hold on for a sec'
‘Ah, you want me to help you with the name.’ Why I’m always so aggressive around him, I don't know. Being overcautious. Not letting him on my turf. These are the things that really stay with you in all the relationships. I even can bitterly expand on them being the only artifacts that survive the breakup.
'Is Danny all right?' and he smiles. His eyes flicker. His glowing even in the light illumination.
'Are you glad to see me or is it your parental happiness?' I demand.
'I actually came here to get a break from one,' he informs me.
Next thing I register he pulls my hand to go after him in a darkened library or bedroom, I’m not sure but we're away and I try to collect my frantic thoughts.
Decent room. No scared kids and the music is almost inaudible here. Tim is trying to say something, but I glare at him.
'The Kingdom is your Lawrence of Arabia'.
'Save it for the pillow talk' I sharply exclaim and then nuzzle his sleeve. Yeah, I'm that short.
He fumbles with his hair while I put my hands under his jacket. Famine inside burning thru the fabric on the verge of hotness. He laughs as he lets me do it.
‘What?’ I snap.
‘I remember you did a concert in a Swan Lake tutu, remember? I always forget to ask you what was that about?’
‘A tribute to the Count music, dying swan,’ I explain.
‘Oh that.’ You can cut the awkward silence with a knife in this room.
‘Yeah. Are we having sex or not?’
He sighs. ‘No.’ He hasn't been that playful for a very long time.
‘I didn't want the child [now he even starts speaking British] she just begged me to have it.’
‘A way to go, Tim. Instead of the execs now you have Helena pushing you around.’
‘I know.’
‘Congratulations on the Lion, by the f**k. And all the other awards harvest you gathered lately. You know, you're usually given this s**t when you're not capable of anything any more and they see it, know it and applaud. Now you're in their league? Thanked, giftless, bland, self-asserted mediocrity.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?!’
He gives me one of those sighs that almost borderline on fake.
‘Why?! What happened to you, Tim? Where all your rebellion gone? To the f**ny of this manipulating Mrs Lovett? What are you thinking? You even whined over an Oscar loss? You know what they call you? Not little wunderkind director extraordinaire anymore. Stupid f**k without his own vision. The king of the remakes. Gothic cool kids hottest topic. They out there want you to direct Oz or Geek Love or Neil Gaiman’s while bigger kids are disputing about Mephisto and Caligari.‘
'Net geek' he aims.
‘Yeah, I just did my research on the social network and public marketing, after they told me how big on youtube I am.’ I grimace. ‘I'm tired of listening to excuses, I'm fed up with it, Tim. That you're wrapped in the blanket of your own style. All gothic, twisty and soothy black and can't do anything original anymore. They label us like gothic, spooky, Wes shy fans. What's more, it's all true. You're sinking and you're dragging me with you.
‘You're speaking in verse,’ he points out.
‘Whatever,’ I shrug.
‘But I don't wanna go there. I won't let you either. Ripley would have been fun. And now this nasty rumor about you directing Frankenweenie.
‘It's bulls**t,’ he moans.
‘Yeah, I know. But where does this bulls**t come from? We would have collaborated so wonderful on Ripley. Why pull the plug?
‘Zanuch. I went to China for a scouting and he said it cost us half the budget.’
‘Again? Don't let him ruin your film, Tim!? Don't let Zanuck blow it again’.
‘I just don't wanna deal with it. F**k it. He says it's the budget, then it's the script, but the actual problem is about me. Am I too weird or too shy for that?
‘Too creative and it scares them.’
(Tim)
‘Your situation is better. You can physically make people feel something and there's no execs' paranoia. Music is all neat little projects on the small scale. And I need money to perform vision.’
His laugh is razor sharp.
‘What? Small projects? Orchestra is addictive. Do you know what it's like to hear the orchestra play what you wrote versus weak temp synthesizers?! It's like the orgasm, but a hundredfold stronger. The management, the tie-in, hiring studio, protool masters and sound engineers, it costs hell. So I need money more than you even could have imagined.’
He studies me with those attentive hazel eyes of his.
‘What do we do now?’
‘Alice in Wonderland,’ I propose, softly and he nods in return.
‘I think of another stop motion, but that's too painful.’
‘What was this with Manson biopic?’ he dryly inquires. ‘Returned compliment?’
‘Yeah, I wanted to shoot a documentary about Harryhausen, but I fear it'll end up shelved like Vincent's.
‘Actually I'm scoring a documentary and-‘, he interrupts me. But I nod: gained experience and can score yours.
‘I wanna direct your script. Undying love. Produce, if you want to direct yourself. They say it should be never put on film, so let’s do it.’
‘Lets kick their asses, yeah.’ His grin full of teeth is back and he almost purrs. ‘But wait a minute, do you know the exact amount of s**t they gonna give us for that one?’
I nod.
‘I'm writing a symphony. So when it’ll come to s**t it won’t rain it’ll pour.’
‘Oh.’ I gesture my sympathy. He stops me with a gesture of his own.
‘Yeah, already more than a thousand of plans.’
‘So among other updates, I've heard you found another visionary director.’ I aim at hurting him a bit.
‘No, he's not that visionary. He’s has that deep realism, but now they label me as a superhero comic composer.’ He chuckles.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Oh yeah, it stinks but it really doesn't matter.’ He rises his eyebrows in this endearing manner of his. ‘They call me anal behind my back, like I moonlighted for Beck and snapped the check. And this Novocaine guy spreads nasty rumors I do only big buck movies’. He says in an even voice. Not whining, just an observation. And unintentionally he rhymes again. Or deliberately, i can't really tell which.
‘Not much of a pillow talk, but still, well erm, you know?’
’Down the rabbit hole,’ he whispers in his mysterious voice.
Author's note: feedback would fill empty place inside my bones ];-)
lena_gieseke , who managed to send it to me before some witches turned her into a big pumpkin. We're trying to solve the problem now, but I'm a poor wizard and it can take some time. Still I'm somehow tempted to make a good pumpkin pie, but, well...
...Ah, and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Happy Halloween to all
here's my contribution to celebrate our most favorite holiday on cut after note before feedback
Title: Bare Bones by lena_gieseke
Warning: PG13 for certain hints and bad language
Author's note: Halowe’en ‘07
(Danny)
Spooky Halloween. Once I said in a chat that I wanna go as a small penis but I never considered this idea as a possibility. Where actually could I have seen one?? I'll go Dracula as usual. My top hat and my cane dusty from the closet. Fangs of my own. Or as myself. For a change.
Bridget completely hates such gatherings. Plus Oliver is having crumps or tantrums or smth. I call Mali to check if she's available and she's engaged in prepping for one of those important races, while Lola is doing fine in Washington. Damn this Friendster thing! Don't wanna call Rick, tho. Erik is back to NYC with his puppet set, while Mr Kraft still busy promoting his 'Land.
Looks like I'm going alone. I'll pick somebody up at the party to mix up with. Not mess around with, mind you.
***
The room is staple stuffy so I give up the idea to climb second floor as usual to survive. I feel my neck turns pink immediately, so I grab a glass of white and go to the pool. It's breezy here, the spooky music bellows in the background. It's Jack's Lament I determine in disgust. Gothic kids, Japanese girls with too much grease on their faces and fishnet tights shake their wigs and sing out of tune to the baseline. They don't recognize me, they never know. How could they? And even if they could.
Then I turn around to go find a nice collection of discs or props or dolls at this vague acquaintance of mine’s house and bump into somebody. It's silly I know. I mutter excuses and proceed to go my way, when a voice you can't but recognize stutters
'Um, Danny, will you just hold on for a sec'
‘Ah, you want me to help you with the name.’ Why I’m always so aggressive around him, I don't know. Being overcautious. Not letting him on my turf. These are the things that really stay with you in all the relationships. I even can bitterly expand on them being the only artifacts that survive the breakup.
'Is Danny all right?' and he smiles. His eyes flicker. His glowing even in the light illumination.
'Are you glad to see me or is it your parental happiness?' I demand.
'I actually came here to get a break from one,' he informs me.
Next thing I register he pulls my hand to go after him in a darkened library or bedroom, I’m not sure but we're away and I try to collect my frantic thoughts.
Decent room. No scared kids and the music is almost inaudible here. Tim is trying to say something, but I glare at him.
'The Kingdom is your Lawrence of Arabia'.
'Save it for the pillow talk' I sharply exclaim and then nuzzle his sleeve. Yeah, I'm that short.
He fumbles with his hair while I put my hands under his jacket. Famine inside burning thru the fabric on the verge of hotness. He laughs as he lets me do it.
‘What?’ I snap.
‘I remember you did a concert in a Swan Lake tutu, remember? I always forget to ask you what was that about?’
‘A tribute to the Count music, dying swan,’ I explain.
‘Oh that.’ You can cut the awkward silence with a knife in this room.
‘Yeah. Are we having sex or not?’
He sighs. ‘No.’ He hasn't been that playful for a very long time.
‘I didn't want the child [now he even starts speaking British] she just begged me to have it.’
‘A way to go, Tim. Instead of the execs now you have Helena pushing you around.’
‘I know.’
‘Congratulations on the Lion, by the f**k. And all the other awards harvest you gathered lately. You know, you're usually given this s**t when you're not capable of anything any more and they see it, know it and applaud. Now you're in their league? Thanked, giftless, bland, self-asserted mediocrity.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?!’
He gives me one of those sighs that almost borderline on fake.
‘Why?! What happened to you, Tim? Where all your rebellion gone? To the f**ny of this manipulating Mrs Lovett? What are you thinking? You even whined over an Oscar loss? You know what they call you? Not little wunderkind director extraordinaire anymore. Stupid f**k without his own vision. The king of the remakes. Gothic cool kids hottest topic. They out there want you to direct Oz or Geek Love or Neil Gaiman’s while bigger kids are disputing about Mephisto and Caligari.‘
'Net geek' he aims.
‘Yeah, I just did my research on the social network and public marketing, after they told me how big on youtube I am.’ I grimace. ‘I'm tired of listening to excuses, I'm fed up with it, Tim. That you're wrapped in the blanket of your own style. All gothic, twisty and soothy black and can't do anything original anymore. They label us like gothic, spooky, Wes shy fans. What's more, it's all true. You're sinking and you're dragging me with you.
‘You're speaking in verse,’ he points out.
‘Whatever,’ I shrug.
‘But I don't wanna go there. I won't let you either. Ripley would have been fun. And now this nasty rumor about you directing Frankenweenie.
‘It's bulls**t,’ he moans.
‘Yeah, I know. But where does this bulls**t come from? We would have collaborated so wonderful on Ripley. Why pull the plug?
‘Zanuch. I went to China for a scouting and he said it cost us half the budget.’
‘Again? Don't let him ruin your film, Tim!? Don't let Zanuck blow it again’.
‘I just don't wanna deal with it. F**k it. He says it's the budget, then it's the script, but the actual problem is about me. Am I too weird or too shy for that?
‘Too creative and it scares them.’
(Tim)
‘Your situation is better. You can physically make people feel something and there's no execs' paranoia. Music is all neat little projects on the small scale. And I need money to perform vision.’
His laugh is razor sharp.
‘What? Small projects? Orchestra is addictive. Do you know what it's like to hear the orchestra play what you wrote versus weak temp synthesizers?! It's like the orgasm, but a hundredfold stronger. The management, the tie-in, hiring studio, protool masters and sound engineers, it costs hell. So I need money more than you even could have imagined.’
He studies me with those attentive hazel eyes of his.
‘What do we do now?’
‘Alice in Wonderland,’ I propose, softly and he nods in return.
‘I think of another stop motion, but that's too painful.’
‘What was this with Manson biopic?’ he dryly inquires. ‘Returned compliment?’
‘Yeah, I wanted to shoot a documentary about Harryhausen, but I fear it'll end up shelved like Vincent's.
‘Actually I'm scoring a documentary and-‘, he interrupts me. But I nod: gained experience and can score yours.
‘I wanna direct your script. Undying love. Produce, if you want to direct yourself. They say it should be never put on film, so let’s do it.’
‘Lets kick their asses, yeah.’ His grin full of teeth is back and he almost purrs. ‘But wait a minute, do you know the exact amount of s**t they gonna give us for that one?’
I nod.
‘I'm writing a symphony. So when it’ll come to s**t it won’t rain it’ll pour.’
‘Oh.’ I gesture my sympathy. He stops me with a gesture of his own.
‘Yeah, already more than a thousand of plans.’
‘So among other updates, I've heard you found another visionary director.’ I aim at hurting him a bit.
‘No, he's not that visionary. He’s has that deep realism, but now they label me as a superhero comic composer.’ He chuckles.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Oh yeah, it stinks but it really doesn't matter.’ He rises his eyebrows in this endearing manner of his. ‘They call me anal behind my back, like I moonlighted for Beck and snapped the check. And this Novocaine guy spreads nasty rumors I do only big buck movies’. He says in an even voice. Not whining, just an observation. And unintentionally he rhymes again. Or deliberately, i can't really tell which.
‘Not much of a pillow talk, but still, well erm, you know?’
’Down the rabbit hole,’ he whispers in his mysterious voice.
Author's note: feedback would fill empty place inside my bones ];-)