it is lost, obtain [arashi/rick mercer rpf crossover]
This is something I started back in early January and have resigned myself to never really finishing. Nonetheless, here's as far as I got!
irth prompted me to write Rick Mercer/Nino Olympics fic, in which Nino tags along with Sho to the Olympics, gets lost along the way and is attracted to the CBC vans because from a distance they resemble the Japanese flag. I'm not sure how great this is (possibly not great at all), but I did have fun with it!
In case you don't know who Rick Mercer is (and if you don't, your life is seriously lacking something), he's a famous Canadian comedian who focuses on political satire. He's hilarious, sarcastic as all hell, a wee bit crazy and openly gay. He's also the brains behind Talking to Americans. Gerald Lunz is the producer of his weekly show and his partner.
Also, Sho is not mobbed in the airport in my version of events! I take my liberties with reality where I please in that case. Ignore my stupid title - I simply translated and re-translated the words 'getting lost' on Yahoo!Babelfish.
it is lost, obtain
Genfic | 嵐 /Rick Mercer RPF crossover | PG | ~1,500 words
A month of vacation and two months of prorogue, Rick taps out on his laptop, keys clicking smoothly, It's like they're trying to kill me of boredom. Or try to kill democracy in Canada. Or both.
Prorogue-ing? Proroguation? Proroguiousity? I barely know how to use it, but I sure wish Stephen Harper would stop.
The van is quiet as they get ready to leave the airport; most of the production staff is half-asleep or hung over. Vancouver this morning, Whistler in the afternoon and then a late-night flight to Quebec for an interview. The studio taping wasn't until tomorrow night, but that meant he'd probably be stuck there all morning hammering out the details.
Rick really hates Toronto in February. It's a special, slushy brand of hell.
He leans back in his seat and presses the backspace key, blinking the grit from the corners of his eyes as the cursor flitted energetically backwards, wiping the document clean of words.
It was never a good thing when his Rants started to sound like Whines. Still, it wasn't his fault that Harper was wetting his pants at the thought of facing Parliament, was it?
All the same, a show about politics with a distinct lack of politics was kind of pathetic. By the time the House got back into session, they'd be taping the season finale. His ratings were still decent, but they had to get pretty creative these days. Last week's paintball war with the NDP caucus had been pure genius.
Gerald crawls carefully into the empty seat next to him from the front, nearly landing in Rick's lap.
"Whoops," he says cheerfully, like he hadn't been a less-than-graceful inch away from elbowing Rick in the crotch. He dumps a piece of paper on top of Rick's keyboard. "Our itinerary. Patrick managed to get us a slot for filming on the bobsled runs, but we're going to have to do it in one take."
"Well I wouldn't be happy about giving up my precious practice time to watch some chubby entertainer slide down a hill screaming like a girl if I were them." Rick scans the paper. "The media centre?"
"A sort of behind-the-scenes look."
"That's kind of like trying to start a dance party in the middle of the Toronto Stock Exchange, isn't it? The Olympics start tomorrow. I don't really like being trampled by caffeine-crazed mobs this early in the morning."
"We'll stick to the international press headquarters," Gerald soothes. "Pretty quiet there, most of them are only just arriving. Most of them are probably too jetlegged to even notice anything at all."
"We don't have any translators." Rick points out. "Can we afford translators?"
"This is a comedy show. Who needs them?"
+
By the time they arrive at the Vancouver airport, Nino feels like he's been punched in the face and then had someone surgically remove his knees.
Also, his shoulder is wet. This is Sho's fault; he spent half of the flight frantically poring over reports on different athletes and the other half napping (and apparently drooling) on Nino's shoulder.
Nino hadn't asked to be sent along to Canada - he hated the cold and snow and he wasn't overly fond of 14-hour direct flights, either.
"We made it," Sho says, as they stumble into the airport terminal. He looks cheerful and self-satisfied despite the fact that his eyes are almost dangerously bloodshot.
"Finally," Nino mutters. The wide, cold terminal is packed full of people.
He should probably have to go look for his luggage - the NTV staff were already carefully lifting Sho's luggage off the conveyor belt. The Himitsu staff members, however, had made a beeline for the souvenir shop, apparently intent on stripping the keychain carousel bare.
Nino realizes that Sho is still talking, and shakes himself out of his stupor. "Sorry?"
"I said, what hotel are you staying at?" Sho accepts his suitcase from an AD with a smile. "I've got to go to the Main Media Centre for a briefing and some interviews, but if you want, we could have dinner tonight."
"Uh." Nino has no idea. This is probably why he shouldn't have played with his DS through the meeting on the plane.
"Sakurai-san, we have to leave now," says a nearby NTV staff member, checking her watch.
"Okay." Sho nods to her, popping out the handle of his rolling suitcase. "Listen, I'm at the Pan Pacific Hotel. We'll be finished by about 9:00PM tonight."
Nino nods. Some childish part of him really doesn't want to let Sho out of his sight. He feels uncomfortable here, squeezed in by the rough elbows and loud laughs of strangers. He watches Sho disappear into the mass of people, digging his hands into his pockets and heading for the conveyor belt.
Nino has almost lost count of how many times they've tried to 'revitalize' Himitsu's concept since the show started. This new attempt didn't seem much different, aside from an inexplicably larger cash flow and a few more new-halfs.
Nino signals to let his manager know that he's heading towards the bathroom, and he gets a distracted wave with a large, dolphin-shaped keychain in response.
The funny thing about non-verbal communication is that messages perceived rely so heavily on preconceived assumptions.
For example, Nino figured that the whole exchange with the dolphin keychain meant, I see you heading to the washroom, please take your time so I can find enough cheap souvenirs for the high-ups at the jimusho.
To his manager, however, it must have meant something entirely different, because when Nino gets back into the terminal, no one he knows - not his manager, the camera crew, nor the show's AD - are anywhere in sight.
Nor are they near the airline desk, by the vending machines in the corridor, or by the taxicab stand. Nino knows he's getting weird looks from passerby for swearing under his breath, but it's in Japanese, so who could get offended? No one can understand him, certainly. The girl at the help desk looked kind of panicked at Nino's broken English for a few minutes before shoving a brochure about the Olympics into his hands and shooing him towards a second - this time, not French - help desk.
He's about ready to give up when he scans the parking lot one last time and sees a white van. There's something red and round on the side - it could be some athletes, or even some Japanese press. Maybe they can take him to the Media Place, or whatever Sho had said he'd be. Nino grabs his suitcase and sets off.
+
"He said he's Japanese," Gerald says to Rick, as the crew gathers around to peer at the tiny boy who had wandered up to the van. "Think he's lost and somehow he came here - keeps pointing at the logo. It does kind of look like we have the Japanese flag on the van."
"It looks like we're exploding the Japanese flag," Rick amends. "Do you think he's lost his parents?"
"I am looking for my show," The boy explains, in careful, polite English. He's about three inches shorter than Rick, with narrow, dark eyes that look fantastically puffy.
"For your show," Rick repeats. "What show?"
The boy makes an exasperated noise and motions towards Rick's Blackberry. Rick hands it over tentatively. The boy types into it furiously, only to hand it back to Rick a moment later.
Search my Sho, Rick's Blackberry reports.
"Babelfish is such genius," Rick remarks dryly. "Can't even spell 'show' right."
"My name is Nino," The boy says. He gestures towards the Blackberry. "You know?"
"No," Rick says. "Not really, no, uh. Nino. I'm Rick."
Nino smiles, looking tired. "Reeku."
Gerald nearly slides under the van in his effort to stop laughing.
"Maybe we can help you," Rick says, ignoring him.
+
"Idol," Nino tries again. "Japanese idol?"
Pagan god, Rick's Blackberry reports.
"Where's he heading to?" Gerald asks from the front seat.
"I think he's immortal," Rick says. The tiny Japanese man is looking around the van intently, eyes flicking over the piles of scripts and empty paper coffee cups like he's taking snapshots with every blink. Rick realizes that the squishy coolness under his left buttcheek might be the missing jambuster from earlier. "Oh my god."
"Be serious," Gerald says, as if he didn't already know what a waste that phrase was on him.
"Oh my god," Nino parrots. He grins at Rick. "I speak English. Some. I learn from Clint."
"Well, that's something," Gerald says wryly.
"…I love him." Rick says rapturously. "Look at 'im! He's tiny and cute and he speaks like Stéphane Dion! Can we put him on the show?"
"Show," Nino repeats. "Show's at Olympics."
"Yeah, big show," Rick agrees. "Listen, do you want to come? Television, right? Wanna be a star?"
Nino smiles slyly. "Television?"
"Yeah," Rick says. "I'm a comedian. Comedian, right?"
"Comedian," Nino repeats. He looks at Rick suspiciously. "Combi? Bokey?"
"Er, well," Rick says. "Listen, do you like donuts?"
"This is such a bad idea," Gerald says.
+
Picked up tiny Japanese boy at the airport. Possibly an Olympic hospitality gift for media? Very thoughtful of them. Thinks he's a god. (maybe he's a politician?). he ate my crueller.
10:45 AM Feb 11th from mobile web
irth prompted me to write Rick Mercer/Nino Olympics fic, in which Nino tags along with Sho to the Olympics, gets lost along the way and is attracted to the CBC vans because from a distance they resemble the Japanese flag. I'm not sure how great this is (possibly not great at all), but I did have fun with it!
In case you don't know who Rick Mercer is (and if you don't, your life is seriously lacking something), he's a famous Canadian comedian who focuses on political satire. He's hilarious, sarcastic as all hell, a wee bit crazy and openly gay. He's also the brains behind Talking to Americans. Gerald Lunz is the producer of his weekly show and his partner.
Click to view
Also, Sho is not mobbed in the airport in my version of events! I take my liberties with reality where I please in that case. Ignore my stupid title - I simply translated and re-translated the words 'getting lost' on Yahoo!Babelfish.
it is lost, obtain
Genfic | 嵐 /Rick Mercer RPF crossover | PG | ~1,500 words
A month of vacation and two months of prorogue, Rick taps out on his laptop, keys clicking smoothly, It's like they're trying to kill me of boredom. Or try to kill democracy in Canada. Or both.
Prorogue-ing? Proroguation? Proroguiousity? I barely know how to use it, but I sure wish Stephen Harper would stop.
The van is quiet as they get ready to leave the airport; most of the production staff is half-asleep or hung over. Vancouver this morning, Whistler in the afternoon and then a late-night flight to Quebec for an interview. The studio taping wasn't until tomorrow night, but that meant he'd probably be stuck there all morning hammering out the details.
Rick really hates Toronto in February. It's a special, slushy brand of hell.
He leans back in his seat and presses the backspace key, blinking the grit from the corners of his eyes as the cursor flitted energetically backwards, wiping the document clean of words.
It was never a good thing when his Rants started to sound like Whines. Still, it wasn't his fault that Harper was wetting his pants at the thought of facing Parliament, was it?
All the same, a show about politics with a distinct lack of politics was kind of pathetic. By the time the House got back into session, they'd be taping the season finale. His ratings were still decent, but they had to get pretty creative these days. Last week's paintball war with the NDP caucus had been pure genius.
Gerald crawls carefully into the empty seat next to him from the front, nearly landing in Rick's lap.
"Whoops," he says cheerfully, like he hadn't been a less-than-graceful inch away from elbowing Rick in the crotch. He dumps a piece of paper on top of Rick's keyboard. "Our itinerary. Patrick managed to get us a slot for filming on the bobsled runs, but we're going to have to do it in one take."
"Well I wouldn't be happy about giving up my precious practice time to watch some chubby entertainer slide down a hill screaming like a girl if I were them." Rick scans the paper. "The media centre?"
"A sort of behind-the-scenes look."
"That's kind of like trying to start a dance party in the middle of the Toronto Stock Exchange, isn't it? The Olympics start tomorrow. I don't really like being trampled by caffeine-crazed mobs this early in the morning."
"We'll stick to the international press headquarters," Gerald soothes. "Pretty quiet there, most of them are only just arriving. Most of them are probably too jetlegged to even notice anything at all."
"We don't have any translators." Rick points out. "Can we afford translators?"
"This is a comedy show. Who needs them?"
+
By the time they arrive at the Vancouver airport, Nino feels like he's been punched in the face and then had someone surgically remove his knees.
Also, his shoulder is wet. This is Sho's fault; he spent half of the flight frantically poring over reports on different athletes and the other half napping (and apparently drooling) on Nino's shoulder.
Nino hadn't asked to be sent along to Canada - he hated the cold and snow and he wasn't overly fond of 14-hour direct flights, either.
"We made it," Sho says, as they stumble into the airport terminal. He looks cheerful and self-satisfied despite the fact that his eyes are almost dangerously bloodshot.
"Finally," Nino mutters. The wide, cold terminal is packed full of people.
He should probably have to go look for his luggage - the NTV staff were already carefully lifting Sho's luggage off the conveyor belt. The Himitsu staff members, however, had made a beeline for the souvenir shop, apparently intent on stripping the keychain carousel bare.
Nino realizes that Sho is still talking, and shakes himself out of his stupor. "Sorry?"
"I said, what hotel are you staying at?" Sho accepts his suitcase from an AD with a smile. "I've got to go to the Main Media Centre for a briefing and some interviews, but if you want, we could have dinner tonight."
"Uh." Nino has no idea. This is probably why he shouldn't have played with his DS through the meeting on the plane.
"Sakurai-san, we have to leave now," says a nearby NTV staff member, checking her watch.
"Okay." Sho nods to her, popping out the handle of his rolling suitcase. "Listen, I'm at the Pan Pacific Hotel. We'll be finished by about 9:00PM tonight."
Nino nods. Some childish part of him really doesn't want to let Sho out of his sight. He feels uncomfortable here, squeezed in by the rough elbows and loud laughs of strangers. He watches Sho disappear into the mass of people, digging his hands into his pockets and heading for the conveyor belt.
Nino has almost lost count of how many times they've tried to 'revitalize' Himitsu's concept since the show started. This new attempt didn't seem much different, aside from an inexplicably larger cash flow and a few more new-halfs.
Nino signals to let his manager know that he's heading towards the bathroom, and he gets a distracted wave with a large, dolphin-shaped keychain in response.
The funny thing about non-verbal communication is that messages perceived rely so heavily on preconceived assumptions.
For example, Nino figured that the whole exchange with the dolphin keychain meant, I see you heading to the washroom, please take your time so I can find enough cheap souvenirs for the high-ups at the jimusho.
To his manager, however, it must have meant something entirely different, because when Nino gets back into the terminal, no one he knows - not his manager, the camera crew, nor the show's AD - are anywhere in sight.
Nor are they near the airline desk, by the vending machines in the corridor, or by the taxicab stand. Nino knows he's getting weird looks from passerby for swearing under his breath, but it's in Japanese, so who could get offended? No one can understand him, certainly. The girl at the help desk looked kind of panicked at Nino's broken English for a few minutes before shoving a brochure about the Olympics into his hands and shooing him towards a second - this time, not French - help desk.
He's about ready to give up when he scans the parking lot one last time and sees a white van. There's something red and round on the side - it could be some athletes, or even some Japanese press. Maybe they can take him to the Media Place, or whatever Sho had said he'd be. Nino grabs his suitcase and sets off.
+
"He said he's Japanese," Gerald says to Rick, as the crew gathers around to peer at the tiny boy who had wandered up to the van. "Think he's lost and somehow he came here - keeps pointing at the logo. It does kind of look like we have the Japanese flag on the van."
"It looks like we're exploding the Japanese flag," Rick amends. "Do you think he's lost his parents?"
"I am looking for my show," The boy explains, in careful, polite English. He's about three inches shorter than Rick, with narrow, dark eyes that look fantastically puffy.
"For your show," Rick repeats. "What show?"
The boy makes an exasperated noise and motions towards Rick's Blackberry. Rick hands it over tentatively. The boy types into it furiously, only to hand it back to Rick a moment later.
Search my Sho, Rick's Blackberry reports.
"Babelfish is such genius," Rick remarks dryly. "Can't even spell 'show' right."
"My name is Nino," The boy says. He gestures towards the Blackberry. "You know?"
"No," Rick says. "Not really, no, uh. Nino. I'm Rick."
Nino smiles, looking tired. "Reeku."
Gerald nearly slides under the van in his effort to stop laughing.
"Maybe we can help you," Rick says, ignoring him.
+
"Idol," Nino tries again. "Japanese idol?"
Pagan god, Rick's Blackberry reports.
"Where's he heading to?" Gerald asks from the front seat.
"I think he's immortal," Rick says. The tiny Japanese man is looking around the van intently, eyes flicking over the piles of scripts and empty paper coffee cups like he's taking snapshots with every blink. Rick realizes that the squishy coolness under his left buttcheek might be the missing jambuster from earlier. "Oh my god."
"Be serious," Gerald says, as if he didn't already know what a waste that phrase was on him.
"Oh my god," Nino parrots. He grins at Rick. "I speak English. Some. I learn from Clint."
"Well, that's something," Gerald says wryly.
"…I love him." Rick says rapturously. "Look at 'im! He's tiny and cute and he speaks like Stéphane Dion! Can we put him on the show?"
"Show," Nino repeats. "Show's at Olympics."
"Yeah, big show," Rick agrees. "Listen, do you want to come? Television, right? Wanna be a star?"
Nino smiles slyly. "Television?"
"Yeah," Rick says. "I'm a comedian. Comedian, right?"
"Comedian," Nino repeats. He looks at Rick suspiciously. "Combi? Bokey?"
"Er, well," Rick says. "Listen, do you like donuts?"
"This is such a bad idea," Gerald says.
+
Picked up tiny Japanese boy at the airport. Possibly an Olympic hospitality gift for media? Very thoughtful of them. Thinks he's a god. (maybe he's a politician?). he ate my crueller.
10:45 AM Feb 11th from mobile web