Ready, Set,
Title: Ready, Set,
Author: coquilleon
Summary: A RPF. Hannah Bell, budding screen writer/ director extraordinaire, and current X-Men: First Class PA, stumbles upon something she shouldn't have on Jekyll Island.
Pairing: Michael F./James M
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: PG - 13
Notes: This is COMPLETELY AU (to my knowledge) so McFassy don't sue me for slander. Thanks bunches for persephone20 for helping me out with this!
I'm going to faint.
The last of the tepid water drains onto my tongue, the flimsy plastic of the water bottle crumpling easily in my clammy palm.
I'm going to get even woozier than I am now and fall into a dead faint like those old movie stars in black and white films or those women who wore corsets too tightly back in the day. Hopefully by the time I hit the sand I'll be out cold and won't even feel it when my skin sizzles and melds to the hot, tiny particles.
I know I sound like a drama queen right now, but believe me; it is thathot out here. The Georgia sun seems indecisive with its decision to fry my skin off, but is obviously leaning towards 'yes' on that front. I stare out into the distance, hands hanging limply at my sides, empty bottle still clutched in one fist. The leaves on the trees aren't even rustling. There is no wind, not even a slight breeze carrying the hint of relief. You'd think there would be some reprieve - we're on an island for goodness sakes.
My shirt sticks disgustingly to my skin as I chuck the water bottle and reach up to adjust my headset.
My headset. The black foam kinda soggy where it rests against the skin of my neck. It's a reminder that I should be grateful for my near heatstroke.
I'm finally, finally,on the set of a sure to be blockbuster. Finally, after all those years of being a set P.A. on dozens of television pilots that didn't get picked up, and 'indy films' that barely made a blip on anyone's radar (not even featured on Rotten Tomatoes) I'm here. I'm on the set of an X-Men movie, freakin X-Men. And sure, I've been up since four a.m, and my shorts have seem to have shrunk in the heat, and the sun is licking my skin, but I'm here, finally with big names. I got fucking Kevin Bacon's lunch order yesterday for Christ's sake. And I know what you're thinking - yeah that's pretty cool, but is that really something to aspire to? First of all, yes. But that isn't what I happen to be aspiring to.
This time.
No, actually, this is all about me getting the experience I need to make it in this world. You have hundreds of young people like me that want to be the one to write the next hit movie. The one that makes the critics roar, and audiences feel things, and have Ebert and Roper praising on their ancient knees. When they all talk about wanting to be a writer for a hit movie all they really focus on is the actual writing. And don't get me wrong - I spend almost every waking moment working on the perfect script, but I've decided to get a leg up on the competition - in between writing I've been trying to get behind the scenes as much as possible. I have this thing about being able to direct my own works properly, the idea that everything will get mangled in the process if I don't have both my hands and feet on it.
So as I run lunch orders, and get tons of bottles of water, and blot actor's foreheads I learn about soundstages, and angles, and echoing. I get to see what works best in a frame, and all about lighting, and locking up, and how to hold a boom mic out of the shot, and it's all made me so pumped to get my work out there. I can see the credits now:
Directed and Written by Hannah Bell -
There is a burst of static coming through my headset and I hurriedly pull it up over my head.
"Timothy." Jim's voice crackles into my ear. Jim Cassack is the AD, and besides all of the other tons of duties he has, he's also the one responsible for all of us P.A's, making sure we don't break any props or accidentally maim any of the actors. There is silence on the line and I turn to look out over the water. It is quite pretty. The whole island is. Even though I've lived in Georgia on and off for the past five years, I've never been to Jekyll island. The sky is a brilliant cerulean today, and the water shimmers grayish blue. A little shift in the air brings a slight breeze and I close my eyes, savoring the feel of it while ignoring the sound of the helicopters above gathering aerial shots.
Another burst of static. "Timothy." There is still no answer. "Timothy?" I'm sure Timothy has turned his headset down. He's always doing that, for what reason I have no idea. That's like turning off your computer when you're a graphic designer. These headsets are a P.A's lifeline during filming. I happen to sleep with mine on every once in a while. But I've been told I'm over zealous. Jim's irritable voice sounds over the line. "Alright, who's the closest to the ship?" I look to my left and see the rubble; it's surrounded by other stage hands and palm trees. Matthew Vaughn is pointing something out, hands sweeping across the scene, and three people are nodding, one of them inching towards the wreck as if itching to rearrange some aspect of it.
"I am."
"Who is this?" I pause at the question - I'm the only Scottish P.A. on this set. Who else does he think this is?
"Uh, it's Hannah."
"Alright, Hannah," he begins. "I need to you run over there and pick up Magneto's helmet. Well, first I need you to see if it's even around there. And if it is, find Michael and give it to him. Tell him to try it on, see if it fits, and tell me what he says. Got that?"
I nod, and then remember he can't see me. "Yeah, I've got it."
The air goes dead in my ear as I begin my trek towards the wreckage. Once again, I curse having to wear sneakers in the sand. Being barefoot would be so much easier, but it's a safety thing, especially with all this debris dropped about. I find the helmet resting on a spare piece of metal. It feels hot in my hands, warmed by the sun and it hits me again as to where I am. God, I'm holding Magneto's helmet…
A quick look around doesn't reveal Mr. Fassbender, but honestly I didn't expect him to be around. He and Mr. McAvoy are attached at the hip, and I've barely seen them both all morning except during the one shot we did before Vaughn yelled cut, unhappy with what he was seeing. Probably whatever he was gesturing to a few minutes ago. My heart picks up a little as I head towards a thicket of palm trees. Interacting with Mr. Fassbender and Mr. McAvoy is probably my favorite part of this whole deal, honestly. They're fun, and funny, and clever and so different than some 'celebrities' I've had the displeasure to work with. They both insist that I call them by their first names, but it's still weird to me. Seems too informal. Mr. Bacon insisted on the same thing when I first spoke to him, asking him to stand still while I adjusted a few chairs in a shot. Just the prospect of calling him 'Kevin' made my mind melt.
The number of people around thins out the further I walk and soon I'm alone, navigating through the trees. I don't even know why I'm going in this far. Why would he be hanging out in the middle of a copse of palm trees? The sun bears down on the back of my neck, and I contemplate turning back around, to head back to the caravan. But Jim was in the caravan when he gave me the task - I could hear the sound the television in the background along with the sound of a hairdryer. Besides, it's not like it's a big island - you're either on the set, in the caravan, or in the trees.
Three minutes later, and there is no sign of Mr. Fassbender. My hand strays towards the button on my hip, about to ask Jim where he last saw him when I hear the low murmuring of a voice to my left. I roll my eyes; it's probably Timothy, trying to find service for his cell phone, but I go in that direction anyway, helmet held loosely in my fist. The sound of murmuring gets closer and I'm just opening my mouth to tell Timothy to forget his phone call, that Jim has been trying to get in contact with him, when a glimpse of yellow catches my eye through the trunks. It has to be one of the cast members - they're the only ones dressed like that this morning.
Hurrying forward in sand is hard work while wearing these damn sneakers. Not that it matters in a few seconds when I stop dead, my mind trying to get around what I'm currently seeing. The first thing that registers in my mind is that it's way too hot to be making out in latex body suits. But it seems as if both men aren't noticing the scalding heat, too wrapped up in each other to worry about anything as trivial as falling out from heatstroke. The gears in my head have completely stopped turning, but there is a resounding clunk as I take in the whole scene, realize what I am seeing, who I am seeing.
Mr. Fassbender has Mr. McAvoy up against a tree, and he holds his face in his large hands, cradling it like something precious. The way he kisses him, the way Mr. McAvoy's hands hold on tightly to the other man's hips causes my breath to catch in my throat. Mr. Fassbender pulls back a little to say something quietly, lips brushing against lips, and Mr. McAvoy grins before leaning up to tug at his lower lip with straight, white teeth.
They look good together - great together. The way Mr. Fassbender towers over Mr. McAvoy makes the other man look so small, protected, and the way their bodies meld together so naturally… No wonder they work so well together in scenes.
The gears in my head start churning again, somehow managing to pull away from the scene enough to fully take in what is happening. Or rather what it all means - because two hot guys making out is all fine and dandy when said men are single, but I know for a fact, that Mr. Fassbender is with Ms. Kravitz and Mr. McAvoy has a Mrs. McAvoy at home along with a new baby son that he coos to everyday on the phone. Randomly I thank the stars that Jim sent me and not Timothy. It's a miracle he wasn't the one to find them like this - he would have run to the magazines as soon as he could. Me? I'm just trying to figure out a way to back away without them hearing me and how I will explain to Jim that I couldn't find Mr. Fassbender for the fitting. He'll think I'm an idiot; how can you not find someone on a five acre island?
The sneaking away aspect shouldn't be that difficult though, seeing as how the kiss has gotten way more intense in my moments of contemplation. Mr. Fassbender's leg is between Mr. McAvoy's rolling his hips in a way that make a different kind of heat flush through my body. The smaller man moves his hands down to grab handfuls of latex clad arse, causing Mr. Fassbender to let out a muffled moan and sharply jerk his hips, and Christ, that's fucking hot and I need to get out of here-
A burst of static. "Hannah? Did you find him?"
Everything freezes, my heart, the birds in the trees, the men a few feet in front of me, all of it stills completely for an excruciating moment before Mr. Fassbender whips around and Mr. McAvoy's eyes snap open. I can feel my own eyes widen to the size of saucers as they both move quickly away from each other. Shit. "Hannah?" Jim sounds pissed. "Hannah? What the hell, where are all my people today-"
I fiddle with the button on my hip, eyes still fixed on the two men in front of me. "I'm-" my voice cracks, and I clear my throat. "I'm here, Jim. I just found them. Him! I found him. Singular-"
"What? Listen, did he try it on? Does it fit?"
"Gimme a sec." I walk forward slowly and hand Mr. Fassbender the helmet. "Try this on." My words come out like a whisper. Averting my eyes as he takes the heavy thing from me only causes my gaze to find Mr. McAvoy's, who's own eyes are completely blank, face devoid of any emotion. I bite the inside of my lip, lace my hands behind my back, and look away from him and at the sand. His eyes on the side of my face burn way more than the sun.
"It's still too small." Mr. Fassbender says, tone even. I nod.
"It's too small," I say into the mic.
"Alright" Jim puts his hand over the mouth piece and says something to someone around him, the words muffled. He comes back. "Alright, we need to get him in here. In the makeup trailer to get measurements."
"I'll let him know." The air goes dead again.
All three of us stand around awkwardly. I've been a part of plenty an awkward shape in my life, but I'm sure this one is the most bizarre. And I am counting that one time last year at a Christmas party that somehow turned into a group outing to see a 'donkey show.'
Hesitantly, I take the helmet back from Mr. Fassbender. Well, I hold my hand out for it, and he eyes me for a moment before handing it back. "They need you. In the makeup caravan for measurements. To measure your head." I wince at my poor choice of words, cheeks flushing scarlet. Mr. McAvoy gives an amused snort, but almost immediately the awkward prickly silence begins to descend again, and I can't handle it. I've never been good at handling pressure. I'm kinda high strung. My mum says I get it from me Da. The only difference being, while I take medication, he builds wee ships in bottles. Which is counter productive, really, seeing as how the small pieces make him so irritable he tosses it aside. There are tons of half built ships in bottles all over my parent's house.
"I won't tell anyone, yeah?" I look to each man, trying to exude trustworthy with my eyes. "I promise I won't say anything, s'not my business to be telling." I can hear my accent getting thicker with every word I speak, and I try not to wince. My Scottish brogue always comes out full force when I'm more than a wee nervous. "Really though, s'not. You two can carry on like, but I-" I shuffle my feet, kicking sand as if it is a rock on concrete. "I would be more careful, yeah? Being out here where anyone can find ye and all..."
And I just said that. I just gave two movie stars cheating on their significant others advice on how to do so. My mum always said Hollywood would change me… She also says the same about wearing heels taller than two inches. I don't know where she gets her information from these days.
They are still quiet, watching me and I shuffle on my feet a few more times. My mind is racing, thoughts becoming too fast to keep up, and my heart beat is becoming erratic. I quickly hand the helmet back to Mr. Fassbender, who takes it bemusedly, and dig through my back pocket. Pulling out the brown bottle, I pop the top and fish out an Ativan. Yeah, I know I probably appear to be insane, but look, I have anxiety issues alright. It was either let these actors I truly respect and admire see me taking my medication, or fall to the sand, clutching my chest for panic.
I like to think I made the right choice.
I tuck the bottle away and dry swallow the white pill. We all stand around waiting for it to take effect. Well, that's what I'm doing, anyway. The men just look at me, probably thinking they offended my delicate sensibilities.
I take the helmet back.
"You won't say a word?" Mr. McAvoy asks and I nod.
"This would be a phenomenal story for the tabloids," Mr. Fassbender says coolly, and I look up, and up (Christ, he's tall) at him.
"I'm sure it would be." The Ativan is doing its thing already. I feel a lot more confident and less like I'm going to go into shock from seeing two of my favorite actors commit adultery. "Good thing I don't need the money, yeah?"
That's a lie; I'm broke all the time. The money would be great. I could pay my rent... maybe buy some food... or socks without holes.
They still eye me somewhat skeptically, but my medication makes it that, oddly enough, I don't really care. It's not like they're going to kill me and bury my body on Jekyll island in order to keep their secret. At least not today. Jim knows where I am.
I fiddle with the helmet in my hand and without thinking I put it on. It's too big on me. I look up at both men, whose lips are quirked in little disbelieving smiles. I must appear mad. "Come on then," I say turning around. "Jim is waiting." I feel like this should be a bigger deal. Like they should probably ask once more if I'm going to take their secret and run off into the night, cackling and desperate to share the sordid details with all and sundry. But all they end up doing is following me back through the trees while talking quietly among themselves .
The helmet lists towards one side and impedes my vision somewhat.
But who cares?
I'm wearing freaking Magneto's helmet.
Author: coquilleon
Summary: A RPF. Hannah Bell, budding screen writer/ director extraordinaire, and current X-Men: First Class PA, stumbles upon something she shouldn't have on Jekyll Island.
Pairing: Michael F./James M
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: PG - 13
Notes: This is COMPLETELY AU (to my knowledge) so McFassy don't sue me for slander. Thanks bunches for persephone20 for helping me out with this!
I'm going to faint.
The last of the tepid water drains onto my tongue, the flimsy plastic of the water bottle crumpling easily in my clammy palm.
I'm going to get even woozier than I am now and fall into a dead faint like those old movie stars in black and white films or those women who wore corsets too tightly back in the day. Hopefully by the time I hit the sand I'll be out cold and won't even feel it when my skin sizzles and melds to the hot, tiny particles.
I know I sound like a drama queen right now, but believe me; it is thathot out here. The Georgia sun seems indecisive with its decision to fry my skin off, but is obviously leaning towards 'yes' on that front. I stare out into the distance, hands hanging limply at my sides, empty bottle still clutched in one fist. The leaves on the trees aren't even rustling. There is no wind, not even a slight breeze carrying the hint of relief. You'd think there would be some reprieve - we're on an island for goodness sakes.
My shirt sticks disgustingly to my skin as I chuck the water bottle and reach up to adjust my headset.
My headset. The black foam kinda soggy where it rests against the skin of my neck. It's a reminder that I should be grateful for my near heatstroke.
I'm finally, finally,on the set of a sure to be blockbuster. Finally, after all those years of being a set P.A. on dozens of television pilots that didn't get picked up, and 'indy films' that barely made a blip on anyone's radar (not even featured on Rotten Tomatoes) I'm here. I'm on the set of an X-Men movie, freakin X-Men. And sure, I've been up since four a.m, and my shorts have seem to have shrunk in the heat, and the sun is licking my skin, but I'm here, finally with big names. I got fucking Kevin Bacon's lunch order yesterday for Christ's sake. And I know what you're thinking - yeah that's pretty cool, but is that really something to aspire to? First of all, yes. But that isn't what I happen to be aspiring to.
This time.
No, actually, this is all about me getting the experience I need to make it in this world. You have hundreds of young people like me that want to be the one to write the next hit movie. The one that makes the critics roar, and audiences feel things, and have Ebert and Roper praising on their ancient knees. When they all talk about wanting to be a writer for a hit movie all they really focus on is the actual writing. And don't get me wrong - I spend almost every waking moment working on the perfect script, but I've decided to get a leg up on the competition - in between writing I've been trying to get behind the scenes as much as possible. I have this thing about being able to direct my own works properly, the idea that everything will get mangled in the process if I don't have both my hands and feet on it.
So as I run lunch orders, and get tons of bottles of water, and blot actor's foreheads I learn about soundstages, and angles, and echoing. I get to see what works best in a frame, and all about lighting, and locking up, and how to hold a boom mic out of the shot, and it's all made me so pumped to get my work out there. I can see the credits now:
Directed and Written by Hannah Bell -
There is a burst of static coming through my headset and I hurriedly pull it up over my head.
"Timothy." Jim's voice crackles into my ear. Jim Cassack is the AD, and besides all of the other tons of duties he has, he's also the one responsible for all of us P.A's, making sure we don't break any props or accidentally maim any of the actors. There is silence on the line and I turn to look out over the water. It is quite pretty. The whole island is. Even though I've lived in Georgia on and off for the past five years, I've never been to Jekyll island. The sky is a brilliant cerulean today, and the water shimmers grayish blue. A little shift in the air brings a slight breeze and I close my eyes, savoring the feel of it while ignoring the sound of the helicopters above gathering aerial shots.
Another burst of static. "Timothy." There is still no answer. "Timothy?" I'm sure Timothy has turned his headset down. He's always doing that, for what reason I have no idea. That's like turning off your computer when you're a graphic designer. These headsets are a P.A's lifeline during filming. I happen to sleep with mine on every once in a while. But I've been told I'm over zealous. Jim's irritable voice sounds over the line. "Alright, who's the closest to the ship?" I look to my left and see the rubble; it's surrounded by other stage hands and palm trees. Matthew Vaughn is pointing something out, hands sweeping across the scene, and three people are nodding, one of them inching towards the wreck as if itching to rearrange some aspect of it.
"I am."
"Who is this?" I pause at the question - I'm the only Scottish P.A. on this set. Who else does he think this is?
"Uh, it's Hannah."
"Alright, Hannah," he begins. "I need to you run over there and pick up Magneto's helmet. Well, first I need you to see if it's even around there. And if it is, find Michael and give it to him. Tell him to try it on, see if it fits, and tell me what he says. Got that?"
I nod, and then remember he can't see me. "Yeah, I've got it."
The air goes dead in my ear as I begin my trek towards the wreckage. Once again, I curse having to wear sneakers in the sand. Being barefoot would be so much easier, but it's a safety thing, especially with all this debris dropped about. I find the helmet resting on a spare piece of metal. It feels hot in my hands, warmed by the sun and it hits me again as to where I am. God, I'm holding Magneto's helmet…
A quick look around doesn't reveal Mr. Fassbender, but honestly I didn't expect him to be around. He and Mr. McAvoy are attached at the hip, and I've barely seen them both all morning except during the one shot we did before Vaughn yelled cut, unhappy with what he was seeing. Probably whatever he was gesturing to a few minutes ago. My heart picks up a little as I head towards a thicket of palm trees. Interacting with Mr. Fassbender and Mr. McAvoy is probably my favorite part of this whole deal, honestly. They're fun, and funny, and clever and so different than some 'celebrities' I've had the displeasure to work with. They both insist that I call them by their first names, but it's still weird to me. Seems too informal. Mr. Bacon insisted on the same thing when I first spoke to him, asking him to stand still while I adjusted a few chairs in a shot. Just the prospect of calling him 'Kevin' made my mind melt.
The number of people around thins out the further I walk and soon I'm alone, navigating through the trees. I don't even know why I'm going in this far. Why would he be hanging out in the middle of a copse of palm trees? The sun bears down on the back of my neck, and I contemplate turning back around, to head back to the caravan. But Jim was in the caravan when he gave me the task - I could hear the sound the television in the background along with the sound of a hairdryer. Besides, it's not like it's a big island - you're either on the set, in the caravan, or in the trees.
Three minutes later, and there is no sign of Mr. Fassbender. My hand strays towards the button on my hip, about to ask Jim where he last saw him when I hear the low murmuring of a voice to my left. I roll my eyes; it's probably Timothy, trying to find service for his cell phone, but I go in that direction anyway, helmet held loosely in my fist. The sound of murmuring gets closer and I'm just opening my mouth to tell Timothy to forget his phone call, that Jim has been trying to get in contact with him, when a glimpse of yellow catches my eye through the trunks. It has to be one of the cast members - they're the only ones dressed like that this morning.
Hurrying forward in sand is hard work while wearing these damn sneakers. Not that it matters in a few seconds when I stop dead, my mind trying to get around what I'm currently seeing. The first thing that registers in my mind is that it's way too hot to be making out in latex body suits. But it seems as if both men aren't noticing the scalding heat, too wrapped up in each other to worry about anything as trivial as falling out from heatstroke. The gears in my head have completely stopped turning, but there is a resounding clunk as I take in the whole scene, realize what I am seeing, who I am seeing.
Mr. Fassbender has Mr. McAvoy up against a tree, and he holds his face in his large hands, cradling it like something precious. The way he kisses him, the way Mr. McAvoy's hands hold on tightly to the other man's hips causes my breath to catch in my throat. Mr. Fassbender pulls back a little to say something quietly, lips brushing against lips, and Mr. McAvoy grins before leaning up to tug at his lower lip with straight, white teeth.
They look good together - great together. The way Mr. Fassbender towers over Mr. McAvoy makes the other man look so small, protected, and the way their bodies meld together so naturally… No wonder they work so well together in scenes.
The gears in my head start churning again, somehow managing to pull away from the scene enough to fully take in what is happening. Or rather what it all means - because two hot guys making out is all fine and dandy when said men are single, but I know for a fact, that Mr. Fassbender is with Ms. Kravitz and Mr. McAvoy has a Mrs. McAvoy at home along with a new baby son that he coos to everyday on the phone. Randomly I thank the stars that Jim sent me and not Timothy. It's a miracle he wasn't the one to find them like this - he would have run to the magazines as soon as he could. Me? I'm just trying to figure out a way to back away without them hearing me and how I will explain to Jim that I couldn't find Mr. Fassbender for the fitting. He'll think I'm an idiot; how can you not find someone on a five acre island?
The sneaking away aspect shouldn't be that difficult though, seeing as how the kiss has gotten way more intense in my moments of contemplation. Mr. Fassbender's leg is between Mr. McAvoy's rolling his hips in a way that make a different kind of heat flush through my body. The smaller man moves his hands down to grab handfuls of latex clad arse, causing Mr. Fassbender to let out a muffled moan and sharply jerk his hips, and Christ, that's fucking hot and I need to get out of here-
A burst of static. "Hannah? Did you find him?"
Everything freezes, my heart, the birds in the trees, the men a few feet in front of me, all of it stills completely for an excruciating moment before Mr. Fassbender whips around and Mr. McAvoy's eyes snap open. I can feel my own eyes widen to the size of saucers as they both move quickly away from each other. Shit. "Hannah?" Jim sounds pissed. "Hannah? What the hell, where are all my people today-"
I fiddle with the button on my hip, eyes still fixed on the two men in front of me. "I'm-" my voice cracks, and I clear my throat. "I'm here, Jim. I just found them. Him! I found him. Singular-"
"What? Listen, did he try it on? Does it fit?"
"Gimme a sec." I walk forward slowly and hand Mr. Fassbender the helmet. "Try this on." My words come out like a whisper. Averting my eyes as he takes the heavy thing from me only causes my gaze to find Mr. McAvoy's, who's own eyes are completely blank, face devoid of any emotion. I bite the inside of my lip, lace my hands behind my back, and look away from him and at the sand. His eyes on the side of my face burn way more than the sun.
"It's still too small." Mr. Fassbender says, tone even. I nod.
"It's too small," I say into the mic.
"Alright" Jim puts his hand over the mouth piece and says something to someone around him, the words muffled. He comes back. "Alright, we need to get him in here. In the makeup trailer to get measurements."
"I'll let him know." The air goes dead again.
All three of us stand around awkwardly. I've been a part of plenty an awkward shape in my life, but I'm sure this one is the most bizarre. And I am counting that one time last year at a Christmas party that somehow turned into a group outing to see a 'donkey show.'
Hesitantly, I take the helmet back from Mr. Fassbender. Well, I hold my hand out for it, and he eyes me for a moment before handing it back. "They need you. In the makeup caravan for measurements. To measure your head." I wince at my poor choice of words, cheeks flushing scarlet. Mr. McAvoy gives an amused snort, but almost immediately the awkward prickly silence begins to descend again, and I can't handle it. I've never been good at handling pressure. I'm kinda high strung. My mum says I get it from me Da. The only difference being, while I take medication, he builds wee ships in bottles. Which is counter productive, really, seeing as how the small pieces make him so irritable he tosses it aside. There are tons of half built ships in bottles all over my parent's house.
"I won't tell anyone, yeah?" I look to each man, trying to exude trustworthy with my eyes. "I promise I won't say anything, s'not my business to be telling." I can hear my accent getting thicker with every word I speak, and I try not to wince. My Scottish brogue always comes out full force when I'm more than a wee nervous. "Really though, s'not. You two can carry on like, but I-" I shuffle my feet, kicking sand as if it is a rock on concrete. "I would be more careful, yeah? Being out here where anyone can find ye and all..."
And I just said that. I just gave two movie stars cheating on their significant others advice on how to do so. My mum always said Hollywood would change me… She also says the same about wearing heels taller than two inches. I don't know where she gets her information from these days.
They are still quiet, watching me and I shuffle on my feet a few more times. My mind is racing, thoughts becoming too fast to keep up, and my heart beat is becoming erratic. I quickly hand the helmet back to Mr. Fassbender, who takes it bemusedly, and dig through my back pocket. Pulling out the brown bottle, I pop the top and fish out an Ativan. Yeah, I know I probably appear to be insane, but look, I have anxiety issues alright. It was either let these actors I truly respect and admire see me taking my medication, or fall to the sand, clutching my chest for panic.
I like to think I made the right choice.
I tuck the bottle away and dry swallow the white pill. We all stand around waiting for it to take effect. Well, that's what I'm doing, anyway. The men just look at me, probably thinking they offended my delicate sensibilities.
I take the helmet back.
"You won't say a word?" Mr. McAvoy asks and I nod.
"This would be a phenomenal story for the tabloids," Mr. Fassbender says coolly, and I look up, and up (Christ, he's tall) at him.
"I'm sure it would be." The Ativan is doing its thing already. I feel a lot more confident and less like I'm going to go into shock from seeing two of my favorite actors commit adultery. "Good thing I don't need the money, yeah?"
That's a lie; I'm broke all the time. The money would be great. I could pay my rent... maybe buy some food... or socks without holes.
They still eye me somewhat skeptically, but my medication makes it that, oddly enough, I don't really care. It's not like they're going to kill me and bury my body on Jekyll island in order to keep their secret. At least not today. Jim knows where I am.
I fiddle with the helmet in my hand and without thinking I put it on. It's too big on me. I look up at both men, whose lips are quirked in little disbelieving smiles. I must appear mad. "Come on then," I say turning around. "Jim is waiting." I feel like this should be a bigger deal. Like they should probably ask once more if I'm going to take their secret and run off into the night, cackling and desperate to share the sordid details with all and sundry. But all they end up doing is following me back through the trees while talking quietly among themselves .
The helmet lists towards one side and impedes my vision somewhat.
But who cares?
I'm wearing freaking Magneto's helmet.