~~~0~~~
"Have you looked at them yet?"
His eyes are glued to the television and he reaches for the cereal bowl. It's empty. He goes to the kitchen to fill it.
Tooth follows him. Her heels click against the floorboards over the sound of the TV. The tight clothes that she wears seem uncomfortable, and her make-up covered face doesn't agree with the weather. Her hands are on her hips. "Jack, I'm serious. You need to ride on this while it lasts. Your fanbase isn't going to wait forever."
He doesn't answer, grabbing the cereal box and tipping more into the bowl. Nothing comes out. He glances inside. It's empty.
"Jack."
He dumps the box in the trash. He goes to the fridge instead. There's milk. He grabs the handle along the bottle. He pours it into a cup.
She sighs. He knows she means well. He just doesn't care. "You need to get out there."
He takes the cup, leaving the bowl at the kitchen sink. He returns to the living room, with Tooth close at his heels. She waits expectantly for an answer. He still doesn't answer and continues to watch the Saturday morning cartoons.
His agent huffs, and eventually, she admits defeat. "You can't stay like this forever. She wouldn't want you to." She places a file on the sofa next to him – a list that she had taken ages to compile. "Take a look, okay? For your own sake."
~~~0~~~
"Musicals are in now. It's kind of funny, but true. The problem with musical theatre is that it's difficult to export. I mean, you need to train a new cast, make new props, maybe even translate the entire script! And it never lasts. It's like Sakuras in the spring – blossoming brilliantly, then dying rapidly."
She raises a brow at him, wondering where exactly he's going with this.
"But film – ah, film! – once you're in film, you're immortalized! Think Audrey Hepburn! Olivia de Havilland! Maureen O'Hara! You'd be forever in the limelight!" He clenches a fist triumphantly in the air. Realising that he might have gotten carried away, Weselton hastily lowers his arm, returning to a more collected manner. "There's been an offer, one that I think will forever change your life."
"Oh?"
"There's a director – youngish fellow, but snatched a couple of awards here and there. He's filming a musical."
"That rarely works out." She's a tad cynical. How can she not be? She has lived and breathed theatre all her life. Film is recording of the past, but theatre is the present. It's living – real time. It was alive. "People always compare it to the theatre version."
"Ah, but it isn't a film adaption of a stage musical. It's an original musical. Written specifically for film." He lets that sink in.
Against her own will, she found herself actually considering this. "Just me?"
"Well, yes. He was very specific. Think he saw you perform sometime back. Got his heart set on you for one of the parts."
She bites the inside of her cheek, then her head turns to her sister. The brunette girl is dressed in the same frilly skirt as half the female ensemble, and she half patting blusher on her cheeks, half blushing and laughing at whatever the muscular stagehand tells her.
She knows how hard Anna's been working for a principal role. She's the understudy of the understudy of the deuterogamist in the show, but she's only got to act play it twice. But hard-work didn't always make talent, and talent is the currency of success.
She turns back to Weselton. "If he gives Anna a part too, then yes."
~~~0~~~
"Franchises are the only the things that sell these days. Well-" he casts a glance to the young man strolling by his side "-that, and good looks."
Jack slurps his smoothie and pushes his glasses back up.
They're walking around a public park. Though the sun's shining bright, he's got a hoodie on, plus a cap and a pair of sunglasses. He's even got earphones plugged to his ears, though he isn't listening to any music.
His only companion is his sour-tempered, Australian-born bodyguard, who really liked voicing his opinions. "Good, fun films don't get any credit these days. It's all dark grit, or controversial topics, or gore and vulgarities left, right, centre. No one makes a good PG film anymore. It's all so-" Bunny just makes a gagging sound.
Jack doesn't register what he's saying, not just because he isn't interested, but also because he's staring across the park. There's a pair of girls – no older than six. One has her hands cupped together around something and she is showing her friend the object of her protection, making the friend gasped in awe. He can't see what it was though, so he cranes his neck forward. The angle of the small hands is not helping his vision, however, so he lifts his glasses up, hoping it would improve his sight. He still can't see what the object is and his curiosity is getting the better of him.
The two girls' heads then swing his way, and they giggle at his curious look. The girl holding the object pockets it before grabbing her friend's hand. They run away, laughing. He almost yells at them to stop.
"O. M. G." His head swings forward. Bunny stops his rant to look at the teenager who had stopped in front of them. She's donning sport-wear, probably just running around the area. She rips off her earphones as she gawks at him. "You're Jack Frost!"
Her phone comes up immediately, but Bunny pushes the boy behind himself before she can get the picture. "Alright, miss. Move along."
"Jack Frost?" Another head perks up.
"Jack Frost?"
"It's really him! Oh, my – wait till I tell Priscilla."
"Jack Frost, huge fan!" Paper and pen is thrust towards him out of nowhere. "Address it to Margery? Most people call me Marge, but Margery's prettier on paper."
Someone makes a grab at him, which he avoids just barely. "Jack! I love you! Marry me!"
"Jack! Over here! This is the Young Starlet. Word on the street is that you'll be starring in a new crime drama alongside your old mentor, Pitch Black. Is this true?"
"Jack! What do you say to the rumours that you and Rapunzel Konig have been in a secret relationship behind her husband's back?"
"Jack! Is it true that you left Dream Studio due to a falling out with the director, or is there another reason?"
"Jack!"
"Jack!"
"JACK!"
"ARRRGHGHHHHHHH!" Oh, dear. Someone's fainted. That's never good.
Bunny guards him with his own body, shouting at the people to move away as he weaves them through the crowd. Jack curses himself and lowers his glasses. He hears Bunny snarling into his earpiece and his hand goes to his smartwatch. He presses the play button and the music enters his ear.
He lets the melody and the drums drown out the noises around him. He imagines himself in a frost-ridden forest, covered with thick blankets of snow, isolated and alone.
Bunny leads him up to the car. There are other bodyguards there that push away the fans that try to clamour into the vehicle themselves. He hopes that they don't get hurt, but if they do…well, it would be their own fault. He slides onto the white seats and the door closes behind him. Hands are pressed on the window and screams could be heard. He doesn't look at them. He doesn't look at the frightening images as the car draws away.
~~~0~~~
"I can't believe we're really here! Wow!" Anna never ceases to be fascinated with things. This child-like quality might be perceived by some to be annoying, or even pretentious, but for Elsa, this was the crux of her personality - to be in awe.
Perhaps that's why it is likely that she would ever be the one that people are in awe of.
"Oh, look!" She points at a passing memorial dedicated to some producer of the Golden Age. Her phone is out and she's snapping away as the traffic before them begins to clear and their taxi begins to roll forward.
Elsa smiles slightly - just slightly - as she glances back down to her own phone.
~~~0~~~
"Do you think I could ever go back to school?"
The big man raises a bushy brow at him.
Jack understands what he means. He groans and runs a hand through his white hair. "I suppose not."
"Nyet, nyet," his Russian friend says as he moves the rook piece forward, swallowing up the white bishop before him. "It is possible, yes, but what makes you think that you won't be swarmed everywhere you go?"
The boy grimaces as he makes his own move. He realises his mistake only after he does it.
Promptly, North moves his Queen piece, swallows his other bishop. "Checkmate." He glances up at the boy. "Another game?"
Jack shrugs, his attention drifting to the television playing in the background.
"You should listen to your agent, you know," North tells him. "Get a new job. One of those offers' bound to be okay."
He makes a noncommittal sound.
"It's not about the fame, Jack." It seems that the big man guessed what was on his mind. "It's not healthy to stay like this."
"I know."
"You need to get out more."
"I know."
North keeps the pieces. Jack leaves the table. He goes to the television, but doesn't sit down to watch it. He decides instead to go to the CD rack, browsing through the collection. He stops when he draws out the case titled, 'The Guardians'.
~~~0~~~
She was told that he was young, but she doesn't expect him to be this young. Well, he's still older than her, she supposed, but not by much.
"The queen of stage herself," is how Hans Westergaard greets her, kissing her hand in a manner that certainly outdated by now. "Truly, it's an honour to meet you in person."
She doesn't quite know what to think of him. He's very handsome, undoubtedly, but there's an underlying cunning in his glinting green eyes.
Those eyes flit to her sister. "Ah, this must be Anna."
A smile spreads across Anna's face. She's blushing. She always blushing.
"Let's not delay, eh?" He waves them into the restaurant. "There's so much to discuss."
~~~0~~~
"Oh, what about a musical?"
He stares at her.
"They're all the rage now. You get into one of those, it'd look very good on your resume."
One of his brows raise themselves. "I can't sing."
"Of course, you can. Everyone can sing," Tooth dismisses his excuse.
"But some definitely sing better than others." He shakes his head. "What else is there?"
"Well, there's one that sounds like a motorcycle-horror-sports-romcom." Tooth makes a face as she flips through her file. "Oh, a space adventure one, which is the fifth in the series. There's one for a teenage dystopia - again." She chews on her pen, studying the sheets of paper, before glancing up at him. "Well?"
He glances over them. None of them are really appealing.
The woman blows back her pink and green bangs. "You promised me you'd pick one at least."
His finger draws out one. He peers down at it. It doesn't sound so bad. He hands it to Tooth.
She reads it, before giving him a critical look. "It's a commercial."
He shrugs.
"For chocolate wafers," she continues, incredulous as she massages her forehead. "Jack-" Tooth gawks at him "-you're way past those commercial days. Can't you just-" she waves her hand in the air, frustrated "-try?"
He stays quiet for a moment, then - "Has there been anything from Dream Studio?"
"Well." She hesitates. She's not sure how seriously he wants her answer.
He waits.
"You know they've not been doing well, right? I mean-" she hooks a yellow-green strand behind her ear "-they've been losing money lately, and they've cancelled a lot of projects. Including…" she doesn't finish it, but he knows what she's referring too.
He rubs a hand against his face. He knows this already, but he still hopes. He hopes one day he'll get the call, and that everything will be back to what it used to be.
"If you really want that wafer ad, I can call up the firm up? See what they're offering?"
He shrugs. He seems to do that a lot now.
She leaves him with a watery smile, and he stays on the couch. He slides a hand under the pillow and find the DVD case he had left there. 'The Guardians'. He remembered the reviews.
'Brilliantly imagined film with gorgeous sets, effects and costumes. The choice of story direction has produced the cliché trope of predestined powers and leave very little imagination. This is not helped by the bland cast, especially the lead, newcomer Jack Overland, who's only quirky mannerisms and awkward delivery of his lines make the audience confused on whether they are supposed to like or hate the 'hero' of this fantasy-adventure tale.'
That was one of the politer reviews. Fans of the related book series had written in essay after essay about how the film had slaughtered the source material, and others had complained that creation and forced inclusion of a 'hip' young-lead was disrespectful to the intentions of the author. The film never did as well as it was supposed to, and any money it did make was attributed ironically to the pretty-faced poster-boy, who wasn't even supposed to be in the movie.
Nothing to do with his actual acting abilities, because he knew he didn't have any.
He glances at the corner that Tooth has disappeared to. He then glances out of the window. At night, it'd be harder for people to identify him, right?
He grabs his hoodie and stuff it on. He grabs the cap and his phone, which has Bunny on emergency contact should he need it. Wallet goes into back-pocket and he shoves his white-hair under the hoodie.
He leaves the house without detection, the only sign of his departure via the fridge note. He doesn't go by the front gate, hoping over the fence from the garden. He sneaks away like a thief in the night, but without purpose or aim.
~~~0~~~
"Check out the nightlights!" She swings her phone to her surroundings, before flipping the camera back to herself. "Cool, right?"
They walk down the famous shopping street together. Once work starts, they mightn't have another opportunity. Everything's terribly expensive, of course, it's still cool.
"Wish you were here!" Anna's now saying into her camera, before blowing a kiss.
Elsa is walking alongside her, mostly silently. She felt no great need to take pictures of the city. She has never been one for nightlife in the first place, but Anna's the one who dragged here.
Anna's happiness is a rather big thing in her life.
"Instagram?" she asks lightly. She doesn't have anything on social media herself. She doesn't see the point in it.
"Oh, no. Just sending it to Kristoff," is the girl's careless reply – a bit too careless, which tells Elsa that she dropped the name for a purpose.
Elsa rummages her memory for a 'Kristoff', and finds it. "He's the stagehand, isn't he?"
"Yep," her sister nods. "We got on pretty good back then. Kind of sorry to leave him behind." A sadness falls over her face as she peers down at her phone. "Well, and all my other friends."
Yes, they left behind many familiar faces, places, and attitudes back in their home town, but it is just part of change. They would get used to it. Somehow.
For Anna's sake, they will.
"Hey!"
The crowds are too tightly packed. An accidental collision of bodies is enough to cause Anna to stumble back. Elsa catches her in time, only to be knocked down by the same mass that assaulted her sister. With the younger girl still recovering from the near tumble, there was nothing to keep the blonde from tripping backwards. She lets out a cry when she lands into a puddle.
"Sorry!" comes from the one responsible. He wears a hoodie, with the hood just barely covering his white locks. He casts a glance over his shoulder, before taking off into the crowd. Elsa scowls. He didn't even stop long enough to look at her properly when he yells his apology, and he certainly didn't stop long enough to help her up.
Anna gives her a hand and hoists her back to her feet. She can feel her back soaked with something that didn't smell quite like water, and by Anna's face, had created a stain on the back of her dress. "Geez, what a rude guy."
"Yes," Elsa answers, but the any further disparagement about the white-haired boy in the hood is halted when they observe a paparazzi, consisting mostly teenaged girls and middle-aged women, running down the road, clearly in hot pursuit of the escaping young man. Some of the throng is screaming, some are crying. Most are loudly declaring their affection.
The two girls observe the scene in surprised silence. The crowd that is not parts the chase just shuffles idly by, as if such occurrences are perfectly normal.
"Must be some celebrity," Anna finally says. "I wonder who he is. Actors? Singer? He looks straight out of boy band, come to think of it."
Elsa just 'hmms' before telling her sister, "Is it alright if we go home now? My back feels very uncomfortable.
She doesn't see the white-haired boy for till many weeks later.
~~~0~~~
"Step, and step, and pas de chat – heads down, left, down, right, – and five and six and-"
Dancing has never been her forte, and she is very glad that she isn't part of the ensemble. Her own little dance number – which is just a bit of hand action during the music sequence – that gives her time to relax. She watches as Anna stepped ran in together with the rest of the team, following the choreographer in learning the dance moves. She shoots a smile towards her older sister, before her feet wobbles and she barely steadies herself in time for the
"Aren't they lovely?" her colleague sighed. She looks young, but Elsa knows that she really isn't. She's seen her in a couple of films before, had quite a number of fans and a couple of scandals to her name – something to do with an extramarital affair? – but for all the evils fame has granted her, she seems like a wonderful person. She never complains, comes to work punctually, and throws herself whole-heartedly in her role. Elsa can respect anyone who stays this decent an industry as tough as this. "I've always wished that I could dance professionally."
"Why didn't you?" she asked her.
The young blonde actress sighed, smiling slightly. "I had a very … simple childhood."
Ah, yes. Rapunzel (no last name, like 'Adele', or 'Madonna', or 'Cher') was said to have been brought up in near-complete isolation from the modern world by her mentally-ill foster mother. Her tragedy story was caught in the media's net and sensationalized for all it's worth. Her rise to prominence had more to do with popularity on social media more than her music (which was some indie rock-symphonic country fusion that Elsa didn't understand). Her agents must have realized the same and tossed her into the world of silver screen. Her career as a musician would never last, but her pretty face on screen might do a number. Her pretty faces, and all the vices that came with it.
"What about you?" the young singer-musician-actress inquires curiously. "What was your childhood like?"
She staggers back at the question, almost as if she indeed has been thrown back in time.
"You must try harder."
She wipes her wet eyes. "I know."
"Remember what I told you." He grasps her hand gently. "The show must go on."
She nods, though more tear ooze out when the stagehand jerks her sprained ankle whilst bandaging it. "Ow!"
"She needs to be out there in thirty seconds," someone hisses in the wings. "We can't replace our girl halfway through the show! The audience would notice the change!"
"We won't have to," her father answers sharply. He turns back to her. "Princess, remember what your mother and I told you – this is your big break."
"My big break," she repeats after him, rubbing her eyes furiously. She's ten, for goodness' sake. She shouldn't be crying anymore.
"You just need to on your feet for ten more minutes," he assures her. "Then it'll be over."
"Twelve, actually," the stagehand tying her bandage interjected.
"Twelve minutes," her father corrects him, tipping her chin up. "But I believe you can do it."
"I can?" It comes out as a whisper. She's frightened. It's her first time for everything – being on stage, being in a real show, having a sprained ankle.
He looks at her straight in the eye. "Say it after me. Conceal."
"Conceal."
"Don't feel."
She sucks in a breath. "Don't –don't feel."
"Don't let them know."
"Don't let them know."
"Ten seconds!" the same voice as before calls up.
Her father plants a kiss on her forehead, before lifting her by the armpits back to her feet. As soon as she put weight on the foot, tears spring in her eyes again. She dabs them away furiously, however, gritting her teeth. The actors and backstage staff look at her with concern, then at one another.
"She can do this," her father insists to them. "Give her a chance."
They decidedly said nothing.
Her father leads towards the curtain. She sees the rest of the ensemble skittering nimbly around the stage as they chant in chorus. When they move to the bridge, that's her cue.
"Go get them, Princess," her father whispers in her ear as she limps forward. When the stage lights shine on her, she's forced to break into run, force to put on a smile, force to pretend that she was alright.
Conceal. Don't feel. Put on a show.
"My childhood was … boring."
As much as she is thankful for her parents for pushing her as hard as they did - after she shredded the resentment - she is even more grateful that they left Anna out of it.
~~~0~~~
"Hey, you know that offer for a musical I told you about?"
"Mm-hmm?" He's signing a stack of autographs for his official fan-site to sell. One A3 sheet of glossy paper, one scribble with a silver marker, frame it and boom! A hundred bucks of easy cash, and only for the first thirty that took part in some sweepstake thing on the website. He doesn't understand what people will do with these. Hang them up on the world? Bury it in a box of formaldehyde? Hug it to sleep?
The marketing people from the site tells him that they could triple price if he kissed the autograph. He respectfully declines.
"They have an opening again," Tooth tells him. "The guy they picked out had a falling out with the director, so he left the show. They're offering you now."
"Oh?"
"They think you'll attract a younger audience." She purses her lip as she scans the document. "And also middle-aged, romance-hungry housewives."
"Ah." He sets the photo down, before moving to the next one. "Well, I can't sing."
"You don't need to be able to sing exceptionally well," his agent tells him as she lifts her tea to her lips. "You know who they picked initially? That actor from the dragon movie."
This is enough for him to pause his signing. "Hiccup Haddock?"
She snaps her fingers together. "That's his name. It's so weird though. I can't believe parents actually name their kids this stuff."
"No kidding," Jack agrees. Hiccup Haddock came into the acting field as an awkward, gangly child-actor before puberty hit. After that, he turns into a teenaged heart-throb and with the continuing success of the 'Dragons' franchise, he just gets hotter and hotter (in terms of popularity, I mean. After a certain age, one does not become more good looking and one does not literally increase in temperature, because that would result in one bursting spontaneously into flame and burning to death). Since both of them gained their fame in Dream Studio, many consider Hiccup to be his rival in career. Jack disagrees, because 'rival' would mean that they bother to fight over this. They don't. They're not good friends by any means – he has only met the other fellow once before – but they are certainly not foes either.
"Anyway, I've heard him sing before in one of those television shows he acted in." She shook her head so hard that her colourful strands seem to blend together. "It's ghastly. You can only be better."
The corner of his lip tugs up. "Your confidence in me is astonishing."
"Of course it is." She leans forward, gazing seriously down towards him. "So, will you do it?" A refusal is on tip of his lips, but she stops him. "I'm going to put this here-" she places the printed email down next to his pile of autographs "-and you're going to think about it."
She leaves the room. He intends to return to the signing, but curiosity moves his hand towards the sheet of paper and picks it up. At first, he thinks of crushing it between his palms and tossing it in the bin, but his fingers don't move. He brings it closer and for the first time in ages, he actually reads an offer for himself.
~~~0~~~
"Thank you for meeting me."
"The pleasure is all mine." The young director gestures to the seat across his own. "Take a seat."
The scene around him is one that Jack is unused to. Ladies' dress to the nines and men dress like a million bucks. Bright chandeliers hang from above and the stars glitter far out in the glowing city below. He tugs his collar uncomfortably as he obeys the instruction. The assortment of cutlery lying in front of him does nothing to quell his anxiousness.
The redheaded man across him clearly doesn't suffer from similar worries and beams brightly at him. "I was quite surprised to receive a call from your agent. You did decline the offer before." Was that a barb?
"Yeah, well." He shifts uneasily in his seat. It's lined with silk, which meant that's slippery and he must place his feet flat on the ground to keep himself from slipping off. "I've been out of the whole acting thing for a while."
"Yes, you have," mused the director, scratching his chin. "I realise that you don't have a lot of experience either."
He wonders if he's supposed to feel threatened. "Well, yeah."
"It's a tad of risk, I reckon, throwing you into the deep end with a full-blown film musical." With how softly director – what's his name? Hans? Hans? Hands? Was there a difference? – was talking, Jack was sure if he was speaking to him or he was just thinking aloud. "Then again, you might end up surprising us all."
He doesn't know what to reply, so he shrugs.
There might be a flicker of annoyance in the director's eyes, but if there is, it vanishes quickly. "Well, -" he beams indulgently down at his white-haired guest "-let's order first, shall we? Then we'll talk more about that role."
~~~0~~~
"You know that Hiccup's no longer on the show?"
"He's not?" She jerks her head in shock at the remark, earning a startled gasp from her make-up artist. Elsa quickly shifts her head back, embarrassed. "Sorry."
Both herself and Rapunzel herself are shooting today, but for different scene. Rapunzel's character would be having a conversation in song with a green hand puppet, which would become a bird in a post-production. Her own character would be on the gorgeous snow castle set, filming one of the opening sequences in the show – at least, it was presumed to be the opening sequence until the post-production team changed it.
"They say they've got a new guy," Rapunzel told her while her own make-up artist lowered a dirty-blonde wig over her head. She lets out a sigh. "It's for the best, I suppose. Hiccup's sweet, but he can't sing if his life depended on it."
"Have they got someone to replace him yet?" Elsa doubts that she would actually know the named person. She has never noticed it before, but she was never quite a movie watcher, and she certainly didn't bother to keep track of the dozens of the celebrities that this city boasts about.
Rapunzel scrunches her face up, and only stops when the artist working on her requests it of her. Her nose is then dusted with a soot-coloured powder. "Well, I heard that it's Jack Frost, but that's just rumours."
"Jack Frost." A name like that seems to fit perfectly with the plot of the show. In fact, it sounds like he should be a character in the show himself. "Never a heard of him before."
"I met him a few times. He's very nice." Rapunzel says. Then again, Rapunzel thinks everyone is nice. "He'd be nice to work with. I think." She doesn't sound so sure anymore.
~~~0~~~
She first meets him on set a week later. His hair is so brilliant white that for half a moment she thinks they must have dyed it for the part, but then she recognizes the face.
"Hello." He sticks out a hand towards her. "Jack. You?"
He doesn't remember shoving her into a muddy puddle as he escaped his paparazzi. She supposes to she would have forgiven easily if he didn't seem so cocky and aloof.
"Elsa," is her prim reply. She doesn't shake his hand. She merely smoothens her long gown and stares at him down her polished, powdered nose.
He takes the hint and awkwardly trying to shove his hands into his pockets, only to realise that the medieval style tunic he wears has no such thing. His arms just dangle listless next to his body and he seems very uncomfortable. Not just in her presence, but in general, as if the set was the last place he wanted to be.
"Everyone get into positions," Hans calls. For all her misgivings about him, he's efficient as a director. "We've starting from Scene 12 today."
Her costumer helps her adjust her cape one last time while her assistant adjusts her crystal headdress. Her eyes, lined by the shimmering white-silver body paint, dart to the white-haired, before she can move to the top of the stairs. As she climbs with her shimmering heels, she is careful not to trip over the hoops under her skirt. She glances at the rich silks that are draped over her arms and loosens them up to appear more natural, then flips open her fan.
The cameramen shuffle around, equipment poised and ready for the scene. The rest of the cast, all garbed elegantly in a similar vein to Elsa's own style, though more to the hues of warm brown to her cold blue, and they position their fans and canes in the manner that they had been told. The new young male star is guided to his spot on the scene, but he still looks as lost as ever.
"And action!"
~~~0~~~
It's the first day, and he already blew it.
"What do you mean you can't remember what you're supposed to say?"
He scrunches up his face. "Well, that means precisely that. I can't remember."
It occurs to him only much later that that was supposed to be a rhetorical.
The prima donna – he decides to call her that with how uptight, hoity-toity she is – is the one who's fuming here. Her horrifying make-up – he has no idea if it's on purpose or that the make-up artists are severely misguided – twists her face into a hideous scowl as she stomps back up the staircase, muttering curses under her breath. Jack has no clue what her deal with. She refused to shake his hand, and now she was acting as he was the worst actor in the world (okay…that might be true). He sniffs. Being in film must have gotten in her head.
"That's alright." The director himself seems annoyed, but he takes it with a good deal more patience. "Can someone bring Jack here the script?" One of the assistants watching from the sidelines disappears from the studio, and returns with a stapled stack. She hurries over to Jack and shows him the appropriate page, pointing at the lines in question. As he reads those lines, it doesn't escape his notice that a phone number had been scribbled there.
He glances at the assistant. She returns a sultry smirk.
He decides to say nothing and goes back to staring at his lines.
"So, has our precious Jack finally remember his lines?" a grating voice came from the top of the imitation marble staircase. The blonde actress caked in makes no effort to hide her disgust at him. In her elaborate garments and her striking make-up, along with her proud pose and her bitter expression, she really did look like a queen. "Or must we stay here all day?"
"Elsa," Mr. Westergaard's tone has a snappishness to in it. "Please try to be a little patient."
She huffs, but eventually silences herself.
Jack finally decides that he can remember the lines and hands the script back to the assistant, who flutters her lashes at him. He chooses to ignore it in favour of heading back to his original position and sending a nod to the director. Mr. Westergaard barks orders and everyone scuttles back in to their place. Ms. Prima Donna only straightens back her cape once, before sending a glare his way, daring him to make a mistake again.
He sends a glare back to her which communicates roughly – 'Oh, I'll get it right. So right that you'll be hoop-la-hooping at how right I get it.'
He doesn't even know what that's supposed to mean.
"Annnddddd…. Action!"
The cast begins to move, pretending to be chattering, masked crowd. As per his script, he gazes upwards, as if admiring the ceiling of the make-believe ballroom when really, he's just looking at the barren concrete ceiling and the spotlights above them. He doesn't need to be cued this time to turn his head towards the Queen, who has descended the stairs and now spun in his direction. He should admit that by now the weird make-up direction has grown on him and he can appreciate how it makes her look both deadly and striking. Her brows arch at him with interest, and for a moment, he forgets that the actress behind the character is mad at him.
"Well, well," she murmurs in a manner that could almost described as flirtatious, closing her fan slowly as she drinks him in, "and who might you be?"
He opens his mouth, but what he's supposed to say immediately escapes him. He frowns, rummaging through his brain for the right lines. In the corner of his vision, he can see Mr. Westergaard slapping his forehead.
The next thing he knows, a fan comes flying at his face. He curses as he rubs the spot that its stem strikes him.
The prima donna who threw it at him grabs her skirts and marches off set, ranting through clenched teeth while the rest in the studio gawks helplessly on. Mr. Westergaard tries to call her back, but she ignores him in favour of raising her hands and cursing the heavens for putting her with such an imbecile.
Jack sort of agrees with her on that point. Why is he here again?
~~~0~~~
"You're in an exceptionally bad mood."
She lifts her head and glares pointedly at her sister.
"Right." Anna repents her boldness, immediately retreating back into timid devouring of her pancakes.
Dinner hour at this joint is oddly quiet, because the pancakes are warm and fluffy, and go excellently with the chicken pie stuffing and butter garlic sauce on it. Elsa however only ordered a milkshake which she now sips with a mix of daintiness and hate.
"I heard from Rapunzel. It took you the whole day to get a thirty-second scene done? Wow." Her sister somehow manages to befriend her co-star, despite the latter being far senior in her career. Then again, the young blonde actress did bear many similarities to her sister, so it is no wonder they get along. "He really made you flip your lid, didn't he?"
"I do not flip my lid, Anna," she contradicts testily, using the straw to stir the shake with a bit more force then necessary. "I …occasionally lose my patience."
"That's what flipping your lid means."
"No, it doesn't. Flipping my lid implies that I went crazy. I did not. Now-" she shoots a pointedly at the younger girl "-let's change the subject."
They continue the meal in silence, with only the café's background music thrumming over the clinking glasses that the waitress was clearing. The soothing repetition does little to ease the blonde girl's tightened nerves, and it doesn't improve when the door crashes open. Her sister's eyes peek over her shoulder to see who's the newcomer, and an amused expression appears on her face. "Um, Elsa?"
The girl in question raises her head questioningly.
"Erm." Anna just makes jabbing motion towards the counter.
Elsa twists herself about the chair and her jaw falls open at the sight of the lanky, white-haired boy. He's in ragged hoodie and ripped jeans. He is leaning against the counter, weight rested on one foot while the other scratched the boards. As he waits for the barrister, his jerks in their direction. His eyes flit from Anna, who waves at him in a manner that too familiar, to the girl just stares coldly at him. There's no recognition in his eyes, and it occurs to her that the layers of make-up she was wearing earlier must be confusing him.
And just like that, his gaze leaves her. She can't help but feel a little annoyed that she knows of his irritating presence but he doesn't – can't – acknowledge hers.
Against her better judgment, she rises to her feet and approaches him, her arms folded. If he can't recognise the contempt in her gaze, there's no redeeming him.
He takes a step back, reaches in his pocket for…something, and stares at her with wide eyes. Slowly, he says, "Can I help you?"
She narrows her eyes at him. She ponders all the insults that she could throw at him, but decides that such crude language is beneath. Instead, she says, "You are incompetent."
He blinks at her. "What?"
"You are seriously one of the worst actors I have ever met," Elsa elaborates without missing a beat. She can hear Anna gasping in horror behind her. "I'm not just talking about your work ethic – that's pure out horrendous. I'm talking about your actual skills – you don't have any."
Its only then that she realises that the blue eyes she saw on set isn't part of the costume – they are his own actual eyes. Tousled white-hair, sapphire blue eyes, a gaunt figure, and pale complexion. He looks like a sprite straight out of a storybook.
He also looks confused, and merely utters, "Um, thanks?"
She doesn't understand. Great, now both of them are confused.
He clears his throat. "For not fawning over me and asking for autograph, I mean."
She still doesn't get it – at least, until she recalls the terrifying paparazzi that chased him down the crowded boulevard the other day. Was it so bad that he would prefer blatant criticism over it?
He seems to read her mind. "Yes." He nods. "It's way better." He sticks a hand out at her. "I'm Jack. But-" he shrugs "-I suppose you know that already. What's your name?"
He seriously didn't recognise her, did he? She shook her head at him, before spinning on her heels and plopping herself back to her seat across Anna. Her sister is stunned by the whole thing and doesn't know what think of it. From the reflection on the glass, Elsa watches the boy glance at the empty counter, then at her, before marching to the door and leaving the café. She does notice him send her one last glance as he starts his journey down the path.
~~~0~~~
They meet at the studio, but fortunately they're not filming the same scene today. Unfortunately, their dressing tables are side by side, which means that they will spend at forty-five minutes next to each other. Elsa Arendelle, a.k.a. haughty Prima Donna, makes a point not to look at him as much as possible throughout the whole process. He tried to make conversation at first, but her tight-lipped responses discourage further attempts.
They only really start talking normally one day when both their artists had left the booths to get something – a thicker brush for him, eyelashes for her. It's then that she tells him, "I watched your show."
It takes him a while to realise what she's talking about. "The Guardians."
She gives a small nod, not daring further action less she accidentally shifts the powders on her face. "Not my type of thing, but Anna enjoyed the special effects." She pauses. "Your character's the most boring out of all of them."
Jack notices that when she hits, she hits hard. He's not sure whether to be insulted or amused by her honesty. "Oh."
"The dialogue they scripted for you was horrendous. Your lack of acting skills didn't help either."
Wow, relentless. "Okay."
"You're going to destroy this movie, aren't you?" She stares resolutely on in the mirror, but if she were stare at him, he doesn't doubt that she'd burn holes through him.
If he weren't anyone else, he might protest. But because he's himself and he knows the truth, he answers, "Possibly."
"Can you even sing?"
"Nope."
She groans, tilting her head back to gaze heavenwards, her palms facing the same direction as she murmurs, "Why? Why does it have to be on my debut?"
He catches it, and frowns. "Wait, this is your first time on film?"
"I usually do stage," comes Elsa's offhand answer. "Been there's since I was a child." Its only now that she shifts her head towards him, assessing him with a calculated look. "You?"
He contemplates on how much he should reveal to her. Honestly, she can find up all she wants about him if she searches Google, but he rather doubts that she would trust it. So, he tells her outright, "I learned parkour, judo and baguazhang."
This statement finally makes her spin her chin around. With only half her face down up, her appearance is comical, and made only more so by her puzzled expression.
He explains to her, "Judo and baguazhang are types of martial arts forms. Parkour is-" he rubs his chin as he thinks "-that thing where people run around and jump over walls and stuff."
She continues to stare at him.
"Yeah," he rubs his head awkwardly, then remembers that he's not supposed to touch his hair. "I'm very … physical." It sounds weird, so he adds, "-ly orientated." On reflection, the addition doesn't seem to improve his statement.
Her expression changes as realization dawns on her and she gasps. For the first time since they've met, she doesn't regard with derision or confusion. Her eyes widen and he can see her lashes, long and curled along the edges. Why do they think she need additional ones? What she had was plenty pretty enough.
"You weren't trained as an actor, were you?" she says, tentative and uncertain. Oddly, it's gentlest he has ever seen her.
He chuckles. "That's fairly obvious, isn't it?"
"But you were trained for something, weren't you?" she presses him.
He shrugs, and sighs. He answers her. "Stunt-work. I'm supposed to be a stuntman."
He watches her blink and can almost here the gears in her head clicking away as she processes this piece of information. "Then what happened?"
"The actual actor for Jack Frost died." He doesn't remember who the guy is – was. He tries not to. It makes him feel guilty at times, and then resentful. "I was his stunt double. They figured I might as well take his spot and then-" he gestures around him "-here I am."
"Oh." She seems considerably more thoughtful now. She spins her chair back to face the mirror, but her questions don't cease. "Did you ever think of going back to stunt work?"
No one has ever asked him that question before. Everyone thinks that the fame and fans he had earned would make the question completely irrelevant. So, what if he was trained in various forms of martial arts and can leap off a five-storey building without a harness? That doesn't matter when he could stand in the limelight, in the centre of the silver screen, earning the big bucks and basking in media glory.
And he tells her, "Sometimes."
"Then, why don't you? I mean, -" she pulls a face, but her tone is not unkind "-you're not a good actor. You really aren't."
"I know." His shoulders slump. He sighs. "I don't really have a choice."
"Why not? You still know how to do all-" she waves her hand vaguely "-those things, right?"
He ponders for a moment, not because he doesn't know the answer to her question, but because he's deciding how to tell her at all. Eventually, he pulls up the left end of his shirt, just a bit to show long scar that runs along his ribs. She turns pale at the sight of it, even with all the make-up stacked on it.
"I was injured sometime back," he explains to her. "The surgery was difficult. I'm okay now, but I have to avoid any strenuous activity that would strain it."
"…Oh." He can feel her sympathy, and it makes him regret showing it to her. He prefers it when she regards him with disgust. He pulls his shirt sharply down.
They go quiet, and it hits him that both their artists have yet to return. What's taking them so long?
"If you don't mind me asking-" Elsa puts in carefully. Great, now she's tiptoeing around him "-how did it happen?"
"What?"
"You know-" she draws a line down her side of chest, where his scar is supposed to be on his own body "-that."
"Oh?"
"One of your stunts?"
"No. Um." He bites his lip. He really wonders if he should tell her, but he does anyway. "Car accident."
~~~0~~~
….
I have no excuse for the existence of this thing. I'm incredibly busy at school. I have lots of stories that need updating. Why does this exist? Why?
This is just a place for me to experiment with something a bit out of my usual style. I never written an entire story in present tense before, and it's meant to be written as very short snippets, sparse details, and lots of shifting POVs.
This was inspired by Lalaland, and assorted gossip news about celebrities, and the actual circumstances and fandoms surrounding the referred films.
Review are appreciated, if you like.