Set during/after
this.Keira stands in the hallway, still and silent, in an effort to locate Astin. That's always the best way to find him: to listen for the rattle of equipment, the whir of a camera, the quiet mumbling, the purposeful footsteps. The studio is uncharacteristically silent this morning, echoing only with Johnny and Sarah's muffled
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Astin reaches for the dirty rag on his knee and wipes his even dirtier fingers on it. He looks sideways up at Keira, whose face is clear and bright and young, who always smells good, who doesn't pretend that Astin is part of the scenery. She tends to look at him as if she's half expecting him to do or say something extraordinary, when all he does is occasionally tell her, "There, arm above your head, okay, but your hand on his ass, yeah, nice." He turns his attention back to his panel, bent from someone accidentally stepping on it, the incompetent asshole. The plastic is shot, but the wires could be salvaged.
"Thought I told you a dozen times," Astin mumbles down at the camera, but with his small, quirked smile still on his lips. "The name's Astin."
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She leans her shoulder against the doorjamb, canting her hips. "And I must've replied the same way a dozen time. If you're going to take pictures of me naked, you're going to be Sean. Tough."
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