fic
Here, have some more shameful RPF. Oh and it has a title now.
*runs away and buries head in the sand*
Title: Cannes This Time Of Year...
The Players: Michael/Emily
Summary: Michael "meets" Emily.
Word Count: 1371
Notes: Lets just pretend that Michael presented his movie at Cannes this year.
Previous Part
It had taken Michael a few moments to realise that she had not offered a name in return. She had disappeared so quickly back through the club's door.
He had taken chase, hoping to at least get a name off her. Maybe flirt a little more. Buy her a drink. Take her back to his room and fuck her senseless. Whatever she was up for really. He still had very dangerous images of those lips wrapped around that cigarette mingling in his mind.
But she wasn't there. She must've left. He'd continued to spend a good amount of time looking around in lost circles much to the amusement of the people he was out with. And so he let it go, admitting defeat. The night, however had somehow lost a bit of its shine and feeling de-energised he left soon after that. Returning to his expensive studio-paid-for hotel room, he cursed how late (well, early) it was as he flopped into bed. Interviews later that morning were going to be interesting.
-----
He hadn't expected to ever see her again. That girl from the alleyway who he had spent a quiet, too-short moment in the dark with.
But that didn't mean she had left his thoughts. The next morning he had woken with such a hardon to accompany his roaring hangover that he felt like he was in his early twenties all over again.
He'd groaned. He'd rolled out of bed. He'd showered. He'd wanked. Then he'd gotten dressed and spent the day doing press and attempting charm when really he craved a stiff martini and a hotel couch and quiet. But that was his job, and he was grateful and he loved this movie and he wanted to be the professional that Steve expected him to be. And so he trundled on, but every now and then amused little eyes would loom up in the dark of his mind and the sounds of a cheeky laugh would distract him from a question that was being asked of him. He would then shake his head to rid himself of such thoughts. There was no point lingering on her. He would never see her again, and it wasn't as if she were the only beautiful woman in France... or Cannes for that matter.
He certainly hadn't expected to see her a day later. Strolling with an uneasy smile down the red carpet.
They were doing a photo-call, and by the sounds of the shouts, Michael could tell that there must be a premiere going on over the other side of the pavilion. He looked over curiously whilst taking a smoke break off to the side, awaiting the next round of photographs.
And there she had been. Resplendent in a long champagne-coloured dress smoothed elegantly over her figure. She was walking slowly, smiling shyly to the photographers who were calling to her. Stopping every now and then to talk and get instructions from her handler. She looked like she belonged there and yet, something in her expression indicated that she would rather be some place else, that she wasn't entirely comfortable. Michael could relate. He felt something inside him jump as the recognition scorched across his brain. Who was she?! An actress? She must be, she looked too young to be a director. Why hadn't she said anything? How come he had never seen her around before?? Christ she looked sexy in that dress. All thoughts that ran through his head simultaneously.
“What are you looking at?” a voice behind him questioned. Dave, his handler/manager walked up beside him.
“Do you know what premiere is going on over there?” Michael pointed.
Dave made a face that could be equated to something like a casual shrug.
"Some small australian production called Sleeping Beauty. I've been hearing mixed things about it. S'meant to be really dark.”
“And the girl?” he couldn't help asking as he eyed where she was walking along the line of photographers, pausing now and again to run over to the barrier, despite her heels, and sign an autograph for a gratefully ecstatic fan.
“Emily Browning. Pretty young thing isn't she. Childstar, been out of the business for awhile, probably hoping to make a comeback by getting her kit off in some obscure indie movie.” The man snorted beside him and Michael felt a spark of annoyance rise up in him. Dave had a tendency towards the insensitive prickishness sometimes. His honesty was usually what Michael liked about him. But the way he was talking here about this Emily, who he obviously didn't know... something about it niggled at him. He decided to let it go though, taking a long drag on his cigarette, still watching her slight figure float its way up the carpeted stairs of the the theatre.
“Too bad we don't know any of her people. Wouldn't have minded meeting her” he exhaled on a breath of smoke.
He could feel Dave looking at him sideways, he could almost feel his left eyebrow raising.
“Oh but we do know some of her people...” the guy waited for him to look around at him. If Michael's eyes were looking a little eager, he certainly wasn't aware of it. Dave, the wanker, made him wait a few extra seconds before smiling deviously. “.... Mia's in town. Did you know?”
“Vashy? Mia Vashy?” Michael of course meant Mia Wasikowska whom he had been good friends with ever since they had worked on Jane Eyre together. The nickname had arisen from the proper pronunciation of her last name. “I didn't know she was here” he continued looking more intently at Dave for more information.
“Mmmhmm, got her own movie to be fabulous in. Shit, imagine not knowing one of your close friends was even in town. These euro film fests are fucking crazy.”
Michael smiled. He hadn't seen Mia in months. “So how does Mia know her?”
Dave looked at him like he was an idiot. “Well durr. They're both from Down Under, doesn't that basically make them siblings? I'm assuming she knows her. Country's on the areshole of the planet, and they only spit out a few young up-and-comers a year. They're bound to know each other.”
Michael was simultaneously amused and annoyed again. He always forgot Mia was australian. Even when her accent slipped in. Something about her grace, her ethereal face, her quiet tenacity just didn't seem akin to the rustic reputation of such a country.
But then again, this Emily didn't present like she was australian either. But then again again, he had only spent a handful of minutes in her presence in which she had said less than ten words.
So she was australian huh? How intriguing. Did he still have Mia's number on his phone? Goddamn that place produced some beautiful women. The thoughts ran unbidden through Michael's head.
“Huh. Interesting” he said out loud smiling to himself as he adjusted his sunglasses and handed his cigarette to Dave to handle getting rid of. He could see the photo-call organisers beginning to beckon to him.
He heard his manager's low groan. “Fuck me, I shouldn't have said anything. Don't make more work for me Fassbender” he pleaded. “Please, I mean it. Shack up with some local girl if you must and keep it discrete. Don't go creating tabloid photo ops with some little nymphet from the outback. I don't care how shaggable she is.”
“She's legal right?” Michael joked, pulling his smile into a grin, all teeth on display as he watched Emily's back disappear inside the theatre. Her appearance was youthful, but something about the way she carried herself was very old soul. Michael liked it a lot.
Another long-suffering groan from his manager and friend as he pulled Michael's shoulder around, starting to push him back towards the area set aside for individual photos.
“As far as you're concerned, her arse is about as jail-baitey as they come!”
This made Michael laugh as he moved into place with a smooth “Hello boys” towards the awaiting photographers.
The photographers at the session that afternoon would be delighted in the photos they snapped of Mr Fassbender. A large cheeky grin had been plastered across his face the entire time.
One photographer would comment he almost looked manic, smug with a secret.
-----
So there you are. The next part should be longer. Writing Michael is hard, but fun. Oh and for those interested, the outifit described was actually the one that Emily wore at Cannes this year. Anyway all feedback would be greatly appreciated.
Part 3
*runs away and buries head in the sand*
Title: Cannes This Time Of Year...
The Players: Michael/Emily
Summary: Michael "meets" Emily.
Word Count: 1371
Notes: Lets just pretend that Michael presented his movie at Cannes this year.
Previous Part
It had taken Michael a few moments to realise that she had not offered a name in return. She had disappeared so quickly back through the club's door.
He had taken chase, hoping to at least get a name off her. Maybe flirt a little more. Buy her a drink. Take her back to his room and fuck her senseless. Whatever she was up for really. He still had very dangerous images of those lips wrapped around that cigarette mingling in his mind.
But she wasn't there. She must've left. He'd continued to spend a good amount of time looking around in lost circles much to the amusement of the people he was out with. And so he let it go, admitting defeat. The night, however had somehow lost a bit of its shine and feeling de-energised he left soon after that. Returning to his expensive studio-paid-for hotel room, he cursed how late (well, early) it was as he flopped into bed. Interviews later that morning were going to be interesting.
-----
He hadn't expected to ever see her again. That girl from the alleyway who he had spent a quiet, too-short moment in the dark with.
But that didn't mean she had left his thoughts. The next morning he had woken with such a hardon to accompany his roaring hangover that he felt like he was in his early twenties all over again.
He'd groaned. He'd rolled out of bed. He'd showered. He'd wanked. Then he'd gotten dressed and spent the day doing press and attempting charm when really he craved a stiff martini and a hotel couch and quiet. But that was his job, and he was grateful and he loved this movie and he wanted to be the professional that Steve expected him to be. And so he trundled on, but every now and then amused little eyes would loom up in the dark of his mind and the sounds of a cheeky laugh would distract him from a question that was being asked of him. He would then shake his head to rid himself of such thoughts. There was no point lingering on her. He would never see her again, and it wasn't as if she were the only beautiful woman in France... or Cannes for that matter.
He certainly hadn't expected to see her a day later. Strolling with an uneasy smile down the red carpet.
They were doing a photo-call, and by the sounds of the shouts, Michael could tell that there must be a premiere going on over the other side of the pavilion. He looked over curiously whilst taking a smoke break off to the side, awaiting the next round of photographs.
And there she had been. Resplendent in a long champagne-coloured dress smoothed elegantly over her figure. She was walking slowly, smiling shyly to the photographers who were calling to her. Stopping every now and then to talk and get instructions from her handler. She looked like she belonged there and yet, something in her expression indicated that she would rather be some place else, that she wasn't entirely comfortable. Michael could relate. He felt something inside him jump as the recognition scorched across his brain. Who was she?! An actress? She must be, she looked too young to be a director. Why hadn't she said anything? How come he had never seen her around before?? Christ she looked sexy in that dress. All thoughts that ran through his head simultaneously.
“What are you looking at?” a voice behind him questioned. Dave, his handler/manager walked up beside him.
“Do you know what premiere is going on over there?” Michael pointed.
Dave made a face that could be equated to something like a casual shrug.
"Some small australian production called Sleeping Beauty. I've been hearing mixed things about it. S'meant to be really dark.”
“And the girl?” he couldn't help asking as he eyed where she was walking along the line of photographers, pausing now and again to run over to the barrier, despite her heels, and sign an autograph for a gratefully ecstatic fan.
“Emily Browning. Pretty young thing isn't she. Childstar, been out of the business for awhile, probably hoping to make a comeback by getting her kit off in some obscure indie movie.” The man snorted beside him and Michael felt a spark of annoyance rise up in him. Dave had a tendency towards the insensitive prickishness sometimes. His honesty was usually what Michael liked about him. But the way he was talking here about this Emily, who he obviously didn't know... something about it niggled at him. He decided to let it go though, taking a long drag on his cigarette, still watching her slight figure float its way up the carpeted stairs of the the theatre.
“Too bad we don't know any of her people. Wouldn't have minded meeting her” he exhaled on a breath of smoke.
He could feel Dave looking at him sideways, he could almost feel his left eyebrow raising.
“Oh but we do know some of her people...” the guy waited for him to look around at him. If Michael's eyes were looking a little eager, he certainly wasn't aware of it. Dave, the wanker, made him wait a few extra seconds before smiling deviously. “.... Mia's in town. Did you know?”
“Vashy? Mia Vashy?” Michael of course meant Mia Wasikowska whom he had been good friends with ever since they had worked on Jane Eyre together. The nickname had arisen from the proper pronunciation of her last name. “I didn't know she was here” he continued looking more intently at Dave for more information.
“Mmmhmm, got her own movie to be fabulous in. Shit, imagine not knowing one of your close friends was even in town. These euro film fests are fucking crazy.”
Michael smiled. He hadn't seen Mia in months. “So how does Mia know her?”
Dave looked at him like he was an idiot. “Well durr. They're both from Down Under, doesn't that basically make them siblings? I'm assuming she knows her. Country's on the areshole of the planet, and they only spit out a few young up-and-comers a year. They're bound to know each other.”
Michael was simultaneously amused and annoyed again. He always forgot Mia was australian. Even when her accent slipped in. Something about her grace, her ethereal face, her quiet tenacity just didn't seem akin to the rustic reputation of such a country.
But then again, this Emily didn't present like she was australian either. But then again again, he had only spent a handful of minutes in her presence in which she had said less than ten words.
So she was australian huh? How intriguing. Did he still have Mia's number on his phone? Goddamn that place produced some beautiful women. The thoughts ran unbidden through Michael's head.
“Huh. Interesting” he said out loud smiling to himself as he adjusted his sunglasses and handed his cigarette to Dave to handle getting rid of. He could see the photo-call organisers beginning to beckon to him.
He heard his manager's low groan. “Fuck me, I shouldn't have said anything. Don't make more work for me Fassbender” he pleaded. “Please, I mean it. Shack up with some local girl if you must and keep it discrete. Don't go creating tabloid photo ops with some little nymphet from the outback. I don't care how shaggable she is.”
“She's legal right?” Michael joked, pulling his smile into a grin, all teeth on display as he watched Emily's back disappear inside the theatre. Her appearance was youthful, but something about the way she carried herself was very old soul. Michael liked it a lot.
Another long-suffering groan from his manager and friend as he pulled Michael's shoulder around, starting to push him back towards the area set aside for individual photos.
“As far as you're concerned, her arse is about as jail-baitey as they come!”
This made Michael laugh as he moved into place with a smooth “Hello boys” towards the awaiting photographers.
The photographers at the session that afternoon would be delighted in the photos they snapped of Mr Fassbender. A large cheeky grin had been plastered across his face the entire time.
One photographer would comment he almost looked manic, smug with a secret.
-----
So there you are. The next part should be longer. Writing Michael is hard, but fun. Oh and for those interested, the outifit described was actually the one that Emily wore at Cannes this year. Anyway all feedback would be greatly appreciated.
Part 3