Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(9)
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Sorry about that?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: The good news: the tissue industry is saved!
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: The other good news: your writing had such an emotional punch, I managed to refill several dwindling saltwater reservoirs.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: That’s good?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: That’s good.
3
Of course you chose the option that’s both canon-compliant and rife with possibilities for Man Pain. Of course.
MARCUS SNORTED, THEN SAT UP IN BED.
As soon as he’d blinked awake in the early-morning dimness of a curtained hotel room, he’d reached for his phone. Before his eyes could fully focus, he’d already checked his messages from Ulsie on the Lavineas server.
Although, to be fair, that blurriness could just be a sign of advanced age. He was turning forty in a few months, and maybe he needed bifocals now. Even the special font and extra spacing didn’t always help him read his screen comfortably these days.
Late last year, he’d finally asked Ulsie how old she was.
Thirty-six, she’d promptly replied.
At that bit of information, he’d heaved an embarrassingly enormous sigh of relief and hoped like hell she wasn’t lying. Some of the people in their group were barely out of high school, and although he’d figured he and Ulsie were about the same age—one day, they’d discussed how they might turn to the X-Files fandom at some point, due to their adolescent crushes on Scully and Mulder, respectively—the explicit confirmation that he wasn’t DMing a near-teenager was . . . good.
Not that anything suggestive had ever passed between them, either in public or in private.
But still.
Ulsie’s most recent message had arrived only minutes ago. He was surprised she was still awake. Glad, though. Very glad.
Shoving a pillow behind his back, he sat up against the leather headboard. Took a sip from his bedside water glass, still smiling at her snark.
Using the voice-to-text feature on his phone, he sent her a response. At least I mostly write happy endings now. Cut me some slack. We can’t all be masters of fluff. After a moment, he added, Are you about to sleep? Or do you want to talk about your fic and brainstorm a bit? If you have anything written already, I’m happy to look it over.
Or, more accurately, have his computer read it aloud to him. Short messages he could handle without extra technical support, but deciphering lengthier blocks of text simply took too much time, given his recent shooting schedule.
Of course, he had plenty of time right now. Until his flight back to LA that afternoon, he planned to do nothing more strenuous than hit the hotel’s breakfast buffet and visit the gym. If he wanted to, he could read her fic with his eyes. But as he’d discovered over the years, there was no need to struggle unnecessarily and no reason for frustration and shame. Not when his relatively common problem had relatively easy workarounds.
While he waited for her response, he checked his email. Overnight, he’d apparently received a confidential message in his inbox from R.J. and Ron, one addressed to all cast and crew.
In the past several days, multiple blogs and media outlets have reported rumors of cast discontent over the direction of our final season. If anyone reading this message is the source of such rumors, let us be clear: this is an unacceptable breach of both our trust and the contract all of you signed upon being hired by our show.
Your job, as always, involves discretion. If you cannot maintain that necessary discretion, there will be consequences, as per your contracts.
Well, that seemed clear enough. Talk out of turn about the show and prepare for unemployment, a lawsuit, or both. They’d received at least one similar email each and every season, all phrased almost exactly the same way.
The only difference: In recent seasons, the messages had started to make him sweat. For the sake of his coworkers. For his own sake too.
Would Carah share her deeply felt and profanity-laden hatred of Dido’s final-season story arc to someone outside the cast? Had Summer confessed her disappointment about how Lavinia’s romantic story line with Aeneas had ended so abruptly, in a way so inconsistent with their characters? Or maybe Alex—
Shit, Alex. He could be so reckless sometimes. So impulsive.
Had he bitched to anyone but Marcus about how the finale fucked up seasons’ worth of character development for Cupid?
Despite his own discontent, Marcus hadn’t said a word to anyone other than Alex, although . . .
Well, some might argue his fanfiction on AO3 and messages on the Lavineas server did plenty of talking for him.
By some, he meant Ron and R.J.
And if they ever found out about Book!AeneasWouldNever, there was no might about it. They would definitely accuse him of violating his contract terms, and he’d lose—
Shit, he’d lose everything he’d worked for more than two decades to achieve. The potential lawsuit was the least of it, really. His reputation in the industry would be destroyed in an instant. No director wanted to hire an actor who might badmouth a production behind the scenes.
His fellow cast members would likely feel betrayed too. Same with the crew.
He should give up his fanfic alter ego. He knew it. And he would, he would, if only the writing didn’t mean so much to him, if only the Lavineas server group didn’t mean so much to him, if only Ulsie—
Ulsie. God, Ulsie.