Leading Man
For ParisiennePen, Rogues and Wraiths Ficathon 2009
Written for ParisiennePen for Ficathon '09. She asked for the Fab Four plus Gavin, with possible Iella, Mirax, and Luke. Keywords were holodrama, reflection, and tired.
The holodrama was RIDICULOUS. Horrible plot, worse acting, cheaply-done effects; everything about it screamed "product of a lost weekend fueled by a few cases of Whyren's and an overabundance of glitterstim."
Wes seemed to be enjoying it, however.
Come to think of it, this was all Wes's idea to begin with. Wedge shook his head in exasperation as he remembered how Janson had come into the mess with that scheming glint in his eye as he handed out flyers inviting the other members of the squadron to this special one-night only screening of the so-called classic Taanab holodrama, "Star Garden."
"So bad it's good, my ass," he heard Gavin mutter from across the room as the princess-slash-resistance leader (weren't they always?) and her companions raced to the top of the Tower of Destiny or whatever it was called (Wedge had become lost in the convoluted plot and had yet to find his way out), continuing their only-in-the-holos quest to save their planet from the wrath of power-hungry… glowing balls of light?
Sure, the whole shindig (if that's what it could be called) was a colossal waste of time, but Wedge couldn't really complain. He'd much rather have a quiet night in with his squadron (awful holodramas or none) than have to deal with one of Wes's outlandish schemes.
As far as schemes went, Wes had to admit, this was one of his best yet. Not only was it (mostly) harmless; it would really boost squadron morale (not that they really needed it), AND if everything went just right with his outside contacts, there was the slight potential to turn a profit (all of which would go back to his beloved squadron of course).
He had a script. He had the ambition. He had a pair of hotshot aviator sunglasses. All he needed now was a cast and crew.
Simple enough, he thought as he donned his shades and strode purposefully into one of the base's many corridors.
"No, Wes."
"Oh, come on, Iella! Can't I just borrow some of your people for a few hours? Maybe days?"
"Wes, you do realize that Intelligence can't loan people out for indeterminate amounts of time, besides which-"
"At the most, it'll be a week. Or two. Three at the absolute TOPS."
"Wes, no. There are also salaries to consider! Who's going to pay for these people to do… what was it you wanted again?"
"Bodyguards. And a police force."
Iella gave him a flat look before taking a deep breath in an attempt to prevent herself from flying off the handle.
"Wes. I'm going to give you one opportunity to leave right now. Should you choose to take this opportunity, I will not think any less of you nor your sanity, or lack thereof, and, most importantly, I will not lose my cool. I think it's a compromise that works well for the both of us."
"Fine, Iella. But don't think that this is over. I'll be back. And I will have the proper forms filled out. And filed. Including form 409.2b. Then you'll never be able to stop me!"
And with that, Wes Janson swept from the room, leaving a thoroughly confused Intelligence officer in his wake.
He needed a new approach, Janson decided. The easiest thing to change right off the bat would be his wardrobe, he supposed. He looked at his reflection in the mirror provided by the New Republic that found its home on his bedroom wall.
Of course, he realized. Nobody can take me seriously while I'm dressed like this.
And with that, he strode to his closet and promptly changed into something a bit more suitable for someone of his second profession.
Plus, he had to admit, it looked AWESOME with the aviators.
The first thing he did after changing was look for Hobbie. The search was not a long one – Wes found his long-time friend napping in the lounge.
"Hobbie, old buddy!" Wes stood behind the couch upon which Hobbie had sprawled. The other pilot cracked open one eye in a somewhat irritated manner before reluctantly sitting up.
"Yes, Wes?" he sighed, seemingly dreading what was to come – could Hobbie have possibly anticipated Wes's intentions? Janson figured it was rather unlikely, but one could never tread too carefully.
"I have a proposition for you."
Hobbie sighed again. This time it really sounded like one of trepidation. "Wes," Hobbie began slowly, "why are you wearing a suit?"
"Business strategy, my friend. First impressions are always the most important ones, after all."
"Because it's not like everyone doesn't already know you or anything," replied Hobbie.
The door opened and Tycho Celchu strode into the room. He stopped momentarily, taking in the scene before him.
"Ah, Tycho! Excellent. I can talk to both of you without having to leave the room now," said Janson.
"Wes, is there any reason as to why you're wearing sunglasses indoors?" Tycho looked quizzically toward Janson.
"Business strategy, Tycho. I have to be taken seriously, after all," replied Wes. "Now, about those proposals…"
And that was how Hobbie Klivian ended up standing outside, in the cold and the rain, trying his hardest to keep a personal holorecorder steady without the help of a tripod. Of course I get the short end of the stick, Hobbie thought as he wiped moisture off of the equipment during a break in filming. He looked behind him at the window of the room that housed the "writing staff," as Wes had called it. He glared as Tycho and Wes waved at him from the warm indoors.
Wes had offered the position of director of photography to Hobbie, while the job of screenplay editor went to Tycho. Hobbie had to admit that the work hadn't been so bad up until now – the weather had been rather clear for the past three days.
In all honesty, he felt the most sympathy for Gavin Darklighter.
"You know, I'm pretty sure that's not how you pin a hem…"
"Shut it, Darklighter. You don't want this pin to end up in you rather than your costume, do you? And stop fidgeting!" Mirax Horn was trying desperately to keep the younger man still while she attempted to fit his costume. "There. Take a look in the mirror over there and tell me what you think."
Gavin shuffled unhappily toward the corner of the room where Mirax had set up a full-length mirror. He looked cautiously at his reflection.
It was atrocious. Gavin looked like he had taken an unfortunate spill into a bin of aluminum foil that had somehow been turned into cloth. To top it off, it looked like he was wearing an over-embellished potato sack. He was pretty sure that this was not what the armor of a valiant warrior was supposed to look like. He was about to point this fact out before he was interrupted by Wedge entering the room.
"Hey Myra… I'm pretty sure that's not how you're supposed to pin a hem."
"Don't even start, Veggies. I did the best I could with what I had – material-wise and skill-wise. Besides, I'd like to see you try to pin a hem. I'm rather proud of me, if I do say so myself."
"Right, then. I'm assuming this is for Wes's grand scheme," Wedge remarked, appraising Gavin's costume. "And Gavin's playing the role of…" he glanced at the replica sword in Gavin's hand. "Gavin's playing the grand role of the heroic potato farmer, isn't he?"
"I resent that," Gavin responded. "I didn't even want to be involved in this to begin with. They bullied me."
"Oh, toughen up Darklighter. You're the leading man, after all. And we have a helmet to fit you for!" Mirax dragged Gavin away from the mirror and began to measure his head.
"Don't have too much fun, Gavin," Wedge remarked as he departed.
"Gee, I'll try not to," was the sullen reply.
After roughly one standard week, the filming was finished. It was about a month later when the footage came back from the tech department, edited into standard feature format (Wes had managed to bribe some of the IT support crew into pulling night-shifts to edit).
The time had come for the premiere. And what a glorious premiere it was, indeed. Wes, once again in his suit and aviators, had gathered the entire squadron together, plus Iella, Mirax, and a visiting Luke in order to witness the galactic debut of his filmmaking career.
It was certainly a film that would not be forgotten for a long time, to be sure. Poorly-sewn costumes, worse acting, and an even more ghastly script (courtesy of Wes going over and re-editing Tycho's edits just for the laughs) led to rave reviews of Wes's holovid. Wes found himself congratulated by many. Even Gavin, it seemed, was having a nice time – although last Wes saw him, he was trying to avoid a rather large pack of people requesting his autograph.
Wes was thoroughly exhausted as he collapsed into bed that night. Though the last month had been rather tiring, Janson was positive that "The Legend of Brave Sir Pomato" would become a base-wide hit. There was also the possibility of his baby's popularity spreading to other New Republic bases.
He figured it was about time to begin planning his next endeavor into the world of holovids. Maybe he would try a full-length holodrama next. Besides, he already had a rather talented leading man. It would be a shame to let him go.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the base, Gavin Darklighter's ears began to burn.
END. FINITO. FINAL. FINISHED. THANK YOU, DONE!!