Fic: Unscripted Lines 5/?
They get the script through for Sectionals the next day; they juggle episodes so they’re usually filming one but rehearsing another. Heather’s stomach flips in excitement every time she’s presented with a new script and this is no exception. She’s reading it through quickly but when she gets to a certain bit she stumbles, rereads the lines, flips back through the previous pages, before going back to the scene and rereading. There’s no mistaking the printed words:
M.J. (Amber): I thought you and Puck were dating?
S.L. (Naya): Sex is not dating.
B. (Heather): Yeah, if it was, Santana and I would be dating.
Heather sits in confusion for a few minutes, this may be a case of Brittany being Brittany, though it’s unlikely she doesn’t know what sex is considering she puts out, she’s got to be serious here. Heather opens the trailer in search for Naya but the girl is already there, script in hand and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
‘Have you read it?’
‘Not in totality, but-’
‘You read the juicy bit though, right? We’re having sex!’
Heather’s stomach flips again, the excitement of the script must still be hanging on. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah, I just asked Brad, I was like ‘Are we doing this because Britt doesn't know what sex means, or did we in fact hook up?’ He was all ‘Oh, no, you hooked up!’’
‘This is insane, right?’
‘Well I don’t know, kind of makes sense doesn’t it?’
‘Huh?’
‘You know what Brittany and Santana are like! They’re like, soul mates or something, they’ve got chemistry and everything, it makes total sense. And like who else is gonna put up with their shit, Santana’s a bitch to everyone but Britt, and everyone thinks Brittany’s mentally challenged apart from Santana, they just go.’
‘You don’t know Santana doesn’t think Brittany is stupid.’
‘Sure I do, she’s never said any snarky comments about her.’
‘I don’t know, she still gives her weird looks.’
‘Yeah but not mean ones, more like ‘huh?’ in a cute way. I should know, I am Santana Lopez. And Santana Lopez is in love with Brittany.’
‘In love? Thought they were just screwing around?’
‘HeMo! Have you not listened to me! They’re made for each other and the whole ‘Sex is not dating.’ ‘Yeah, if it was, Santana and I would be dating.’ proves that they’re having sex with each other way more than with anyone else. It’s meant to be!’
‘What about Puck?’
‘You haven’t been listening! He’s insignificant, he’s just sex, he’s a big ole beard as far as I’m concerned.’
Heather’s stunned into silence. This has come from no where. Except it really hasn’t, Naya said it herself: she is Santana Lopez, and Heather is Brittany. This whole thing has just been born out of themselves, they’ve unknowingly created a story, a relationship; they’ve been acting like they’re having sex?!
‘Well say something! This is going to be brilliant, this is our break Heath, we’re getting a plotline!’
‘I don’t know what to say. I’m excited, but I just don’t understand. And I don’t want you to get your hopes up, this is just a comic aside, they’re not going anywhere serious. We’re not even regulars.’
‘Do you have cotton wool in your ears?’ Naya tugs on Heather’s left ear lobe. ‘It might go somewhere serious, it could lead somewhere. Everything has relevance. Sure it’s a little something thrown in now, but it’ll develop. I can feel it; fate has laid a hand with us. We just have to do what we do best.’
‘Which is what?’
‘Be ourselves.’
Naya stands on tip toes and kisses Heather’s cheek before bouncing down the steps and across the lot, practically skipping to the studio. Heather’s convinced there is going to be no stopping Naya’s mission.
It’s difficult to not be enthusiastic about something when Naya is enthusiastic about it, and before she knows it Heather is playing out Santana/Brittany storylines in her head. Plus it’s difficult not to fall into Naya’s trap of more contact during shooting, and more touches and shared looks during numbers; although it’s not like there’s a lesser amount of contact off screen. Heather figures the whole cast is at a lovey dovey stage, all smiles and hugs, light shoves and bold laughs, but then Jenna doesn’t tangle her fingers in Dianna’s hair, Amber doesn’t kiss Lea on the cheek in a familiar way, Kevin doesn’t perch himself on Cory’s knee; things are just different with Naya, they’re best friends, and Naya flirts shamelessly with most of the cast and crew anyway, and Heather admits she’s just bad. They’ll both find any excuse to mess around, to dance or do impressions; they’re exhibitionists, which is why she guesses they get on so well, why they prefer each other’s company over the others. They don’t try and out do each other, if anything they egg each other on, spurring the silliest things, Heather’s learnt that she wins at finding props and Naya does a freakishly good impersonation of Ryan earning her a little hostility from the guy. She’s in the dog house at the moment after ‘vandalizing’ the set, which Heather feels bad about as she’s technically just as much to blame, it’s just that she’s charmed her way into Ryan’s affections that little bit more than Naya. She’d brought in a Magic 8-Ball after they’d gotten onto the conversation of retro toys (Naya had come with a pogo stick which they’d taken turns timing heats down the corridor, Chris crowned winner at 1 minute, 14 seconds and 45 spilt seconds precisely according to Naya’s phone) and had ended up standing on set throwing the ball to each other and taking to turns to ask questions and deliver the verdict:
‘Will Naya break her pogo stick before the end of the day?’
‘Better not tell you now.’ Naya looks shifty as she catches the ball, reading the answer and asking her question quickly.
‘Does Heather wish she could have my pogo stick?’
‘Without a doubt.’
Kevin wheels himself between the two and it becomes a game of piggy in the middle.
‘Will Artie ever walk?’
‘Outlook good.’ Naya and Heather exchange confused looks while Kevin fist pumps.
‘Will Mercedes bust another window out a car?’
‘Very doubtful.’
‘Has Sue really been waterboarded?’
‘Ask again later.’
‘Is Santana in love with Brittany?’
‘It is certain.’ Naya smirks at Heather who catches the ball and reads the answer with a roll of her eyes.
‘Guess I’d better ask: does Brittany love Santana?’
‘Signs point to yes.’ Naya beams out and claps her hands while Heather chuckles at Kevin who fake gags from the lovefest.
‘Are there gonna be awesome make out scenes?’ Kevin wolf whistles as Naya throws the ball towards Heather waiting for the answer, but Heather is taken aback by the question. She hadn’t even thought about that, not that there was any need to because there hasn’t been any development. They’re not even regulars. It’ll never happen.
By the time Heather zones back in it is clear that Naya has thrown a little too widely, and Heather’s not quite quick enough to catch the black sphere that goes whizzing past her waist, and straight through the flimsy set wall, leaving a hole in its wake.
‘Fuck!’ Naya runs over to the hole attempting to bend back the torn paper but failing to make it look presentable.
‘Naya!’
‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ Naya mutters under her breath as she spins to face Ryan who is throwing the Magic 8-Ball up in his hand and catching it repeatedly.
‘Does that have anything to do with this and you?’ Ryan motions to the hole, his face similar to an unimpressed parent.
‘Yes, I’m really, really, sorry. I’ll pay for repairs.’
Ryan shakes his head, ‘No no, just…don’t go vandalising anything else. And find something to cover it up; we don’t want that to be seen on film. You’re lucky it’s on this side of the room and not over there, it shouldn’t be in any shots, but if it is...You got 10 minutes before shooting Naya.’
Ryan returns the ball to Heather who apologises.
‘Haha, don’t worry I’ve gotten over the trauma, you know if I had been half a minute earlier that thing would have taken me out. I mean, I know my left side isn’t my best but…’
Heather laughs out, as she begins chatting with Ryan, her eyes follow Naya instantly when she returns a few minutes later with a whiteboard and begins hurriedly scrawling on it, leaning it against the wall to cover the damage, and taking her place as everyone gets ready. Heather looks over at the white board, she has to hand it to Naya, she’s a genius at making it look like it belongs there; it’s got a few songs they’ve sung, a breakdown of Vocal Adrenaline’s strong points including ‘high energy’ and ‘group choreography,’ it all sounds very Mr Schue. However in the top right corner in slightly smaller writing, which would surely go unnoticed if it ever happened to be caught on camera, Naya’s written ‘S + B’ and drawn a small heart. Heather leans forwards to see Naya who isn’t sitting with her today, or rather Santana and Brittany aren’t sat together in this scene, and watches Naya for a few seconds before she notices, winking once at Heather and smiling before ‘Action’ is shouted and her features are turned to stone.
After wrapping Sectionals Heather feels at a bit of a loss, the show is going on a hiatus, a week off and then promotion; events, interviews, panels. Good publicity and press is the aim; exposure, Glee is meant to be the word on everyone’s lips or at least on anybody that’s anybody, it’s already exploded but they’ve got to keep the momentum going, so they’ve been told. Even though they should be taking the week to recharge their batteries, or to have a break from each other (she’s pretty sure it’s only a matter of time before there’s a break up on set, it just doesn’t seem right that everyone gets on so well, it screws with Heather’s perceptions of the industry or at least the opinion that most people have of it), they don’t. Instead they spend the week living in each others pockets; lunches, movies, beach, takeaways, bars and clubs, every night involves heavy drinking. They’re all young, they might as well. Of course they have big plans for the week but in reality they’re not as hardcore as they make out; Cory and Kevin are the only ones who have enough stamina to spend the week smashed every night, though Heather has to admit Naya gives them a run for their money, though in terms of alcohol consumption Naya has pathetically little in comparison to Cory, she assumes it’s a height thing.
The nights are a blur of tequila, strobe lighting, heavy beats, and infectious rhythm. Of group dance offs, karaoke, quiet giggles, twinkling eyes, and of fleeting touches. The mornings are mixture of headaches, bleary eyes, dark hair, tangled limbs, of various degrees of undress (depending on how long it takes for them pass out) and frenzied awakenings. It takes two nights out, and the subsequent mornings, for Naya to permanently unplug her alarm. It takes three mornings for Naya to learn not to make coffee when Heather’s hanging, or to even mention that C word. The days are a scrapbook of suncreamed bodies, sand filled hair, shared popsicles, cheesy romances and gory horrors, pop corn fights, boisterous laughter, comfortable silence, and talking looks.
It’s ‘Epic Saturday’ that has become a jigsaw of hazy and sharp pieces for Heather, scenes so focused burn her eyes, but on Sunday she’s being told stories that make it seem like she wasn’t there at all. It’s Kevin who opens his flat as ‘par-tay central’, an ‘extravaganza of fun and frolics’ that will ‘eclipse the rest of the week with its awesomeness.’ Or according to him at least, Heather figures it’s true as half of the cast don’t contact each other until late afternoon of the day after. Specifically what made it ‘epic’, Heather has no idea, she seems to remember a lot of shots, and dubious fishbowls, a dance mat which, whether she can remember the details or not, she surely owned, pin the tail on the donkey (which Heather does remember turned into a drinking game of whoever gets the tail pegged on them has to down their drink), skittles which ended up acting as swords that Naya and Kevin duelled with, or became baseball bats which Cory and Harry used to either hit whatever was being pitched to them, or any innocent bystanders. She also briefly remembers some form wrestling match over who controlled the music, with Amber winning out by sitting on Kevin, who in turn would hijack the stereo whenever she wasn’t paying attention or was absent from her station. It got to the stage that rival sound systems were set up; Amber on the R&B, Kevin on ‘old skool hits’, Dianna on some form of alternative wave that Heather failed to recognise the tracks being played, and Harry on hip hop tunes. Needless to say Heather was dancing all over the place, and at some point in the night she’s suddenly aware that she’s surrounded by faces she doesn’t recognise.
‘Oh, hello! Do you work on Glee? Because I work on Glee, I do indeed good sir! But I don’t think I know you.’
‘Nah I’m a mate of Kev’s.’
‘Aw that’s really sweet, my best friend is Naya! Do you know Naya? She’s really sweet, like you, and she’s funny. I haven’t seen her. Have you seen her? She’s hot. I’m talking smokin’ hot, like if you’ve seen her you’ll know it, ‘coz like, she’d make your eyes pop out. And her eyes are really pretty, they’re like, they’re like, they’re like…chocolate, except I don’t want to eat them.’
That’s when things started getting blurry.
Other than that conversation, she remembers little, apart from various snippets from what she figures, when she’s sober, is a high Dianna. The woman scrolls through her ipod and wobbles her head lazily in time to a song, not really focusing on any of the tracks or artists that are displayed on screen:
‘Yeah, yeah, I completely agree. I mean it’s the only sensible option, it’s just something you’d have to deal with, and people would get over it, sure there’s likely to be stigma but I have no time for those people. They are closed minded bigots, that’s what they are, they don’t realise the gravity of the situation, a hook for a hand is just one of those things. I’d take it any day over a peg leg. And yeah, you’re right about all the street credit you’d get; it would be like Edward Scissorhands, and that’s special.’
At some stage she’s obviously moved away from Dianna because now she’s with Amber who isn’t looking to hot, and for some amount of time she goes in search for water for her, but Heather doesn’t think she ever finds any, and if she did she’s not sure if she ever made her way back to Amber. Harry’s tugging her round the waist for an impromptu pop and lock session, and then she’s attacked with a skittle by Cory before he spots Kevin and Jenna kissing and proceeds to throw it at them, pointing at Heather when they break apart and look at him accusingly. She’s pretty sure she pulled a vacant Brittany face complete with wave.
She’s feeling tired and is in her swaying-lazily-to-the-mishmash-of-music-that-is-bombarding-her-ear-drums stage, when she sees Mark pinning Naya to the kitchen counter, they’re kissing ferociously, Naya’s legs are wrapped around Mark as she sits on the worktop. Bare toned legs, which despite the dim lighting, or Heather’s hazy eyesight, still shine with smoothness. Her nails are digging into Mark’s shoulder harder than they were the last time Heather saw them doing this; it’s bound to be delightfully painful. His rough hand displaces her hair clumsily as he moves it to the back of Naya’s neck, a neck that is far too fragile for those giant monkey hands. It’s a scene which is too focused for her eyes in her inebriated state and she blinks repeatedly to phase it out, every time she opens her eyes they’re still assaulted by it. Heather sure she’s standing stock still gawping at them and she’s certain, even above the din of music and chatter, she can hear a moan escape Naya’s throat. Heather’s stomach twists uncomfortably, she shouldn’t have had that last shot, it was definitely whisky. Who the hell does shots of whisky?! Well, apparently she does, she’s blaming Cory. She’s blaming him for all of this. If he was here he’d be tall enough to block out Naya and Mark completely and she wouldn’t have to see this. It is most definitely his fault. She’s about to find him and give him a piece of her mind when Mark moves to kissing his way down Naya’s neck; she throws her head back, her eyes fluttering closed and her lips parted slightly, and Heather is transfixed. It’s bad enough resisting Naya when she’s engaged in everyday activities and when Heather’s running off of water and food instead of alcohol, so now Heather doesn’t have a chance of focusing on anything else, not that anything else is in focus.
Heather’s heart stops beating, and for a few seconds she honestly thinks this is death by chocolate, she means alcohol, it’s just that suddenly Naya’s eyes have connected with hers. The moment they’re locked her throat goes dry, she should look away, it’s just plain weird, her face is burning with embarrassment, or perhaps it’s pink from having too much to drink. Heather’s brain is shouting at her to turn her head, to not even turn her head if that’s too much to ask of it, just to sweep her eyes in a different direction, but it’s all in vain as they’re still glued on Naya’s. She can’t make out what Naya’s saying, there’s an odd expression in them that she hasn’t seen before, a mixture of allure, daring, mockery and something not unlike fear, and something else altogether new, it’s a fresh study for Heather and she can’t look away. There’s a ghost of a smile playing about Naya’s lips, Heather can see that irritating but gorgeous smirk forming, she debates whether to smile, or wink, or thumbs up at her as though this is a good thing, like a best friend would when their other half, or whatever, is getting some action, but she doesn’t, it doesn’t feel right. There’s a seriousness that would make it inappropriate, plus she’s not all too keen on the pairing, not that Mark isn’t a nice guy or anything, Naya and him obviously make one hot couple; only they’re not a couple, it’s just messing around. Maybe that’s why Heather doesn’t need to show approval or discontent, because it doesn’t even matter. She’s certain Naya can see the clogs turning in her head as the other girl’s brow furrows slightly, but before either of them can respond Mark has recaptured Naya’s lips and she’s back to digging her nails, which had loosened slightly, into his shoulder before moving her hand to play at the back of his neck, fingers brushing his short hair. Heather falters at the break in eye contact, and blinks repeatedly as the rest of the party intrudes back onto her senses.
Lea is dancing alone to the left of her, quite clearly balancing the line between feeling revved up and crashing, and so Heather squeezes past a few people, realising how badly her own head is swimming after standing motionless for so long, to join her. Lea smiles up cheekily at her, wrapping her arms around Heather’s neck and pulling her downwards so she can plant a smacker on her cheek, most definitely leaving the remainder of her lipstick there, and breaking into fits of giggles as she attempts to twirl Heather under her short arms. They’re both dying of laughter, almost to the point where Heather is surprised neither of them have peed themselves, both supporting each other as their intoxicated frames collapse with hilarity, their arms are tangled, faces close and Heather’s being tickled by long brown hair. She’s in the middle of trying to regulate her breathing, Lea hiccupping and then laughing like a sheep not improving matters, when she feels eyes burning into the back of her neck. She stiffens and stands up straight, looking for the one person she’s convinced it must be, but not seeing that face in the crowd. Heather stumbles around the flat in search of Naya, and is sure she spends a good half hour talking to some random about her, and then everything goes completely blank.
She can’t remember how she got home, though she’s not home home, she’s at Naya’s. She can’t remember getting the glass of water that is ready and waiting on the bedside table when she’s parched the next morning. Neither can she remember stripping to her underwear. She can’t remember getting the bruise on her outer left thigh, or the one that’s blossoming on her right upper arm, and she certainly can’t remember getting four nail shaped cuts, thin little crescent moons, at the back of her neck that sting like hell when she showers.