![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
[...because you and ben are secretly eight years old...]
She shall pick up the blame, gen-ish though this is. Kind of a preliminary day-in-the-life kind of thing this is. (The mojo's stuck in traffic or whatever.)
The Dogma production diary shall pick up the bar tab.
Near Death Experience
RPF. Casey, Ben, Joaquin, and Summer. And Kevin. PG13.
"Not a hippie, he argues. Once changed name to Leaf, you argue back."
"Shit, you're alive," says Ben's voice over the phone.
And that's a strange thing to say to someone's "hello." Of course you're alive. Why wouldn't you be?
"I don't know. I don't know, fucking geeks on Kevin's message board, they were saying you kicked the bucket."
...which sounds pretty fucked up.
"Yeah. Yeah, it really is. Are you really okay?"
Get any group of losers together and they'll come up with the wrongest shit. Your vital signs are in check, though. That's usually a good sign.
"Haha."
Ben's the one who sounds not okay. He sounds like he needs to sit down, which invariably means he's pacing all over the place, tripping over the cables and upsetting the equipment, and probably the people. Ben's a pacer. A fidgeter.
You suggest vodka.
"I hate vodka. Jesus." He paces some more. "So how's your filming? How's New York?"
Both have been good to you.
"Having a good time debauching Christina Ricci?"
Sure. Is Ben having a good time debauching Matt?
"Haha. Funny man." Scuffling noise. "Hey, I gotta go. Kev wants to stick some huge fucking wings on me and Salma wants her cellphone back."
"Case," says Kevin's voice on the phone. "Glad to hear you're not pushin' daisies, bro."
Rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated.
"Apparently. Hey, I gotta go stick brother dearest a couple of stories up in the air. Don't worry, we'll make his fall look like an accident. Police won't suspect a thing."
"I love you, too!" says Ben, far from the phone.
You laugh and wish Kevin luck.
"Catch you later," he says.
"Bye, Casey!" says Ben.
Click.
***
Joaquin says, "Cool. How did you die?"
You don't know. You didn't think to ask.
"How would you want to die?"
You start quoting Dylan Thomas and he just grins at you. Maybe it's because you're sprawled upside down on his couch, legs over the back of the seat, head and shoulders dangling off the edge. Gravity pulls the blood to your face and you must look so fucking red, and ridiculous. Or maybe he's smiling because you're quoting Dylan Thomas, because that's just the kind of thing you do, and the kind of thing you do is dabble in intellectual pretension. He makes fun of your overeducation the same way you make fun of his hippie past. (Not a hippie, he argues. Once changed name to Leaf, you argue back.)
"A blaze of glory," says Joaquin. "Me, too."
He's in the kitchen, getting the both of you drinks. When he comes back, he sets yours on the ground a few inches from your head, and sits next to you. He props his feet on the table, rests his head against your knees, and says, "Ask him next time he's on the phone. Ask him how you died."
You finish your drinks in silence, or at least Joaquin finishes his. You don't touch yours, wary of spilling it in your position, but you continue sitting upside down anyway, because there's no urgent reason why you should change positions. Joaquin's comfortable, you're comfortable (more or less), and you'll probably stay like this for another few minutes, until your eyes start popping out of your head.
When Summer walks through the door with a bag of groceries, she stares at the two of you, then commands, "Don't move!" She drops the groceries on the floor, rushes to the study, and when she comes back she has her camera in hand. She starts snapping your pictures.
"You guys are so..." Summer murmurs. "You guys are like puppies," and continues taking more pictures. When she's done, she says, "Casey, you look kind of flushed."
"He's just had a near death experience," says Joaquin as you right yourself up.
"Oh," she says. You're sipping your lukewarm drink when she asks you, "How was it?"
Rather anticlimactic, you think. But if all goes according to plan, Ben should also be having a near-death experience really soon. Maybe his will be better.
"Mmm," is what she says, in a noncommittal sort of way. Turning on her heels and telling you to put the groceries away is what she does. After she takes her shower, the groceries are still on the floor and you and Joaquin are flipping between C-Span and the Discovery Channel. All three of you end up putting the groceries away together, which Summer says is how it should be anyway.
***
Ben doesn't have a near-death experience of any sort, which is fair, because hey, you didn't either. Kevin says he'll definitely get Ben in the next movie, which prompts your brother to defend his honor and pretend to beat the shit out of him. Kevin just puts his hand on Ben's face and pushes him away like your brother's an overeager Saint Bernard.
Dogma's wrapped. 200 Cigarettes's wrapped. Wrapped for the actors, at least. At the end of the day, Kevin has to leave to do his editing thing, and Ben's slouched on your couch, flipping through the cable stations like a speeding bullet. There's nothing on; you might as well watch a video, and the two of you feel triumphant and silly--but mostly triumphant--when you settle on Good Will Hunting. Ben pumps his fists in the air when Chuckie appears onscreen. You boo. When Morgan appears onscreen, you cheer, he boos, you whack his head.
Ben says, "You're such a child."
Ben should just shut up and watch his Oscar.
"No, I left it on my bookshelf at home," he says absently, and that makes you laugh. "Okay, shut up, I love this next part. I wrote it all by myself."
The movie doesn't hold either of your interest. Not a surprise, really. You've seen the alternate takes on the video tap. You've borrowed everyone's pens to scribble in script changes and doodle inbetween takes, and then forgot to return them. You've told Robin Williams you loved Hook and the two of you did the Peter Pan crow until Gus threatened with duct tape. You don't really need to see the movie again, not now. When it gets to the park bench scene, you and Ben grapple for the remote at the same time. You raise it to the TV together and you're not sure whose finger presses the power button.
"I'm crashing here tonight," Ben says, and ruffles your hair. You move your head away, at which point the hair-ruffle develops into a head-hug, which develops into a noogie, and the fight is on, because you and Ben are secretly eight years old. Ben falls off the couch, dragging you with him, and he's bending your fingers in all sorts of painful angles as you dig your knee into his stomach. He throws you off and he's digging his knee into your stomach and your hands are kind of pinned to the floor.
"Say uncle!" he yells. "Say uncle!"
You didn't even know anybody says that anymore. What the hell does that mean, 'say uncle'? Where'd that come from? That's all the time you have to wonder about it because this is when Summer lets herself into the apartment, asking if you've seen her jacket. Summer, with her excellent timing and penchant for photographing men in unconventional positions.
"Say cheese," she says, and holds up the camera hanging around her neck.
No one says cheese, no one says uncle, and when Summer's finds her jacket draped over a chair in the kitchen and leaves with a cheery goodbye, you and Ben have lost interest in your death match. Sitting on the floor, legs sprawled in front of you, leaning back against the couch: that's what you're like right now.
Also, you want to know how you died.
"Huh?"
The geeks on the message board.
"Oh. Uh. Eaten by a tiger."
Seriously, you want to know.
"Killed by marauding ninjas," says Ben, thoroughly enjoying it now that the crisis is over, and you know you're not going to get a straight answer from him. You'll email Kevin tomorrow because seriously. You're curious.
"Live large, man, really give them something to talk about," he says. You'd be doing the folks on Kevin's board a favor. Real shit to talk about this time, so I can laugh at your ass instead of trying to steal Salma Hayek's cellphone. Where are you going?"
Getting a near pizza experience. You're still hungry.
"What, and you're expecting to just leave me here, maybe?"
You're expecting he comes along, actually.
"Peachy."
You grab your jackets and leave.
[end.]
The Dogma production diary shall pick up the bar tab.
Near Death Experience
RPF. Casey, Ben, Joaquin, and Summer. And Kevin. PG13.
"Not a hippie, he argues. Once changed name to Leaf, you argue back."
"Shit, you're alive," says Ben's voice over the phone.
And that's a strange thing to say to someone's "hello." Of course you're alive. Why wouldn't you be?
"I don't know. I don't know, fucking geeks on Kevin's message board, they were saying you kicked the bucket."
...which sounds pretty fucked up.
"Yeah. Yeah, it really is. Are you really okay?"
Get any group of losers together and they'll come up with the wrongest shit. Your vital signs are in check, though. That's usually a good sign.
"Haha."
Ben's the one who sounds not okay. He sounds like he needs to sit down, which invariably means he's pacing all over the place, tripping over the cables and upsetting the equipment, and probably the people. Ben's a pacer. A fidgeter.
You suggest vodka.
"I hate vodka. Jesus." He paces some more. "So how's your filming? How's New York?"
Both have been good to you.
"Having a good time debauching Christina Ricci?"
Sure. Is Ben having a good time debauching Matt?
"Haha. Funny man." Scuffling noise. "Hey, I gotta go. Kev wants to stick some huge fucking wings on me and Salma wants her cellphone back."
"Case," says Kevin's voice on the phone. "Glad to hear you're not pushin' daisies, bro."
Rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated.
"Apparently. Hey, I gotta go stick brother dearest a couple of stories up in the air. Don't worry, we'll make his fall look like an accident. Police won't suspect a thing."
"I love you, too!" says Ben, far from the phone.
You laugh and wish Kevin luck.
"Catch you later," he says.
"Bye, Casey!" says Ben.
Click.
***
Joaquin says, "Cool. How did you die?"
You don't know. You didn't think to ask.
"How would you want to die?"
You start quoting Dylan Thomas and he just grins at you. Maybe it's because you're sprawled upside down on his couch, legs over the back of the seat, head and shoulders dangling off the edge. Gravity pulls the blood to your face and you must look so fucking red, and ridiculous. Or maybe he's smiling because you're quoting Dylan Thomas, because that's just the kind of thing you do, and the kind of thing you do is dabble in intellectual pretension. He makes fun of your overeducation the same way you make fun of his hippie past. (Not a hippie, he argues. Once changed name to Leaf, you argue back.)
"A blaze of glory," says Joaquin. "Me, too."
He's in the kitchen, getting the both of you drinks. When he comes back, he sets yours on the ground a few inches from your head, and sits next to you. He props his feet on the table, rests his head against your knees, and says, "Ask him next time he's on the phone. Ask him how you died."
You finish your drinks in silence, or at least Joaquin finishes his. You don't touch yours, wary of spilling it in your position, but you continue sitting upside down anyway, because there's no urgent reason why you should change positions. Joaquin's comfortable, you're comfortable (more or less), and you'll probably stay like this for another few minutes, until your eyes start popping out of your head.
When Summer walks through the door with a bag of groceries, she stares at the two of you, then commands, "Don't move!" She drops the groceries on the floor, rushes to the study, and when she comes back she has her camera in hand. She starts snapping your pictures.
"You guys are so..." Summer murmurs. "You guys are like puppies," and continues taking more pictures. When she's done, she says, "Casey, you look kind of flushed."
"He's just had a near death experience," says Joaquin as you right yourself up.
"Oh," she says. You're sipping your lukewarm drink when she asks you, "How was it?"
Rather anticlimactic, you think. But if all goes according to plan, Ben should also be having a near-death experience really soon. Maybe his will be better.
"Mmm," is what she says, in a noncommittal sort of way. Turning on her heels and telling you to put the groceries away is what she does. After she takes her shower, the groceries are still on the floor and you and Joaquin are flipping between C-Span and the Discovery Channel. All three of you end up putting the groceries away together, which Summer says is how it should be anyway.
***
Ben doesn't have a near-death experience of any sort, which is fair, because hey, you didn't either. Kevin says he'll definitely get Ben in the next movie, which prompts your brother to defend his honor and pretend to beat the shit out of him. Kevin just puts his hand on Ben's face and pushes him away like your brother's an overeager Saint Bernard.
Dogma's wrapped. 200 Cigarettes's wrapped. Wrapped for the actors, at least. At the end of the day, Kevin has to leave to do his editing thing, and Ben's slouched on your couch, flipping through the cable stations like a speeding bullet. There's nothing on; you might as well watch a video, and the two of you feel triumphant and silly--but mostly triumphant--when you settle on Good Will Hunting. Ben pumps his fists in the air when Chuckie appears onscreen. You boo. When Morgan appears onscreen, you cheer, he boos, you whack his head.
Ben says, "You're such a child."
Ben should just shut up and watch his Oscar.
"No, I left it on my bookshelf at home," he says absently, and that makes you laugh. "Okay, shut up, I love this next part. I wrote it all by myself."
The movie doesn't hold either of your interest. Not a surprise, really. You've seen the alternate takes on the video tap. You've borrowed everyone's pens to scribble in script changes and doodle inbetween takes, and then forgot to return them. You've told Robin Williams you loved Hook and the two of you did the Peter Pan crow until Gus threatened with duct tape. You don't really need to see the movie again, not now. When it gets to the park bench scene, you and Ben grapple for the remote at the same time. You raise it to the TV together and you're not sure whose finger presses the power button.
"I'm crashing here tonight," Ben says, and ruffles your hair. You move your head away, at which point the hair-ruffle develops into a head-hug, which develops into a noogie, and the fight is on, because you and Ben are secretly eight years old. Ben falls off the couch, dragging you with him, and he's bending your fingers in all sorts of painful angles as you dig your knee into his stomach. He throws you off and he's digging his knee into your stomach and your hands are kind of pinned to the floor.
"Say uncle!" he yells. "Say uncle!"
You didn't even know anybody says that anymore. What the hell does that mean, 'say uncle'? Where'd that come from? That's all the time you have to wonder about it because this is when Summer lets herself into the apartment, asking if you've seen her jacket. Summer, with her excellent timing and penchant for photographing men in unconventional positions.
"Say cheese," she says, and holds up the camera hanging around her neck.
No one says cheese, no one says uncle, and when Summer's finds her jacket draped over a chair in the kitchen and leaves with a cheery goodbye, you and Ben have lost interest in your death match. Sitting on the floor, legs sprawled in front of you, leaning back against the couch: that's what you're like right now.
Also, you want to know how you died.
"Huh?"
The geeks on the message board.
"Oh. Uh. Eaten by a tiger."
Seriously, you want to know.
"Killed by marauding ninjas," says Ben, thoroughly enjoying it now that the crisis is over, and you know you're not going to get a straight answer from him. You'll email Kevin tomorrow because seriously. You're curious.
"Live large, man, really give them something to talk about," he says. You'd be doing the folks on Kevin's board a favor. Real shit to talk about this time, so I can laugh at your ass instead of trying to steal Salma Hayek's cellphone. Where are you going?"
Getting a near pizza experience. You're still hungry.
"What, and you're expecting to just leave me here, maybe?"
You're expecting he comes along, actually.
"Peachy."
You grab your jackets and leave.
[end.]
no subject
Wow. There are, like, two very different energy levels in this comment. Sorry. Its five in the morning, yo.
no subject
really wishing there was some decent affleck-cest out there now
Three comments down. I'm all like, "OMG WRITE IT NOW OMG OMG."
;) Thanks, man.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
re: EVERYTHING you just said
Re: re: EVERYTHING you just said
*eats vegan burgers until explosion*
*watches movies*
*lazes around*
i fucking love going to my sister's, man.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Yeah - it's still Chasing Amy soreness.
But hey - him fucking his brother makes it better somehow....
*evil*
no subject
Or Matt.
...Wait.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Oh, God, that place is the devil. Have you ever tried to actually post there? It's either buried in two seconds, or you have someone calling you an idiot asshole and challenging you to a duel on who's the bigger fan of Kevin's. LOL.
Rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated.
Heh. Nice usage of a quote there. Loved that.
(Not a hippie, he argues. Once changed name to Leaf, you argue back.)
Heh!!! I love Joaquinn Phoenix. There's just something about that dude. There needs to be Vince Vaughn/ Joaquinn RPS out there.
Are you a K. Smith fan? Cause one of the very few RPS's I've written was between Affleck and Jason Lee during the filming of Chasing Amy, and if you wanted here it is (http://www.livejournal.com/users/khohen1/112188.html) [/self-promotion]
I really liked the style of this. That second person telling thing, when done right, is verrrry intriguing.
You're making me want to read Joaquinn rps now... with anyone. LOL.
no subject
I thiiiiiiiiiiink
no subject
Very cute how Ben and he fight. Awww...good job.
Thoroughly enjoyed it! :)