Fic: Director's Cut version 1: Otello. Ivalice Meta theme #2
Title: Director's Cut version 1: Otello Author: mithrigil Fandom: Ivalice -- FFXII here Pairing: Al-Cid / Vossler Rating: R Warnings: Faint spoilers Theme: Meta #2 -- I play one on TV.
Defense of the AU: Carlos Delacruz is a producer for a recently approved televisation of Matsuno's Ivalice stories. He also plays Vossler. His role was one of the easier ones to cast--and when he encounters the perfect person to play one of the more difficult roles, well, Carlos must resort to some creative negotiating.
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Director’s Cut Version 1: Otello
He’s never liked Verdi, not the way Lara does, but it’s her turn to pick the outing. It’s only fair. Maria wanted to go to the old city, where the Jews hold tours of where synagogues used to be--some paper for school, Carlos thinks, and high school is more demanding now than it was in his time, that’s for damned sure--and by extension that’s where the Delacruz family spent the day. Lara managed to occupy herself there. She always does, wherever they go. And so Carlos thinks it’s worth it, worth shelling out the euros for Otello at the Teatro Real, worth sitting through this overblown composer.
That reminds Carlos--see if Harris can come up with some Sakimoto pastiche. If they’re going to do Ivalice, they’re going to do it right.
Lara looks happy as a clown, or more like a starlet on the red carpet for the first time. Carlos has taken her to the Met more times than he can count since she was what, ten? and still this place impresses her, it’s plain on her face. Yes, Carlos thinks, entirely worth every failing dollar, if his daughter smiles like that. (Maria, for her part, is chatting up some older lady about the architecture.)
Carlos smiles privately, takes a hint from the people around him and glances at the program for a--no, the lights, they’re going down. It perplexes him a little to hear the announcements about cel phones in Spanish first, it’s been so long.
For all the roughness of the overture and the opening chorus, Carlos finds it pretty easy to drift. What time is it back in L.A.? He should probably call Han during Intermission if he’s going to be of any use. They should have gotten through to Rob Luz right now about being Basch. He’s a little old, sure, but they’ll make it work. And the Bartons, right. Has that deal gone through?
Carlos dislikes vacation more than Verdi.
Han’s crazy, Carlos decides for the fifty-thousandth time and the fifth time today. But Han’s a crazy genius, which makes Carlos duly so.
Who does that leave? (and why is the chorus still going on and on about that storm?) If the Bartons come through on letting Richard on as Larsa, and if Penelo’s getting written out of the miniseries anyway, that just leaves Vaan and Al-Cid for the principals. It won’t be too hard to find a Vaan. Al-Cid, though--
"Oh my god, Papa, isn’t he just gorgeous?"
Carlos looks up before he listens. It’s not hard to figure out what Lara is elbowing him about; the chorus has shut up in favor of the te--nor…
Who cares what time it is in L.A.? Carlos is calling Han at intermission.
-
"Does he even speak English, Carlos?"
"You don’t understand, Han, this is platinum. Where else in the world are you going to find an Al-Cid? A genuine one. People can hear a fake accent on televison."
"Hugh Laurie. Jamie Bamber."
"I’ll give you Hugh Laurie."
"Carlos, think a minute. Has this Velasquez even done television before?"
"Program bio says he’s done commercials. Not the same, I know."
"It’s a risk," they wind up saying at the same time. Then sighing at the same time. Then thinking they’ve been doing this together too long at the same time.
Carlos is the one to go on. "I’m going to talk to him anyway," he says. "Lara wants to meet him."
"Your other daughter’s gonna get jealous."
"Maria got to meet ten thousand dead Jews today. I think she’ll just be happy for her big sister getting to meet an opera star."
This time, Han sighs alone. "I want to meet him before you actually cast, you know."
"It’s my money, Han."
"Yeah, but it’s my name."
Carlos grins. "I think he’s past the stage where he auditions for things. Opera singers, you know. You offer them roles, not chances."
"Ivalice isn’t an opera."
"Reminds me, pass it along to Harris about contacting Sakimoto. He’s in Australia."
"Done. But seriously, Carlos. I can’t let you offer him the role. Pitch it to him."
"And if he swings, hope he hits?"
"Hombre, you’ve really been hanging around me too long if you’re extending my metaphors."
-
Carlos actually pays attention during the third and fourth acts, Verdi be damned. What really gets him is the sight of Velasquez strangling the soprano, doubled over her, making it look like the kind of thing housewives read and twenty-somethings write on the Internet. (Carlos can't google himself anymore without running across that thing about him topping Joss Whedon that someone wrote last Christmas.)
And then Velasquez crawls across the stage on his belly, delirious, begging for a kiss, a kiss.
Verdi’s still an overcooked ham, but Velasquez, damnit, Velasquez.
-
Another unlooked-for virtue of European opera houses; the performers aren’t untouchable. Carlos and Lara are among dozens of people expecting to see the stars, and the stars, it seems, expect to be seen. The soprano--actually a brunette, apparently--is not ten feet away, surrounded by the blearing of digital cameras and emphatic Spanish chatter. The baritone is on the real kind of camera, doing some kind of spot for some kind of news. Carlos is patient. He’s heard tenors like to make entrances. And if Velasquez is anything offstage like he is on, it means he’s Al-Cid, and Carlos won’t have to bother being patient.
It’s Lara who points him out right before the baritone gets a reason to be jealous. Velasquez is at the top of the stairs, the back of the crowd, speaking slower than any of the others around (and thank god he’s not Castilian) with florid gestures, stealing the soprano’s cameras and the reporters’ attention and for a man of his age, he looks good. The makeup department won’t have to install anything.
Carlos will be patient.
He tunes out as much of Lara’s applause and squealing as he can and just watches. Perhaps this is a show as well; Velasquez signs autographs with the dapper concern of the old guard of stars, and the stairs are carpeted in red so it works. He’s always posed, which helps because the cameras are still going, flickering faster than the line of admirers can shuffle. There should be flashbulbs here, noisy ones, not the hiss of expanding lenses.
Lara uses the incorrect superlative for amazing and extends her hand. Velasquez laughs and kisses it. He thanks her for coming all the way from America to see him. Is she a singer as well? Yes, Lara answers, a mezzo-soprano, "pero estoy aprendendo Desdemona--esta una poca alta--"
"Algún dia," he tells her, not patronizing but too honest to be cursory. He looks up at Carlos then, a smile of the same kind almost shimmering through the sweat on his face.
When Carlos extends his hand, he also offers his card. It’s a very American gesture, he thinks, but one Velasquez obviously recognizes. The smile changes just that much.
-
"Television?"
Apparently he does speak English.
"Television," Carlos repeats, signaling the bartender to politely leave them be. "A miniseries."
"Como Wagner?" He says Wagner with almost an F.
"Yes. Wagner for television."
"Pero no es necesario cantar?"
Velasquez drinks wine. Carlos has heard that singers don’t often go in for the hard stuff. Carlos would rather a good whiskey at this point but form is form, and the wine isn’t unwelcome. "No. You do just what you did up there, without the singing."
"Ah yes, I romance the ingénue?" His French diction is quite good as well.
Carlos laughs. "Not so much an ingénue. Lillian Pensworth."
Velasquez had been swirling the wine in his glass. He stops now to laugh. "You are sheeting me."
Sheeti--Oh. Oh, ha. "No, she is the lead. But you’re your proper ages. At least for now. There is talk about moving back and forth in time, depending on how much money we get."
"You are the producer, yes?"
"And an actor as well. Do you know the Ivalice stories?" Carlos tries to remember what they were called in Spanish, if they were even released over here.
"I do not."
Velasquez sips his wine, Carlos nods and decides to explain in Spanish. "What we are doing is taking what was already written and developing the past and future of the story. Both of our characters had small roles in the original one. Yours will be much larger in this new version. My character is dead, so I will be only a ghost, or in the past. I can send you the pilot of the series. I have a DVD of it at my hotel."
"No need to send," Velasquez waves his hand, vigorously and more than once, and at least it’s not the one holding the glass. "If you send it, it will only be--tangled in red tape," he says in English, then claps that flailing hand onto Carlos’ back. "I will go with you to this hotel, and you will show me what it is your television will do."
For some reason, Carlos’ impulse is to blush. Perhaps it’s the combination of the way Velasquez said that and the words themselves. "My daughter will be beside herself."
-
The girls are already asleep in the adjoining room, so that issue gets skirted around almost disappointingly. The next issue is that the television is obviously meant to be watched from the bed. It takes them both very long to sit--Carlos thinks that Velasquez is waiting for Carlos to choose where first--but they ultimately sink down at the same time, on opposite corners, about a minute and a half into the DVD.
"That is you," Velasquez observes when Vossler's ghost first appears.
"Yes."
"Why is your role not larger?"
"Because I am also the producer," Carlos answers, watching himself on the small screen, still in awe of the special effects team. "I'd find it arrogant."
Velasquez laughs (at the most inappropriate time, given that onscreen, Noah's about to die). "Talented people are entitled to be arrogant," he says. Is he closer than he was a second ago?
Why is Carlos suddenly thinking about those twenty-somethings on the Internet?
Oh. Right. Because Velasquez is making a pass at him. It's gone beyond being Spanish and being a tenor to being something Carlos should probably not be thinking about with his daughters asleep next door. Although Lara would really have something to brag about then. 'I went to Spain for spring break. We saw synagogues and Verdi and Papa had sex with an opera star.'
"Are you also arrogant, then?" Carlos says, because he's been in theater long enough to get good at buying time with repartee.
"Yes," Velasquez says, and Carlos is not surprised, "because I am also talented."
On the small screen, Vossler's ghost says: "I am here because I do not leave."
Carlos waits for that line to finish buzzing. He's always liked it. And it gives him an excuse to assess how close Velasquez actually is to him before not-really-whispering, "Come to L.A. and audition for us."
"It has been years since I have had to audition." Oh, he can be quiet if he tries, it seems. The edge of the bed is sinking.
"This is television."
Carlos is very glad that Velasquez says this in Spanish. It sounds less trite. "Yes, but I will be sleeping with the producer. This method works across genres, yes?"
"You are arrogant," Carlos says. Not 'no'.
"But also talented," Velasquez replies, and damned if he isn't Al-Cid.
"I did actually want you to watch the pilot," Carlos manages, even though he knows his next line is really either 'my children are asleep next door' or 'I don't want to hurt your throat', he forgets which.
Emotionally significant music starts to play from the television's speakers. Carlos wonders what time it is in Australia and whether Han's gotten through to Sakimoto yet.
-
"--Carlos?"
"I didn't let him, Han, I swear."
"But he's coming to L.A."
"I think he likes that I have integrity."
"He's coming here to audition, right? You didn't promise him anything?"
Now that Carlos thinks about it, he wants to do the scene on the bridge from the actual Ivalice stories. He's got his thirty silver pieces Method moment for when Vossler says 'Majesty, he speaks of the Dawn Shard.'