He’s not quite awake enough to get the audition jitters yet, but the coffee he mainlined on the drive over is starting to kick in and his fingers are beginning to pick at the hem of his shirt, itching for his after-coffee smoke. Out of habit, not nerves, of course.
He hadn’t been sure how to dress this morning - in the end he’d gone with his favorite jeans (chosen for comfort, and not because of the snug way they cup his ass) and a vintage t-shirt, something faded and close-fitting that Hannah picked out for him at a rummage sale long past. Trendy enough, fairly flattering, and should the situation arise, easily removable. The thought makes him shift his weight where he stands against the wall, and he digs in his pocket for the last squashed stick of Juicy Fruit while his other hand taps his resume folder against his knee
( ... )
It doesn't particularly surprise Bill that the pretty girl-boy with the scary eyes is first up to the desk. He watches upside down as the kid scrawls his name on the sign-in sheet, filling out the incidental information with a kind of practiced impatience
( ... )
Elijah quickly stifles his first reaction, an irritable sort of double-take somewhere between Don't you know who I am? and What are you, the fucking bouncer?. Given the circumstances, it's not exactly an unreasonable request. They've probably got to verify all sorts of things so as not to end up sued by some midwestern princess' parents or something. Fair enough. He lays his folder flat on the counter and reaches for his wallet, fishing out his driver's license.
Looking up he sees Disgruntled Scotsman watching him fumble the card out, and his green eyes are tittering with something else behind that expression of bored irritation -- amusement. The scruffy bastard's fucking with him. He's getting grief from a fucking secretary with a netful of bugs behind his desk. It's way too early for this shit. Elijah draws his hand back at the last second, holding his ID up in front of the man's face instead.
Bill crosses the line from amused to aggravated without much of a chance to resist.
He's fairly sure the ease with which he shifts between the two is Nic's bloody fault.
He raises one hand and deliberately plucks the kid's ID from his hand, barely quirking a brow at his expression, which seems to be just on the verge of objecting.
I dare you, Bill thinks, looking right into the kid's eyes. I fucking dare you.
The kid doesn't. His eyes flicker away from Bills. His lips go tight and his eyes narrow slightly (making them slightly more like the size of a normal humans eyes), but he doesn't say anything and doesn't look back up to meet Bill's eyes. He does tap his fingers impatiently on the countertop.
Bill toys with the idea of clipping the corner of the license off. It's illegal to drive in the state of California with a license that has been altered or damaged in any way. It's pretty likely that the kid doesn't know that, and won't until the next time he was pulled over.
Petty, Boyd, he thinks, which is true of course. He
( ... )
Comments 15
He’s not quite awake enough to get the audition jitters yet, but the coffee he mainlined on the drive over is starting to kick in and his fingers are beginning to pick at the hem of his shirt, itching for his after-coffee smoke. Out of habit, not nerves, of course.
He hadn’t been sure how to dress this morning - in the end he’d gone with his favorite jeans (chosen for comfort, and not because of the snug way they cup his ass) and a vintage t-shirt, something faded and close-fitting that Hannah picked out for him at a rummage sale long past. Trendy enough, fairly flattering, and should the situation arise, easily removable. The thought makes him shift his weight where he stands against the wall, and he digs in his pocket for the last squashed stick of Juicy Fruit while his other hand taps his resume folder against his knee ( ... )
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Looking up he sees Disgruntled Scotsman watching him fumble the card out, and his green eyes are tittering with something else behind that expression of bored irritation -- amusement. The scruffy bastard's fucking with him. He's getting grief from a fucking secretary with a netful of bugs behind his desk. It's way too early for this shit. Elijah draws his hand back at the last second, holding his ID up in front of the man's face instead.
"I'm 23, I assure you, mate," he says.
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He's fairly sure the ease with which he shifts between the two is Nic's bloody fault.
He raises one hand and deliberately plucks the kid's ID from his hand, barely quirking a brow at his expression, which seems to be just on the verge of objecting.
I dare you, Bill thinks, looking right into the kid's eyes. I fucking dare you.
The kid doesn't. His eyes flicker away from Bills. His lips go tight and his eyes narrow slightly (making them slightly more like the size of a normal humans eyes), but he doesn't say anything and doesn't look back up to meet Bill's eyes. He does tap his fingers impatiently on the countertop.
Bill toys with the idea of clipping the corner of the license off. It's illegal to drive in the state of California with a license that has been altered or damaged in any way. It's pretty likely that the kid doesn't know that, and won't until the next time he was pulled over.
Petty, Boyd, he thinks, which is true of course. He ( ... )
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