Real Person // Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock // Our Characters Meet (one)
Title: Our Characters Meet (Part One)
Fandom: Real People
Characters: Keanu Reeves & Sandra Bullock
Prompt: 64. Suspicious
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,371
Summary: They meet.
Author's Note: Ah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
The year? 1998. The people? Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. The twist? Keanu never got a part in Speed.
It isn’t until Sandra can no longer feel the rain seep into her scalp that she bothers to look up from under the sopped magazine. The man beside her holds a dark umbrella over them both, shielding her from the wind swept rain with his body. She smiles appreciatively and he reciprocates with a shy, small smile. His actions are most likely due to her celebrity status, but in this weather she won’t judge motivation.
“Some weather,” she says because there is nothing else to say. A few more cabs speed by, occupied signs lit, and his flagging arm falls disappointedly. “Where are you headed?”
“Out of the rain.” his voice is on the deep side, seductive without meaning to be. His eyes squint in hopes of spotting a free taxi in the rain. Leaning out into the rain, he flings his arm out, and luckily for them, the cab sees his fit physique despite the dark and pulls over to the curb. The generous stranger steps in front of Sandra to block any spray; she notes the guitar case strapped to his back. So he’s a musician.
A homeless, street musician, she logically reasons as she waits for him to open the door. If he had a home, he would have said that’s where he’s headed. As she slides inside, automatically moving down to accommodate the two bags in her hands, Sandra’s dismayed to see him getting inside as well. It takes a few minutes for him to take off the case and shake the worse of the rain off the umbrella, but the cabbie, unlike Sandra, is patient. This kind of weather demands it. Grateful for his services but nervous about sharing a cab with a potential hoodlum, she clears her throat as he starts to explain his destination to the driver. His dark eyes turn on her while he shuts the door. With the interior light shining over them, she takes in his handsome, youthful features, droplets of water beading at the end of his short, black hair. The car quiets, rain hitting the roof with sharp pings.
“I’m sorry; do you need to get dropped off first?” Yes.
“57th and Harlem, please,” she tells the driver, only briefly leaning forward so as not to fully inhale the harsh mix of a twelve hour shift and pine tree freshener.
“865 Dougher after that,” he requests before sitting back, his soaked case between his legs. His forehead taps against the cool glass; as he exhales, his breath heats a small section white before it rapidly disappears. There’s something familiar about his profile and the unfazed, polite demur he directs toward her. Could he have been an extra in a movie she was in, or did she see his band at one of the few nightclub open mikes that Tate took her to? Either way they have a half hour ride, perhaps longer with the rain, ahead of them and she wants to know. They hit a pothole and his skin streaks painfully against the window. He rubs his forehead, leaning back and frowning at the window as if it was capable of hurting him and did so.
“Sandra Bullock,” she whispers to him, holding out her hand. The driver peeks in his review mirror, trying to decipher her soft spoken words. The stranger looks at her, his hand still gingerly touching the sore spot, and smiles slightly.
“Keanu. Reeves.” he draws his hand away and looks at it warily as if he expects blood. Heat rushes to Sandra’s cheeks as the actor’s name rings several bells. She takes back her hand.
“Oh my God; I am so sorry I didn’t recognize you! You looked so familiar to me and I was thinking where I had seen you and my mind was running through movies I’d done and bands I’d seen -- because of the guitar I assume you’re a musician -- but that’s so it. Wow.” she slaps the middle seat with vigor. “I can’t believe this. I thought you died. But is this what you’ve been doing since … when was your last movie, four years ago?” she gestures to the case. “Because that is great. Music is good, I like music. Well, everyone likes music, I mostly enjoy country, but that’s like the outcast in musical society. What’s your band called? What kind of music do you play? Is that why you’re all the way out here?” she pauses to inhale a breath. Keanu Reeves. Here she is rambling like a crazed fan, though all she can recall of him is that he was famous at one point, and he’s sitting next to her as if he holds half of her celebrity power.
“The band’s called Dogstar and we had a gig at Shipwreck.”
“That’s a real hard knock place. So what happened?”
“What happened what?”
“With you, silly. I mean, granted, your movies weren’t exactly blockbusters but you had your moments. What was that one movie you were in? Oh, it was like … damn. People totally typecasted you after it. What was the movie? It did fairly well.”
He shifts uncomfortably, opening and closing a lock on the side of the case. “I don’t know.” Sandra waves her hands in the air.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Was it … no, that’s not it. Give me a hint. You must know what I’m talking about.”
“It’s been awhile.”
“But you have to remember, you were in it!” she puts a hand on her forehead. “Give me a minute. It’ll come to me.”
“I don’t really want to--”
“Bill and Ted? Yes! Oh my gosh.” she slaps his arm. “You played Ted. You‘re Ted.”
“Driver, stop. Now. Just … STOP.” the brake squeals but Keanu doesn’t wait for the complete halt; grabs his case and leaps out of the car into the gushing monsoon.
“Keanu! Keanu, wait!” she picks up his abandoned umbrella off the floor. “Hold the cab,” she orders him.
“Ma’am I cannot --”
“I tip extremely well, sir, hold the damn cab.” Sandra doesn’t wait for him to confirm just steps out, opening the umbrella as she does. The door remains ajar behind her so he’ll keep his unspoken promise. “Keanu!” she yells, spotting him hurrying from awning to awning. Sandra curses her cute but impractical heels as she runs after him. Normally she would have shut the door and told the cabbie to keep driving, shrugging him off as another victim to Hollywood‘s underbelly. But there was something in his eyes when she called him that character’s name which forces her to leap over puddles and yell after him once more. “Give me one damn minute!” he stops and she hurries to meet him before he can make a break for it.
“Thank you,” she gasps. “I’m so glad you stopped. You’re pretty fast.”
“You have my umbrella.” he takes it from her but holds it over both of them.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t know it would upset you. It’s just a movie. That’s what I know you from. I didn‘t realize it was such a sore spot for you.”
“It is.”
“Yeah I got that with the whole jumping out of the cab thing.” Sandra shakes her head, water droplets flying through the air. “I don‘t understand how it would be, but …”
“One character defines who I am as a person.” he rolls his eyes, clearly thinking it’s ludicrous that she can’t understand.
“Oh.” she shifts, not sure why she wants to say the next thing, but thinks of his eyes and does anyway. “Let me make it up to you. Do you want to get something to eat?”
He bites his bottom lip, still uncertain of her. “I‘m not sure.”
“There’s a buffet a couple blocks down from here. We could go there.”
“You’re going to gain my forgiveness with food?”
“Actually, I was thinking more of buying your company for the hour. I’m a lonely, lonely woman.” she strokes a finger down his arm, laughing when he pulls away uncomfortably. “I’m joking.”
“Sorry …” he shakes his head. “I don’t really have a sense of humor.”
“Well that’s too bad because I am a barrel of laughs.”
Fandom: Real People
Characters: Keanu Reeves & Sandra Bullock
Prompt: 64. Suspicious
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,371
Summary: They meet.
Author's Note: Ah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
The year? 1998. The people? Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. The twist? Keanu never got a part in Speed.
It isn’t until Sandra can no longer feel the rain seep into her scalp that she bothers to look up from under the sopped magazine. The man beside her holds a dark umbrella over them both, shielding her from the wind swept rain with his body. She smiles appreciatively and he reciprocates with a shy, small smile. His actions are most likely due to her celebrity status, but in this weather she won’t judge motivation.
“Some weather,” she says because there is nothing else to say. A few more cabs speed by, occupied signs lit, and his flagging arm falls disappointedly. “Where are you headed?”
“Out of the rain.” his voice is on the deep side, seductive without meaning to be. His eyes squint in hopes of spotting a free taxi in the rain. Leaning out into the rain, he flings his arm out, and luckily for them, the cab sees his fit physique despite the dark and pulls over to the curb. The generous stranger steps in front of Sandra to block any spray; she notes the guitar case strapped to his back. So he’s a musician.
A homeless, street musician, she logically reasons as she waits for him to open the door. If he had a home, he would have said that’s where he’s headed. As she slides inside, automatically moving down to accommodate the two bags in her hands, Sandra’s dismayed to see him getting inside as well. It takes a few minutes for him to take off the case and shake the worse of the rain off the umbrella, but the cabbie, unlike Sandra, is patient. This kind of weather demands it. Grateful for his services but nervous about sharing a cab with a potential hoodlum, she clears her throat as he starts to explain his destination to the driver. His dark eyes turn on her while he shuts the door. With the interior light shining over them, she takes in his handsome, youthful features, droplets of water beading at the end of his short, black hair. The car quiets, rain hitting the roof with sharp pings.
“I’m sorry; do you need to get dropped off first?” Yes.
“57th and Harlem, please,” she tells the driver, only briefly leaning forward so as not to fully inhale the harsh mix of a twelve hour shift and pine tree freshener.
“865 Dougher after that,” he requests before sitting back, his soaked case between his legs. His forehead taps against the cool glass; as he exhales, his breath heats a small section white before it rapidly disappears. There’s something familiar about his profile and the unfazed, polite demur he directs toward her. Could he have been an extra in a movie she was in, or did she see his band at one of the few nightclub open mikes that Tate took her to? Either way they have a half hour ride, perhaps longer with the rain, ahead of them and she wants to know. They hit a pothole and his skin streaks painfully against the window. He rubs his forehead, leaning back and frowning at the window as if it was capable of hurting him and did so.
“Sandra Bullock,” she whispers to him, holding out her hand. The driver peeks in his review mirror, trying to decipher her soft spoken words. The stranger looks at her, his hand still gingerly touching the sore spot, and smiles slightly.
“Keanu. Reeves.” he draws his hand away and looks at it warily as if he expects blood. Heat rushes to Sandra’s cheeks as the actor’s name rings several bells. She takes back her hand.
“Oh my God; I am so sorry I didn’t recognize you! You looked so familiar to me and I was thinking where I had seen you and my mind was running through movies I’d done and bands I’d seen -- because of the guitar I assume you’re a musician -- but that’s so it. Wow.” she slaps the middle seat with vigor. “I can’t believe this. I thought you died. But is this what you’ve been doing since … when was your last movie, four years ago?” she gestures to the case. “Because that is great. Music is good, I like music. Well, everyone likes music, I mostly enjoy country, but that’s like the outcast in musical society. What’s your band called? What kind of music do you play? Is that why you’re all the way out here?” she pauses to inhale a breath. Keanu Reeves. Here she is rambling like a crazed fan, though all she can recall of him is that he was famous at one point, and he’s sitting next to her as if he holds half of her celebrity power.
“The band’s called Dogstar and we had a gig at Shipwreck.”
“That’s a real hard knock place. So what happened?”
“What happened what?”
“With you, silly. I mean, granted, your movies weren’t exactly blockbusters but you had your moments. What was that one movie you were in? Oh, it was like … damn. People totally typecasted you after it. What was the movie? It did fairly well.”
He shifts uncomfortably, opening and closing a lock on the side of the case. “I don’t know.” Sandra waves her hands in the air.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Was it … no, that’s not it. Give me a hint. You must know what I’m talking about.”
“It’s been awhile.”
“But you have to remember, you were in it!” she puts a hand on her forehead. “Give me a minute. It’ll come to me.”
“I don’t really want to--”
“Bill and Ted? Yes! Oh my gosh.” she slaps his arm. “You played Ted. You‘re Ted.”
“Driver, stop. Now. Just … STOP.” the brake squeals but Keanu doesn’t wait for the complete halt; grabs his case and leaps out of the car into the gushing monsoon.
“Keanu! Keanu, wait!” she picks up his abandoned umbrella off the floor. “Hold the cab,” she orders him.
“Ma’am I cannot --”
“I tip extremely well, sir, hold the damn cab.” Sandra doesn’t wait for him to confirm just steps out, opening the umbrella as she does. The door remains ajar behind her so he’ll keep his unspoken promise. “Keanu!” she yells, spotting him hurrying from awning to awning. Sandra curses her cute but impractical heels as she runs after him. Normally she would have shut the door and told the cabbie to keep driving, shrugging him off as another victim to Hollywood‘s underbelly. But there was something in his eyes when she called him that character’s name which forces her to leap over puddles and yell after him once more. “Give me one damn minute!” he stops and she hurries to meet him before he can make a break for it.
“Thank you,” she gasps. “I’m so glad you stopped. You’re pretty fast.”
“You have my umbrella.” he takes it from her but holds it over both of them.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t know it would upset you. It’s just a movie. That’s what I know you from. I didn‘t realize it was such a sore spot for you.”
“It is.”
“Yeah I got that with the whole jumping out of the cab thing.” Sandra shakes her head, water droplets flying through the air. “I don‘t understand how it would be, but …”
“One character defines who I am as a person.” he rolls his eyes, clearly thinking it’s ludicrous that she can’t understand.
“Oh.” she shifts, not sure why she wants to say the next thing, but thinks of his eyes and does anyway. “Let me make it up to you. Do you want to get something to eat?”
He bites his bottom lip, still uncertain of her. “I‘m not sure.”
“There’s a buffet a couple blocks down from here. We could go there.”
“You’re going to gain my forgiveness with food?”
“Actually, I was thinking more of buying your company for the hour. I’m a lonely, lonely woman.” she strokes a finger down his arm, laughing when he pulls away uncomfortably. “I’m joking.”
“Sorry …” he shakes his head. “I don’t really have a sense of humor.”
“Well that’s too bad because I am a barrel of laughs.”