The Strong Silent Type (Kevin Costner fanfiction)

Whateverworld

As the hours passed, the extras began to assemble in throngs at the gate. The morning sunlight saturated their chattering faces like florid fever.

A brief break in the crowd appeared, and within the vacancy stood a short, modish woman wielding a megaphone. The symphony of voices abated at the mere sight of her.

"Can I have your attention, please?" She asked with a stern but not unkind inflection. "I'm Michelle West, I'm the casting director here at Davis Entertainment and I'd like to give you all a big welcome to the studio!"

The sea of people cheered, Cecilia offered her ephemeral applause.

"I'll be giving you a quick tour of the studio before costuming. But before we step inside, I just want to let you guys know of your sheer importance to us as a company. This will be quick, I promise,"

The crowd listened intently.

"As extras, you're tasked with the thankless responsibility of making imaginary worlds look convincing. So we thank you for your work, no matter how short-lived it may be, and of course, for choosing to join us in making Waterworld. We wouldn't be able to make movies without you!"

Cecilia deemed that comment to be a bit pandering, in a covert, self-righteous way. Yet she listened on, even though Michelle West had vaguely resembled an antelope and spoke irritatingly strange like she slipped a couple milk duds beneath her tongue before she walked out there. Cecilia didn't want to be a part of something bigger than herself, she hadn't really thought that far ahead. She really just wanted to have enough money to fix her fucking car.

Perhaps casting directors are mythological creatures exiled from their fairytales to plague the earth with their peppiness. Every one she's ever met seemed so far removed from working class quandaries. I mean, how does one pursue such a profession? Cecilia presumed it was similar to becoming a politician in that you practically have to be a sociopath to qualify.

But nevertheless, Cecilia imagined spinster Michelle driving an SUV despite having no kids and likely taking trips out to Joshua Tree on weekends with some square date who's probably got a degree in advertising or financing or some other soul-sucking day job. Fuck you, Michelle.

The crowd funneled into the studio's doorway at snail's pace into a large bleakly decorated room with ample seating.

A young man with a boyish face who smelled of dollar store cologne sat beside her, while an open seat remained to her left. She exchanged a brief glance with him and remembered that one word she always hated but still adhered to like gospel:

Networking.

Cecilia often went out of her way to introduce herself to new people she met, even if she really didn't want to. A very innate, calculated part of her knew she could score bigger roles by making friends with people who had connections. It was a socially acceptable, extended form of bribery at best.

"Hi, I'm Cecilia, Cecilia Freel." She said, offering her hand to the man beside her.

"Victor. Or VV, for short." He replied, requiting the handshake with a half smile and leaning back in his chair comfortably.

That's the thing about LA, Cecilia thought, everybody introduces themselves using their full name. Everybody, that is, except this Victor dude.

"Now, let me tell you, the production of this film has been a bit... cumbersome for all involved," Michelle divulged, "but fortunately, and I can say this with certainty, the horizon is in sight."

"Luckily for you guys," she continued, "You're here to film one of only a few scenes shot in-studio because well, as you may know, most of the production of Waterworld was done, well, on water."

Cecilia drifted off again into the tangled opus of her thoughts. She knew she ought to listen, but she felt the temptation of disillusionment creeping up on her from behind. She didn't understand the point of all the redundant prattling. She was set to play a no name destitute townsperson in an improbable dystopian future, and she'd be at most an indefinite moving blob in the final cut. Any further discussion was like professionalizing mini-putt.

That blob will be the photo in my obituary, She mused, The highlight of my life.

"Now let's see," Michelle gazed up at the analog clock above the entranceway, "How about 10 minutes for break? Then we'll begin the tour of the set, meet the producers, and other stuff. Oh, and by the way, there are complimentary snacks in the kitchen, and bathrooms are down the hall to the right!"

The crowd proceeded to disperse, branching off in various directions.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm getting some of that free-snack action." Cecilia joked to VV.

"Oh really?" VV chuckled, "They probably got only celery in there."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a Snickers bar, dude. Don't kill my hopes like that!" She teased, heading towards the kitchen.

When she walked in, she found a paltry excuse for a smorgasbord of snacks on the counter. Yogurt, multi-grain bread, unsalted crackers, and definitely no chocolate.

She resorted to opening the fridge and pouring herself a cup of orange juice when a seemingly tense man donning a torn, weathered costume paced frantically into the room.

He was quite tall without being lanky, and he had these deep set, downturned bedroom eyes that were blue as the sky all those morning stars faded into.

"Here, do you want the rest of this?" He abruptly offered, brandishing none other than a chocolate doughnut, with a single, perfect bite taken out of it.

Cecilia stood at his arm's length with indecision. There was a delicate intimidation about the man before her that she could not readily define.

"I'm not gonna eat it, and it was the last one. Do you want it or not? I don't have all day." He muttered.

Despite his overt rudeness, she languidly took the doughnut from his hand anyways. He immediately turned and walked out, disappearing behind the labyrinthine walls of the studio building.

Cecilia then grabbed her cup of orange juice and headed back towards her seat.

VV, who was standing with mouth agape beneath the door frame of the kitchen, seized her wrist as she passed him.

"Holy shit, you're really gonna eat that?" VV exclaimed.

"What! What's wrong with it?" Cecilia asked, a horrified expression flooding her face.

"If Kevin Costner gave me his doughnut, I would sell it for at least a hundred grand." VV replied.

"Who's Kevin Costner?"