Twilight of Happiness
The mist crawls in, creeping over the earth and the bed of fallen leaves, smothering the feet of trees as their roots punch out through the dirt. Bitter, cold air blows through the forest. Leaves of the trees above rustle; a sound like an eerie, clapping audience. The dry, wrinkled, crumbling leaves on the ground below move like waves, the wind scooping them up and then curling them back down towards the dark earth.
He lingers behind the girl, his breath trickling across her bare shoulder. Silver hair melts into his pale skin as locks of it fall over his carved face.
Slowly, the girl moves her head just enough so she can make out his tall figure hovering behind her, and he can trace her neck and soft jaw line with his eyes. Locks of brunette hair skin across the back of her neck, tickling her skin.
"I know what you are," she whispers dramatically, her lips forming around each letter of every word.
He leans forward; close enough to whisper in her ear.
"Say it," he hisses, his voice soft and smooth as it tumbles over his words.
An atmospheric pause lingers in the air between them, hovering for two beats.
Then;
"Well, to be honest," the girl takes a step back and whirls around adamantly to face him, looking him up and down. "You're really a conceded cowboy who is actually really quite rude and has no idea how to be polite to people – especially when they go out of their way to bring you milk every other week as a gesture of-"
"Chelsea!"
The girl whips her head round, her ramblings dribbling away, to face the blonde haired who is perched as elegantly as possibly – considering how frustrated she is – in the black, canvas, director's chair. Surrounding her was a whole crew of people dressed in uniform black t-shirts musing around, directing cameras towards the two actors.
"What," the director raises her eyebrows at Chelsea, evidently unimpressed, "are you doing?"
Chelsea blinks. "I'm improvising," she shrugged as if it would satisfy the director. Then, in an act of an apology, shone a sheepish smile towards her.
The director sighs, her lips heaving up into a half-hearted smile in return, almost forgiving Chelsea. "Well, next time," she rolled her eyes, "please follow the script."
Chelsea gives a determined nod as if she understands completely, "Got it."
"Alright!" The director claps her hands and calls, "Next scene: Jacob enters… Action!"
The ground shakes as he bursts into the forest, leaves scattering, whipping up into the air with force. Dark skin curves over his toned body; broad shoulders and well defined muscles. Locks of thick, dark curls fall over his chiselled face, framing handsome, dark features.
"Don't worry, Bella," he raises one eyebrow alluringly as he speaks with a smoky, deep, sexy voice. "I'll save you from this beast!"
Then, in one swift movement he proceeds to rip off his shirt with an exaggerated growl and turns to wink with a grin at the nearest camera.
"Cut!" The director bolts out of her chair and stares, enraged, at the boy. "Denny, what are you doing?!"
Denny blinks at her, bewildered. "Isn't thus what Jacob always does?" He states, waving his hands over the general area of his shirtlessness.
The director groans, pressing and sliding a hand down her face, making her skin look like it's melting.
"Is Vaughn the only one who can stay in character?" She sighs with exasperation.
Denny glances sideways at Vaughn who is lurking awkwardly, eyes dark, no expression on his face, with hands deep in his pockets.
"Actually," Denny points out with a tilt of his head. "I think he's always like that."
A sound between a cry and a gurgle erupts from the director's mouth – making it sound like she's dying.
"For the record," Chelsea pipes up. The director glances up, hope flickering in her eyes, praying that Chelsea will say something capable of redeeming this whole situation.
Chelsea waves generously in the direction of Denny's dark, toned abs, a smirk rising her lips. "I don't mind any of this."
Denny grins in response, wiggling his eyebrows at her. Chelsea responds with a laugh.
The director responds by collapsing into a heap, her head lulling in defeat. She limply lifts her arm and waves over one of the loitering crew members.
"Call Kristen, Taylor," she breaths with exasperation, lifting her head to reveal a tired, swallowed face. "and that Robert Pattinson fellow and tell them they've got the parts."
A/N: This was fun and a joy to write!
If you have any film suggestions for me to adapt, please let me know by telling me in a review.
More to come, watch this space;
The Grand Bizarre Games
A Frozen Beginning
A cookie for anyone who can guess what films they're for! ;D
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