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Cafferty | Pierson
The Fire's Out Anyway
Mon Jun 26, 2006 14:52
71.33.61.191

Who do you think you are?
Barging in on me and my guitar
Little girl -- hey
The door is that way
You better go you know
The fire's out anyway


Sean watched Caleb snark his way across the stage, words hotly in denial with the way the actor's eyes followed his wife. It was just the second week of rehearsals, but the cast was gelling in a way he hadn't seen since the fateful production of Phantom almost ... what, three or four years back. He couldn't rightly remember, not when John came up behind him, a large hand soon resting casually on the blond's ass. That was ok with him, as long as John didn't burst into song.

Sean wouldn't be help responsible for what happened after that.

When his lover had surprised them all at the auditions with his baritone, everyone had been shocked. Not that Godzilla could sing; he'd been passable in harmonizing beforehand. It was the depth of his talent, one no one had ever suspected, and that voice had washed over Sean like liquid gold. Rich, heady .... it did things to his insides that ... well, suffice to say that singing in the shower had turned into the second coming of the Kama Sutra.

The mere memory made him hard again. Damnit. A glance on stage provided a chance at some relief, David was putting Caleb and Lucy through their paces for the first half of Another Day. Casually, Sean wandered away from the stage, fingers curled around his lovers. There were several new tiny rehearsal rooms beneath the stage, not to mention all the new hardware. It was into one of these recesses that he pulled his lover, undoing zippers and shucking pants faster than a pit mechanic at the Indy 5000. Hands found opposing objects of affections, mouths and hot flesh meeting in a muffled show of affection.

Needless to say, both actors were unaccountably late for a runthrough of 'their' song, Identical shit-eating grins plastered on vaguely swollen lips, Sean slid as easily into his character as John had slid-- cough. Forcing himself to pay attention to the lyrics was difficult today and he cheerfully placed the blame at John's feet.

Live in my house
I'll be your shelter
Just pay me back
With one thousand kisses
Be my lover -- I'll cover you


Just singing it made him ready to cry. But there were more scenes to be done, so after lavishing melodramatic attention on his character's lover, the couple fled the stage after an hour to make room for the final song to be rehearsed tonight. Poor Lucy. While she had the voice, and the body, the former mafia princess couldn't quite get the hang of a stripper. Movements veering towards the elegant, and away from the grind-and-bump, Sean watched his sister struggle for over fourty minutes before the idea hit him.

What's the time?
Well it's gotta be close to midnight
My body's talking to me
It says, "Time for danger"
It says "I wanna commit a crime
Wanna be the cause of a fight
Wanna put on a tight skirt and flirt
With a stranger"

David finally waved her to a standstill from the ... pirouette she'd just commited. Before the director could start on one of his famous tirades, Sean stepped forward. "How about we just call it an early night, eh? Don't want to give the lead a nervous breakdown, do we?" Smile, smile. Wandering up to the beleaguered actress, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her into the embrace of her husband. Caleb, gotta love the man, was bristling at their director.

"I've an idea. Why don't we crash a couple of strip joints? John and I can provide enough protection." Innocent look. As he'd suspected, Lucy looked intrigued. Caleb said No and found himself shouted down by a couple of gay actors, or rather, two sets of them. Ben and Hugh thought the idea was magnificent. They were heading out for drinks with another couple, however, and blithely volunteered Hugh's son as the third protector for the evening.

Michael look unamused. And thus it was settled.




It was a bad day all around.

He'd woken up late, missed a ride to the theatre and ended up trotting most of the way by foot, thus engineering a foul temper by the time he arrived to help with set construction. They still had a month before the play opened, but Michael knew something about electrical gizmos and had volunteered his services for Maureen's set.

It was coming along brilliantly.

The lights were giving the stage techs a bit of difficulty, but overall the 'performance space' on wheels would look smashing when garlanded by actors. Singing, dancing actors. Singing, dancing, drunk actors. Michael risked a grin, thinking over the previous week. Who'd have thought one of Caleb's brothers would turn out to be a pub partner. The man knew his beer, the Brit was happy to note, and his manners improved with the level of alcohol in his system.

Choose a bar, choose a booth and get slap-happy. That had been the way of it over four nights, unfortunately non consecutive, but one couldn't have everything. One of the ever-present press had even winked at him, cute little blonde thing, so the day was looking up.

Then his cell rang. Or rather, vibrated silently in his pocket until Michael whisked himself out into the lobby. "Pierson speaking. What can I do you for?" Devon's American slang was rubbing off on him. Blast.

About five quid, Brother.

The vaguely amusing, menacing voice on the other end made Michael's blood freeze.

"Con... Conrad?"

Aye, mate. Just got out of the cage, and heard you were colony side. Old man still loaded?

Conrad. Out of jail. On his cell phone. Michael wanted to panic, to run around like a blooming fairy and scream his head off until the pressure eased in his chest, but that had never been his way. Instead, in a voice so cool he surprised himself, the actor responded in kind.

"As always. Surprised they sprung you already, wasn't your sentance for twelve years?" Armed robbery and attempted homicide were supposed to garner more than a three year stint in a French jail.

Time off for good behavior. Saturday night. Eleven o'clock. Restaurant bar inside the Hilton near Central Park. We need your talents, Michael. See you then.

Michael stared into space for a long while, ears filling with the ominous buzz of a dial tone. Three years. He'd been out of it for three years, since Conrad had been caught in the middle of a job in Paris. They'd been mates since primary school, and he still held in confidence a key that lead to Conrad's stash. Currently it was in an inocuous warehouse just outside London. No doubt the convict had come to claim it.

Good. It would be the last gesture towards a world he'd grown tired of. A final break so to speak. Finally flipping the phone shut, he shoved it back into his pocket and wandered back to the stage. Just in time to be volunteered on some sort of club jaunt. Strip club, no less.

"Over my dead body," he managed. Scowling heavily.

Which, naturally, provided a decent shield against the scantily clad women not two hour later. John, Sean, Lucy, Devon, Caleb and himself were wedged into one of the larger tables at a club that ... well, lets just say the dancers were more of the Chippendale variety. They'd already hit another club so Lucy could observe female strippers; hell, a friendly one nicknamed Rainbow had coaxed the young mother on stage. Lucy still had the twenty some patron had stuck in her skirt before being punched by her husband.

Which was why they'd opted for a gay bar this time. Except some of the patrons were giving him very appraising looks. Devon was scowling next to him. Probably for the same reason Michael was.

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    • The Fire's Out Anyway — Cafferty | Pierson, Mon Jun 26 14:52
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        The last week had been an utter haze for Devon. Between the days that he had gone out pub hopping with Michael, and the various other occasions where he told himself he was going to go out for only... more
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