Unbeta'd
I own nothing.
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When his agent informed him that yes, he had gotten the part and that, there was a change in the fact that the love-affair before the happy marriage-patching-sappy-ending-cliche of all Rom-coms occurred, Eames was intrigued. This was late in the casting, a rare feat when it comes to last-minute entire-script-changing-casting decisions occurred. Not only would they be changing the actress who would be his affairee-turn-best-friend-turned-marriage-councilwomen person (seriously guys, convoluted script say what?) but they were turning 'her' into a 'him'. He would not be having an affair with a man.
Not that he wasn't open to such things. It's just, whoa. Total Indie-road you're going guys. But, Eames is an A-list name in this country, and he supposed that having him as the lead would be good for an indie flick, so. Whatever. He's open.
When Macy, his new Goddess ( read, psycho-controlling spazoid agent) informed him not only was his co-actor male, but he was both European( "French, or Italian, or something like that, I don't remember. Not my day to pick ethnicity." ) and, as if metaphorical icing-on-the-cake, he was a new rising musical star, who the casting director thought would be awesome in a film.
Brand new music stars don't generally do well in actual movies. Especially ones who do a mix of classical piano and techno music. On one CD. That would be like, Beethoven being followed up by Cascada in a concert. It just doesn't work. But he's open.
When he met the star, the words 'I'm open' could not even describe what he was. 'Braindead' would have sufficed for most of that first day; he was a tall, lean multi-talented machine. An Italian kid, maybe four years younger than himself, with hair so brown it was almost black and eyes so soft they were like melting chocolate. Wide and young, and somehow cold as ice. He wore his hair slicked, and a three-piece suit that had to be illegal because no one's clothes should fit that well. Tie and everything, didn't slouch, had the attention span of Jesus and the focus of a hawk. He could look right through you and, even more, if someone couldn't understand his accent? He just dropped it. It took Eames at least two months to be able to warp his own accent. This kid was new to the music scene, and hadn't even started a movie career. Was this real life? Did people like this exist?
He'd be going to Italy. He should be there like yesterday.
"A.J. Callahan," said the boy-wonder of talents, the smooth swish of Italian spices curling inside of Eames' brain and doing terrible things to his thoughts. "Before you ask, Anthony Joseph. If you must, call me Tony." He looked left, for just that brief half-second, and Eames blinked.
"That's a wonderful stage name, now, what is your name." When the boy looked surprised, Eames chalked a point for him. One, lonely point, that would remain alone for almost the rest of the shooting, low and behold.
"You first."
"Trinton."
"Trinton…" 'Anthony' prompted, leaning a little closer as people who when prompting.
"…Eames," he held his hand out. "Call me Eames. I have a feeling we're going to be very close."
"…If that's the case," Said Anthony as he took his hand. "You may call me Arthur."
Yes, Eames was an open person, twenty-four hours ago. Now the door was shut, and he was alone in the room with a creature who either had a halo, or horns.
He didn't really care which one.
