Notes: Consider this one an outtake of ITerations.

Because... you'll see.

"Higher Ground"

K

"Penny, help!"

Help?

"GeorgIe?"

Said boy bounded into the slowly-filling-up storage room as though the slobbering hounds of hell were on his heels.

How exactly he had managed to find his eldritch guardian in said room, much less doing what, those factors went by the wayside. To be addressed shortly after, presumably.

Right now, Georgie had other concerns.

"Quick, kneel down!"

Don't ask questions. Just do it.

Face blank, Pennywise didn't pause to consider the order. To him, Georgie Denbrough was nigh impossible to disobey when he used that kind of tone. But upon doing as he was told, the entity's bewilderment only magnified as the kid raced around to stand behind him.

"WhaT are you- "

Before he could try and crane his head back to watch, there were arms threading themselves around his neck. Weight settling on his upper back.

"Now, stand up! Hur- ahh!"

"You!"

Practically startled back to full height, Pennywise almost felt the arms around him loose their grip. The new tightness against his throat was of no concern (he could forgo pretending to breathe momentarily). Just as untroubling was the feeling of the six-year-old now lying flush against his back, feet dangling some three feet off the ground.

"Eek!" With a cry that was half alarm, half giggle, Georgie ducked, face half hidden behind the clown's ear. "Nyh uh! Nope! Safe zone! You can't get me up here."

Undeterred, Richie Tozier stepped up, can-shaped 'weapon' held at the ready. With a sadistic grin to match, he aimed and pressed down on the button.

Unfamiliar with the brightly-colored device, It didn't think to shield his face.

"Now, who says I can't- oh. ...Sorry, Bill."

"...AgaIn?"

And with that deadpanned pronouncement, the scene was shattered.

"Cut."

At the sigh-slash-command of Andy Muschietti, the near-silent camera crew dutifully swarmed to life again. In truth, the set itself didn't neat much resetting after the fifth failed run at this. But in the interests of looking invested with keeping continuity between takes (something always prone to going awry in the editing room) they gave looking busy a fair shot.

Meanwhile, their three leads - standing in place - were left to momentarily stew.

Silly string. By no means the most precise gag effect out there.

And particularly annoying when it found its way into one's eyeball.

Daring to open his unaffected eye, Bill made his displeasure known rather restrainedly. "Blagh..." Rather than outwardly complain to that effect, he chose something far less innoucous to comment on. "Of all the colors they had to pick, it had to be- hot pink?"

Anyone who's snapped photos of such derogatory moments- enjoy them while you can.

Frowning, Finn handed off the mostly-empty can of silly string to a waiting prop aide, who scurried back with all the theatrical grace of a stooped-over mad scientist's underling. Presumably, they had gone to fetch a new one. The marble inside was rattling quite more loudly than before.

"Yep. For a joke this lame, it's beyond tedious at this point."

You're telling me.

With a soft grunt, Jackson released his grip from over the collar. The youngest actor bounced once upon landing, but kept his feet with now-practiced ease. Then his attention turned to removing the flaky flecks of resin still sticking to his forearms.

That done, he turned to 'doctoring' the damage done to his taller colleague's face (who wordlessly stooped down to make said process easier; Jackson's small fingers were better at remedying this than any makeup brush had proven to be).

"I know. Can't they just- use CG string?"

Staring ahead, Bill sighed quietly through his nose, mindful to keep near-frozen. The strands being plucked off his cheek demanded it. "Practical string is cheaper."

"But, whatever they're saving in string, they'd just be spending on more facepaint with you."

Not to mention the minutes of production time. Precious seconds are precious.

How many setups will that make, now, three? For one shot?

Par for the course on ITerations, really.

"CG wouldn't look real enough. Or so the gremlins in financing tell us. Pft. What do financiers possibly know about what looks real?" Finn huffed, crossing his arms. "They're stuck in a room with too many numbers and no windows, most of the time. ...Yeah, I said that."

He smirked almost daringly, in contrast to the mild, mutually alarmed looks of Bill and Jackson.

The Swede blinked at him, affecting a head-tilt in lieu of a contact-lense-losing eyeroll. "Watch the wrong ear doesn't hear you saying something like that next time, Finn. You'd be far from the first actor who lost their job after lipping off once too often."

Not they were really in danger of that on a daily basis, not on this job.

But a little freely-given advice could save someone a lot of trouble somewhere down the line.

Finn's smirk only broadened and he shrugged.

"Well, hey, what can I say? Sometimes Richie can't help but get to me. You know all about that, don't you?"

Andy - knowingly or not - spared the three of them an awkward moment of misunderstanding in barking for Wolfhard's attention at that time.

"Finn. Back to your mark, please."

"Roger, boss!"

As if nothing had happened, he trotted back out the door.

Jackson donned a scowl first, wheeling around to glare up at his costar.

If glares could ever in some light look sympathetic, he had figured out a way.

"Hmph. That wasn't very nice of him, Bill."

At that Bill did chance an eyeroll. Hearing words alone couldn't hurt. And if they could, those hadn't really been meant to draw blood.

"Tch. It's okay. He wasn't being mean to... be mean. Just to vent."

Hot and stuffy didn't begin to describe the conditions they were working in.

And while the costume magnified those effects threefold, he wasn't about to go whining about it. This was still the very same job he had agreed to a few months ago. And that hadn't been anyone else's hand save his own signing the contract.

Jackson had yet to appreciate those kinds of thoughts. Right now, all he saw was one costar proverbially jabbing at another, and maybe not in the most comradely fashion available.

"Well, he shouldn't do it around you. You're doing more work in a day than he does in an hour."

"Hey, du. What'd I just say about lipping off?"

He said it neutrally enough. But the sudden duck-down, close-the-gap move served to get his understudy's attention.

Jackson flinched and half-stepped back as if he had been dealt an actual nose-flick.

Which he hadn't, as Bill's gloved hands remained held at his sides.

The younger actor's eyes darted sheepishly before he tucked his chin to his collar.

"...Sorry."

"Finn can rant how he pleases. Doesn't mean we have to follow his lead."

"I guess..."

Reading the reluctant tone for what it was, Bill took his turn to smirk.

"Pst! ...Translation - he'S not our diRector. It's okaY."

Jackson scoffed, but suffered the unexpected hair-ruffling gesture with a tired smile that said volumes as to how annoyed he really wasn't at being joked with.

Finally.

"I knew what you meant, silly."