DISCLAIMER: Full credit goes to Nakamura Yoshiki, the creator of Skip Beat, Emily Bronte's Wuthering Height's, and Yoshishige Yoshida's Arashi ga Oka. A full bibliography of works cited will be included with Chapter 10. The only thing I own is the character O'Hara Cho (an OC).
My thanks to the wonderful OnePlotThickens for their help Beta-ing this story.
They've helped to give it a finesse I couldn't achieve by myself.
STORMY HILLS
7| Shame
For the first time since they had begun shooting, one of Kyoko and Hidehito's scenes had been flagged as a NG.
"What happened up there? Every scene you've had together has gone so smoothly before now," Director O'Hara stated with a perplexed frown. Kyoko hung her head, shame-faced.
"Please, let me try again," She begged of both Directors, clasping her hands together. "It wasn't Kijima-san's fault, but mine. I'm having difficulty with the emotions in this scene-"
"Say no more, Kyoko-san," Director Ogata told her gently. "Do you need some time to work through this, such as Tsuruga-san as he struggled with Katsuki?"
Kyoko bit her lip unsurely. She wasn't sure how she could work past this at all. Kinu stirred inside of her; she knew what was to follow in the script, and took great relish in battling Kyoko's control. Kyoko, however, became flustered and unsteady whenever she thought about… about-
Heat crawled into her face, a bright red flush working its way down her neck. About half of the crew and her fellow actors were staring in confusion at the pair of them, but she knew it was her own blunder that had caused the NG.
Hidehito saw this as his cue to intervene; "We could try again in a minute or so, if there's time on the schedule. If it doesn't happen then, can the filming be re-worked around this point?"
Both Director's studied their scripts and schedules; "I don't see why not," O'Hara agreed. "We have some time before pick-ups to do re-takes."
Kyoko's shoulders sagged with relief. She had at least two weeks to shape herself. She could do a lot in that time; it had only taken her one night to bring Natsu to life, and the span of a haircut and dye-job for Mio. What she had to do up on that stage, as Kinu… it frightened her.
"Okay then," Director Ogata chimed, clapping his hands lightly. "Everyone into position."
Numbly, Kyoko took Kijima-san's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to the set. Tatami mats covered the raised stage they would act upon. Glistening golden shoji screens, littered with obscure inky drawings of what appeared to be mythical serpents curling in mist enclosed the space. A lone, lit candle flickered.
"Action!"
Onimaru grabbed for her as she fiddled with the ties of her Obi. Her ceremonial yukata slipped to reveal her thin shoulders.
They stared at one another, foreheads pressed together, eyes level, noses touching. Onimaru opened his mouth wide, surging forwards, intending to devour her-
Kyoko's hands shook.
"CUT!"
Hidehito startled away from her as Kyoko shook, embarrassed. He lifted the fallen yukata from the tatami mat and wrapped it firmly around her. Mumbles surfaced around the set, and Kyoko tucked her chin into her chest as she scrabbled to fasten the yukata.
She was escorted by Hidehito to the costume department's changing cubicles, before he left her to mope in peace. Embarrassed and bewildered tears sneaked down her face. Deep down inside, Kinu snarled and thrashed at being denied the tactile pleasure from Onimaru, the character turning her fury on Kyoko who huddled and trembled.
She couldn't do it.
Kijima-san had looked so convincing; his eyes had lit up as he advanced towards her assuredly in the tiny, enclosed set space. The golden shoji screens bronzed his purposely tanned skin. The whites of his eyes stood boldly against dark, dilated pupils. Kyoko had gulped when he lay his forehead to hers, locking her into his act. She never thought anyone other than Tsuruga-san could trap her in such a cruel manner, but she had been wrong. He dived in, and her hands had trembled. Until that moment, Kinu had been locked away and she had been acting solely with the patient guise of her Ojou-sama persona. Onimaru had drew closer, swept his way past her feeble defences, and Kyoko had faltered. Only her back had been bared to the cameras to save most of her modesty. The fallen yukata and her wig covered her lap and her breasts too, yet it felt as though she had been stripped from her clothing for the whole world to see.
She scrubbed at her skin with her nails before dressing into her usual clothing, unpinning her styled black wig from her head as best as she could before carefully removing it from her head.
Hidehito returned shortly after he'd left, having discussed the proposal of him taking Kyoko home for the day and allowing them to move on with other scenes in the meantime. Both Director's agreed that she wasn't quite ready for such an intimate scene between Onimaru and Kinu yet. Caught up in her brilliant acting, they had forgotten that Kyoko was still inexperience with many aspects of drama.
He tapped on the changing cubicle's door with his knuckles gently.
"Are you alright, Kyoko-san?"
A sniffle sounded from within, accompanied by a wave of pure melancholy that rose goose bumps on Hidehito's arms and neck.
"Ah… Would you like for me to take you home? Director's Ogata and O'Hara have agreed to give you some time before we try this scene again-"
The flimsy lock on the cubicle's door slid back, revealing a dry and puffy eyed Kyoko. She nodded wordlessly, and went to collect her bag while a member of the costume department stored her wig and yukata away. Kijima collected his things, and lead Kyoko to his car where he had parked it outside of the studio. He'd been worried to leave it there that morning, having witnessed a security guard of the studio trying to wrangle one avid photographer out of the barrier enclosing the front entrance. The guard assured him that everything was under control, but Hidehito knew from experience that camera men would do anything for the latest scoop or an incriminating shot. The level of their tenacity frightened him.
It was a beastly thing, Kyoko noted, unlike Tsuruga-san's sleek sports car. If Tsuruga-san's car was leonine in shape and speed, then Kijima-san's was as sharp and fierce as a Siberian Husky; larger, more powerful, and wickedly quick with some encouragement from the driver. It made Tsuruga-san's car pale in comparison. Kyoko shook her head; why was she comparing their car's when he should be chastising her own poor acting skills?
He ushered her into the passenger side's front seat, and she pulled the seat belt across her. The seats nearly encompassed her, wrapping around her frame and pulling her close to the cold, smooth leather interior. Kijima turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life, shuddering Kyoko's whole frame. The quiet mumble of the radio was quickly silenced as Hidehito turned to face her.
"You're still struggling with the love thing then?" He asked, almost judgementally.
Kyoko burst into a fresh seat of tears.
"I c-can't do it! I'm so afraid-" She cried, swiping at her eyes.
"What are you afraid of?" Hidehito pressed, leaning across the centre consol.
"Everything!" Kyoko snapped suddenly, her eyes wide. Hidehito reared back, shocked. Kyoko hung her head; "How can I allow myself to act when I can't feel properly anyway? I have no experience and I can't be convincing if I can't l-love-"
A single, sly thought crossed Kijima Hidehito's mind. He smirked, leaning towards her once more, dipping his head level with her right ear; "You're an actress, do what you do best."
Kyoko stared up at him through her fringe as he leant back slightly, though he was still unnervingly close. "What do I do best, Kijima-san?"
"Respond. Match me- no, fight me! Learn from your experience," He replied, the corners of his lips tugging up in a rakish smile.
Before she could react, his lips were upon hers. Inside Kyoko's mind, Kinu screeched triumphantly, knocking back Natsu, Mio, Kyoko's grudges and the Ojou-sama persona while they tried to restrain her. She scrabbled her way towards the box in which Kyoko had sealed her heart away in, and wrenched away the final few tenuous locks.