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[...how many trojans does it take to change a lightbulb?...]
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serialkarma did beta duty, so props of much madness go to her. Much thanks, yoj.During filming in Mexico, Hurricane Marty ripped through the Baja peninsula and left the Troy set in ruins. Actors were given time-off so rebuilding could take place.
The Weather Report
Troy RPS. Eric Bana/Brad Pitt, pre-slash. PG.
Some other lifetime.
"I can say 'our world was torn apart' without hyperbole," said Orlando, and Eric didn't know what to say to that, because the way Orlando said it, it sounded like a joke. This entire situation didn't seem like a joke at all, or maybe Eric was just missing something. Maybe Eric was still sleepy and needed some black coffee to wake him up, and then he would get the joke. At the moment, however, Eric didn't feel like getting anything, coffee or joke, so he just stood next to Orlando and quietly surveyed the devastation. Already there were a handful of teams sorting through the rubble, salvaging and rearranging what could be salvaged and rearranged. He thought he could see Brad and Brian in the distance under the ex-gates of Troy, playing jigsaw alongside the rest of the crew.
"You reckon you and Brad will just have to fight in front of a blue screen then, and CG the walls?" asked Orlando.
Eric said he had no idea.
"I do," said a familiar voice that sounded twice as old as it was. "I have an idea, because that is what I do, isn't it? I have ideas." Wolfgang, looking drained at seven in the morning, appeared beside them with a steaming styrofoam cup in his hand and a faint smile on his face. "When bad things happen, I have the ideas to fix it, always, always. It is like... like the autopilot button." With a sweeping gesture of his arm at the scene before them, he said, "Can you believe it?"
"I can't believe it," Orlando said, shaking his head and looking thoughtful.
"You can still smell the rain in the air," said Wolfgang. "Can you not? Smell it. It's the new-world, post-rain smell. It's the new-world, post-rain, fuck-with-Wolfgang's-budget smell." The director chuckled to himself. "Troy has fallen."
+
John M. Keynes, as he introduced himself, was a writer for some entertainment rag up in California, and one of the few journalists who managed to secure a relatively high-clearance press pass. Most of the ensemble agreed, over a half-assed but utterly enjoyable game of cards, that the facts surrounding Mr. Keynes's pass were highly suspect. Keynes's publication wasn't anything Eric ever heard of anyway, and when he brought this up, Brad said, "Have you heard that David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson have fallen in love and are divorcing their spouses to be together?"
Brian laughed and said, "What are you on, kid?"
"Oh, so you haven't heard?" said Brad with tongue-in-cheek surprise. "It's a perfect example of life imitating art."
"No," said Eric, amused. "No, I haven't heard this."
"Neither have I," said Brad. "I bet you Keynes has, though. I bet you he's heard a shitload of things you and I have never heard, or anyone else on the planet for that matter. Of course, it's his foresworn duty to write down everything he's heard and make it available to all of America. Or, at least, the parts of America that shop for groceries and reading material in the same store."
"I see."
"Maybe he slept his way to the pass," said Saffron around a mouthful of nachos.
"Maybe," said Brad, "but if he asks me one more question about Jen, I'll go medieval on his ass."
The day after Hurricane Marty, Wolfgang had the foresight, between updating schedules and beating down pleas to change the location of the Achilles/Hector duel, to slip in a word to his assistant to have Keynes escorted off the premises. Thus it was that Eric, on the way back to his trailer after a couple of hours helping out at ground zero, came across the notorious Mr. Keynes throwing a hissy fit between two security guards with very firm grips. "Let me go, you sad sacks of motherfuck!" he yelled. "Fucking... fucks." When Keynes looked up and saw Eric watching the whole thing, he yelled, "Eric!"
"We'll take care of him, Mr. Bana," said one of the guards.
"You most certainly will fucking not!" Keynes exclaimed. "Eric, buddy, sorry about the sets, man."
"...No problem," said Eric.
"Buddy," Keynes said hurriedly. "Is it true about you and Bloom? 'Cos the word is crazy, man. Is it true?" He struggled in vain, insulted security some more, and managed a final defiant "Eriiiiiic!" before they turned the corner and disappeared.
Eric stared after him. "Odd man," he concluded, and continued on his way.
Up ahead, Brad was struggling with the door to his trailer. Smiling wryly, Eric went to him, pushed him aside, and fiddled with the key himself. "Hey, you heard about me and Orlando?"
Brad replied, "Do you think it's worth the trouble of asking them for a new trailer?"
"One thing at a time, grasshopper." The trailer door opened with a neat click, and Eric stepped back and bowed in a doorman-ish sort of fashion. "Answer my question first."
"What was it?"
"Did you hear about me and Bloom?"
"What about you and Bloom?"
"I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me."
"Is this Keynes?"
"Keynes! Gold star."
"Huh." Brad bowed and stepped into the trailer. "Thanks, man. I thought Wolfgang had him kicked off the set."
"He did! This was his swan song, apparently, straight from the movies. As he was dragged off by Julio and Ray, you could hear his final, heart-wrenching cry: 'Eriiic! Is it true about you and Blooooom?'"
Brad smirked and motioned for Eric to come inside. "I wonder what he heard."
"What do you reckon?"
"What do you think?" said Brad. He opened a cooler in the corner of the kitchenette and took out two beers, offering one to Eric. Eric shook his head no and Brad tossed him one anyway.
"What, are you saying he's saying Orlando and I are sleeping together?" asked Eric, opening the can.
"Knowing the nature of the beast, I wouldn't be surprised." Brad half-sat half-leaned on the kitchen counter. "Have a seat, Bana."
Eric looked around for a suitable place to park his ass, and decided the coffee table would suit his purposes fine. "But no news is bad news, eh?" he said. "Orlando Bloom and Eric Bana. Orleric. Erando."
"Say what?"
"You know. Like Bennifer." Eric took a swig. "Besides, these connections are like business in a way. One has to know how to work these things. These... media things."
Brad laughed. "You're playing his brother in the next summer blockbuster. You've got media things up your shnozz and nothing to worry about."
"Hey, I was on my way to telling a good joke there," said Eric. "Curb the premature... ejaculation, of laughter."
"What?" Brad's brow crinkled, but not without a smile. "And you used to be a comedian back in Australia?"
"I was that. So?"
"So are you losing your touch or just really getting into character?"
"Oh, do you know how exhausting it is to be both stunning and witty round the clock?" asked Eric. "Jokes! Once in a while, I like to crack the bad ones. It may be perverse, but it's also refreshing, and real life seems to be the only time when I can squeeze it in. Humor me."
"Humor," Brad repeated wryly.
He was looking at Eric with an expression that he estimated was somewhere between amused and bemused. It was a look that Eric often received and, to be honest, had always rather enjoyed. There was also the added satisfaction of receiving the look from a man who was constantly on Sexiest Stars Alive lists the world over. "And I don't know what you're talking about 'getting into character'," said Eric. "I bet Hector can tell a joke if he wants to."
"Yeah? What jokes would Hector tell?"
Eric slipped into character, the smirk on his face replaced by quiet gravitas. A smooth British accent edged out his Melbourne lilt, and as he looked darkly at Brad, Hector asked, "How many Trojans does it take to change a lightbulb?"
Brad cocked his head. "Lightbulbs hadn't been invented yet."
Hector disappeared and Eric said, "Oy, do you want to hear Hector tell a joke or not?"
Brad held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm just the token heckler, man. Just trying to bring you back to your roots. What, Eric Bana the comedian never had hecklers? Come on." He shrugged and smiled candidly at him. "I'm just doing my part trying to bring a little slice of home closer to you."
"It may feel like home sometimes," Eric shrugged. "But not because you're tripping on my bad jokes."
It was Brad's turn to slip into his character, and shooting Eric a smoldering look, Achilles took a few heavy steps towards him and said, "Is it because I'm sexy?"
"No," said Eric. "It's because Orlando's sexy. Weren't you listening to anything Keynes said?"
Brad just broke into a wide grin, and Eric wasn't sure if Brad was still in character or not.
+
In the end, the word was thus: go home while we fix shit.
Dusk coated the sky over Mexico. A lot of people had gone, as per Wolfgang's divine mandate, but a lot of people still hung around, talking and drinking beer and hanging out with the ones who wouldn't be going home because they had to rebuild the sets pronto. Tough shit, buddy, said a soldier extra to an assistant set designer, to which the reply was, yeah, tough shit, now hand me another beer, asshole, before I destabilize the scaffolding you'll be standing on.
"Rome was not built in a day," Wolfgang said to Eric earlier. "But perhaps Troy can be? Ah, ignore the talk of an old man with an overdrawn budget..."
"Relax, Wolfgang," said Eric. "Look, it'll all work out. I can feel it."
When Wolfgang smiled, his eyes crinkled and turned into crescent moons. He put his hand on Eric's shoulder and said, "I believe you."
Eric and Brad sat on bits of broken setpiece under what was left of Troy's gates, one at each end of the doors like night-time sentries. They would be symmetrical were it not for little things, like the way Eric threaded his fingers together and rested them on his stomach, as opposed to the way Brad put his hands behind his head. The way Eric sat with his legs stretched out before him instead of sitting cross-legged, like Brad. They were complementary as opposed to identical, and the two of them had been sitting there for a good while now, navigating an arbitrary pattern of shit-shooting and off-hand lulls.
"I was thinking about something the other day," said Eric.
"What were you thinking."
"Hector and Achilles, right? Or at least our Hector and Achilles, 'cos it's been ages since I last read The Iliad."
"Right."
"That scene where I'm dead and you're crying, then you call me 'brother'."
"We'll meet again, brother," Brad quoted. "Yeah."
"Right. So see, if it weren't for the circumstances, you know, surrounding them, ten-year war and all, Hector and Achilles would probably have been friends. In another lifetime, under a different set of circumstances, they would have been friends."
"Huh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can see that."
"What if this is their other lifetime?"
"What? Now?"
"Yeah."
"Like you and me?"
"Like you and me. And now. You and me and now, yeah. And if history does actually repeat itself, it would explain your heel."
Brad chuckled. "Yeah. Okay, so you're Hector and I'm Achilles. Now what?"
"Now we have a second chance."
"At what?"
"At each other?" Eric shrugged. "At giving peace a chance?"
"Ah," said Brad, and Eric could hear the smile in his voice even if he couldn't see it. "Mission accomplished, then."
"Oh, you think so?"
"Yeah," Brad replied. "Sure."
"We're good."
"Yes, we are."
They ebbed back into a lull, but in a few minutes they'd start up again, talking about hurricanes. Eric thought they should name the next one Hurricane Noreena, but Brad liked Nelson better. Like the lord, he said. They decided that Hurricane Noreenelson would be a fair compromise, but it just didn't roll off the tongue like Marty did. Call it Marty the Second then, and the both of them agreed that that was an even better idea. They discussed how they could convince the relevant figureheads of this, until someone dropped by to tell them that their respective cars were here to take them away.
See you in a few, they said to each other.
"Wait, hold on," said Brad.
Eric paused, mid-climbing-into-car.
"How many Trojans does it take to change a lightbulb?"
Eric shrugged. "I don't know. I was just going with the flow, to be honest. I was half-hoping that something would happen so I wouldn't have to think of a quick answer and make an idiot of myself."
"Well, go with the flow some more, bucko. Let's hear the answer now."
"Tell you what," said Eric. "I'll sleep on it, and when I think of something suitably clever, I'll email you."
"Sounds like a plan. Promise me now.”
"Crossed hearts, needles in my eye, et al. May the gods keep the wolves in the hills--"
"--and the women in our beds," Brad finished. They exchanged grins.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," said Eric, and Brad saluted him before getting into the car. Eric watched the car pull away and shrink into the distance before he climbed into his own car and likewise disappeared.
[end.]
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preslash.
<3333
and i love your writing; i love the simplicity of it, how everything just... is. so nice. i love it.
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I'm keeping the faith, man, but it's all about strategy!
Aww, thank you! Aww, man. ^_^:DXD
*is grinning*
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UnCoolest Ship Name, but whaddyagonnadoo. ;)Disclaimer: NO OFFENSE TO BANALANDOERS INTENDED, PLS OK.
Thanks for reading, yoj.
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Great!
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Ah, I love this. In the end, the word was thus: go home while we fix shit. Well, I love the whole thing, but, this is the way to review, isn't it, italicizing lines?
I was staying away from this, because Bana is like... not to be slashed. Now...I must find Bana slash. Hmm...any suggestions?
Gracias for reading, dude. ^_^
but, this is the way to review, isn't it, italicizing lines?
It totally is. Well, that's how I review anyway, and it's always nice to know which parts readers like and stuff like that.
I have not read much Bana slash, but I know there's a crapload of 'em on
Re: Gracias for reading, dude. ^_^
Thanks for the community recs, I'll have to go check them out.
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They would be symmetrical were it not for little things, like the way Eric threaded his fingers together and rested them on his stomach, as opposed to the way Brad put his hands behind his head.
I love this, and the whole paragraph. Actually I love that whole little scene and the conversation they have. There's something so natural and real about it.
I'm gonna stop gushing now. But good job!
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So easy-going, so light, so... realistic. Love it.
I don't know why, but I giggled here - go home while we fix shit. :D
Also, I love the idea that this is their second chance... it does make sense - and is a lovely allusion.
Thanks for this!
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I recced you.
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I dunno, I've always liked the Brad...
Thanks, man. :)
Talk like a man
For some weird reason this is my fav line:
"You can still smell the rain in the air," said Wolfgang. "Can you not? Smell it. It's the new-world, post-rain smell. It's the new-world, post-rain, fuck-with-Wolfgang's-budget smell." The director chuckled to himself. "Troy has fallen."
Don't know Petersen in RL but that sounds like him, the friendly director on the verge of going mental, lol. 'fuck-with-Wolfgang's-budget' is priceless!
I think what makes this fic rock is they talk like real men. Real people, not through tabloid' eyes. Will you write more?
*ilya
Re: Talk like a man
Dude, cool. I'm glad you thought so.
Will you write more?
There's already one in the works, yo. Thanks for commenting and check back again soon ;)
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(Anonymous) 2004-06-29 07:11 am (UTC)(link)no subject
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2 or more. The sods will screw in anything.
Good fic though.
@-'-,---------
oh those trojans...