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maybe a prologue.
In a crumbling theatre somewhen years ago destiny is being made.
The boy is talented, he knows. Any director with half a brain and one functioning eye can see that. His voice carries emotions across seats filled with nervous hopefuls and a raise of his eyebrows can make his audience grin like madmen and already some of the aspiring actresses are eyeing him in a way very many men would envy and dear gods his smile can make people melt.
His talent is raw, the director tells himself. He hasn't practiced, and with talent like that he wouldn't be surprised if the boynever saw the need to. He is in desperate need of training, and he is not the man the studio needed to revive a dying franchise.
The director tells himself this as the auditions go on. They are chock full of extras trying to make names for themselves, of old stars way past their prime looking for a chance at a comeback, or at the very least for enough money to retire in peace. There are better actors out there, he tells himself, and even if there aren't, well, no one is irreplaceable. We'll never sell a franchise with an unknown face, gods damn those idiots who wanted an open casting call, who wanted everything to be a show from the start.
As he wills himself not to tear his hair out the boy looks at him and smiles.
On the way home he tries to imagine just what he'll tell the producers.
The boy is talented, he knows. Any director with half a brain and one functioning eye can see that. His voice carries emotions across seats filled with nervous hopefuls and a raise of his eyebrows can make his audience grin like madmen and already some of the aspiring actresses are eyeing him in a way very many men would envy and dear gods his smile can make people melt.
His talent is raw, the director tells himself. He hasn't practiced, and with talent like that he wouldn't be surprised if the boynever saw the need to. He is in desperate need of training, and he is not the man the studio needed to revive a dying franchise.
The director tells himself this as the auditions go on. They are chock full of extras trying to make names for themselves, of old stars way past their prime looking for a chance at a comeback, or at the very least for enough money to retire in peace. There are better actors out there, he tells himself, and even if there aren't, well, no one is irreplaceable. We'll never sell a franchise with an unknown face, gods damn those idiots who wanted an open casting call, who wanted everything to be a show from the start.
As he wills himself not to tear his hair out the boy looks at him and smiles.
On the way home he tries to imagine just what he'll tell the producers.