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piecesofalice Nov. 11th, 2009 09:27 pm)
piecesofalice Nov. 11th, 2009 09:27 pm)GUESS WHAT.
IT'S![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
butchiemcgee'S BIRFDAY!!
In honour of her birth, I wrote a fic for her. It's very good and filled with awesome.
TITLE: They Shoot Movies, Don't They?
FANDOM: Inglourious Basterds RPF
RATING: PG or BIRFDAY
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, QT's. Except for elements that are mine, which I shan't give away. This shit didn't happenwhich is a horrible shame.
They Shoot Movies, Don't They?
Inglourious Basterds RPF, forbutchiemcgee's birthday, 11th November 2009
--
Forbutchiemcgee, who's like, awesome and shit. Happy birthday, my dear! <333
--
I wish my life was a
Non-stop Hollywood movie show
- The Kinks, "Celluloid Heroes"
---
The street is quiet, paved, still - there's a gathering of people speaking no words at the door of a cafe, quickly making progress on the individual tasks they're undertaking in a smooth hollow of silence.
Tall guy, silver hair, with earphones. Faceless man, back to the rest of them, sitting atop a camera. A woman with a brush and a black case of makeup, a girl writing notes on continuity and a dozen other people who look like they should be making the most exciting of chatter but - nothing.
It's because there's a scene taking place, one of reflection and revelation, in this dusty cafe-that's-really-a-bar, and it's pregnant with possibility and creativity as the low hum of silence gives way to the realisation of magic.
There's a man, a director, and he's obviously the King Of (His) Castle, a cowboy shirt and a Hitler haircut, a small smile curving at the middle of his mouth and a gleam of success in his eyes. He's watching two kids - a blonde, beautiful, her hair stealing away under a pageboy hat; a boyish solider with dark eyes and a solid, earnest smirk - as they play back and forth in a game of cat and mouse that's so innocent, so brutally layered and difficult, it's nothing to allow a Parisian street to fall on deaf ears to capture this scene unfolding.
It leads, and ends - she's up on her feet and out of the cafe, the olive wool of his Hugo Boss-styled jacket creasing at the shoulders as he lifts a hand in "what did I do?" And the man, the director, lifts his hand to click, to break the hold these two young not-lovers had over the French sidewalk and his team of types -
"OH. MY. GOD." The shriek - brittle with it's Strine and slight garbled-nature due to a build up of cheese sandwich - broke through the silence like the force of a battle-axe. "BUTCHIE, IT TOTES WORKED AND SHIT."
"REALLY?!"
"YEAH, REALLY! SHIT, SON, THERE'S DANIEL! OH. MY. GOD. LOOK OH MY GOD I TOTALLY KNEW WE WOULDN'T GET A MARCEL SCENE BECAUSE, WHATEVER."
"I KNOW, WHATEVER. LOL MARCEL."
"LOL MARCEL."
They both broke up laughing, stopping suddenly like greyhounds on a track after a rabbit.
"Cafe scene, awesome." The blonde, who was awkwardly holding an odd contraption, moved her cargo around slightly to point at the actors. "They're totally doing it," she stage-whispered loudly.
"We can hear you," the German actor managed to get out.
The brunette waved at him, coltishly, with a mouth filled with bread. "You're hot."
"Yesssss. I wasn't sure, Pieces, if your idea for an International Cross-Time-Dimensional Travelling Device made from that old toaster and kettle you were throwing out - "
"And the cat hair from the couch, remember."
"- and the cat hair from your couch, of course, was gonna work. But it did!"
"Awesome."
"Awesome."
The entire group turned slowly to face the voices - one Australian, the other American, both extremely excited - wondering how these two women seemed to have stumbled onto a very closed, very secretive set. One - an United States-born blonde - was holding a birthday card and a device that could only be described as the aforementioned time machine, her head nodding happily as she took in the scene in front of her. The other - an Aussie with a black bob - was eating a sandwich and holding a bow, which she deposited on the director's head with a flourish.
"Ta-da! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BUTCHIE."
The blonde clapped and grinned. "It's my birthday," she confirmed to their confused audience.
"Um, hi, guys -"
"HAY QT!" They yelled in unison. The director looked vaguely put out, and pulled the bow off his head.
"Uh, hi? Um…who -"
The brunette cleared her throat and spread her hands in a dramatic fashion. "I, my fine candy-eating bastard, am Pieces. And this is my dear enabler, Butchie - not her real name, but this is the internet, natch - who is celebrating her birthday today."
Everyone looked at the internet-monikered blonde.
"It's my birthday," she nodded, grinning.
"It's her birthday," the brunette continued, "and so, being the wonderful human I am, I decided the best present for her would be the time-travelling one. So, with very little time, money and with a lot of laziness, I built her a time machine so we could visit y'all whilst you film one of our favourite scenes."
"I kind of wanted the projection booth scene," the blonde frowned.
"I will smack you," was her ominous reply. Then, quickly, they both turned back to their gape-mouthed friends and grinned widely.
"You time travelled?" asked the director, incredulous.
The girls nodded.
"Back to see my film being made?"
"I came to have sexy times with Daniel," said the brunette, sagely.
The German actor cowered, then looked excited, then confused, then aroused, then confused again. The brunette put her fingers to her ear and mimicked a telephone, mouthing "call me" before the blonde elbowed her in the side.
A silence again fell over the cafe, except this time it was one of pure shock, bewilderment and most of all, the smell of old toast thanks to the time machine's crumb tray being unemptied for many a year.
Until -
"THAT'S AWESOME!"
"I KNOW, RIGHT?!" The girls responded to the director's loud capslock by running at him, grabbing hands and beginning to jump excitedly in a circle, sandwich crusts and crumbs flying everywhere.
"DID YOU BRING AWESOME AUSSIE MOVIES AND AWESOME RETRO PERIODICALS AND CANDY?!"
"YES!"
"DID YOU BRING YOUR PJS FOR A SLEEPOVER?!"
"YES!"
"OH MY FUCKING GOD YAY!"
The three of them continued jumping for a good five minutes, the German actor now sniffing his breath surreptitiously and trying to catch his reflection in the glass to fix his hair. The blonde actress rolled her eyes, and lit a cigarette.
"Oh!" Pieces stopped their jumping, and pointed to the blonde actress. "That reminds me! Butchie would also like to have sexy times with several of your cast."
The director held out his hand. "It's your birthday, I have to let you."
"It's my birthday, you have to let me," said the birthday girl, happily, taking the director's hand as he lead them towards his actors.
"Can I have Daniel first?"
"It's my birthday, Pieces."
"But your list is like, seventeen years long! Mélanie has a porno, do her first." The blonde actress' eyes grew wide from her position at the cafe door.
Butchie grinned. "Can we see your porno?"
The actress shrugged. "Why not?"
"Can I see your porno?" asked the German actor and the director at the same time. The actress looked at her new foreign friends and smiled.
"Maybe we should have a girls night."
"Can Diane come?"
"Of course."
"Can Fassy come?"
"…he's not a -"
"IT'S MY BIRTHDAY, CAN FASSY COME."
"Yes, mon dieu, Fassy can come!"
"YAY! And no Marcel."
"LOL MARCEL."
"LOL MARCEL."
Then they skipped out of the restaurant and left the boys to their own devices, because it was Butchie's birthday and that's how it was to be.
---
~THE END~
---
Note: characters may differ in real-life. I like the part where we're cracked-out Valley Girls, myself. :D
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY ENABLING FRIEND! I hope you have an awesome day filled with hot actors, bad RPF set in decadent surroundings, incidents that happened 35 minutes ago, old pornos, cats with bowler hats, Fassy yelling double-agent actress' names, Til punching Pacey ("take that up the creek to Dawson!"), cake, more cake, maybe some booze and 1960s anti-establishment films with awkwardly adorable pop stars.
IT'S
butchiemcgee'S BIRFDAY!!In honour of her birth, I wrote a fic for her. It's very good and filled with awesome.
TITLE: They Shoot Movies, Don't They?
FANDOM: Inglourious Basterds RPF
RATING: PG or BIRFDAY
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, QT's. Except for elements that are mine, which I shan't give away. This shit didn't happen
They Shoot Movies, Don't They?
Inglourious Basterds RPF, for
butchiemcgee's birthday, 11th November 2009--
For
butchiemcgee, who's like, awesome and shit. Happy birthday, my dear! <333--
I wish my life was a
Non-stop Hollywood movie show
- The Kinks, "Celluloid Heroes"
---
The street is quiet, paved, still - there's a gathering of people speaking no words at the door of a cafe, quickly making progress on the individual tasks they're undertaking in a smooth hollow of silence.
Tall guy, silver hair, with earphones. Faceless man, back to the rest of them, sitting atop a camera. A woman with a brush and a black case of makeup, a girl writing notes on continuity and a dozen other people who look like they should be making the most exciting of chatter but - nothing.
It's because there's a scene taking place, one of reflection and revelation, in this dusty cafe-that's-really-a-bar, and it's pregnant with possibility and creativity as the low hum of silence gives way to the realisation of magic.
There's a man, a director, and he's obviously the King Of (His) Castle, a cowboy shirt and a Hitler haircut, a small smile curving at the middle of his mouth and a gleam of success in his eyes. He's watching two kids - a blonde, beautiful, her hair stealing away under a pageboy hat; a boyish solider with dark eyes and a solid, earnest smirk - as they play back and forth in a game of cat and mouse that's so innocent, so brutally layered and difficult, it's nothing to allow a Parisian street to fall on deaf ears to capture this scene unfolding.
It leads, and ends - she's up on her feet and out of the cafe, the olive wool of his Hugo Boss-styled jacket creasing at the shoulders as he lifts a hand in "what did I do?" And the man, the director, lifts his hand to click, to break the hold these two young not-lovers had over the French sidewalk and his team of types -
"OH. MY. GOD." The shriek - brittle with it's Strine and slight garbled-nature due to a build up of cheese sandwich - broke through the silence like the force of a battle-axe. "BUTCHIE, IT TOTES WORKED AND SHIT."
"REALLY?!"
"YEAH, REALLY! SHIT, SON, THERE'S DANIEL! OH. MY. GOD. LOOK OH MY GOD I TOTALLY KNEW WE WOULDN'T GET A MARCEL SCENE BECAUSE, WHATEVER."
"I KNOW, WHATEVER. LOL MARCEL."
"LOL MARCEL."
They both broke up laughing, stopping suddenly like greyhounds on a track after a rabbit.
"Cafe scene, awesome." The blonde, who was awkwardly holding an odd contraption, moved her cargo around slightly to point at the actors. "They're totally doing it," she stage-whispered loudly.
"We can hear you," the German actor managed to get out.
The brunette waved at him, coltishly, with a mouth filled with bread. "You're hot."
"Yesssss. I wasn't sure, Pieces, if your idea for an International Cross-Time-Dimensional Travelling Device made from that old toaster and kettle you were throwing out - "
"And the cat hair from the couch, remember."
"- and the cat hair from your couch, of course, was gonna work. But it did!"
"Awesome."
"Awesome."
The entire group turned slowly to face the voices - one Australian, the other American, both extremely excited - wondering how these two women seemed to have stumbled onto a very closed, very secretive set. One - an United States-born blonde - was holding a birthday card and a device that could only be described as the aforementioned time machine, her head nodding happily as she took in the scene in front of her. The other - an Aussie with a black bob - was eating a sandwich and holding a bow, which she deposited on the director's head with a flourish.
"Ta-da! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BUTCHIE."
The blonde clapped and grinned. "It's my birthday," she confirmed to their confused audience.
"Um, hi, guys -"
"HAY QT!" They yelled in unison. The director looked vaguely put out, and pulled the bow off his head.
"Uh, hi? Um…who -"
The brunette cleared her throat and spread her hands in a dramatic fashion. "I, my fine candy-eating bastard, am Pieces. And this is my dear enabler, Butchie - not her real name, but this is the internet, natch - who is celebrating her birthday today."
Everyone looked at the internet-monikered blonde.
"It's my birthday," she nodded, grinning.
"It's her birthday," the brunette continued, "and so, being the wonderful human I am, I decided the best present for her would be the time-travelling one. So, with very little time, money and with a lot of laziness, I built her a time machine so we could visit y'all whilst you film one of our favourite scenes."
"I kind of wanted the projection booth scene," the blonde frowned.
"I will smack you," was her ominous reply. Then, quickly, they both turned back to their gape-mouthed friends and grinned widely.
"You time travelled?" asked the director, incredulous.
The girls nodded.
"Back to see my film being made?"
"I came to have sexy times with Daniel," said the brunette, sagely.
The German actor cowered, then looked excited, then confused, then aroused, then confused again. The brunette put her fingers to her ear and mimicked a telephone, mouthing "call me" before the blonde elbowed her in the side.
A silence again fell over the cafe, except this time it was one of pure shock, bewilderment and most of all, the smell of old toast thanks to the time machine's crumb tray being unemptied for many a year.
Until -
"THAT'S AWESOME!"
"I KNOW, RIGHT?!" The girls responded to the director's loud capslock by running at him, grabbing hands and beginning to jump excitedly in a circle, sandwich crusts and crumbs flying everywhere.
"DID YOU BRING AWESOME AUSSIE MOVIES AND AWESOME RETRO PERIODICALS AND CANDY?!"
"YES!"
"DID YOU BRING YOUR PJS FOR A SLEEPOVER?!"
"YES!"
"OH MY FUCKING GOD YAY!"
The three of them continued jumping for a good five minutes, the German actor now sniffing his breath surreptitiously and trying to catch his reflection in the glass to fix his hair. The blonde actress rolled her eyes, and lit a cigarette.
"Oh!" Pieces stopped their jumping, and pointed to the blonde actress. "That reminds me! Butchie would also like to have sexy times with several of your cast."
The director held out his hand. "It's your birthday, I have to let you."
"It's my birthday, you have to let me," said the birthday girl, happily, taking the director's hand as he lead them towards his actors.
"Can I have Daniel first?"
"It's my birthday, Pieces."
"But your list is like, seventeen years long! Mélanie has a porno, do her first." The blonde actress' eyes grew wide from her position at the cafe door.
Butchie grinned. "Can we see your porno?"
The actress shrugged. "Why not?"
"Can I see your porno?" asked the German actor and the director at the same time. The actress looked at her new foreign friends and smiled.
"Maybe we should have a girls night."
"Can Diane come?"
"Of course."
"Can Fassy come?"
"…he's not a -"
"IT'S MY BIRTHDAY, CAN FASSY COME."
"Yes, mon dieu, Fassy can come!"
"YAY! And no Marcel."
"LOL MARCEL."
"LOL MARCEL."
Then they skipped out of the restaurant and left the boys to their own devices, because it was Butchie's birthday and that's how it was to be.
---
~THE END~
---
Note: characters may differ in real-life. I like the part where we're cracked-out Valley Girls, myself. :D
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY ENABLING FRIEND! I hope you have an awesome day filled with hot actors, bad RPF set in decadent surroundings, incidents that happened 35 minutes ago, old pornos, cats with bowler hats, Fassy yelling double-agent actress' names, Til punching Pacey ("take that up the creek to Dawson!"), cake, more cake, maybe some booze and 1960s anti-establishment films with awkwardly adorable pop stars.
♡
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