Hollywood Apocalypse (2/5)
“Hello,” Misha said serenely as Dean continued to stare. “Is that for me?”
He nodded his head towards the plate that Dean had set down on the table next to the stereo.
“Oh, right, yeah.” Dean snapped out of his stupor and picked up the plate to hand it to Misha. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I got a bit of everything.”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Misha took a bite of one of the sandwiches and then eased himself to his feet, setting the plate back on the table and studying Dean with a curious gaze.
“You’re new. I’m Misha.” He extended his hand and for a moment all Dean could do was stare at it like it was some sort of weird foreign object.
“Are you okay?” Misha flashed him an amused smile and Dean realized he was staring. Again. Like some sort of star struck teenager. He remembered Amber’s words and quickly flashed Misha a grin.
“Sorry It’s just I was expecting-“
“Mischa Barton?” Misha asked. “Yeah, it’s surprising how often we get mixed up. There’s an easy way to distinguish us, though. I’m the one who wears bonnets and knits.”
Misha winked and all Dean could do was stand there and stare at him. Again.
He could feel a blush staining his cheeks and he couldn’t look Misha directly in the eyes as he finally took his hand and shook it. “I’m. . .uh. . .Dean.”
“Nice to meet you, Dean. How are they treating you on set? Nothing too traumatic, I hope.”
Dean smiled. “No, it’s been good actually. Kind of exciting. Except, you know, I heard there’s been some weird stuff going on. Is it true someone died?”
The smile fell from Misha’s face and the light faded from his eyes a little. It made Dean feel kind of cold and he had to resist the urge to tug his jacket tighter around himself.
“Yeah,” Misha said softly. “I found him. It was pretty fucked up.”
“Do you. . .” Dean trailed off. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about it.”
“No, it’s okay. It kind of helps, actually. It was just weird, you know, and I’ve seen a lot of weird shit. I found him lying right where I’m supposed to find the body of my lover in the movie. He was just lying there and he was so white. His throat was a mess but there was no blood. The cops think he was killed somewhere else and then brought here.”
“Did you know him?” Dean asked.
Misha shook his head. “Not really. He was one of the guys hired to make alterations to the script. I saw him around but we never really talked. He mostly talked to the director and the producers. Apparently the original script was an even bigger turd than it is now. I never saw the first draft but Simon was the only reason the movie was greenlit in the first place.”
It sounded weird, sure, but Dean was starting to wonder if this was even their kind of job. Could just be a resident psycho. LA was full of nutcases. More than a lot of other places.
“Then there was the note,” Misha continued and he looked genuinely freaked out now. “Whoever did it left a note on the body, written in the guy’s blood and just lying on his chest. Just three words: ‘I’m your inspiration’. That’s pretty fucked up, right?”
Yeah, that was definitely weird but still nothing to suggest it wasn’t just a regular whacko.
“You attract a lot of crazies in this industry, I guess.”
Misha shook his head. “No, crazy is sending me thirty pairs of orange underwear in the mail. This? I don’t even know what the fuck to call this.”
“I don’t know what to say, dude.”
Dean was just grateful that Misha wasn’t crying and hysterical. He never knew how to handle people like that which was why it usually fell to Sam to do the comforting. But Misha just looked stoic and pensive; his wide eyes the only clue to how scared he really was.
“Hey, you got any place to be?” Misha asked, the fog lifting a little as he smiled at Dean. “I’m going kind of nuts waiting for my costume to show up. At this rate we’ll be shooting the scene with me in my own clothes and there’s only so much random shit I can post to my Twitter while I wait for them to decide what they want to do.”
Dean frowned. “Your what-er?”
Misha grinned. “Take a seat and I’ll show you.”
* * *
Misha’s body was pressed against his as they huddled close together so Dean could see the screen on Misha’s phone while he demonstrated his Twitter thing. He didn’t really get it but, honestly, right now he really didn’t give a shit. He could feel Misha’s breath tickling his neck as he talked. The fact that he didn’t even understand half of what Misha was saying just made it even hotter.
Seriously, this was way better than hanging out with Mischa Barton.
“I dunno, man,” he finally shrugged. “I’m not really into the whole technology thing. That’s kind of more my brother’s area. I’d rather just kick back with a few beers and Casa Erotica.”
Because, really, what was more normal than beer and porn?
Misha smiled. “Well, you know, there’s not actually that much difference between Twitter and porn.”
“I hate to break it to you, man, but there really is.”
“Think about it like this. When you’re watching porn, how does it make you feel?”
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What, you want a diagram? How do you think it makes me feel?”
“You get off on it, right?”
“Well, yeah,” Dean huffed. “That’s kind of the point.”
“Exactly!” Misha nodded. “You’re having an experience, an intimacy if you will, with two people on screen who don’t even know you exist. The video, Casa Erotica for example, is the facilitator of that relationship. Twitter works in exactly the same way.”
He tapped out a message and showed it to Dean.
I’m having a conversation about Twitter & how it serves as a parasocial crutch akin to porn. But I’m arguing that porn is more satisfying.
“So, what, that’s it?” Dean asked with a frown. “You just use this thing to tell people what you’re doing?”
Misha shrugged. “Sometimes I read what my minions are doing but it’s mostly stuff like this.”
He tapped another button and handed the phone over to Dean.
OMG @mishacollins is talking about porn!! Brb fapping
I have no idea what @mishacollins is talking about but it sounds hot
Please can I marry @mishacollins and his amazing mind right now
Dean handed the phone back. “I think I’ll stick with the porn.”
Misha was nothing at all like Dean had expected. He’d always delivered a sort of seriousness in his roles so Dean had figured he’d be like that in person too. Instead Misha was grinning at him with a wicked glint in his eyes that reminded Dean of himself as a teenager.
“But that’s enough about my plans for world domination,” Misha said as he slipped his phone back onto the table behind him. “Tell me about you.”
His eyes fixed on Dean with such intensity that it actually made Dean feel kind of uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to people giving a shit about him really, apart from Sam and Bobby of course.
“Did you always want to be a PA?”
Misha was leaning forward in his seat, looking genuinely interested, as though the words Dean was about to speak were the most important things in the world.
Dean shifted. “I. . .uh. . .I dunno. I guess not. I’ve always loved movies but I kind of got into the family business because of my dad. This is just a temporary gig while I figure out what me and my brother are going to do next.”
Misha nodded his head. “What’s the family business?”
Shit.
No matter how many times Dean got asked that, there was never a right answer. Even though he’d been raised never to talk about hunting with anyone outside of the trade, he always felt like he was disrespecting his dad’s memory by lying about what they did. Misha was looking at him, all sincere and open with his ridiculously huge blue eyes, and it made Dean want to spew out all of his family’s deep and messed up history.
Luckily for him, at that moment the door burst open and three nervous looking wardrobe assistants bustled in followed by the guy who had asked Dean to get Misha some food earlier.
“Okay, we’re making progress. We’ve found everything but the jacket. I swear I’m going to kill someone.”
“Interesting choice of words given what happened to Simon,” Misha replied dryly.
Wardrobe guy’s cheeks flushed red. “Sorry, poor choice of words, but I just don’t understand where the hell it’s gone.”
His eyes fell on Dean. “What are you still doing here? I’m pretty sure you have more important things to do than harass the star of our movie.”
“It’s fine,” Misha said. “I asked him to stay. Now you were saying something about a missing jacket?”
The guy wasn’t listening to Misha, though; he was eyeing Dean like a hungry dog that had just found its next meal.
“Take off your jacket.”
Dean blinked. “What?”
“Your jacket. Take it off.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have time for questions! Take it off or you’re fired!”
“Dave,” Misha said lowly, the warning clear in his voice.
The last thing Dean needed right now was to get fired from his fake job. It would make working the case difficult and seeing Misha again pretty much impossible so he shrugged off his jacket, frowning when Dave yanked it out of his hands and looked it over.
“This is perfect,” he sighed happily. “It’s pretty much an exact match.”
He handed the jacket to Misha. “Try this on.”
Misha ignored him and focused his attention on Dean. “Are you okay with this? It’s fine if you’re not. I promise you won’t lose your job.”
Dean shrugged. “It’s fine. Knock yourself out.”
Misha got to his feet and pulled the jacket on, flashing Dean a smirk as he took a none too subtle sniff at the collar. It left Dean feeling like he was standing naked in the middle of the room while the wardrobe girls circled Misha and tugged at various parts of the jacket.
“It’s a little big,” one of the girls finally announced. “But we can fix that with some minor adjustments.”
“Hey,” Dean protested.
“Relax,” Dave said with a wave of his hand. “We’ll pay you for the jacket. How much did it cost? Fifty bucks?”
Dean opened his mouth and closed it again. Now was probably not the time to mention he’d stolen the jacket while he’d been on a job a few months ago when they were low on cash.
“Fine,” Dave said when he caught the look on Dean’s face and he pressed a wad of bills into his hand. “This should more than cover it.”
Dean glanced down. The money in his hand was more than enough to cover the cash he’d spent to get him and Sam into the studio that morning, and more than enough to cover the cost of a new jacket.
He looked over at Misha and grinned. “It looks better on you anyway.”
Dave smiled for the first time since Dean had met him as the girls put some pins in the jacket to mark the adjustments.
“Excellent. Now that we’ve got that settled, you can get out.”
“Hold on a second,” Misha called out. “Dean, have you got anything important you need to be doing right now?”
Apart from meeting up with Sam to find out if there were any potential dead people haunting the set, then really not.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s got plenty to be doing,” Dave said dismissively as one of the girls scribbled down some measurements in a notebook.
Misha and Dean both ignored him.
“Not right now,” Dean said with a grin. “You want me for something?”
“Oh, I definitely want you,” Misha replied with a leer that had Dean more than a little startled. This was unexpected, to say the least, but not exactly unwelcome.
Dave flushed red and bustled out of the room, quickly followed by his assistants.
Dean hovered in the doorway and watched them leave before turning back to Misha.
“So. . .” Dean began awkwardly. He was so much better at this sort of thing with chicks, or when he was drunk.
“So,” Misha agreed with a smile and picked up the plate of food Dean had brought in earlier. “You hungry?”
“Uh. . .” Okay, now Dean had no idea what the hell was going on. One minute he was sure he was about to get laid and now Misha was talking about food. “No thanks, I’m good.”
“I’m sure you are,” Misha replied with that smirk back in place. “Come on, sit down and keep me company awhile. You need to try these miniature Philly cheesesteak sandwiches, though.”
Confused though he was, Dean accepted one and popped it into his mouth.
“Oh, my god!”
Misha smiled. “Good, right?”
Good didn’t even begin to cover it. Dean was pretty sure he was only a few steps away from coming in his pants, it tasted so amazing.
“It’s delicious.”
He took another one and almost choked when Misha started licking his fingers clean. Holy shit, it was like watching live porn, or live foreplay at least.
There was no way in hell Misha didn’t know what he was doing. He slid one finger in, sucking it clean with obscene slurping noises and his eyes closed in what looked like rapturous pleasure. Dean was hard just watching him, imagining those lips around his cock and those fingers on his body.
This was seriously messed up. He had nothing against fucking guys per se, but he usually limited himself to quick blowjobs in the side alley of a bar if he’d struck out on scoring with any chicks.
This was different and it kind of scared the hell out of him.
“So you never did tell me what your family business was,” Misha said, having decided now that his fingers were sufficiently clean, and just like that the moment was broken.
Dean shrugged. “It’s kind of complicated. My dad used to be a soldier, did some time in ‘Nam but after my mom died all he wanted to do was help people. Keep them safe, you know.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Misha replied.
“It got him killed.”
It still hurt Dean to talk about it. No matter what happened and no matter how much time passed, nothing was ever going to let him forget that his dad died to keep him alive. He had no idea why he was talking about it now, especially with some guy that he’d only just met, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“I’m sorry,” Misha said with a sincere smile.
Dean shrugged. “Thanks. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, though. It wasn’t your fault.”
It was mine.
“That doesn’t stop me from being sorry for the pain you’re in. You were obviously very close to your dad.” He shook his head. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about it.”
“Maybe another time,” Dean said with an appreciative smile. “When there’s a lot more booze involved.”
“I’ll definitely take you up on that,” Misha replied and the smile he flashed Dean had him half convinced that talking about anything with this guy would solve all of his problems.
Dean got to his feet. “I should probably go. I was supposed to meet my brother a while back and I’m sure you’ve got more important things to be doing than talking to me.”
“It was my pleasure,” Misha replied. “Thanks for the lunch, and I’ll hold you to that drink.”
“Yeah, okay, sure.” Dean grinned and as he left the room he doubted he would ever see Misha Collins again.
Pity.
* * *
“I have got no idea what the hell is going on,” Sam said when Dean finally found him. “There’s been a couple of accidental deaths over the years but nothing that matches the M.O. of whatever killed the dead guy Misha found.”
Dean shrugged. “Maybe this isn’t our sort of case.”
“Dean, a thirty year old guy gets his throat ripped open and his body turns up in the middle of a movie set with a note left on his chest. That doesn’t strike you as a little bit strange? Come on, man, it’s not like you to be so skeptical.”
“Sam, this is Hollywood. Crazy shit like that happens all the time. You got anything to even hint that this wasn’t just some psycho?”
Sam opened his mouth to argue but before any words could leave his lips a pale and wild-eyed PA burst into the room and skidded to a halt in front of them.
“Oh, my god! There you are!”
Dean glanced at Sam, who shrugged and looked just as confused as he felt.
“Who, me?”
“Yeah, you’re Dean, right?”
“Yeah. . .”
The PA nodded but didn’t look any less freaked out. “You need to come with me, right now.”
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked in that soothing voice that Dean had never quite been able to master. It was why Dean always left his brother to deal with the hysterical people when they were working. He was just better at it.
“I. . .I can’t. . .something’s happened, okay? I can’t talk about it but Misha wants to see you.”
“Me?” Dean repeated. “Why?”
“I don’t question the actors, man, I just do what I’m told. He asked me to find you so I found you. He’s trying not to show it but he’s really freaked out, man. We all are.”
“You should go,” Sam said with his ‘go and investigate’ look. “I’ll call you later.”
Dean nodded and as soon as he did the PA grabbed hold of his arm and practically dragged him through the set.
Whatever it was that had happened, it was big. The place was crawling with cops and as they got outside Dean spotted an ambulance pulling up.
“Hey, kid, just hold on a second,” he said, digging in his feet and bringing them both to a stop. “Why don’t you tell me what the hell has happened.”
The kid, and he was a kid, couldn’t have been any older than eighteen at most, turned back to face Dean. He looked sick and scared and for a second Dean thought he was going to throw up all over his shoes.
“It’s Dave,” he said after swallowing hard. “The wardrobe manager. He’s dead.”
Now Dean’s interest was piqued. One dead guy in Hollywood could be anything, but two in as many days meant there was either an incredibly efficient serial killer on the loose or this was their kind of job.
“Misha found him. He. . .” the kid ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it spiked in all directions. “It was just like what happened with Simon. No one can explain it.”
Dean was starting to have a few ideas of what they might be dealing with now but he’d need to get Sam to check into the details. First of all, he needed to talk to Misha.
“Okay, let’s go.”
The kid showed him as far as Misha’s trailer and then left him to go inside alone.
The trailer was mostly dark save for one lamp that was on at the far end. Misha was sprawled on the couch, a thickly rolled cigarette dangling loosely from one hand. The air was thick and heavy with smoke and Dean only needed to breathe in once to know that what Misha was smoking wasn’t just tobacco.
“You okay?” he asked as he moved over to the couch and took a seat by Misha’s feet. Misha blinked at him, eyes glazed and face pale. He was trying to take the edge off and it clearly wasn’t working.
“No, I don’t think I am,” Misha replied. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on but the only reason I’m not in jail is because this time there was a note on the body that was actually addressed to me.”
Dean had no idea what to say. His gut told him this was something supernatural but that was all he had to go on so far. There was no proof that this wasn’t just some crazed stalker trying to get Misha’s attention.
“What did the note say?” It was all he could think to ask. Maybe if they could get some more clues he could figure out what the hell it was they were supposed to be hunting.
Misha sighed and closed his eyes. “No need to thank me, Misha. My reward is seeing the great things you do every day.”
This was the part of the job that Dean really hated. He couldn’t explain to Misha that it was possibly some kind of monster, and he sure as hell couldn’t get the cops involved in what he was doing. All he could do was find Sam, try to find out what the hell this thing was and salt and burn the fucker before anyone else turned up dead.
“I thought we could have those drinks,” Misha said, gesturing at the large bottle of whisky that sat unopened on the table. “I could really use it right now.”
Dean shook his head. “How about we save it for when you’re not half-baked. I know you’re freaking out but, believe me, getting wasted isn’t going to help.”
He still remembered Sam’s drunken pleas for Dean to kill him.
Misha propped himself up on his elbows and peered at Dean though the haze. “How did you cope? When you lost your father?”
“Honestly?” Dean asked. “I didn’t. I smashed the shit out of my car, drank myself into oblivion and refused to talk to my brother who’s the only family I have left. It wasn’t exactly my finest moment.”
Misha nodded his head. “But it got better? In the end?”
“I don’t think it’ll ever be better,” Dean replied softly.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Misha mused, mostly to himself.
“What?”
Misha lurched to his feet and almost fell into Dean when he rose to help him.
“Whoa, whoa, where are you going?” Dean asked as he wrapped an arm around Misha’s waist to stop him from toppling over.
“I’m going to trash my bike,” Misha said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Dude, what? Why?”
Misha shrugged. “I thought it might help.”
He blinked at Dean, as though he were trying to keep his face in focus, and Dean sighed.
“Okay, come on, I’m taking you home.”
Misha grinned. “I’d been hoping to hear you say that. But let me do this first. I want to. It’s a healthy expression of my feelings of despair.”
“Well, how about you healthily express your despair when you’re not trashed.”
Misha sighed. “Fine, but don’t take me back to my hotel. That place has no soul.”
He wrapped his arms more tightly around Dean and peered up at him with those ridiculously huge blue eyes. If Dean was just a fraction more of an asshole he’d have kissed him right there. Instead he just sighed and helped Misha find his feet again. But it was kind of hard to ignore the way Misha’s arms were wrapped around him, or the warmth of his body pressed against his.
“Fine,” Dean croaked around the lump in his throat. “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know,” Misha shrugged. “Where are you going?”
* * *
“Dean, why the hell did you bring him here?”
Dean lowered Misha onto the bed where he immediately sprawled out and started to snore softly.
“Someone else has turned up dead,” Dean groaned as he straightened his back. “He was the one who found the body, again. Whatever’s going on here, Sam, he’s involved and I don’t know why.”
Sam frowned and sat back down at his computer. “Same thing as last time.”
“Yeah, exactly the same, and I’m starting to have an idea of what we’re dealing with here.” He glanced over at Misha who was still sleeping deeply but he lowered his voice anyway. “It sounds like a vampire.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Dean, that doesn’t make any sense. Vampires live in hiding most of the time. They’re sure as hell not the sort of creatures to make a big public display like this.”
“I know,” Dean sighed. “The second death happened during the day, which is kind of weird, right? But that’s just what it sounds like. You got any better ideas?”
Sam was already tapping at his computer, brow furrowed in concentration like it always was when there was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Dean figured it would keep him busy for a while, which was what Sam apparently wanted.
His eyes drifted back over to Misha who was still stretched out on the bed, one arm thrown over his face to block out the light. Misha Collins. In his bed. For all the weird shit they saw on a daily basis this had them all beaten. It was like someone had taken one of his wet dreams and turned it into live Technicolor.
Every few minutes Misha made a soft noise in his sleep and twitched a little. Dean knew firsthand the shitty sorts of dreams that came with passing out under the influence and he sure as hell didn’t envy Misha for what he was experiencing right now.
He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. This close he could see Misha’s eyes quivering beneath their lids, his lips parted as his breath came in small gasps.
For a minute all Dean could do was sit there and watch him until he realized he was acting like a total creep who got their freak on watching other people sleep.
He reached out a hand, letting it hover over Misha’s shoulder for a minute before he dropped it back down. Misha would probably feel better for just sleeping it off.
“I’m going to get coffee,” he announced as he rose from the bed. The movement caused Misha to let out a small sound and curl in on himself. “You want anything?”
“Coffee sounds good,” Sam replied, eyes still fixed on the computer screen. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if his brother wound up needing glasses by the time he was thirty.
He grabbed his leather jacket from his duffle now that Misha, or rather Misha’s character, was the owner of his other one. Still, Misha had looked pretty damn hot wearing it. Way better than Dean ever had so he figured it was for a good cause.
The cash was just an added bonus.
* * *
He’d only been out for a half hour so he was more than a little surprised to find Misha awake, sitting on the end of the bed and talking to Sam who was actually smiling.
“So I told her it had nothing at all to do with what color they were. It was the fact that they were three sizes too small.”
Dean had no idea what conversation he’d walked in the middle of and he didn’t really care. Sam actually laughed at whatever story Misha was telling and it was the most awesome thing Dean had heard in a long time.
“I brought coffee,” he said, handing a cup to Sam and the other one that was going to be for himself to Misha. He figured Misha probably needed it more than he did. “You still want to take a crowbar to your bike? Because I can run you back to the studio if you want.”
Misha shook his head. “In retrospect, I think trashing someone else’s bike would have been a better idea.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah, there’s plenty of dicks at that place who could afford it. You feeling okay now?”
Misha shrugged. “Okay just about covers it.”
“I’m sure the police are doing all they can,” Sam said with a sympathetic smile.
“I don’t put a lot of faith in the authorities, really,” Misha replied as he gulped back his coffee.
A man after Dean’s own heart. He knew there was a reason he liked this guy.
“Well, if you don’t want to go back to your hotel right away you can hang out here. Me and Sammy always get pizza on a Thursday.”
He ignored the look that Sam shot him. They couldn’t research properly while Misha was here, he knew that, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to kick the guy out.
Misha smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
Sam closed his laptop and sighed. “Guess I’m on the food run then, since you just got the coffee.”
“Nah, man, we’ll dial it in. Come on, sit back and relax. You work too hard. You know what, we should go out. Find a bar, have a few beers and some food.”
Finally it looked like he was going to be able to get Sam to enjoy some actual vacation on their vacation. Except Sam shook his head before shooting an embarrassed glance at Misha. “Uh, Dean? We can’t really afford to go out at the moment.”
Because you blew all our cash on a studio tour went unsaid.
Dean waved a dismissive hand. “I got it covered.”
He pulled a roll of money out of his jeans pocket and waved it under Sam’s nose. “Apparently my threads are a much sought after item in Hollywood. Just you wait, Sammy, soon Misha won’t be the only hot actor using my look.”
“What look is that?” Sam snorted. “The ‘I dress like a 1970s deadbeat’ look?”
Dean glanced down at his rumpled AC/DC shirt and shrugged his shoulders. “Better than the Abercrombie look you’ve got going on there.”
Sam frowned at the same time that Misha grinned. “Well, I’m glad you think I’m hot. The feeling is mutual, I can assure you.”
When Dean saw how uncomfortable Sam looked he couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on, Sam. I can’t help being this gorgeous.”
“Whatever,” Sam sighed. “You want me to go out so you guys can. . .you know?”
Dean smirked at Misha. “One day, when he’s grown up, he’ll be able to say fuck without blushing like a girl.
“Fuck you,” Sam shot back. “How does that work for you?”
“That’s my little brother.” Dean patted him on the back. “Come on, let’s go.”
He glanced back at Misha who still sat on the end of the bed, watching them with an amused smile.
“Oh, uh, are you okay hitting a bar? You’re not going to get swamped by crazy fans looking to steal your beer glass so they can take your DNA and clone you?”
Misha snorted. “I think you overestimate my popularity, Dean. Fans have better things to do than stalk a small-time actor who makes his living doing crappy TV movies.”
“Are you kidding me?” Dean asked incredulously. “Stonehenge Apocalypse was awesome. I’m going to get Sam to watch it as soon as I can get the DVD.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath for the release,” Misha replied with a wry smile. “I think you’re the only person who actually saw that movie. But, hey, I appreciate the audience of one. I’ll go back and tell the network that a hundred percent of the audience liked it.”
Dean chuckled. “You’re kind of weird, you know?”
“It’s been said,” Misha replied. “Shall we go?”
Part 3