W.O.E. - SGA/Entourage/RPS
Nitroglycerin. Mentos and Diet Coke. Rodney McKay and Ari Gold. Who doesn't like to see things go 'BOOM!'?
Dedicated to trinityofone and littera_abactor who both kicked this SGA AU concept around the yard long before I got to it.
Stargate: Atlantis/Entourage/RPS (Alternate Universe)
Rodney McKay, Ari Gold, and John Sheppard, with special appearances by both ensembles and the future president of the United States. (Clooney in 2008!)
W.O.E. (World of Entertainment) 1/?
There is an urban legend in the cocaine-strewn, anorexic halls of the Los Angeles entertainment industry that when Rodney McKay and Ari Gold announced they were forming the McKay Gold Talent Agency, the remaining agencies pooled their funds and hired the best assassin money could buy to kill them both before escrow could be completed on their office space.
However, in twist that could only happen in Hollywood, the assassin was so charmed by McKay and Gold that he went to work for them instead; and to this day, the assassin ties with Ari's assistant, Lloyd, as the best paid assistant in town.
This is all a big lie of course -- Rodney would never waste Ronon's skills on something like rolling calls, that's what he has Miko for.
Instead, Rodney keeps Ronon on retainer for those special moments in his life: escorting Matt Damon to the Oscars, taking Teyla Emmagen to her latest premiere, moving his living room sofa, and baiting Liz Weir so Rodney can be introduced to her latest find at the Indie Film Festival Du Jour.
"I just want to meet him," Rodney insists to Liz, eyeballing the pretty boy with the crazy hair lurking in the corner. Rodney shouldn't call him a 'boy' since he looked way over 30 in the film, but mature is in, and Rodney knows a good thing when he sees it.
Mostly, he wants to get in there before one of the blood-sucking vultures from another agency gets there first. It has absolutely nothing to do with the tight black tee shirt that said pretty boy is wearing; Rodney doesn't put his dick where he gets his paycheck.
That way lies stalkers and sexual harassment lawsuits.
Rodney crosses his arms. "What harm can come from just a little conversation? He'll find out who I am, sign with me, make you rich, and we'll all be happy!"
He should never have let Ronon have the day off. Liz has a crush on him the size of a small galaxy; he would've been the perfect diversion.
"The harm is that you still haven't looked at that script I sent you for Teyla and Jake," Liz points out. "I know heterosexual dysfunction isn't gay cowboys, but everything can't be gay cowboys, Rodney. It can't even be gay space cowboys. I've tried. Although--" Liz waves off her digression. "Rodney, seriously, just look at it."
"I will look at your script as soon as I'm done trying to save the entire industry from imploding, so we all have a job on Monday!" Rodney snipes.
Liz smiles. "You really should think about a change of profession," she says, "you'd make a great dramatic actor."
"Please -- because I really want to be insipid and vain for a living? No thanks."
"So you just represent the insipid and vain instead?"
Rodney snatches a flute of champagne from a nearby waiter, tells the waiter to "Stay!" and downs it in one.
"It's a dirty job, but the pay is even better than NASA," Rodney says, handing the flute back and waving the simpering waiter off. Power is everything in this town.
"And you would know."
"I didn't get recruited by the inept idiots at M.I.T., Caltech, Microsoft, and the US government for no reason. I'm a certified genius."
"You're a certified megalomaniac," Liz corrects.
"No, that's Ari," Rodney re-corrects, "I'm just egomaniacal." He and Ari went to a couples shrink once, after Terrence axed them for sedition and they were working out of that garbage dumpster in West Hollywood, she told them so.
They go back to visit Dr. Heightmeyer sometimes. Mostly when their assistants threaten to leave otherwise.
"Speaking of the Anti-Christ," Liz says, looking around, "where is your other half?"
"He's with his other half."
Liz nods knowingly. "Is George still upset over the Brad thing?"
"His other other half," Rodney says. "Mrs. Ari."
Liz furrows her brow. "Ari is married to someone besides you and George? Wow. He must be a busy man."
Rodney makes a derisive wave, but out of the corner of his eye he's watching the pretty boy, who's putting away beers like it’s his first job and not his second.
Rodney can't believe that the entire room isn't trying to climb all over him, but he's doing a pretty good job of hiding behind the shrubbery, and Liz does seem to be running interference for him. Plus, other people aren't Rodney McKay.
Except Kavanaugh is heading in their direction, mixing and schmoozing with Peter Grodin from ICM, and Chuck Norris save him, they're honing in together.
Rodney is not panicking -- Ari and he are so blowing up the ICM building on Monday. After their morning coffee. Also, no more playing nice. "Okay, Liz, as much fun as this has been, when are you going to introduce me to my next big star?"
Liz snorts. "When are you going to read my script?"
"It's not your script, it's a script you want to direct," Rodney points out.
"Rodney -- two words - Academy Award."
Rodney snorts. "Funny, this only looks like an indie screening to me."
"Which you attended, because I promised you something great."
"Yes, and now you are standing between me and my greatness, so can you move already?"
Liz is not amused, and Rodney grits his teeth together. If Ari were here they could just double-team her, like Grodin and Kavanaugh are ostensibly going to do. However, Rodney didn't know that his Next Big Thing was going to be debuting in a supporting role at Indie Film Festival Du Jour, and he really didn't know NBT was in Lizzie's new film, and god, why does Rodney have to be so good at his job? Why does he discover talent in the strangest places?
Why couldn't he just settle for some non-acting pretty boy like Orlando Bloom?
"Monday, I will read it on Monday," he concedes.
"Promise me."
"I swear on Ari's children," Rodney says. Rodney would sell Ari's children if he had to. It's not like they're his or anything; he's just their godfather. "Liz, please." Rodney is desperate, and it must show, because the next thing he knows Liz is introducing him to John Sheppard.
John's much taller than Rodney thought, skinnier too, he's older up close than far away, and the hair. Oh god, the hair is so unfortunate it could be his trademark. Hmm.
"John, this is Rodney. Rodney, this is John," Liz says, motioning between them. "John, Rodney wanted to meet you, because he's a partner at the best agency in town and he wants to make you a star. Rodney, I should tell you that John doesn't want to be a star, and hates acting even though he's fucking sensational at it, and he only agreed to be in my movie because I let him live in my guest house for free."
And with that Liz leaves, and Rodney is alone with his Next Big Thing that, apparently, doesn't want to be the Next Big Thing. But Matt didn't want to be a star, and Teyla was working as a teacher, and that didn't stop Rodney either.
"So, you don't want to be a star?" Rodney says. "I find that hard to believe -- everybody wants to be a star, why the hell else would you live in L.A, except to whore yourself out to the masses?"
John doesn't even raise an eyebrow, he just takes another swallow of the beer in his hand. It's Budweiser. Rodney hates Budweiser. He hates American beer full stop.
"The surfing -- I came to L.A. for the surfing," John says, giving Rodney a considering look up and down.
Rodney ignores it.
People in the industry are very into appearances, and Rodney is no Matt Damon. That’s never stopped him from making money though, and in the industry money talks louder than anybody else.
Still, it would figure that his next big thing is going to die from skin cancer before Rodney can get him a statue or six. "I can get you your own house in Malibu. You can go surfing every fucking day when you're not on the set. Tell me who reps you now so I can have them killed. We can have you in Malibu by Tuesday."
John's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Thanks, but no. Liz already told you I'm not interested in doing this for a living. I don’t even know why I'm here."
"You're here because you're the Next Big Thing, and anybody at this screening can see that," Rodney pauses, glaring at an approaching Kavanaugh over Sheppard's shoulder. "Hold that thought for a minute, don't let it get lost in your pretty head."
And then Rodney's on the attack. "This one is mine," he snaps at Kavanaugh and Grodin, stepping in front of John protectively. "If I catch you and your syphilitic whore sniffing around him again, I'll tell the Sith Lord you call a boss you've been poaching from me, and then I'll dedicate the rest of my life to taking every client ICM has just to put you out of work. Got it?"
Grodin pales considerably, and Kavanaugh actually opens his mouth to respond, but John interrupts by tapping Rodney on the shoulder. "Just a reminder that I don't belong to you," he says, his tone more amused tolerance than firm fact.
Rodney glances at him in annoyance. "That's just a matter of time," he says before turning back to Grodin and Kavanaugh, "in the meantime, you two, back the fuck OFF!"
And with that Rodney turns his back on the competition. Well, not any real competition, since no one can compare to Rodney. Except maybe Ari, but that's only on Ari's best day.
"Now, we were talking about how I'm going to make you the next Matt Damon --do you see yourself as the action hero type? Because I just got this great action script -- Cameron's doing it. It's called Atlantis, and it's got this lead role, a military guy, and I think--"
"No military," John's tone has dropped from amused tolerance to dead flat.
Rodney blinks. "Okay, how about singing? Can you sing? Because there's talk of this Hank Williams pic, and you've got that rangy, cowboy thing happening. Sadly the gay cowboy is a little overplayed right now, but give it 18 months and I can probably get you something along those lines if that's what you'd prefer."
The more Rodney talks the more John seems to be tuning him out. "Is this about the military thing, because, you know, I'm Canadian. I don’t really care for it myself--"
"If I were you, I would stop talking now," John says ditching his bottle in a potted plant. Rodney doesn't even realize he has stopped talking until John nods his head. "Now look, Mr. McKay, I'm sure--"
"Rodney. Just Rodney. My dad is Mr. McKay, and he was an ass, so please, just call me Rodney."
"Okay, Rodney, shut up and let me talk."
"Yes, okay, but--"
"Rodney."
Rodney sighs and gestures for John to hurry up and get it out.
"I'm sure you're really good at what you do, but I don't want to act. I don't want to be famous," John says pointedly. "I like my life the way it is."
"Just give me a chance," Rodney says. "What's the worst that can happen?"
And that's when John leans down and kisses him. It's hard and brutal, John's fingers twist in the collar of Rodney's shirt, his tongue slipping between Rodney's lips like the filthiest promise ever. It's so hot, and Jesus Christ, Rodney didn't see that one coming.
"This--this--this isn't the casting couch," Rodney sputters, pushing John away and not looking at his mouth. "MGA is a business. A dirty business, but a legitimate one, we don't whore our clients out unless they want us too. You don’t have to pretend to be interested in me, I don't do that- "
John's laugh is all bitterness. "Then you're the only one in town that doesn't," he says.
Rodney crosses his arms. "Maybe you're a little slow on the uptake, Mr. Sheppard. I know you pretty people aren’t always that bright. My name is Rodney McKay of the McKay Gold Talent Agency. Maybe you've heard that we represent the biggest names in the world: Vincent Chase, Sharon Stone, Matt Damon, George Clooney. I don't want you to be my whore, I want you to be my star."
John leans down again, his breath his warm against Rodney's face and Rodney can see the gold flecs in John's eyes. The intensity makes Rodney's heart race, and for a moment he thinks it's his hypoglycemia, and then he realizes it's just his hormones.
Great.
"I don't want to be your star -- or anyone else's star," John enunciates each word. "I don’t want to be famous. I don't want to be your work-ox. I am not some young starlet. I am not going to fall at your feet and thank you for noticing me. I am not going to sleep my way to the top."
"First of all, you're pretty, but I don't sleep with my clients," Rodney retorts quietly. "Second of all, you wouldn't have done Lizzie's film if you didn't want something from this industry. I can get that for you. You just have to tell me what you want."
John shakes his head. "You suits are all the same."
Rodney hates being called a suit. He screws his eyes shut and counts to ten like Dr Heightmeyer told Ari and he to do so they don’t lash out and bankrupt MGA.
Rodney will not lash out at John.
Rodney will not wring John's neck.
Rodney will definitely not develop a crush on John either.
Rodney is so much more professional than that. He can make this work, except that when Rodney opens his eyes John's half way out the tent, and by the time Rodney runs after him, he's long gone.
This does not make Rodney happy.
If John Sheppard wants to play difficult that's fine -- he's obviously never met Rodney McKay, agent to the stars.
Rodney pulls out his Blackberry and calls Ari.
This is war.
--TBC--
Title taken from the song by Jurassic 5, available on their CD, Quality Control. Show some love for J5!
Dedicated to trinityofone and littera_abactor who both kicked this SGA AU concept around the yard long before I got to it.
Stargate: Atlantis/Entourage/RPS (Alternate Universe)
Rodney McKay, Ari Gold, and John Sheppard, with special appearances by both ensembles and the future president of the United States. (Clooney in 2008!)
W.O.E. (World of Entertainment) 1/?
There is an urban legend in the cocaine-strewn, anorexic halls of the Los Angeles entertainment industry that when Rodney McKay and Ari Gold announced they were forming the McKay Gold Talent Agency, the remaining agencies pooled their funds and hired the best assassin money could buy to kill them both before escrow could be completed on their office space.
However, in twist that could only happen in Hollywood, the assassin was so charmed by McKay and Gold that he went to work for them instead; and to this day, the assassin ties with Ari's assistant, Lloyd, as the best paid assistant in town.
This is all a big lie of course -- Rodney would never waste Ronon's skills on something like rolling calls, that's what he has Miko for.
Instead, Rodney keeps Ronon on retainer for those special moments in his life: escorting Matt Damon to the Oscars, taking Teyla Emmagen to her latest premiere, moving his living room sofa, and baiting Liz Weir so Rodney can be introduced to her latest find at the Indie Film Festival Du Jour.
"I just want to meet him," Rodney insists to Liz, eyeballing the pretty boy with the crazy hair lurking in the corner. Rodney shouldn't call him a 'boy' since he looked way over 30 in the film, but mature is in, and Rodney knows a good thing when he sees it.
Mostly, he wants to get in there before one of the blood-sucking vultures from another agency gets there first. It has absolutely nothing to do with the tight black tee shirt that said pretty boy is wearing; Rodney doesn't put his dick where he gets his paycheck.
That way lies stalkers and sexual harassment lawsuits.
Rodney crosses his arms. "What harm can come from just a little conversation? He'll find out who I am, sign with me, make you rich, and we'll all be happy!"
He should never have let Ronon have the day off. Liz has a crush on him the size of a small galaxy; he would've been the perfect diversion.
"The harm is that you still haven't looked at that script I sent you for Teyla and Jake," Liz points out. "I know heterosexual dysfunction isn't gay cowboys, but everything can't be gay cowboys, Rodney. It can't even be gay space cowboys. I've tried. Although--" Liz waves off her digression. "Rodney, seriously, just look at it."
"I will look at your script as soon as I'm done trying to save the entire industry from imploding, so we all have a job on Monday!" Rodney snipes.
Liz smiles. "You really should think about a change of profession," she says, "you'd make a great dramatic actor."
"Please -- because I really want to be insipid and vain for a living? No thanks."
"So you just represent the insipid and vain instead?"
Rodney snatches a flute of champagne from a nearby waiter, tells the waiter to "Stay!" and downs it in one.
"It's a dirty job, but the pay is even better than NASA," Rodney says, handing the flute back and waving the simpering waiter off. Power is everything in this town.
"And you would know."
"I didn't get recruited by the inept idiots at M.I.T., Caltech, Microsoft, and the US government for no reason. I'm a certified genius."
"You're a certified megalomaniac," Liz corrects.
"No, that's Ari," Rodney re-corrects, "I'm just egomaniacal." He and Ari went to a couples shrink once, after Terrence axed them for sedition and they were working out of that garbage dumpster in West Hollywood, she told them so.
They go back to visit Dr. Heightmeyer sometimes. Mostly when their assistants threaten to leave otherwise.
"Speaking of the Anti-Christ," Liz says, looking around, "where is your other half?"
"He's with his other half."
Liz nods knowingly. "Is George still upset over the Brad thing?"
"His other other half," Rodney says. "Mrs. Ari."
Liz furrows her brow. "Ari is married to someone besides you and George? Wow. He must be a busy man."
Rodney makes a derisive wave, but out of the corner of his eye he's watching the pretty boy, who's putting away beers like it’s his first job and not his second.
Rodney can't believe that the entire room isn't trying to climb all over him, but he's doing a pretty good job of hiding behind the shrubbery, and Liz does seem to be running interference for him. Plus, other people aren't Rodney McKay.
Except Kavanaugh is heading in their direction, mixing and schmoozing with Peter Grodin from ICM, and Chuck Norris save him, they're honing in together.
Rodney is not panicking -- Ari and he are so blowing up the ICM building on Monday. After their morning coffee. Also, no more playing nice. "Okay, Liz, as much fun as this has been, when are you going to introduce me to my next big star?"
Liz snorts. "When are you going to read my script?"
"It's not your script, it's a script you want to direct," Rodney points out.
"Rodney -- two words - Academy Award."
Rodney snorts. "Funny, this only looks like an indie screening to me."
"Which you attended, because I promised you something great."
"Yes, and now you are standing between me and my greatness, so can you move already?"
Liz is not amused, and Rodney grits his teeth together. If Ari were here they could just double-team her, like Grodin and Kavanaugh are ostensibly going to do. However, Rodney didn't know that his Next Big Thing was going to be debuting in a supporting role at Indie Film Festival Du Jour, and he really didn't know NBT was in Lizzie's new film, and god, why does Rodney have to be so good at his job? Why does he discover talent in the strangest places?
Why couldn't he just settle for some non-acting pretty boy like Orlando Bloom?
"Monday, I will read it on Monday," he concedes.
"Promise me."
"I swear on Ari's children," Rodney says. Rodney would sell Ari's children if he had to. It's not like they're his or anything; he's just their godfather. "Liz, please." Rodney is desperate, and it must show, because the next thing he knows Liz is introducing him to John Sheppard.
John's much taller than Rodney thought, skinnier too, he's older up close than far away, and the hair. Oh god, the hair is so unfortunate it could be his trademark. Hmm.
"John, this is Rodney. Rodney, this is John," Liz says, motioning between them. "John, Rodney wanted to meet you, because he's a partner at the best agency in town and he wants to make you a star. Rodney, I should tell you that John doesn't want to be a star, and hates acting even though he's fucking sensational at it, and he only agreed to be in my movie because I let him live in my guest house for free."
And with that Liz leaves, and Rodney is alone with his Next Big Thing that, apparently, doesn't want to be the Next Big Thing. But Matt didn't want to be a star, and Teyla was working as a teacher, and that didn't stop Rodney either.
"So, you don't want to be a star?" Rodney says. "I find that hard to believe -- everybody wants to be a star, why the hell else would you live in L.A, except to whore yourself out to the masses?"
John doesn't even raise an eyebrow, he just takes another swallow of the beer in his hand. It's Budweiser. Rodney hates Budweiser. He hates American beer full stop.
"The surfing -- I came to L.A. for the surfing," John says, giving Rodney a considering look up and down.
Rodney ignores it.
People in the industry are very into appearances, and Rodney is no Matt Damon. That’s never stopped him from making money though, and in the industry money talks louder than anybody else.
Still, it would figure that his next big thing is going to die from skin cancer before Rodney can get him a statue or six. "I can get you your own house in Malibu. You can go surfing every fucking day when you're not on the set. Tell me who reps you now so I can have them killed. We can have you in Malibu by Tuesday."
John's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Thanks, but no. Liz already told you I'm not interested in doing this for a living. I don’t even know why I'm here."
"You're here because you're the Next Big Thing, and anybody at this screening can see that," Rodney pauses, glaring at an approaching Kavanaugh over Sheppard's shoulder. "Hold that thought for a minute, don't let it get lost in your pretty head."
And then Rodney's on the attack. "This one is mine," he snaps at Kavanaugh and Grodin, stepping in front of John protectively. "If I catch you and your syphilitic whore sniffing around him again, I'll tell the Sith Lord you call a boss you've been poaching from me, and then I'll dedicate the rest of my life to taking every client ICM has just to put you out of work. Got it?"
Grodin pales considerably, and Kavanaugh actually opens his mouth to respond, but John interrupts by tapping Rodney on the shoulder. "Just a reminder that I don't belong to you," he says, his tone more amused tolerance than firm fact.
Rodney glances at him in annoyance. "That's just a matter of time," he says before turning back to Grodin and Kavanaugh, "in the meantime, you two, back the fuck OFF!"
And with that Rodney turns his back on the competition. Well, not any real competition, since no one can compare to Rodney. Except maybe Ari, but that's only on Ari's best day.
"Now, we were talking about how I'm going to make you the next Matt Damon --do you see yourself as the action hero type? Because I just got this great action script -- Cameron's doing it. It's called Atlantis, and it's got this lead role, a military guy, and I think--"
"No military," John's tone has dropped from amused tolerance to dead flat.
Rodney blinks. "Okay, how about singing? Can you sing? Because there's talk of this Hank Williams pic, and you've got that rangy, cowboy thing happening. Sadly the gay cowboy is a little overplayed right now, but give it 18 months and I can probably get you something along those lines if that's what you'd prefer."
The more Rodney talks the more John seems to be tuning him out. "Is this about the military thing, because, you know, I'm Canadian. I don’t really care for it myself--"
"If I were you, I would stop talking now," John says ditching his bottle in a potted plant. Rodney doesn't even realize he has stopped talking until John nods his head. "Now look, Mr. McKay, I'm sure--"
"Rodney. Just Rodney. My dad is Mr. McKay, and he was an ass, so please, just call me Rodney."
"Okay, Rodney, shut up and let me talk."
"Yes, okay, but--"
"Rodney."
Rodney sighs and gestures for John to hurry up and get it out.
"I'm sure you're really good at what you do, but I don't want to act. I don't want to be famous," John says pointedly. "I like my life the way it is."
"Just give me a chance," Rodney says. "What's the worst that can happen?"
And that's when John leans down and kisses him. It's hard and brutal, John's fingers twist in the collar of Rodney's shirt, his tongue slipping between Rodney's lips like the filthiest promise ever. It's so hot, and Jesus Christ, Rodney didn't see that one coming.
"This--this--this isn't the casting couch," Rodney sputters, pushing John away and not looking at his mouth. "MGA is a business. A dirty business, but a legitimate one, we don't whore our clients out unless they want us too. You don’t have to pretend to be interested in me, I don't do that- "
John's laugh is all bitterness. "Then you're the only one in town that doesn't," he says.
Rodney crosses his arms. "Maybe you're a little slow on the uptake, Mr. Sheppard. I know you pretty people aren’t always that bright. My name is Rodney McKay of the McKay Gold Talent Agency. Maybe you've heard that we represent the biggest names in the world: Vincent Chase, Sharon Stone, Matt Damon, George Clooney. I don't want you to be my whore, I want you to be my star."
John leans down again, his breath his warm against Rodney's face and Rodney can see the gold flecs in John's eyes. The intensity makes Rodney's heart race, and for a moment he thinks it's his hypoglycemia, and then he realizes it's just his hormones.
Great.
"I don't want to be your star -- or anyone else's star," John enunciates each word. "I don’t want to be famous. I don't want to be your work-ox. I am not some young starlet. I am not going to fall at your feet and thank you for noticing me. I am not going to sleep my way to the top."
"First of all, you're pretty, but I don't sleep with my clients," Rodney retorts quietly. "Second of all, you wouldn't have done Lizzie's film if you didn't want something from this industry. I can get that for you. You just have to tell me what you want."
John shakes his head. "You suits are all the same."
Rodney hates being called a suit. He screws his eyes shut and counts to ten like Dr Heightmeyer told Ari and he to do so they don’t lash out and bankrupt MGA.
Rodney will not lash out at John.
Rodney will not wring John's neck.
Rodney will definitely not develop a crush on John either.
Rodney is so much more professional than that. He can make this work, except that when Rodney opens his eyes John's half way out the tent, and by the time Rodney runs after him, he's long gone.
This does not make Rodney happy.
If John Sheppard wants to play difficult that's fine -- he's obviously never met Rodney McKay, agent to the stars.
Rodney pulls out his Blackberry and calls Ari.
This is war.
--TBC--
Title taken from the song by Jurassic 5, available on their CD, Quality Control. Show some love for J5!