(no subject)
Nov. 2nd, 2007 04:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceOkay, so here's the thing. What's below the cut is just a writing exercise. It's a WIP in the truest form, a palate cleanser between 'verses. Which means it's unbetaed and may never be poked again. Though I find it shiny.
"The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.”-- Nabokov
*****
After everything Jeff had heard, the house was a disappointment. Jutting out from the picturesque landscape like a broken tooth, the house looked shabby but otherwise harmless. Past the front gate, there were no security cameras, no looming gargoyles or 'beware of dog' signs. If Jeff happened to have an irrational fear of overgrown lawns, maybe he'd see what the fuss was about. As it was, he felt stupid, sweating under his jacket and holster because Zach had insisted on him carrying concealed.
Jeff peered at the house, then at his watch. He was on time, but the house seemed comatose. Damned if he'd hauled himself all this way to get stood up by a client. No matter how loaded, or how interesting the case, or how much Jeff really needed to pick up dog food on the way home...
Fuck. Fine, so he'd get stood up with a smile so long as he got his fee. Since his principles were already crushed, he may as well get out of the car.
October whispered cool and clear, dry leaves skittering around Jeff's feet. He glanced up at the house, assessing: old Hollywood, had been beautiful once, now bristling and hollow-eyed as a beaten animal. It tweaked Jeff, urged him to sketch the ruin out before it completely collapsed, but he wasn't here to design. He was here to charm. In so much as Ackles could be charmed. Zach had failed, but he was an acquired taste.
There was a light out at the side door, concealed under a bowed aunning. Just in case Jeff missed his cue, the light flashed twice to show him the way. The way being a trip to the ER once the aunning collapsed.
Dog food, electricity bills, car payment, groceries. Jeff went to the door, hunching to keep from smacking his head on the ceiling, and knocked.
No ceremony, no bass-voiced butlers or anything; the door opened beneath his hand, and Jeff stepped into a narrow foyer. It reminded him of a decompression chamber, dark and spare with just enough space to close the door behind him. He'd heard enough about Ackles's quirks to do that much without hesitating. There'd be no fucking with a millionaire agoraphobic today. Once he'd closed the outside door, the interior popped quietly and opened with a minimum of groaning.
The inside of Ackles's house had been the object of much speculation, but ultimately it looked like the outside: dim, shabby, more sad than frightening. Judging from the lopsided chandelier, the room had been a dining room once. It looked like a storage room now. There was stuff piled everywhere, occupying flat surfaces and rising in shaky towers from the floor. There was no strewn garbage, just a library of papers in a very small space.
Jeff shifted on his feet, waited a minute. There was no sign of life. If years of working bad horror movies had taught him anything, besides not to trust his damn agent, it was not to call stupidly into a spooky house. But the house wasn't quite spooky enough to qualify, and his patience was fraying. "Mr. Ackles? We scheduled for 3. My name's Jeff-"
"I know," said a voice from behind him. When Jeff turned, he was faced with the man who had launched a thousand conspiracy theories. Jensen Ackles didn't look particularly evil, mutilated or crazed. Impatient, yes; keen eyes studied Jeff behind reading glasses. Ackles hadn't slept in a while, and his hair was sticking up, but he hadn't much changed from the thirty year old actor who went into abrupt seclusion six years ago. "As long as you're not Zachariah. You did close the door?"
"Yes. I-"
"Good. Fine." Ackles strode past him, headed somewhere fast. When he realized Jeff wasn't following, he paused and looked back. "Kitchen. Coffee?"
Finish a goddamn sentence. Forcing a smile, Jeff said, "Coffee's great. Thanks."
Ackles disappeared around a doorframe. Jeff shadowed him, pausing in the doorway when he saw the complete wrecking area that was the kitchen. It was a surprisingly sanitary mess, the clutter all papers with a small stack of plain, clean dishes. The walls were covered with pinned papers, which fluttered weakly when Ackles yanked his refridgerator open. Over Ackles's shoulder, Jeff could see wire racks and take-out containers. After all the speculation that Ackles drank the blood of virgins, seeing a milk carton kind of sucked. No tabloids would be paying Jeff off for this story. 'Reclusive actor breaks silence, is completely normal. Slightly hyperactive. Likes Peking duck.'
After a minute of bustling, Ackles went to the counter, frowned at the mess, and elbowed papers out of the way. Then he put the coffee down with the milk carton and nodded Jeff towards it. "No sugar. No chairs. Sorry."
"S'okay." Ackles didn't particularly seem like the type to sit for more than two seconds. Otherwise he'd probably be buried under papers. Jeff leaned his hip against the counter and sipped his coffee, hiding a smile at the way Ackles twitched furtively to save a sliding paper. Jeff prompted, "I think this is the part where you tell me your problem."
Ackles raised his eyes, pinning Jeff to the counter with the weight of his stare. The restless energy hadn't been nervous; Ackles was not the kind of client to be coaxed and charmed, not some overwrought husband trying to get his wife tailed or a girl looking for her lost housecat. He wasn't their kind of client; he couldn't be conned.
"You're not my shrink," Ackles said, cold and clear. "You're a failed actor. You busted your knee paying college basketball and got married, but your ex fucked around on you-"
"Hey," Jeff snapped.
"- and now you pay her too much alimony. Zachariah forges records to buy pot and you lie your way through investigations to buy dog food and art supplies. And you're going to help me because you need the money too goddamn much to walk away."
There was blood loud in Jeff's ears. He gripped the coffee mug, swallowed hard, and said, "You hired a PI for your PI?"
Ackles's smile could cut. "What is it they say? I've got more money than sense?"
Jeff put the coffee down. "No, they say you killed Padelecki yourself. Hid the body so he stayed missing."
Ackles didn't flinch. "Yeah. I imagine they do."
Quiet. They stared at each other.
The aftertaste of the coffee sat sour in Jeff's mouth. Philip Marlowe never had to put up with this shit, but he also didn't have collectors calling every twenty minutes. He ought to walk away, but Bisou's hips might go any week.
"How much?" Jeff said.
"Quarter of a million."
The laugh wrenched up Jeff's throat. Ackles didn't crack a smile, watching him with those exhausted eyes. Serious about the offer. Jesus. Jeff raised the mug to his lips mostly to have a moment to think. It was too much, too goddamn much. "For what?"
Ackles glanced down, wet his lower lip. It was unfair for such a crazy prick to have such a nice mouth. With a sigh, Ackles rolled his shoulders back, met Jeff's eyes and said, "To help me figure out how to get Jared Padelecki back from hell."
"The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.”-- Nabokov
*****
After everything Jeff had heard, the house was a disappointment. Jutting out from the picturesque landscape like a broken tooth, the house looked shabby but otherwise harmless. Past the front gate, there were no security cameras, no looming gargoyles or 'beware of dog' signs. If Jeff happened to have an irrational fear of overgrown lawns, maybe he'd see what the fuss was about. As it was, he felt stupid, sweating under his jacket and holster because Zach had insisted on him carrying concealed.
Jeff peered at the house, then at his watch. He was on time, but the house seemed comatose. Damned if he'd hauled himself all this way to get stood up by a client. No matter how loaded, or how interesting the case, or how much Jeff really needed to pick up dog food on the way home...
Fuck. Fine, so he'd get stood up with a smile so long as he got his fee. Since his principles were already crushed, he may as well get out of the car.
October whispered cool and clear, dry leaves skittering around Jeff's feet. He glanced up at the house, assessing: old Hollywood, had been beautiful once, now bristling and hollow-eyed as a beaten animal. It tweaked Jeff, urged him to sketch the ruin out before it completely collapsed, but he wasn't here to design. He was here to charm. In so much as Ackles could be charmed. Zach had failed, but he was an acquired taste.
There was a light out at the side door, concealed under a bowed aunning. Just in case Jeff missed his cue, the light flashed twice to show him the way. The way being a trip to the ER once the aunning collapsed.
Dog food, electricity bills, car payment, groceries. Jeff went to the door, hunching to keep from smacking his head on the ceiling, and knocked.
No ceremony, no bass-voiced butlers or anything; the door opened beneath his hand, and Jeff stepped into a narrow foyer. It reminded him of a decompression chamber, dark and spare with just enough space to close the door behind him. He'd heard enough about Ackles's quirks to do that much without hesitating. There'd be no fucking with a millionaire agoraphobic today. Once he'd closed the outside door, the interior popped quietly and opened with a minimum of groaning.
The inside of Ackles's house had been the object of much speculation, but ultimately it looked like the outside: dim, shabby, more sad than frightening. Judging from the lopsided chandelier, the room had been a dining room once. It looked like a storage room now. There was stuff piled everywhere, occupying flat surfaces and rising in shaky towers from the floor. There was no strewn garbage, just a library of papers in a very small space.
Jeff shifted on his feet, waited a minute. There was no sign of life. If years of working bad horror movies had taught him anything, besides not to trust his damn agent, it was not to call stupidly into a spooky house. But the house wasn't quite spooky enough to qualify, and his patience was fraying. "Mr. Ackles? We scheduled for 3. My name's Jeff-"
"I know," said a voice from behind him. When Jeff turned, he was faced with the man who had launched a thousand conspiracy theories. Jensen Ackles didn't look particularly evil, mutilated or crazed. Impatient, yes; keen eyes studied Jeff behind reading glasses. Ackles hadn't slept in a while, and his hair was sticking up, but he hadn't much changed from the thirty year old actor who went into abrupt seclusion six years ago. "As long as you're not Zachariah. You did close the door?"
"Yes. I-"
"Good. Fine." Ackles strode past him, headed somewhere fast. When he realized Jeff wasn't following, he paused and looked back. "Kitchen. Coffee?"
Finish a goddamn sentence. Forcing a smile, Jeff said, "Coffee's great. Thanks."
Ackles disappeared around a doorframe. Jeff shadowed him, pausing in the doorway when he saw the complete wrecking area that was the kitchen. It was a surprisingly sanitary mess, the clutter all papers with a small stack of plain, clean dishes. The walls were covered with pinned papers, which fluttered weakly when Ackles yanked his refridgerator open. Over Ackles's shoulder, Jeff could see wire racks and take-out containers. After all the speculation that Ackles drank the blood of virgins, seeing a milk carton kind of sucked. No tabloids would be paying Jeff off for this story. 'Reclusive actor breaks silence, is completely normal. Slightly hyperactive. Likes Peking duck.'
After a minute of bustling, Ackles went to the counter, frowned at the mess, and elbowed papers out of the way. Then he put the coffee down with the milk carton and nodded Jeff towards it. "No sugar. No chairs. Sorry."
"S'okay." Ackles didn't particularly seem like the type to sit for more than two seconds. Otherwise he'd probably be buried under papers. Jeff leaned his hip against the counter and sipped his coffee, hiding a smile at the way Ackles twitched furtively to save a sliding paper. Jeff prompted, "I think this is the part where you tell me your problem."
Ackles raised his eyes, pinning Jeff to the counter with the weight of his stare. The restless energy hadn't been nervous; Ackles was not the kind of client to be coaxed and charmed, not some overwrought husband trying to get his wife tailed or a girl looking for her lost housecat. He wasn't their kind of client; he couldn't be conned.
"You're not my shrink," Ackles said, cold and clear. "You're a failed actor. You busted your knee paying college basketball and got married, but your ex fucked around on you-"
"Hey," Jeff snapped.
"- and now you pay her too much alimony. Zachariah forges records to buy pot and you lie your way through investigations to buy dog food and art supplies. And you're going to help me because you need the money too goddamn much to walk away."
There was blood loud in Jeff's ears. He gripped the coffee mug, swallowed hard, and said, "You hired a PI for your PI?"
Ackles's smile could cut. "What is it they say? I've got more money than sense?"
Jeff put the coffee down. "No, they say you killed Padelecki yourself. Hid the body so he stayed missing."
Ackles didn't flinch. "Yeah. I imagine they do."
Quiet. They stared at each other.
The aftertaste of the coffee sat sour in Jeff's mouth. Philip Marlowe never had to put up with this shit, but he also didn't have collectors calling every twenty minutes. He ought to walk away, but Bisou's hips might go any week.
"How much?" Jeff said.
"Quarter of a million."
The laugh wrenched up Jeff's throat. Ackles didn't crack a smile, watching him with those exhausted eyes. Serious about the offer. Jesus. Jeff raised the mug to his lips mostly to have a moment to think. It was too much, too goddamn much. "For what?"
Ackles glanced down, wet his lower lip. It was unfair for such a crazy prick to have such a nice mouth. With a sigh, Ackles rolled his shoulders back, met Jeff's eyes and said, "To help me figure out how to get Jared Padelecki back from hell."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:27 pm (UTC)You never fail to paint such vivid scenes in so few words!
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:34 pm (UTC)Yep that's definitely well worth poking at.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:46 pm (UTC)Erm . . . less selfishly . . . very nice. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:52 pm (UTC)You may not poke this again, but it really would be a shame if it was left to gather dust ...
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 09:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 10:03 pm (UTC)Just for the record? I could be convinced to sign away my
firstsecondthird-born to see this continued.My *GOD.*
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 10:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 10:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 11:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 11:27 pm (UTC)And to think, I knew I shouldn't click. I knew I'd want more and be denied.
*longs to move into your brain to find out what happens*
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 12:54 am (UTC)You are really good at this.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 03:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 06:08 am (UTC)*fails*
no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 08:11 am (UTC)-C-
no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 10:23 pm (UTC):)
Um. Aunning. Did you mean...awning? Those stripy thingies over a window or door?
no subject
Date: 2007-11-04 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-05 05:05 am (UTC)Yes SHINY! Very shiny, must be poked at more!
*whimper*
no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 03:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-11 07:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-15 05:42 pm (UTC)Please do poke it again? It's fantastic.