Heroes Go Wilde - Chapter 2
Slightly longer this time, but still ridiculously short. I hope I'll manage to get the pacing right soon, though. It's the first time I post anything in chapters, so please bear with me. I'm probably fussing over it way more than it's worth.
Clint pushed the heavy door to the auditorium, preparing himself to dive into the familiar buzz of his fellow actors revising their lines and the frantic staccato of footsteps traversing the stage. He paused in half-motion, registering the odd stillness that hit him instead. The hall was drowned in silence, save for a quiet humming coming from the foot of the stage. Clint headed that way. Sitting on the floor, her legs crossed, was Natasha. She had her iPod playing and swayed a little to the music, but she pulled the earbuds out of her ears as soon as she saw her friend coming.
"Hey, Nat," Clint greeted her with a small wave. "Where are the others?"
"What, am I not enough for you?" Natasha pouted playfully, holding her hand out to him. Clint took it eagerly and helped her up.
"Of course you are," he said courtly. "But if the rehearsal is cancelled, I'm going shooting. I missed my archery practice last week," he reminded.
"And weren't you glad you did," Natasha tousled his spiky hair. Clint's usually strained face relaxed a bit.
"I was. But seriously, Nat. Where is everyone?" He frowned again and checked his watch. Natasha sighed.
"There is no one else. Well, I mean, there's Loki, but…" She shrugged vaguely and jerked her head towards the backstage. "Oh, and there are these guys."
Clint followed her eyes to the three students who emerged from behind the curtains. He dimly recalled seeing them around in the halls, though he didn't recognize any familiar face from his classes. One of the boys looked like a typical quarterback - tall, athletic, with blond hair cut short in a soldierly fashion. However, Clint noticed that he lacked the self-confident posture of a sportsman; his stride was springy and energetic, but his arms were stuck to the sides and he kept somewhat behind the other two. Clint shifted his eyes to the right of the blonde: now that guy had all the confidence the other was short of, and then some more. Hands shoved in the jeans' pockets, he was scanning the room carelessly with his lower lip poking forward in a bored huff. He looked as unenthusiastic as it gets, and yet behaved completely at ease. Clint winced unwittingly: another one to act as if he owned the place.
Compared to his companions, the third student was rather average; short, but well-built, with a stack of dark curly hair and a nervous, yet friendly smile. He raised his hand in greeting and Clint reciprocated the gesture, feeling that he just might hit it off with him.
"Friends of yours?" Clint turned to Natasha, but she just shrugged again, shooking her head. The blond guy must have heard that, for he hurried forward to approach the two friends down‑stage.
"Hello," he said, awkwardly towering over them. "I believe we weren't introduced. I'm Steve Rogers, and these are Tony and Bruce."
"Natasha Romanoff," the red-head held out her hand. Steve took it delicately and bowed - damn, what was he thinking? - radiating an affectionate smile. Maybe a bit too affectionate. Clint hemmed and extended his own hand.
"Clint Barton." Their hands locked in a strong grip. The two of them eyed each other watchfully for a couple of seconds before letting go. In the silence that fell as Tony and Bruce leisurely joined them, Clint's mind raced like a fired arrow. Who are these guys? What are they doing here? What's going on? He scrambled onto the stage as he saw the one person who probably knew all the answers.
"Good afternoon, boss," he nodded to Coulson. "Are we too early? When are we starting today?"
Coulson gestured at him to wait and passed him by without even turning his head.
"Natasha, have you put up those posters?" He asked, glancing over the empty auditorium.
"Yeah, I have. But I doubt it'll work. Everyone interested has already…"
BANG!
The door burst open. A smudge of motion bolted through the doorway, down the main aisle and up the steps at the side of the stage, and screeched to a halt right before the group as a broad‑shouldered young man, beaming a wide smile even as he struggled for breath.
"Am I late?" He panted, tossing stray strands of long hair from his face. "No? Good. Who is in charge here? Is that you, sir? I've heard you need help with that performance of yours, so I thought I'd come to the rescue. How can I be of service?" He offered his hand to Coulson, who shook it automatically.
"Well…" The director exhaled the word heavily, taken aback at the spate of questions thrown at him. But before he could come up with any answer, the newcomer jolted and raced past him towards the left wing, the smile on his face growing with every stride as he approached the black‑clad figure that entered the scene from the backstage.
"BROTHER!" He thundered, taking the bewildered Loki in his arms and heartily patting him on the back. Loki's eyes bulged wider and wider with every vehement slap until he finally managed to free himself from the unexpected embrace.
"Thor," he spat. "Hi."
"I'm here to help you, little brother," Thor flashed his teeth. "Fear not. Everything's going to work out just fine." He took a swing to deal Loki another good-humoured smack, but the boy dodged him and stomped away towards Coulson and the other students, who observed this unusual show of brotherly affection with raised eyebrows and, in the case of Tony, an amused smirk.
"What's going on, Mr Coulson?" Loki's tone was cold, colder than ice, but still polite, though it was clear he was goint to great lengths to keep himself composed. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the group gathered at the edge of the stage. "Aren't we supposed to be starting soon? What are these guys doing here? What is he doing here?" He indicated Thor with a jerk of his head, sharp notes of irritation seeping through the façade of self-control and darkening his voice. "And where's the rest of the group?"
"They resigned," Coulson explained calmly and watched Loki's jaw drop slightly at this statement. "I know. I know. I'm not happy about that, either. We'd been working hard - all of us - and it's kind of discouraging to see such a great undertaking crumble like that before it even started for good. I don't want to twist that knife," he rested both hands on his hips and furrowed at the younger Odinson, "but you're not without fault here, you know. For the first time in my career I had people flat out refuse to participate. The entire cast seemed to hold some massive grudge against you. They even managed to talk the technicians into leaving… A strange example of solidarity," he scratched his chin, perplexed at the young minds' meandering logic. "Anyway, I hope that with the new crew there won't be such a problem. Let's give you all your jobs and get started. Stark, Rogers - follow me," he gestured at the two boys and vanished behind the left wing.
Clint watched them go, the echo of Coulson's little speech reverberating in his head and mingling with the heated words uttered on this stage two days ago. Are they for real? Did the entire cast just… stepped out like that? Was it a collective decision? Why didn't anyone tell him? Right, they probably concluded he was going to stick with Natasha, and obviously she wouldn't even think about quitting. That was more or less accurate: Natasha was the reason he joined the Drama Club in the first place, and while he eventually grew to enjoy it - to a certain degree - now it seemed that he's got himself in a mess he didn't sign up for.
"Aaah, something's happening at last," Thor clasped his hands together. "We're gonna have so much fun, aren't we, brother? Finally you're going to show me what's so interesting in that theatre thing of yours. You know," he turned to the others and spread his arms with a sheepish smile, "I've never been the kind of an artsy guy. But hey, the things you do for the family… By the way, I'm Thor Odinson." He offered a firm handshake to each of the three students and folded his muscular arms on his chest.
For a a couple of seconds they all stood around in awkward silence.
"Sooo…" Thor cocked his head to the side. "You are my brother's friends, right?"
Clint, Natasha and Bruce exchanged nonplussed looks.
"Well…" Natasha looked over Thor's shoulder at Loki, who had produced a copy of script from his bag and wandered off, muttering to himself and waving his index finger around. "We're… in the Club together, yeah."
"Except for me," Bruce raised his hand. "I'm new."
"What are you going to do?" Asked Clint for the sake of keeping this half-hearted conversation alive; it was better than waiting in silence - he could swear he saw lines of electric discharge running to and fro between Thor and his brother. "Has Coulson assigned you to anything in particular yet?"
"Yeah, I'm here to do the rigging."
"Rigging?" Natasha couldn't hide the shade of disappointment in her voice. "But… Come on, we need more actors!" What was Coulson thinking, going about finding technicians and leaving assembling the cast to a couple of posters?
"Heh. I'm afraid I can't help." Bruce tucked his hands into pockets. "See, I'm not terribly… fond of the idea of turning into someone else. It just… Feels weird. I wouldn't be comfortable. Besides, I guess I'm too timid for the stage," he sent her an apologetic smile. "Not exactly a good material for an actor."
"Funny that you should mention it," Natasha smiled back at him. "I mean, about that turning-into-someone-else business. That's exactly what I find so thrilling about acting. Thousands of names, thousands of faces, and you can be virtually anyone you choose."
"Yeah, I guess it does have a certain appeal," Bruce admitted slowly. "The point is, though, whether… you know… whether you're able not to lose yourself in the middle of all that. Sort of. I don't know," he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes to Loki. "So what's with that guy?" He pointed the younger Odinson with his thumb, eager to change the subject. "What's his problem? He didn't seem terribly happy to see you."
"He's probably just stressed out," Thor waved the matter aside. "He's always so emotional about this whole theatre thing."
"Damn straight, he is," Clint snorted.
"Right, you have no idea," Natasha added quickly. "You can probably see some of this at home, sure, but here at the rehearsals he's really sweating about it."
"Glad I can help him out a bit, then," Thor smiled. "Always easier to go through the troubled times with a good company, isn't it?"
"Yeeeaaah… We'll see about that," Clint agreed cautiously, shifting his eyes from the enthusiastic blonde to his gloomy brother. Man, how could these two be even related? Watching Loki float swiftly around the stage like a dark cloud, Clint couldn't shake off the feeling that they were all about to get caught in some wild storm. He bit his lip, knowing damn well it was too late to run for cover.
Clint pushed the heavy door to the auditorium, preparing himself to dive into the familiar buzz of his fellow actors revising their lines and the frantic staccato of footsteps traversing the stage. He paused in half-motion, registering the odd stillness that hit him instead. The hall was drowned in silence, save for a quiet humming coming from the foot of the stage. Clint headed that way. Sitting on the floor, her legs crossed, was Natasha. She had her iPod playing and swayed a little to the music, but she pulled the earbuds out of her ears as soon as she saw her friend coming.
"Hey, Nat," Clint greeted her with a small wave. "Where are the others?"
"What, am I not enough for you?" Natasha pouted playfully, holding her hand out to him. Clint took it eagerly and helped her up.
"Of course you are," he said courtly. "But if the rehearsal is cancelled, I'm going shooting. I missed my archery practice last week," he reminded.
"And weren't you glad you did," Natasha tousled his spiky hair. Clint's usually strained face relaxed a bit.
"I was. But seriously, Nat. Where is everyone?" He frowned again and checked his watch. Natasha sighed.
"There is no one else. Well, I mean, there's Loki, but…" She shrugged vaguely and jerked her head towards the backstage. "Oh, and there are these guys."
Clint followed her eyes to the three students who emerged from behind the curtains. He dimly recalled seeing them around in the halls, though he didn't recognize any familiar face from his classes. One of the boys looked like a typical quarterback - tall, athletic, with blond hair cut short in a soldierly fashion. However, Clint noticed that he lacked the self-confident posture of a sportsman; his stride was springy and energetic, but his arms were stuck to the sides and he kept somewhat behind the other two. Clint shifted his eyes to the right of the blonde: now that guy had all the confidence the other was short of, and then some more. Hands shoved in the jeans' pockets, he was scanning the room carelessly with his lower lip poking forward in a bored huff. He looked as unenthusiastic as it gets, and yet behaved completely at ease. Clint winced unwittingly: another one to act as if he owned the place.
Compared to his companions, the third student was rather average; short, but well-built, with a stack of dark curly hair and a nervous, yet friendly smile. He raised his hand in greeting and Clint reciprocated the gesture, feeling that he just might hit it off with him.
"Friends of yours?" Clint turned to Natasha, but she just shrugged again, shooking her head. The blond guy must have heard that, for he hurried forward to approach the two friends down‑stage.
"Hello," he said, awkwardly towering over them. "I believe we weren't introduced. I'm Steve Rogers, and these are Tony and Bruce."
"Natasha Romanoff," the red-head held out her hand. Steve took it delicately and bowed - damn, what was he thinking? - radiating an affectionate smile. Maybe a bit too affectionate. Clint hemmed and extended his own hand.
"Clint Barton." Their hands locked in a strong grip. The two of them eyed each other watchfully for a couple of seconds before letting go. In the silence that fell as Tony and Bruce leisurely joined them, Clint's mind raced like a fired arrow. Who are these guys? What are they doing here? What's going on? He scrambled onto the stage as he saw the one person who probably knew all the answers.
"Good afternoon, boss," he nodded to Coulson. "Are we too early? When are we starting today?"
Coulson gestured at him to wait and passed him by without even turning his head.
"Natasha, have you put up those posters?" He asked, glancing over the empty auditorium.
"Yeah, I have. But I doubt it'll work. Everyone interested has already…"
BANG!
The door burst open. A smudge of motion bolted through the doorway, down the main aisle and up the steps at the side of the stage, and screeched to a halt right before the group as a broad‑shouldered young man, beaming a wide smile even as he struggled for breath.
"Am I late?" He panted, tossing stray strands of long hair from his face. "No? Good. Who is in charge here? Is that you, sir? I've heard you need help with that performance of yours, so I thought I'd come to the rescue. How can I be of service?" He offered his hand to Coulson, who shook it automatically.
"Well…" The director exhaled the word heavily, taken aback at the spate of questions thrown at him. But before he could come up with any answer, the newcomer jolted and raced past him towards the left wing, the smile on his face growing with every stride as he approached the black‑clad figure that entered the scene from the backstage.
"BROTHER!" He thundered, taking the bewildered Loki in his arms and heartily patting him on the back. Loki's eyes bulged wider and wider with every vehement slap until he finally managed to free himself from the unexpected embrace.
"Thor," he spat. "Hi."
"I'm here to help you, little brother," Thor flashed his teeth. "Fear not. Everything's going to work out just fine." He took a swing to deal Loki another good-humoured smack, but the boy dodged him and stomped away towards Coulson and the other students, who observed this unusual show of brotherly affection with raised eyebrows and, in the case of Tony, an amused smirk.
"What's going on, Mr Coulson?" Loki's tone was cold, colder than ice, but still polite, though it was clear he was goint to great lengths to keep himself composed. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the group gathered at the edge of the stage. "Aren't we supposed to be starting soon? What are these guys doing here? What is he doing here?" He indicated Thor with a jerk of his head, sharp notes of irritation seeping through the façade of self-control and darkening his voice. "And where's the rest of the group?"
"They resigned," Coulson explained calmly and watched Loki's jaw drop slightly at this statement. "I know. I know. I'm not happy about that, either. We'd been working hard - all of us - and it's kind of discouraging to see such a great undertaking crumble like that before it even started for good. I don't want to twist that knife," he rested both hands on his hips and furrowed at the younger Odinson, "but you're not without fault here, you know. For the first time in my career I had people flat out refuse to participate. The entire cast seemed to hold some massive grudge against you. They even managed to talk the technicians into leaving… A strange example of solidarity," he scratched his chin, perplexed at the young minds' meandering logic. "Anyway, I hope that with the new crew there won't be such a problem. Let's give you all your jobs and get started. Stark, Rogers - follow me," he gestured at the two boys and vanished behind the left wing.
Clint watched them go, the echo of Coulson's little speech reverberating in his head and mingling with the heated words uttered on this stage two days ago. Are they for real? Did the entire cast just… stepped out like that? Was it a collective decision? Why didn't anyone tell him? Right, they probably concluded he was going to stick with Natasha, and obviously she wouldn't even think about quitting. That was more or less accurate: Natasha was the reason he joined the Drama Club in the first place, and while he eventually grew to enjoy it - to a certain degree - now it seemed that he's got himself in a mess he didn't sign up for.
"Aaah, something's happening at last," Thor clasped his hands together. "We're gonna have so much fun, aren't we, brother? Finally you're going to show me what's so interesting in that theatre thing of yours. You know," he turned to the others and spread his arms with a sheepish smile, "I've never been the kind of an artsy guy. But hey, the things you do for the family… By the way, I'm Thor Odinson." He offered a firm handshake to each of the three students and folded his muscular arms on his chest.
For a a couple of seconds they all stood around in awkward silence.
"Sooo…" Thor cocked his head to the side. "You are my brother's friends, right?"
Clint, Natasha and Bruce exchanged nonplussed looks.
"Well…" Natasha looked over Thor's shoulder at Loki, who had produced a copy of script from his bag and wandered off, muttering to himself and waving his index finger around. "We're… in the Club together, yeah."
"Except for me," Bruce raised his hand. "I'm new."
"What are you going to do?" Asked Clint for the sake of keeping this half-hearted conversation alive; it was better than waiting in silence - he could swear he saw lines of electric discharge running to and fro between Thor and his brother. "Has Coulson assigned you to anything in particular yet?"
"Yeah, I'm here to do the rigging."
"Rigging?" Natasha couldn't hide the shade of disappointment in her voice. "But… Come on, we need more actors!" What was Coulson thinking, going about finding technicians and leaving assembling the cast to a couple of posters?
"Heh. I'm afraid I can't help." Bruce tucked his hands into pockets. "See, I'm not terribly… fond of the idea of turning into someone else. It just… Feels weird. I wouldn't be comfortable. Besides, I guess I'm too timid for the stage," he sent her an apologetic smile. "Not exactly a good material for an actor."
"Funny that you should mention it," Natasha smiled back at him. "I mean, about that turning-into-someone-else business. That's exactly what I find so thrilling about acting. Thousands of names, thousands of faces, and you can be virtually anyone you choose."
"Yeah, I guess it does have a certain appeal," Bruce admitted slowly. "The point is, though, whether… you know… whether you're able not to lose yourself in the middle of all that. Sort of. I don't know," he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes to Loki. "So what's with that guy?" He pointed the younger Odinson with his thumb, eager to change the subject. "What's his problem? He didn't seem terribly happy to see you."
"He's probably just stressed out," Thor waved the matter aside. "He's always so emotional about this whole theatre thing."
"Damn straight, he is," Clint snorted.
"Right, you have no idea," Natasha added quickly. "You can probably see some of this at home, sure, but here at the rehearsals he's really sweating about it."
"Glad I can help him out a bit, then," Thor smiled. "Always easier to go through the troubled times with a good company, isn't it?"
"Yeeeaaah… We'll see about that," Clint agreed cautiously, shifting his eyes from the enthusiastic blonde to his gloomy brother. Man, how could these two be even related? Watching Loki float swiftly around the stage like a dark cloud, Clint couldn't shake off the feeling that they were all about to get caught in some wild storm. He bit his lip, knowing damn well it was too late to run for cover.