Drabbles + Picspam for the Pilot episode, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip

[catko]

Matt


The dull roar in his ears ebbed and hummed, punctuated by a clatter of silverware, a clash of platters. He stared at the woman across the table, concentrating on her lips, until her features seemed to distort into a rubbery wobble. Shook himself, hopefully imperceptibly, to focus on making a response.

Okay, done. Suddenly Danny is hurtling toward him. Lurch up to meet him, grabbed in a bear hug, feeling the surge of emotion. All he wants is to blubber out his pain. This is the answer--him and Danny. No crazy Christian ex-girlfriend, banquet table fodder, brought up at every damn seating at every damn charity event and awards show...

Uh-oh. Wait. Awards show. AWARDS SHOW?



Danny

Hotel room. What fresh hell could this be? That’s the thing with having a fucking secret. Everything becomes about that. Hiding, holding, waiting for it to ambush you, from the inside or the outside. That clutch of fear when you catch sight of a supermarket tabloid or see a blind item about a “notorious Hollywood partier.” The moment of panic when any one of a million celebrity bloggers swans over to you at a party. Expecting that every unexpected event will turn into the Big Reveal.

He puts the tape into the VCR, praying that it isn’t of him.


Jordan

She sips the wine and feels herself make an impressed expression. She’s no snob but hell, good is good, and this? Is damn good.  She sets down the glass and dimples at the orating man opposite, enumerating her successes, toasting their host, her new boss.

She tries to tamp down the fluttering in her midsection, and wonders: why? Shes got the job, right? This is the celebration. Then where’s the joy, or at least, the sense of relief? Deep breaths. Settle down, girl. She takes another slug of wine, and prepares to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.

(Screencaps courtesy of screenmusings.org)