hmmm...didn't someone mention Arthur? (and the Curt plushie goes to...Wyndmir!) originally, his appearance in this was nothing but almost less than a cameo, but something spoke to me as i watched VG for like the hundredth time the last time i had the movie. damn Christian Bale's sad little eyes! and Arthur sees entirely too much, d'you notice? and thus a one-page chapter was lengthened and Arthur's perceptiveness (i really wanted to use the line "you're so perceptive" from Brian Eno's "Dead Finks Don't Talk" for the page break -- the one used fit better, though) was noted. and -- holy crap -- it borders on the fluff! line!

-----i'-l-l---f-i-n-d---s-o-m-e---w-a-y---o-f---c-o-n-n-e-c-t-i-o-n-----

Chapter Twelve: "Catch a Falling Star"

He stunned him. And it was so simple.

Arthur Stuart had been caught up in the whirlwind that was the Death of Glitter send-up. It was a goodbye to an era that had meant so much to him, that had brought him into himself. But it was going out with as much of a bang of glitters and sparkles as it had come in with.

And then he had walked in, almost otherworldly with his pale skin and moonbeam blond hair, shining in his silver leather pants and silver-trimmed leopard print opened top.

Like a fantasy, he had come in through a side door, virtually unnoticed. He had stood for a moment, all but posing, as he cast a look round before heading off.

It was Curt Wild.

And in that brief moment, he had entered Arthur's heart, truly.

----------

Arthur was riveted. Curt Wild in concert was...indescribable. He was so volatile. He was pouring his heart out onstage, every fibre of his being. Arthur's own chest ached with the pain and hurt Curt was projecting. He was amazing.

While he mainly watched Curt, something drew his attention to the side of the stage.

Mandy Slade was standing there, illuminated in the pale, bluish light. She almost looked like a frigid ice-queen at first glance. Half of that was the lighting. Mandy was trying hard not to show her emotions, the almost-expressionless mask making her face hard.

It took a minute before Arthur realised that she wasn't looking at Curt.

He followed her gaze to alight upon a dark man in the very back of the theatre, shadowed, wearing a hat. Arthur thought the hair peeking beneath the hat glimmered electric blue, but he was too far away to take what his eyes saw seriously. He turned his attention back to Curt who was writhing upon the stage as he howled out the last part of his song.

------------------

He came offstage, his mind a swirling mess. He was sad, he was angry, he was anxious. He was still thrumming from the performance -- the energy still radiated off of him. He had put every last goddamned shred of his soul into that song. He had sung every line from the depths of his tortured heart, pouring out the lyrics in his typical gravelly growl and bark, only this time coloured with anguish.

As he was walking, someone slight grabbed his arm. He barely had time to register that it was Mandy Slade before she threw her arms round his neck, her tears she was trying not to cry dampening his neck.

"It was beautiful," she cried softly against his hair. He wasn't unpleasantly surprised.

"Yeah?" he asked as she pulled away.

"Yeah."

"Thanks," he said, mildly surprised. Compliments were rare, especially from her. It was oddly good to see Mandy -- maybe because it raised his hopes a little. He looked at her, unknowing of how expectantly. "So, did you see, ah..."

It was painful how quickly she dashed his thin hopes. "No," she sniffed, hugging her arms tight across her chest and shaking her head. She didn't look at him. His heart fell with amazing speed -- and again he wondered why he'd thought to hope.

Figured. It so fucking figured. As he looked away from Mandy in his sudden burst of frustration, his eyes caught those of a boy. The kid had seen the whole exchange. He smiled slightly -- trying to come off as a non-threat -- sympathetic even. He was...there was something about him, past the badly blue-dyed hair. It was the eyes. Innocent, but worldly -- wise, almost even -- and all too keen. Deep brown.

Curt had hung back behind the stage later on as the grand Death of Glitter concert continued to celebrate the demise of a period of such provocative, revolutionary rock, brooding. Why the hell hadn't Brian shown up? But then again, it was stupid to think that the infamous Brian Slade would have shown up just to see Curt Wild.

He had at least thought, though, that if anything, the concert celebrating the demise of the scene that had made him so great would have gotten his attention, brought his head up from his precious white lines. Though Curt had no room to talk really on that subject.

He sighed, tossing back his hair -- and saw that boy again. He took him in fully this time: Tall, plain, his face rather angular, but still handsome. Tolerably fuckable, at the least. Again, his hair was what caught Curt's attention first, but not what drew him to him. It was sort of shaggy, and brown naturally -- he really needed to stop using whatever spray-on colour he was. And then the surprisingly captivating eyes.

They would meet later on. Up on the roof.

God, he had asked a lot of things, half of which he himself couldn't remember. He doubted the boy remembered any of his unimportant questions. In the end, they'd fucked. They'd lain together till the sun had warmed them. They'd laughed together -- Curt hadn't laughed in so long.

Eventually, Curt would all but completely forget the boy. But he'd always remember that someone -- someone who must have been special -- caught him, long ago. Someone not Brian. Someone brought him back to life, if only for a little while. Someone let him laugh again.

(The line in the page break is from "Ladytron" by Thom Yorke)