Outdoors: Baby, it's a big, bad world out there
Title: Baby, it's a big, bad world out there
Author: phylosophie
Theme: Outdoors
Band/Pairing: Mana (no pair)
Rating: PG (mild language)
Length: 1000 words
Disclaimer: Pure and absolute fiction. No resemblance to characters or persons living or dead, blah blah blah. You know the drill. Please don't sue me, all I've got is FAILcake right now.
Notes: I kind of feel bad about this and I kind of don't - I usually try to write Mana as a nice person, but I sort of said to someone that I'd write him as being prissy/bitchy. This is the completely cracked-up result.
Mana gazed balefully out of the car window, despair and anxiety rapidly increasing as the clamor and crowds of the city fell away and were replaced with the emerald brilliance of fields and woodlands. He patted a perfect barrel curl back into place in an attempt to cover his nervousness and wondered, not for the first time that day, whose idea it had been to do a photo shoot in the woods. Being around so much nature was just... unnatural.
The car turned off the paved road and onto an old gravel track. Five minutes later, a much jarred and jolted Mana was actually pleased to hear the driver announce they'd arrived. Hastily endeavoring to assure himself that his meticulous hours of work in front of a full-length mirror hadn't been utterly ruined by the lack of decent roadways, he exited the car.
The photographer for the shoot had sent one of his assistants to guide Mana into the clearing which had been carefully scouted and chosen to be the perfect showcase. As he constantly tripped and faltered over seemingly every little bump and rut in the thick, soft grass of the path, Mana cursed the ease with which his guide traversed such a god-forsaken hell path and bemoaned the lack of perfectly reasonable and flat sidewalks which were far more suitable for his ten inch platform boots.
Once in the clearing, he was beside himself with joy to find that a small make-up tent had been set up and was waiting. He dashed towards it madly, pushing several people aside and knocking over light rigs, silently thankful to find something normal in the midst of all this madness. Those people involved in the shoot that had worked with Mana before turned and ran until they were out of earshot and then laughed until their sides ached, sure that it would be one of the few enjoyable moments they'd have today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Okay, we're ready to begin,” said the photographer aloud. Much more quietly, to one of his assistants, he whispered, “Has someone dragged the princess out of her castle yet?”
“We're working on it,” he whispered back, nodding his head towards the make-up tent and the rather harassed-looking female assistant who was attempting to lead Mana out with repeated statements concerning the fact that, if they didn't start photographing now, they'd lose the light and have to start over again tomorrow. Mana, obviously having no inclination to prolong his own torment, was recalcitrantly trudging along behind her in a kind of half-hearted shuffle.
However, once pried loose from the confines and comforts of the make-up tent, Mana was no more amenable to the proceeding than he had been beforehand. At the instruction to stand in this spot or that, he'd complain that it was too muddy or reeked like a pigsty. When told to lean against a tree, he complained that it was dirty and would tear his delicate outfit. The sun was too bright there. It was too cold in the shade. Mana evinced nothing but an endless stream of complaints that quickly robbed even the most patient person amongst the group of their tolerance, and replaced it with a burning desire to either finish the shoot as quickly as possible or slap some of the attitude out of the guitarist, whichever opportunity presented itself first.
While waiting for the assistants to finish moving things around for the next series of shots, Mana trudged idly about the clearing, denouncing his predicament and loudly extolling people to hurry up. Weary from his hard work, he leaned against a tree, for once not caring about the state of his outfit, and stared up through the sun-dappled branches.
Overhead was a gorgeous sapphire sky, cloud free and brilliant. Its perfect pairing with the jade leaves adorning the branches was lost on him, however, as a small, dark shape hopped from branch to branch, racing around the tree and gradually descending towards him.
Filled with terror, Mana wheeled backwards madly, tripping over a stone in his haste and landing square on his ass in a flurry of tulle petticoats, skirts flying over his head. Almost blushing under the heavy coat of alabaster face paint, he hurriedly shoved the complicated layers of his dress down, vainly attempting to regain some of his dignity and composure. When he was finally able to focus ahead of him, he screeched and scrabbled backwards in the dirt, finally backing up into the trunk of the tree.
“Mana, it's just a squirrel. It won't hurt you,” said the photographer, barely able to contain his laughter.
Mana looked on in horror at the tiny gray terror sat back on its haunches and regarded him with coal black eyes. The guitarist very slowly clawed his way to a standing position, hanging onto the tree as if his very life depended on it. “It's rabid,” he whispered. “It's going to eat me.”
“Mana, squirrels don't eat meat. They're vegetarians.” By now the entire crew was on the verge of cracking up while the photographer was doing his best to reassure the neurotic musician. “He's probably just curious.”
Seeming to understand this, the animal tilted its head and chittered loudly, looking rather inquisitive. Mana squealed like a woman seeing a rat on her kitchen counter and tried to claw his way backwards through the tree, flecks of lapis polish breaking off his no longer perfectly manicured nails twinkling in the sunlight. The crew finally lost whatever bit of control they had and were laughing fit to split, some leaning on each other for support while others had collapsed to their knees, tears of mirth streaming down their faces.
The squirrel, oblivious to all the commotion behind him, continued to look up at Mana in puzzlement. It took a little hop forward, settled, and chittered again.
Mana edged around the tree, screamed, turned, and fled as though all the beasts of Hell were on his trail.
Author: phylosophie
Theme: Outdoors
Band/Pairing: Mana (no pair)
Rating: PG (mild language)
Length: 1000 words
Disclaimer: Pure and absolute fiction. No resemblance to characters or persons living or dead, blah blah blah. You know the drill. Please don't sue me, all I've got is FAILcake right now.
Notes: I kind of feel bad about this and I kind of don't - I usually try to write Mana as a nice person, but I sort of said to someone that I'd write him as being prissy/bitchy. This is the completely cracked-up result.
Mana gazed balefully out of the car window, despair and anxiety rapidly increasing as the clamor and crowds of the city fell away and were replaced with the emerald brilliance of fields and woodlands. He patted a perfect barrel curl back into place in an attempt to cover his nervousness and wondered, not for the first time that day, whose idea it had been to do a photo shoot in the woods. Being around so much nature was just... unnatural.
The car turned off the paved road and onto an old gravel track. Five minutes later, a much jarred and jolted Mana was actually pleased to hear the driver announce they'd arrived. Hastily endeavoring to assure himself that his meticulous hours of work in front of a full-length mirror hadn't been utterly ruined by the lack of decent roadways, he exited the car.
The photographer for the shoot had sent one of his assistants to guide Mana into the clearing which had been carefully scouted and chosen to be the perfect showcase. As he constantly tripped and faltered over seemingly every little bump and rut in the thick, soft grass of the path, Mana cursed the ease with which his guide traversed such a god-forsaken hell path and bemoaned the lack of perfectly reasonable and flat sidewalks which were far more suitable for his ten inch platform boots.
Once in the clearing, he was beside himself with joy to find that a small make-up tent had been set up and was waiting. He dashed towards it madly, pushing several people aside and knocking over light rigs, silently thankful to find something normal in the midst of all this madness. Those people involved in the shoot that had worked with Mana before turned and ran until they were out of earshot and then laughed until their sides ached, sure that it would be one of the few enjoyable moments they'd have today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Okay, we're ready to begin,” said the photographer aloud. Much more quietly, to one of his assistants, he whispered, “Has someone dragged the princess out of her castle yet?”
“We're working on it,” he whispered back, nodding his head towards the make-up tent and the rather harassed-looking female assistant who was attempting to lead Mana out with repeated statements concerning the fact that, if they didn't start photographing now, they'd lose the light and have to start over again tomorrow. Mana, obviously having no inclination to prolong his own torment, was recalcitrantly trudging along behind her in a kind of half-hearted shuffle.
However, once pried loose from the confines and comforts of the make-up tent, Mana was no more amenable to the proceeding than he had been beforehand. At the instruction to stand in this spot or that, he'd complain that it was too muddy or reeked like a pigsty. When told to lean against a tree, he complained that it was dirty and would tear his delicate outfit. The sun was too bright there. It was too cold in the shade. Mana evinced nothing but an endless stream of complaints that quickly robbed even the most patient person amongst the group of their tolerance, and replaced it with a burning desire to either finish the shoot as quickly as possible or slap some of the attitude out of the guitarist, whichever opportunity presented itself first.
While waiting for the assistants to finish moving things around for the next series of shots, Mana trudged idly about the clearing, denouncing his predicament and loudly extolling people to hurry up. Weary from his hard work, he leaned against a tree, for once not caring about the state of his outfit, and stared up through the sun-dappled branches.
Overhead was a gorgeous sapphire sky, cloud free and brilliant. Its perfect pairing with the jade leaves adorning the branches was lost on him, however, as a small, dark shape hopped from branch to branch, racing around the tree and gradually descending towards him.
Filled with terror, Mana wheeled backwards madly, tripping over a stone in his haste and landing square on his ass in a flurry of tulle petticoats, skirts flying over his head. Almost blushing under the heavy coat of alabaster face paint, he hurriedly shoved the complicated layers of his dress down, vainly attempting to regain some of his dignity and composure. When he was finally able to focus ahead of him, he screeched and scrabbled backwards in the dirt, finally backing up into the trunk of the tree.
“Mana, it's just a squirrel. It won't hurt you,” said the photographer, barely able to contain his laughter.
Mana looked on in horror at the tiny gray terror sat back on its haunches and regarded him with coal black eyes. The guitarist very slowly clawed his way to a standing position, hanging onto the tree as if his very life depended on it. “It's rabid,” he whispered. “It's going to eat me.”
“Mana, squirrels don't eat meat. They're vegetarians.” By now the entire crew was on the verge of cracking up while the photographer was doing his best to reassure the neurotic musician. “He's probably just curious.”
Seeming to understand this, the animal tilted its head and chittered loudly, looking rather inquisitive. Mana squealed like a woman seeing a rat on her kitchen counter and tried to claw his way backwards through the tree, flecks of lapis polish breaking off his no longer perfectly manicured nails twinkling in the sunlight. The crew finally lost whatever bit of control they had and were laughing fit to split, some leaning on each other for support while others had collapsed to their knees, tears of mirth streaming down their faces.
The squirrel, oblivious to all the commotion behind him, continued to look up at Mana in puzzlement. It took a little hop forward, settled, and chittered again.
Mana edged around the tree, screamed, turned, and fled as though all the beasts of Hell were on his trail.