JJ Mayweather (howitworks) wrote in casefile, @ 2018-05-07 15:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: jasper mayweather, character: lincoln mayfair, character: tess harkin, narration: log/thread, player: kate, player: rebekah, player: stevie |
WHO: Tess Harkin, Lincoln Mayfair, and JJ Mayweather.
WHAT: A conversation at school following JJ's terrorizing of the cast of Grease.
WHEN: March 2013??
WHERE: The high school.
WARNINGS: Language, manipulation, JJ.
When JJ Mayweather had first stood on the stage to audition, Tess had thought, oh hell no. But then, like everything else that JJ applied a smidge of effort to he’d been good. And in the many years they’d been doing this Tess and Lincoln very rarely got good. They were lucky if they got bearable out of their singers. So here they were half-way through a rehearsal watching JJ scatter students like a cat in a hen house leaving them with bruised egos and a slavering need to earn his approval. It was like being back in high school again, watching Philomena, two years ahead of her. Tess still remembered the first time she’d bought mascara simply because she’d been going to the bathroom and overheard Lola tell a friend she’d rather die than be caught without it on. And Tess hadn’t even been a girl to follow trends. “Lincoln,” Tess said, shoving her hands into her pockets, as she leaned towards her partner in musical crime. “We should talk to JJ... I think our Sandy is gonna end up with lower self-esteem than the real ending of Grease.” “Yeah,” was Lincoln’s response, but his lips were pressed tightly together and the look he gave her spoke clearly: can’t you do it? JJ Mayweather was giving him enough gray hair in US History as it was, and after having to deal with him in long rehearsal hours, mostly he got home and wanted to slam his head into his desk. But he was a professional. If he could plaster on a smile during parent-teacher conferences with Philomena he could take on the whole world. Grease had been a nice idea — less stretching of their nonexistent costume budget, easy songs, popular — but the kids were really pushing it on the hip thrusts. There were too many hip thrusts. Even for Grease. “There’s no way he’s developed a sudden and passionate interest in theater,” he agreed. Part of him spitefully wondered if JJ was there just to taunt him. “But it doesn’t matter how talented he is if he can’t play nice.” Tess gave a sigh, patiently ignoring all of Lincoln’s looks. She would have given up on theater like she’d given up on everything else at this point, except Lincoln would have taken it like a Shakespearean stab through the heart and then given her hurt looks until the day she died and somehow still given her guilt for it in the grave. So she persevered, but if she was going to be here for him they were going to do things together. Especially terrible things like managing a Mayweather. She raised a hand to her mouth and gave a sharp whistle, “JJ, we’ve got some notes. The rest of you, finish painting the cardboard cars and no suggestive license plates this time.” JJ rolled his eyes at one of the other students as they returned to painting. He was growing tired of the mediocrity and simple-minded nature of his fellow classmates. But he would persevere for several reasons. Lincoln Mayfair was having a fantastic time between class and rehearsal. The girl playing Frenchy was hot as fuck and he was pretty sure he was going to ask her out. And if Bradley Garrett hadn’t wanted the role of Danny Zuko so badly, JJ never would have auditioned at all. That cocky sonofabitch had been wandering the halls singing Grease Lightning, snapping his fingers, flipping his hair back, and wearing his sunglasses in class. This agitated him deeply, but his main motivation had been to make Bradley cry. So he pulled out his guitar, found a leather jacket, some tight-as-fuck black pants, and slicked his hair for the audition. He’d expected disdain from his teachers. What pleased him to the core was that he fucking killed at auditions. He made callbacks. Then he leaned against the wall and waited for Bradley to check the cast list. He watched as the light went out of his eyes. His lips dropped into a pout. His cheeks reddened. JJ laughed his way down the hall as he loudly told Bradley to go fuck himself. Now, he sauntered off of the stage and made his way over to Mrs. Harkin, eyebrows raised. “You rang?” Tess barely managed to restrain an eye roll. “Let’s walk and talk shall we?” She said motioning to the doors with a ‘pleasant’ smile at Lincoln. “Just a few little things about your performance.” He almost asked if she was capable of such a thing. Instead, he offered a wide smile. “Of course,” he agreed. He glanced toward Lincoln as well before turning back toward Tess. “I’m always open for constructive criticism.” A little less self control and Lincoln would have harrumphed. He returned Tess’s smile with a twitch of the mouth, and folded his arms over his chest as they moved through the doors as one, leaving the auditorium to stand in one of the small school’s currently empty hallways. Start with the good. “Well, JJ, your personal performance is excellent. You’ve got a lot of talent here and I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park come show day.” There, totally collected and unbiased, though he hoped JJ hadn’t recorded that on his phone or anything. “The thing is, a theater production isn’t just one person.” “Yes,” JJ answered, his speech a little slow as if we were speaking to someone simple. Which, truthfully, was 99% of the population of the town. “The production has many people.” Someone needed to dance around him. Turn on the lights. Make sure that the microphones had batteries in the ancient sound system. He watched Lincoln for a moment, narrowing his eyes just enough to pose the subtle question as to if Mr. Mayfair had completely lost it. Tess gave Lincoln a look over JJ’s head, that hanging clause obviously left for her to finish. “And frankly JJ you’re being a bit of a jackhole. You gotta stop treating everyone like your peon and the number of tears on this set has been shockingly high even for a group of high school drama kids.” “Maybe if the cast had an ounce of talent, there wouldn’t be a need for tears. Your Sandy cares more about the flavor of chapstick she’s buying after practice than she does about learning her lines,” he offered loftily. He paused for a moment to glance between the two of them. “You can’t fix stupid. But you can train it.” “That’s enough, JJ,” Lincoln said, and his tone brooked no argument; it was good for everyone involved that he hadn’t had JJ when he was younger, twenty-four and a brand new teacher who had a much harder time controlling that temper of his, “Don’t talk about your classmates that way. We’re a high school production, not going for a Tony. You’re a bunch of kids here to have some fun, get some experience, maybe even learn something. It doesn’t matter how well you can sing or act,” here he briefly glanced at Tess, to confirm that his threat was a go, “you can’t stay on the show if you’re ruining other people’s time.” JJ’s expression shifted. His eyebrows lowered as his eyelids squeezed closer together. His nose wrinkled as his lips curled into a distasteful smile. “Well, then,” he offered with a smug, self-assured shrug. “I guess I won’t be staying on the show. It’s not my fault you picked such a shitty cast.” As if on cue, Lincoln pulled out a pad of write-up slips from his paper and began filling it out for JJ’s use of language. He didn’t say anything else; the occurrence wasn’t rare enough to need to. Tess shook her head, looking exasperated, “Just chill out while you’re here JJ, come on. Act like you are pleasant to be around for once.” She paused, then smiled, with sudden enlightenment, “If you want to go, that’s fine,” she shrugged, “We’ll just give the role to Bradley.” “Oh, yes,” he enthused sarcastically. “Please employ Bradley as your lead role. Pausing for asthmatic wheezes every thirty seconds will absolutely sell tickets. This will be the best season for theatre you’ve ever had, Mrs. Harkin.” Rolling his eyes, JJ took a step backward. “Obviously, this isn’t up for a Tony, Mr. Mayfair. It’s not even going to qualify for the 5th Avenue awards. But it was my understanding that talent and effort were correlated. So why am I the only one putting both forward?” “Maybe you’re not acting conducive to an environment where people can,” Lincoln replied, weary. “It’s your decision. Give us a real attempt to be supportive of your classmates, or let us find someone who will, so we can prepare a show without worrying about mental breakdowns breaking the whole thing apart.” He had a feeling, though, that he and Tess were not going to come out on top of this one, regardless of the student’s decision. Teachers rarely did, when it came to JJ. “Define supportive,” JJ drawled. “I’m not holding hands and singing kumbaya with these mouth breathers.” He was already wasting his time on something unworthy of his attention. Why should he devote more? And why should he deign to make the other feel special or wanted or whatever these teachers were asking of him? “I show up, I know my lines, I know my cues, I know the words to every song. If I’ve done my part, everyone else is expected to do theirs.” “Just the bare minimum, JJ,” said Tess holding back another eye roll. See, she tried. “No snide comments under your breath to the students, no belittling their performances in front of the group. Show up, do your lines, leave the feathers unruffled.” “I make no promises,” he answered after a pause of consideration. Perhaps a compromise. “I’ll have my mother make another donation to the theater department,” he said with a hand wave. “You won’t need advertisements in your programmes.” “We’re not asking for bribery,” Lincoln shook his head, affronted. “It's Fall City. We don't need advertising anyway. The people who come will be the same that came last year and will come again the next next. What Mrs. Harkin said is all we need from you.” JJ rolled his eyes. “This is why you have no theatre budget.” But his gaze was drawn toward the auditorium and then toward the door. It would be nice to have more time. It would also be nice to make Bradley cry again. “Fine,” he said, shrugging. “Whatever.” He would deliver his notes to Mr. Mayfair anyway. A running commentary on the clear illiteracy and lack of capability delivered by his cast mates. “But I’m done for today. You don’t need me to paint the set. That’s why we have a stage crew.” “Alright, JJ.” Lincoln looked exhausted just by the conversation. Tess shook her head, “Don’t let the door hit you.” Okay, she didn’t try that hard. |