FIC: Makeup Chair
Summary: Just a quick (fictional!) something from the point of view of Andrea Manchur, first assistant makeup artist for episode 2.16 "Roadkill".
Words: 713
A/N: I feel like I have to put a huge disclaimer on all RPF stuff saying that it's not real. It's totally not real! All fictional! Takes place during the shooting of "Roadkill" because Jared sounded so cute and sick and I guess I just had to do something about that. I'm not very eloquent. I don't know much about makeup.
“You look tired,” I say before I can stop myself. Usually, one might offer that sort of comment when the receiver actually looks more than tired - usually, “tired” is a polite adjective synonymous with “like crap”. Dull, unkempt, and out of sorts; weary and hopelessly unprepared for a long day.
Jared Padalecki doesn’t look as such, though. He really, honestly looks tired. His radiance, openness, and professionalism certainly haven’t diminished.
“More work for you then,” he teases with a wink, familiar and friendly, but his eyes are sunken in with deep crescent-shaped bruises framing the bottoms, and his hair is flat on one side and a rat’s nest on the other. His voice sounds deeper, possibly just husky from having recently woken up, and his syllables are drawn out and soft around the edges.
Jared sits in the tall black makeup chair, which brings him down to my eye level. I take out my brush and he closes his eyes so I can start applying his basecoat. “No sleep last night?”
“Not really,” he admits. “We were out shooting late in the rain yesterday. The whole episode takes place at night, so, uh,” he pauses, turning away to cough, painful and hard and rattling. “Sorry.”
“Aww, poor thing. You okay?” I turn back to my table to grab the concealer, and upon turning back I notice that the rims of his eyes have become rosy to match the flush on his nose. Jared’s one of those people with weaker skin in the middle of his face; thinner, more sensitive, and more prone to turning pink if the temperature’s even a little too warm or too cold. It’s a difference you notice after making a career out of doing people’s makeup, and I’m often the one to reapply a green-tinted primer when his nose turns red on set.
“I’m good, yeah.” He smiles, genuine and honest, and I can hear his Texan accent peeking out through the cracks in his statement. Tired is right. “Think I might be getting a cold. But I took some Sudafed this morning.”
“Ooh, watch out,” I warn half-heartedly. “That stuff always makes me so dizzy.” Like all the shitty parts of being drunk with none of the good to balance it out.
“Yeah,” Jared says, looking about as sheepish as someone can look with their eyes closed. “I couldn’t breathe when I woke up so I doubled the dose just in case. So far so good?”
“You don’t sound too bad,” I agree. Before I begin smoothing on the primer, I brush back his bangs and check his forehead. “No fever.”
“Yeah well I’m - I’m hoping it doesn’t go that far.” Sometimes during a conversation, especially at interviews and panels, I’ve noticed, Jared will stammer a little, like his thoughts are going ten times faster than his mouth ever can. “With it being mid-season and… uh… hh! H-hold on.”
I’d only just started rubbing the primer on his nose, and he plucks a tissue from my table (I usually use them for blotting) and twists around in the chair, hovering it above his face.
“Huhh’TSSHuh!” He sniffles into the tissue afterward, checking it to make sure he didn’t wipe off any makeup. “God, sorry. Uh. It’s a little sensitive.”
“Understatement,” Jensen adds, appearing in the doorway and then coolly marching into the room and clapping his co-star on the shoulder. “You should have seen him last night.”
“That bad, huh?” I speculate.
“I think he’s exaggerating,” Jared says defensively.
“He’s not telling you everything,” Jensen counters, then turns to his co-star. “How you holding up?”
Jared clears his throat. “Took some meds, feel alright to shoot today. Might need another dose in a couple of hours, though,” he adds, sniffling. He brings a hand up to rub at his nose, but hesitates at the last second and drops it in realization.
“Ah-ah-ah,” I scold. “Don’t you dare ruin my masterpiece!”
“Hah!” Jared barks out a quick laugh, and then pitifully rubs his throat. “Yeah. No promises.”
I brush some foundation over his cheeks then clap my hands together. “You’re all set.”
“My turn,” Jensen announces, then replaces Jared in the chair in front of me. Before I begin, he grins and says, “Look alive, Padalecki!”
And we both trust Jared to do his best.
Words: 713
A/N: I feel like I have to put a huge disclaimer on all RPF stuff saying that it's not real. It's totally not real! All fictional! Takes place during the shooting of "Roadkill" because Jared sounded so cute and sick and I guess I just had to do something about that. I'm not very eloquent. I don't know much about makeup.
“You look tired,” I say before I can stop myself. Usually, one might offer that sort of comment when the receiver actually looks more than tired - usually, “tired” is a polite adjective synonymous with “like crap”. Dull, unkempt, and out of sorts; weary and hopelessly unprepared for a long day.
Jared Padalecki doesn’t look as such, though. He really, honestly looks tired. His radiance, openness, and professionalism certainly haven’t diminished.
“More work for you then,” he teases with a wink, familiar and friendly, but his eyes are sunken in with deep crescent-shaped bruises framing the bottoms, and his hair is flat on one side and a rat’s nest on the other. His voice sounds deeper, possibly just husky from having recently woken up, and his syllables are drawn out and soft around the edges.
Jared sits in the tall black makeup chair, which brings him down to my eye level. I take out my brush and he closes his eyes so I can start applying his basecoat. “No sleep last night?”
“Not really,” he admits. “We were out shooting late in the rain yesterday. The whole episode takes place at night, so, uh,” he pauses, turning away to cough, painful and hard and rattling. “Sorry.”
“Aww, poor thing. You okay?” I turn back to my table to grab the concealer, and upon turning back I notice that the rims of his eyes have become rosy to match the flush on his nose. Jared’s one of those people with weaker skin in the middle of his face; thinner, more sensitive, and more prone to turning pink if the temperature’s even a little too warm or too cold. It’s a difference you notice after making a career out of doing people’s makeup, and I’m often the one to reapply a green-tinted primer when his nose turns red on set.
“I’m good, yeah.” He smiles, genuine and honest, and I can hear his Texan accent peeking out through the cracks in his statement. Tired is right. “Think I might be getting a cold. But I took some Sudafed this morning.”
“Ooh, watch out,” I warn half-heartedly. “That stuff always makes me so dizzy.” Like all the shitty parts of being drunk with none of the good to balance it out.
“Yeah,” Jared says, looking about as sheepish as someone can look with their eyes closed. “I couldn’t breathe when I woke up so I doubled the dose just in case. So far so good?”
“You don’t sound too bad,” I agree. Before I begin smoothing on the primer, I brush back his bangs and check his forehead. “No fever.”
“Yeah well I’m - I’m hoping it doesn’t go that far.” Sometimes during a conversation, especially at interviews and panels, I’ve noticed, Jared will stammer a little, like his thoughts are going ten times faster than his mouth ever can. “With it being mid-season and… uh… hh! H-hold on.”
I’d only just started rubbing the primer on his nose, and he plucks a tissue from my table (I usually use them for blotting) and twists around in the chair, hovering it above his face.
“Huhh’TSSHuh!” He sniffles into the tissue afterward, checking it to make sure he didn’t wipe off any makeup. “God, sorry. Uh. It’s a little sensitive.”
“Understatement,” Jensen adds, appearing in the doorway and then coolly marching into the room and clapping his co-star on the shoulder. “You should have seen him last night.”
“That bad, huh?” I speculate.
“I think he’s exaggerating,” Jared says defensively.
“He’s not telling you everything,” Jensen counters, then turns to his co-star. “How you holding up?”
Jared clears his throat. “Took some meds, feel alright to shoot today. Might need another dose in a couple of hours, though,” he adds, sniffling. He brings a hand up to rub at his nose, but hesitates at the last second and drops it in realization.
“Ah-ah-ah,” I scold. “Don’t you dare ruin my masterpiece!”
“Hah!” Jared barks out a quick laugh, and then pitifully rubs his throat. “Yeah. No promises.”
I brush some foundation over his cheeks then clap my hands together. “You’re all set.”
“My turn,” Jensen announces, then replaces Jared in the chair in front of me. Before I begin, he grins and says, “Look alive, Padalecki!”
And we both trust Jared to do his best.