The World's Stage
The American Plan
Chapter Two:
It was a mission for Yao to learn something new every day. Learning was his strength, and it was the very reason behind his knowledge and his witty gut. In the entertainment business, you had to know the rules and how to break them. You had to know how to stretch them to the point where there are no longer distinct sides. Good and bad forever lost in the middle that stretches far too wide.
That's why there were liars. People spoiled rotten by spotlight and fame, changed and modified until they speak nothing but lies. A Morse code only the liars would know.
Therefore, if you wanted to tell between a liar and a good pupil, you had to have eyes of a liar first. That's the way it was, and that's the way it goes. Today, Yao learnt something new.
The Belgian reporter was a liar.
"I can't believe we have to audition! - aru" The Eastern man says. He wipes a bead of sweat from his pale forehead, the beginning of his worries starting to form. After all, he was the person who carried out plans. The calculative and binary mastermind behind the dust filled spotlight. He was the planner. The game changer. The executioner.
Ivan nods in agreement, humming a lazy tune that sounds a lot like a nursery rhyme. It's like he's already testing out his voice, making sure that it's in pitch perfect condition for any occasion.
"Da, very unfortunate indeed", everyone flinches when he hits a sour note. It sounds harsh and way to sharp for it to be considered in tune. He would have to work on that.
Arthur scoffs ego and pride in his throat. "What's the matter with a little competition?" He hums a rather similar nursery rhyme as Ivan, hitting the high note successfully and the low octaves smoothly. His hands move in a snapping gesture, and he stands on his toes as if it helped him hit the soprano. Instantaneously, he feels the icy glare coming from the Northern settler. It rivals the brutal Russian winters, snow, ice and all.
However, almost as soon as the momentarily winter comes, it ends like spring. Quaint, quiet, and way too quick to be presumed as normal. The British man turns around cautiously before genuinely wishing he never saw anything. After all, sometimes seeing nothing was better than knowing too much.
It was longing replaced in the Russian's eyes. His eyes giving his full attention to the Asian man who seemed to be disputing with Alfred. His violet eyes were filled with an innocent craving for the simplest of things. Love. Maybe the warm weather was starting to rub off on him.
Arthur looks down, Ivan was losing it. Losing his control- his grip, on what was right and wrong. They didn't have normal lives, their relations with others was based on what they needed, not wanted. They all needed each other in a professional manner, as a group, as a job, as a living. The four devoted their lives to the stage, their privacy was no longer theirs, but the fame was. But now, Ivan needed Yao in a whole new manner, and in his opinion it was even more confusing. Even more warped, and even more foolish.
"Guy's, there's a problem…" a wary American says. Everyone snaps out of their thoughts as Alfred speaks. His voice being the highest of the group, makes Arthur flinch. "It says we need to perform a song that's completely original". He uses his index finger and jabs it at a semi-transparent line under the date of the auditions.
Everyone inhales. Originality was hard, because nowadays most compositions sounded alike. Same tune, same beat except the lyrics were different. But even now, lyrical songs all had the same message. Inappropriate behaviour, drugs, and simply put, bad choices.
The American swallows hard, a certain dread replacing the blood in his veins. Would that mean that they had to write their own composition and choreograph their own dance? The feeling of being a leader makes a sudden wave of adrenaline pump the dread out of him. All of a sudden, he didn't really mind the extra hours of sweat and routine. After all, even if they were singers with their own talents, they weren't allowed to choreograph to their own merit. He felt like an exotic bird caged in a diamond encrusted cage. Beautiful but unbreakable all the same.
"So, we bloody have to write our own lyrics, and dance our own dance?" Arthur questions, and Ivan nods. "Da, that's the only originality I can think of. Unless you have something else?" The Russian's eyes mockingly lead their way to emerald. After their eyes meet, it's a game of who's more superior. Amethyst or Emerald? Arthur swallows hard before looking away, flushing in embarrassment, before muttering hard accented curses.
"Have you lost your mind Ivan? We don't even know how to write lyrics!- aru" Yao says, the voice of reason in this conflict. Ivan doesn't flinch at Yao's denial to his first agreement with the American. He was feeling bitter, and as a Russian, filling bitter was often led to feeling cold. He hated the feeling. More so, he hated the cold.
"What do you mean Yao, bro?" Alfred speaks up, and Arthur turns to him. "I saw your room; you do like...poetry man. About a person that you don't exactly name, black hair, short?" Yao flushes as Alfred picks at his own hair crouching in the process. The Asian of course, hid the fact that he indulged in sappy poetry. He loved the sad ones, the ones that end badly but have a beautiful middle.
"Aiya! You looked in my room?" At this Ivan turns his head to Alfred. His smile forced and strained. Alfred just laughs nervously before nodding. Golden strands of hair bobbing in the air, and Yao couldn't help but chuckle.
"I...I do like poetry" Yao confesses before sighing. Frustrated that after all this they still haven't solved the problem at hand. Instead, secrets of past flames flickered to light again. He blushes, embarrassed for the first time in a long while. "But poetry has nothing to do with this- aru!"
"Yao. What I'm saying is that you should be the person to write the lyrics." Alfred winks, making the older man flush for the second time that day. Ivan turns away not being able to watch. He grits his teeth and digs his nails into his palms. Tolerance and self-control. That was key to fake smiles and lies. He was feeling colder by the second.
"Then Alfred who will choreograph the dance?" Arthur asks, and he raises his thick eyebrows. He frowns when he sees the Americans lopsided grin. "The HERO will of course, I've got some smooth moves!" He salutes to the British who nods his head in contempt. Alfred was the best dancer in the group, he had a strong sense of charm and rhythm. Something everyone else lacked. Everyone in the 'ALLIES' was crucial. Everyone played a crucial part to a very planned and rehearsed performance. They all had their strengths and Alfred's just happen to be dancing.
"Then what will Arthur and I do?" Ivan questions, and he walks toward the Englishman. He didn't like feeling useless, and he glances at Yao who has a faraway look in his golden eyes. He turns back to the American.
"So? Ideas?" He smiles a genuine smile, even he had to admit that Alfred mostly had beneficial ideas. Although some were overly childish and fictional they all came with good intention. One of the only things he admired about him. Alfred in turn gives a cheeky grin, pausing dramatically for the sake of thinking of a plausible idea.
"You will be the messenger!" he pauses. "The person who carries small hints to our fans, and hopefully draw more people in. Release the news; tell them how hard we are working. Keep them posted and hanging!" Alfred nods, taking in his idea as a whole. It was good, because Ivan was a fan favorite. People loved him for the innocent violet that his face had. However, girls craved him for the darkness that lay hidden underneath the innocence. He was a perfect mystery. And mystery was something amazing.
Ivan takes the idea in before nodding. He was already mentally squeezing in meet and greets in his tight schedule. He would have to meet the fans, tell them the news and leave just as suddenly as he came. He duly notes that he has to search in his closet for fancier garb.
"Then me, Alfred?" Arthur asks, and Alfred genuinely thinks. He had run out of good ideas, and he surely didn't want to give Arthur a bad one. There are a few minutes of silence before Alfred speaks up. "You should learn about our competition. We need to know what we're up against to win! Maybe even the key to destroying the 'AXIS'..." he mumbles the last part just loud enough for everyone to hear, and Yao visibly frowns.
"When's the auditions-aru?" Yao asks, and Ivan answers before Alfred dare open his mouth. "April 30th"
The Chinese man smiles appreciatively before frowning. He was already visibly agitated by the ordeal of things. There were too many things everywhere, to many plans, and to many numbers and dates he had to calculate after. Would the competition even benefit them that much? What if they lost? Wouldn't that ruin their reputation even more? His shoulders sag lower, and his fingers start to fidget with his long ponytail. It lies on his left shoulder for purposes like this. When he was worried. He wasn't as carefree as the rest of his comrades. He needed organization and months of practice, he had precisely a week.
"Yao Yao, you will do fine. Believe me, Da?" Ivan knows all of Yao's little habits. Simply being together for three years was more than enough to know the Chinese man's secrets. However, the short ink hair man remains a secret he was willing to unravel. Ivan places a tentative hand on the Asian's and is relieved when he sees Alfred doing the same to Arthur.
"Yes yes, thank you Ivan. I mean it.- aru" Golden eyes melt cold Amethyst, and Ivan turns away. Smiling contently as he can no longer feel the coldness he felt moments before. He catches the American and the British holding a stare that looks a little more intimate than professional, and he casts a snide glance at Yao. The entertainment industry sure was complicated. Sometimes Ivan would wander for hours if it was worth it. The sacrifices he made to be on TV's worldwide. Yao's smile is living proof that it was. That's what he told himself.
"So! Bloody gits!" The British is now retrieving his fine long trench coat, before cracking a small smile. "We have work no? Let's get to it!"
The three of them watch in amazement as Arthur walks to the door. Checking his pockets for keys, before leaving the compound with a final wave. The three of the remaining men stare at each other before cracking encouraged grins. A choir of smiles and chuckles vibrate the computer that now is at 5%.
Little did they know that Arthur was right outside the door, doing the exact same thing.
I focused more on the sacrifices that being a celebrity brings, and how it actually affects the way people view of; Love. I zoomed in more on Ivan's point of view, and used it to compare his opinion with Arthur's!
Review please! I would love constructive feedback along with your opinions on the story so far!