The scene opens.
She is sat upon a desk, writing a report on something unimaginably dull. Her eyes are glued to it, but we can see how bored she is. She absent mindedly tucks a hair behind her ear, she crosses and uncrosses her legs. She sighs a little, looks to the window.
It is raining outside, and dark. She can hear thunder, there's a flash of lightening. The sky is thick with dark clouds.
Altogether, she does not want to be here. She suddenly feels very alone, hugging herself a little. But the report has to be done, and she continues to work.
Then he enters.
They nod, acknowledging one another. There is a subtle toughness about him, a gentle strength. He is attractive, but then, so is she. Whilst she is pale, he has a more tanned colour to him-her hair is dramatically dark, his is more gently coloured.
He goes over to her desk, and she watches him walk all the way. There is something about it, we can see it in her eyes. She is fascinated, attracted perhaps. There is a sense that she compares him to many things she has seen, and she decides that he is different-maybe even special. He leans against the desk, and for a moment there is silence as she works and he watches her work.
We can see from his eyes that there is something unspoken. Something is different now, though. This something is unknown at this moment, but it would seem that there is a change in the air-we may discover.
She places the report on the desk, and looks him in the eyes. "Finished." She whispers softly.
"You want me to walk you home, Ingrid? It's dangerous out there." There is concern in his eyes, but a subtle undertone of an ulterior motive. Currently we are unaware.
"I still have a couple of things to do...I don't want to make you wait, Anza." She smiles a little.
He shakes his head. "It's no trouble. I'd rather make sure you're ok. Anything I can help with?"
He offers her a hand, helping her down from the desk. She accepts, their hands touch, and there is a little tentativeness, some kind of anticipation. It is as if they have gone back in time to being little children, and there is great embaressment to be had at the touch of the other sex. He is not about to squeal "EW, COOTIES!", but the nervousness remains.
Their hands stay linked until she has to file the report. When there is release, they avoid eye contact, their entire bodies turn away from eachother. An unspoken line has been crossed. What they have entered know is the unknown. She places the report where it belongs, and shuffles the papers on her desk, all the while avoiding his eyes. The expression on her faces seems almost guilty, but there evidence of pleasure-perhaps he is forbidden to her.
In the meantime, he tortures himself; trying not to watch her, but longing to. Finally he allows himself to look at her, at exactly the time she looks up from her desk. Their eyes meet, and there is a moment of awkwardness.
She moves away, turns to him. "Ready to go?"
He nods.
They do not leave.
He moves closer to her. She is expectant but afraid, wise but innocent. She is leaning close to him, and he is leaning too. His eyes close a little, and she can't believe that this is happening. We realise it is not just fear, this is confusion, this is everything and nothing. This will be a landmark-not a first, but a pinprick on the time map. Her eyes clamp shut, as if she worries that if her eyes don't close, things will change, and this won't happen. She worries for what she will feel, there is an amount of stiffness in her body language.
It's not as innocent, not as nervous as a first kiss. However, they're not the most experienced, there is a small amount of nerves. It is very gentle, sweet, almost completely platonic. However, this does not last, his arms wrap around her, their mouthes open, the kiss has moved on. The stiffness has melted away, it seems natural, it seems perfect, and yet there is something amiss.
The scene shifts, we see someone framed in the doorway. His eyes are covered by glasses, but the dark look on his face is clear. There is anger, but it is more than that. It is betrayal. His fist clenches.
The kissing pair stop. She shakes her head. "No...this isn't right."
He looks away. "Ingrid...I..."
She steps away from him, turns her back. She is looking away as she speaks. She could be addressing anyone else from the tone of her voice. "Anza...It was just a kiss. Only a kiss. An experiment more than anything else." She is cold. She is an ice queen. But it is clear that she does not wish to hurt him, not intentionally.
"How...how can you say that? I know that was more than an experiment. I know it was!" He is clutching at straws. "There was electricity...there was...Ingrid, please...!"
"It's the situation...I mean...we're on edge... The Patrol has been under a lot of strain recently. I...You could've been anyone. I'm sorry." Excuses are made, they both know that they are true, but the extent of their truth differs.
He frowns. He goes over to her. "No, I know who I was." There is danger in his voice, a lilt of dark delight. As he stands over her, we see him trying to physically intimidate her, he is taller than she, he is stronger.
"Don't do this." Her apologetic tone has changed to a somewhat aggressive one, she no longer feels guilt, she feels strong, righteous anger.
"I was Fillmore." He whispers it in her ear, but the figure in the doorway hears it. We see his reaction-complete shock, and yet a smile. Confusion. It looks as if it was sweet nothings, but the defiance on her face makes it clear that it was not.
She wheels around to face him, meets his eyes, glares. The unspoken line, we now realise, was not one for her and him, but for her and any man on the Patrol. Any fondness that was there before we now know was displaced. We see Fillmore's face in her eyes, fleetingly. It really was an experiment. It changes what has gone before-a line has been crossed. "Don't bring him into this."
"Cornelius Fillmore." He smirks, shakes his head. "You wanted him the minute you saw him. Don't deny it."
"I'm not going to." She turns away from him-and finally sees Fillmore in the doorway. He is framed dramatically, looking like a knight in shining armour, a rescuer. A close up on her face; there is an expression somewhere between relief, anger, fear and love. She turns to Anza, and guilt crosses her face once more. "You were pretending I was Tehama." She whispers it in a matter of fact way, trying to push away Fillmore's presence.
It does not work, as he moves toward them, unable to do anything else. His expression is unreadable.
Anza is frowning, shaking his head. "Nah. Ingrid, you were the only one pretending. I've waited for you for a long time." His hand brushes against her face. "So long. Watching you fall for Fillmore...the hardest thing I've ever done." We see his eyes and realise this is true. There is heartbreak as Ingrid realises, too. There is fear. Her eyes close.
"But...I don't..." The protest has to be feeble. She has a dark look in her eyes.
"You have to have felt something..." He begs it weakly.
She shakes her head, and hangs it in shame. "I...I'm sorry. I wanted you to be someone else." For the first time, we see Ingrid looking truly sad. She has let her emotions rise to the surface. This is more than what we saw before, which was mere right-place-right-time-romance, if it can be called that.
He kisses her again, eyes wide open. There is hope in them, that she feels something. There is nothing, until she closes her eyes. We see her lips move slightly-'Fillmore'-he feels it against his skin and pushes her away, against her desk.
There is shock, but a defiance in her eyes. She pulls herself up. She is determined.
"Leave, Anza." The silent Fillmore speaks softly. There is a menace to his voice. It is something we have never heard before, possibly never again. He is at Ingrid's side, although there is the sense that he is not there for physical intimidation-he has not mistaken partnership for defence.
There is something in Anza's face. A heart has been broken tonight. He glares at the two of them as they stand together. He has stepped beyond the shadows and swears never to do so again. He opens his mouth to speak, insult we suspect. No words escape his lips. Whether this is because of fear or of better judgement we are unaware. He has a dark menacing look about him. The lightening strikes, the thunder rolls. But there is something of a hope-he is strong, he will recover. He walks through the door. When he entered he looked romantic, dashing. Now he looks dark, brooding, perhaps even mallevolent.
She watches him leave before turning to Fillmore. She remains strong, because that is what she is. She looks him straight in the eyes. She is torn between kissing him so much that she forgets that they ever weren't together and simply walking away, acting as if nothing has changed. She doesn't know if it has or not.
His angry look has subsided. He looks soft, gentle. He removes his glasses, rubs them on his shirt. His eyes are a deep, dark chocolate brown. There is a lot in his eyes, and it's all she can do to look at them. She is transfixed. He looks up from his task, and meets her eyes. Suddenly it is like before, but where then all there seemed to be was want, what there is now is need, expectancy, a hint of lust, and a lot more of love. There is a chemistry that can be felt.
He leans over to her and kisses the top of her jaw. Her eyes close and she realises, surprised that there are tears on her cheeks. He is kissing her tears, and for once she wants to cry, wants to never stop crying, because then he can never stop kissing her. For a moment her eyes flicker open, and she sees that his eyes are closed. For a brief, terrifying second she wonders who she is in his eyes.
He senses this. They are, after all, best friends. He stops kissing her tears, and kisses her lips.
This kiss could never be innocent. There are years of pent up romance, pent up longing that need to be spilled out. His arms embrace her. They seem to need to come up for air, but they do not, there is a fear that if they let go for so much as a second then it will be over. They know that it must never be over.
We zoom out, and for a moment all they are is another teenage couple. There's a romance that is somewhat lost in the older generations. The room is large, they look almost insignificant, but they are still there, they are still clear to us.
The scene closes.
/Urm, well, that was...weird. It was originally going to be based on that Closer advert, where Jude Law says something like "I kissed you!" as if that makes Julia Roberts his posession. (Think it's those two. Whatever)
I've always liked Anza, he's the only other guy I can see Ingrid with. He's something of a shadow man, but we know he's a tough guy-a bodyguard. I can see him having secrets. Probably not this one, but you know...secrets.
As for Ingrid in this, well... I don't see the kiss as intentional on her part. Caught in the moment, a longing to experiment, a relief from what looks like it will be unrequited love. Because when you like someone and someone else actually does something like that, it is often a very distracting, very confusing feeling-but sometimes you let it happen, because you feel so lost and frustrated with the one you want. Or maybe that's just me. Whatever.
Fillmore...well. He doesn't have much of a role. I just see him as more amazed that Ingrid loves him than the fact that she kissed Anza. Even though we all know the reason why. It spurred him over the edge into expressing his feelings.
This is called Illusion because it's about the illusion of feelings-self delusion, the illusion created by a kiss. It was going to be called Just One Kiss, but...mech. Didn't feel right. Illusion doesn't feel completely right, but it feels a lot closer. Of course that could be because I heart Maboroshi by can/goo, and I think maboroshi means illusion.
Finally, I don't own these, so don't sue me or anything. I'm poooooooooor. So, please review (even if it's to say "...huh?!" and it probably will be BECAUSE THIS IS WEIRD!) and take care and stuffs,
Sylvi Storm/