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nursedarryI'm just so embarrassed.
Title: Rewrites
Rating: a wee bit R-ish (language, teeny tiny amount of hawtness)
Pairing(s): Good question! D/T RPS kinda
Summary: IMHO HBP could use a few tweaks.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dripping_cherry made me do it. Can’t remember what we were talking about, but this just popped into my head. This is for her and many thanks to her for the beta.
Disclaimer: I claim absolutely nothing in regards to anything I’ve written. HP and everything even remotely associated with it (him) belong to the goddess JK and the deities who are WB.
Warning(s): This is just crack gone very wrong. Read at your own risk.
Word Count: ~1000
Author's Notes: In a past life I used to work as a unit nurse for the Scottish film and television industry. I was even asked if I were available to work on PoA (I still have the letter from WB)! Alas, my ob/gyn advised against it as I’d be too far away from any services if my little bundles of joy decided to give me trouble whilst they were cooking, so I had to say no. I’ve got some very fond memories from that era, but I think I would trade the snog from Ewan and the hug from Dom if there were even the slightest chance I could have seen something like this.
The executive producer appeared unusually tense as he shifted in his executive producer's large leather chair.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking nervously across his executive producer’s large glass desk at the two actors. This action was not lost on the two men. They knew something was coming.
Something major.
“There’ve been some…ah…rewrites.”
The two young men looked at each other and then back across the EPLGD.
“We don’t take this decision lightly, and believe me, we know that we’re going to get flack for this…”
“Er…” said the dark-haired one.
The executive producer held up a manicured hand. “Wait, let me finish. I don’t think I could bear to say this again.”
The young men exchanged another look, this one more wary than the last.
“Are we gong to hate this?” The blond one asked, already sounding as if he did.
“Well…that depends…” the man across the desk hedged.
“Depends on what?” the dark-haired one asked, impatience hardly hidden.
“You see…we’ve read the reviews, we’ve talked to the publicity department, we’ve spoken to the legal department…”
“Yes, yes, you’ve consulted the fucking Oracle at Delphi, get to the fucking point!” The dark-haired one would kill for a cigarette right now, but instead was about to kill the executive producer.
“Better! We’ve been on the Internet! And you’ll never believe what the public are screaming for.”
“Naked co-ed Quidditch?” the blond one quipped.
“Well, you’re half-right…” the executive producer said quietly.
“WHAT then?!”
“Maybe you should just have a look at the script treatments for tomorrow’s scenes.” The producer handed them each a set of amended scripts. Both young men took them and began perusing. Both were used to last minute dialogue changes.
The executive producer looked from one to the other noting how the young men’s expressions slowly turned from resigned to incredulous.
“I’m supposed to put my hands on his WHAT?” The dark-haired one nearly shouted.
“You want me to put my tongue in his WHERE?” the blond said, flabbergasted.
The executive producer glanced out of his executive producer’s glass-walled office at the growing crowd of office workers who had gathered to watch the show. Most of them were nodding and smiling. One woman gave him a hearty thumbs-up.
“Guys, please don’t think we took this decision lightly. But it’s what the punters want. We can’t argue with the public. After all, they’re the ones paying our salaries. We could all make twice the amount we’re making now with just a few minor changes to the scenes.”
“You call this minor?” The dark-haired one was so agitated his voice broke.
“Well, this and a few other things. Of course the Epilogue scenes in the last script will have to be re-written.”
“But what about the original Epilogue? I mean, it's in the bloody book!” the blond one pointed out.
“Fuck the Epilogue! Need I remind you that your contract clearly states that any script changes are the property of this studio?” The executive producer pointed out. “It’s not like these are that difficult to set up- the scenes are already scheduled, nothing needs too much changing, just different bits added to them.”
“But, but, this would totally change the story!” the dark-haired one shouted.
“Ah- that’s where you’re wrong. Most research tells us that the fans would like to see pretty much the whole story remain – with the exception of the end, of course. They feel that this…relationship…could continue throughout without affecting the storyline. You’d be working around it.”
“Working around it? The whole tone would be changed!”
Actors, thought the executive producer wearily, always the goddammed artistes. "This isn’t frigging Hamlet, guys. You’re here to entertain! It’s what you’re paid to do!”
“What about the kids? What about the franchise? What about the sales of all the toys?” At least the dark-haired one had his eye firmly planted on the bottom line.
“Who do you think pays for all the merchandise?” The executive producer reminded them. “Hell, from what we could tell, most of the mums are playing with the toys just as much as the kids!”
“Okay, okay, suppose for a moment, we did go along with this…” The blond one looked sideways at the dark-haired one who just gawped at him. “Isn’t it going to royally piss off one very important mother more than anyone else?”
“Who do you think drafted those rewrites?” The executive producer asked smugly.
***
“So, did you guys…rehearse?” asked the girl with the bushy brown hair.
The two young men shifted uneasily, looking at anything but each other.
“No…”
“Uh-uh…”
“You’re just going to ‘wing it’, then? Isn’t that a little reckless?” Screw all this closed-set nonsense; It was just a couple of snogs, for god’s sake. Still, she wasn’t going to miss this for the world. “Did they tell you all this is going to delay the release?”
“No!” said men together, now looking at each other.
“Yeah, the producers want to test it out for a few months- you know- test audiences, just to get a reaction. And I’ve think they’ve changed the premiere venue. It’s now gonna be at some hotel in San Francisco.”
“Really?” said the blond. “That’d be cool.”
***
“Quiet! Right, we’re turning over,” the first assistant director shouted at everyone on the sound stage. True to his word, he had closed the set, but it was still amazing how many (mostly female) crew felt they needed to be there. “Whenever you’re ready, boys. Great. Right, anger, fear, desperation. And- okay, action!”
The two young men went through the first page of the new dialogue with no problems- the angry words thrown back and fourth like a game of toxic tennis.
The set held its collective breath.
A tumbleweed blew across the sound stage.
Then, like an explosion, the young men threw themselves at each other, grabbing at hair, yanking at costumes, sucking the other’s tongue into his own mouth.
“Awww,” said the older man with the long beard next to the girl with the bushy brown hair. “Isn’t that sweet?”
From where they were standing, it looked as though the two young men were now attempting to literally climb into each other’s clothes.
“Nnnnnnggghhhh,” replied the girl. This comment was echoed around the set.
“Right, cut, check the gate,” shouted the first assistant director and there was a bustle of activity from the camera operator, the sound engineer, and the other crew. The actors seemed not to have heard.
“Cut, guys!” the first assistant director repeated loudly. “Cut! Hello? CUT!!!”
“SHHHH!” came the response from most of the on-lookers. The two young men were completely oblivious to everyone now, and they continued to grind up against each other and the flimsy set.
“Did you say something?” The blond one said against the dark-haired one’s gasping mouth before once more leaping into it.
“Gmmmmthhhm…” replied the other young man. Their groping became a bit more focused. The boom operator had sadly set aside his equipment, so only the people standing the closest to the actual set could hear the “dialogue”.
“Wanted” –pant- “to do this” –pant- “for ages,” continued the dark-haired young man as he wrapped a leg around his companion’s hip, straining body threatening to tear through the plasterboard stone wall.
“Me too,” replied the blond, his hand now definitely moving up and down inside the lower half of the other one’s robe. “Need…bed…now…” He decided to stop talking and start snogging again.
“Need…to…come…now…first,” the dark-haired one groaned about ten seconds later. The moaning and panting had gotten considerably louder. Everyone just stood there enrapt, aside from the director, who was having a hushed but frantic discussion with the script supervisor. After all, continuity was everything. (Well, unless you were Lucas.)
The camera operator was tempted to start up again, figuring he could make a fortune on YouTube. As it was, the number of mobile phone cameras clicking away made it obvious that perhaps this part of the scene wasn’t exactly scripted; it would be a real shame to miss the money shots.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck….!”
“Bloooooody helllllllllllllllllll!”
Damn, too late.
The End (thank god).
Title: Rewrites
Rating: a wee bit R-ish (language, teeny tiny amount of hawtness)
Pairing(s): Good question! D/T RPS kinda
Summary: IMHO HBP could use a few tweaks.
dripping_cherry made me do it. Can’t remember what we were talking about, but this just popped into my head. This is for her and many thanks to her for the beta.Disclaimer: I claim absolutely nothing in regards to anything I’ve written. HP and everything even remotely associated with it (him) belong to the goddess JK and the deities who are WB.
Warning(s): This is just crack gone very wrong. Read at your own risk.
Word Count: ~1000
Author's Notes: In a past life I used to work as a unit nurse for the Scottish film and television industry. I was even asked if I were available to work on PoA (I still have the letter from WB)! Alas, my ob/gyn advised against it as I’d be too far away from any services if my little bundles of joy decided to give me trouble whilst they were cooking, so I had to say no. I’ve got some very fond memories from that era, but I think I would trade the snog from Ewan and the hug from Dom if there were even the slightest chance I could have seen something like this.
The executive producer appeared unusually tense as he shifted in his executive producer's large leather chair.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking nervously across his executive producer’s large glass desk at the two actors. This action was not lost on the two men. They knew something was coming.
Something major.
“There’ve been some…ah…rewrites.”
The two young men looked at each other and then back across the EPLGD.
“We don’t take this decision lightly, and believe me, we know that we’re going to get flack for this…”
“Er…” said the dark-haired one.
The executive producer held up a manicured hand. “Wait, let me finish. I don’t think I could bear to say this again.”
The young men exchanged another look, this one more wary than the last.
“Are we gong to hate this?” The blond one asked, already sounding as if he did.
“Well…that depends…” the man across the desk hedged.
“Depends on what?” the dark-haired one asked, impatience hardly hidden.
“You see…we’ve read the reviews, we’ve talked to the publicity department, we’ve spoken to the legal department…”
“Yes, yes, you’ve consulted the fucking Oracle at Delphi, get to the fucking point!” The dark-haired one would kill for a cigarette right now, but instead was about to kill the executive producer.
“Better! We’ve been on the Internet! And you’ll never believe what the public are screaming for.”
“Naked co-ed Quidditch?” the blond one quipped.
“Well, you’re half-right…” the executive producer said quietly.
“WHAT then?!”
“Maybe you should just have a look at the script treatments for tomorrow’s scenes.” The producer handed them each a set of amended scripts. Both young men took them and began perusing. Both were used to last minute dialogue changes.
The executive producer looked from one to the other noting how the young men’s expressions slowly turned from resigned to incredulous.
“I’m supposed to put my hands on his WHAT?” The dark-haired one nearly shouted.
“You want me to put my tongue in his WHERE?” the blond said, flabbergasted.
The executive producer glanced out of his executive producer’s glass-walled office at the growing crowd of office workers who had gathered to watch the show. Most of them were nodding and smiling. One woman gave him a hearty thumbs-up.
“Guys, please don’t think we took this decision lightly. But it’s what the punters want. We can’t argue with the public. After all, they’re the ones paying our salaries. We could all make twice the amount we’re making now with just a few minor changes to the scenes.”
“You call this minor?” The dark-haired one was so agitated his voice broke.
“Well, this and a few other things. Of course the Epilogue scenes in the last script will have to be re-written.”
“But what about the original Epilogue? I mean, it's in the bloody book!” the blond one pointed out.
“Fuck the Epilogue! Need I remind you that your contract clearly states that any script changes are the property of this studio?” The executive producer pointed out. “It’s not like these are that difficult to set up- the scenes are already scheduled, nothing needs too much changing, just different bits added to them.”
“But, but, this would totally change the story!” the dark-haired one shouted.
“Ah- that’s where you’re wrong. Most research tells us that the fans would like to see pretty much the whole story remain – with the exception of the end, of course. They feel that this…relationship…could continue throughout without affecting the storyline. You’d be working around it.”
“Working around it? The whole tone would be changed!”
Actors, thought the executive producer wearily, always the goddammed artistes. "This isn’t frigging Hamlet, guys. You’re here to entertain! It’s what you’re paid to do!”
“What about the kids? What about the franchise? What about the sales of all the toys?” At least the dark-haired one had his eye firmly planted on the bottom line.
“Who do you think pays for all the merchandise?” The executive producer reminded them. “Hell, from what we could tell, most of the mums are playing with the toys just as much as the kids!”
“Okay, okay, suppose for a moment, we did go along with this…” The blond one looked sideways at the dark-haired one who just gawped at him. “Isn’t it going to royally piss off one very important mother more than anyone else?”
“Who do you think drafted those rewrites?” The executive producer asked smugly.
***
“So, did you guys…rehearse?” asked the girl with the bushy brown hair.
The two young men shifted uneasily, looking at anything but each other.
“No…”
“Uh-uh…”
“You’re just going to ‘wing it’, then? Isn’t that a little reckless?” Screw all this closed-set nonsense; It was just a couple of snogs, for god’s sake. Still, she wasn’t going to miss this for the world. “Did they tell you all this is going to delay the release?”
“No!” said men together, now looking at each other.
“Yeah, the producers want to test it out for a few months- you know- test audiences, just to get a reaction. And I’ve think they’ve changed the premiere venue. It’s now gonna be at some hotel in San Francisco.”
“Really?” said the blond. “That’d be cool.”
***
“Quiet! Right, we’re turning over,” the first assistant director shouted at everyone on the sound stage. True to his word, he had closed the set, but it was still amazing how many (mostly female) crew felt they needed to be there. “Whenever you’re ready, boys. Great. Right, anger, fear, desperation. And- okay, action!”
The two young men went through the first page of the new dialogue with no problems- the angry words thrown back and fourth like a game of toxic tennis.
The set held its collective breath.
A tumbleweed blew across the sound stage.
Then, like an explosion, the young men threw themselves at each other, grabbing at hair, yanking at costumes, sucking the other’s tongue into his own mouth.
“Awww,” said the older man with the long beard next to the girl with the bushy brown hair. “Isn’t that sweet?”
From where they were standing, it looked as though the two young men were now attempting to literally climb into each other’s clothes.
“Nnnnnnggghhhh,” replied the girl. This comment was echoed around the set.
“Right, cut, check the gate,” shouted the first assistant director and there was a bustle of activity from the camera operator, the sound engineer, and the other crew. The actors seemed not to have heard.
“Cut, guys!” the first assistant director repeated loudly. “Cut! Hello? CUT!!!”
“SHHHH!” came the response from most of the on-lookers. The two young men were completely oblivious to everyone now, and they continued to grind up against each other and the flimsy set.
“Did you say something?” The blond one said against the dark-haired one’s gasping mouth before once more leaping into it.
“Gmmmmthhhm…” replied the other young man. Their groping became a bit more focused. The boom operator had sadly set aside his equipment, so only the people standing the closest to the actual set could hear the “dialogue”.
“Wanted” –pant- “to do this” –pant- “for ages,” continued the dark-haired young man as he wrapped a leg around his companion’s hip, straining body threatening to tear through the plasterboard stone wall.
“Me too,” replied the blond, his hand now definitely moving up and down inside the lower half of the other one’s robe. “Need…bed…now…” He decided to stop talking and start snogging again.
“Need…to…come…now…first,” the dark-haired one groaned about ten seconds later. The moaning and panting had gotten considerably louder. Everyone just stood there enrapt, aside from the director, who was having a hushed but frantic discussion with the script supervisor. After all, continuity was everything. (Well, unless you were Lucas.)
The camera operator was tempted to start up again, figuring he could make a fortune on YouTube. As it was, the number of mobile phone cameras clicking away made it obvious that perhaps this part of the scene wasn’t exactly scripted; it would be a real shame to miss the money shots.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck….!”
“Bloooooody helllllllllllllllllll!”
Damn, too late.
The End (thank god).
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-04 06:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-04 07:32 am (UTC)