A Honor Just to Be Nominated (M)

[angora48]

Hello! The other day, I hit a wall on doing anything productive, so instead, I decided to finally finish this bit of improbable fantasy fluff that I started writing ages ago and then got distracted on (IOW, my typical fic-writing process, hehe.) Here's Part 1 - hope you like it!

 

Megan Shelstad didn’t think she had ever needed the drink in her hand so badly.  She stood at the edge of the room in a too-expensive dress that had seemed like such a good idea in the store, taking a generous gulp of her cocktail as she was pretty sure she caught an honest-to-goodness glimpse of Martin Scorsese across the room.  Just breathe, she reminded herself.

The Oscar Awards.  The actual Oscar Awards.  The big-time surreal stuff hadn’t even started yet, since most of the celebrities were still out on the red carpet, looking flawless and answering inane questions from the… were they even called journalists?  Megan didn’t know.  She was just glad she wasn’t out there and that no one knew who she was or cared “who she was wearing.”  Nobody out there was clamoring to stick microphones in a sound editor’s face.

Because despite the just-pinch-me of it all, which would only get bigger when things got to the point where she knew she was in the same cavernous theatre as the likes of Helen Mirren and Denzel Washington (and, who was she kidding, Emma Stone and Chris Evans,) that was the real dream moment here.  She, Megan Shelstad, was up for a frigging Oscar for her sound-editing work in Papi’s Stories from Sundown.  Even now, more than a month after the nominations came out, just thinking about it made her head swim.

By all rights, it shouldn’t have happened.  It was an itty-bitty movie, filmed on a shoestring, that had garnered good reviews and some buzz in indie circles.  To be honest, it was a great film.  In a year with less competition on the big Oscar-bait front, it might have scored some nods for being the Charming Little Indie Darling that Could.  But there wasn’t room for it this year – no nominations for its screenplay, which probably would’ve been its strongest contender, and nothing for lead actor or actress, both of which were never going to happen but nevertheless would’ve been well-deserved – and in light of that, it shouldn’t have gotten any attention for sound editing.

But Megan wasn’t going to lie:  she worked her ass off for that film, and it showed.  The only way she could figure it, the Academy was taken with the rainstorm scene.  The film was about this dad and his little girl who live in this tiny little house out in the middle of nowhere, and they’re poor as hell but it doesn’t really matter because the dad can turn anything rough in their lives into a story.  In the middle of the film, there was a scene where there’s a huge rainstorm pelting down on the metal roof of their house making an enormous racket, and the little girl is terrified.  The dad, trying to soothe her, tells her a story about a group of giants having a party, and little by little (the sound working in conjunction with the lighting,) the pounding rain and thunder claps are replaced with drum beats, strumming guitars, and raucous, laughing voices, the lightning flashes in the window become fireworks.  It was a gorgeously-done scene all around, and nearly every review mentioned it.  Though it took everybody doing great work to bring it to bear, Megan always felt a little personal swell of pride when she saw a reviewer highlighting it.

The first of the actors were starting to trickle in, at least the ones who’d escaped the clutches of the maybe-journalists.  They’d be starting before too long.  Megan downed the rest of her drink, jittery, and started wondering how it worked exactly to find wherever she was supposed to be sitting way in the back.  Did everyone get ushered?  Was there an enormous seating spreadsheet?  How many times would she need to explain who she was in order to get a chair?

“Hey – um, hi…”

The voice caught Megan off guard, and she was relieved that she didn’t jump out of her skin.  When she turned and found the Average Height, Dark, and Handsome the voice had come from, she was even more relieved.  “Hey, ub, you are Baygan?”

It was Francisco Morales standing in front of her, the titular Papi from Papi’s Stories from Sundown.  31 and devastating with his dark brown hair that fell artfully down to his ears, his lively brown eyes, and his – to be frank – flawless jawline, Francisco Morales was a capital M Movie Star in his native Mexico and had really turned heads in Hollywood a few years ago with his performance in a film that had won Mexico the Best Foreign Film Oscar.  Since then, his career had been in that awkward “Hollywood tries to figure out what to do with the talented, gorgeous brown guy who speaks English as a second language” phase.

“Uh, yeah!” she replied (having waited a bit too long to respond, she now dove in too quickly.)  “Yeah, that’s me.  Hi.  Um… hi.”

He leaned in slightly (god bless noisy, crowded rooms) and asked, a little hesitantly, “We didn’t meet od set, did we?”

After said Best Foreign Film winner – The Starlit Path, per its U.S. name – Megan had, like many American film buffs, discovered Francisco Morales, eagerly checking out his body of work from Mexico and impatiently waiting to see him make the transition to Hollywood.  So far, not much.  A few small parts in big-budget films.  But now, with Papi’s Stories from Sundown, the independent circles had a role fit for his talents that would (hopefully) get the big studios to get their asses in gear and snatch him up.

Now, here he was.  And here she was.  Talking – well, he was talking.  She was sort of… was there a word to encapsulate “getting lost in her reverie?”  Get it together, Megan, she reminded herself sharply.

“No,” she finally answered.  “Nope.  First time.”

The man’s smile ought to come with a safety warning.  “Good,” he said.  “It would be ebbarrassing to idtroduce myself twice!  Too much like a boovie star, yes?”  He turned a little, taking a bit of the wattage off his disarming grin, as he lightly rubbed his nose.

“No – you’re safe,” Megan assured him.  “My stuff is pretty much all off set, putting different files together, picking out the effects, and….”  Megan loved her job, but she’d long since made her peace with the fact that there was no way to talk about it to anyone who wasn’t a sound editor and make it sound interesting.

“Well,” Francisco said, clearing his throat slightly, and Megan was only a little embarrassed at how quickly she snapped to attention the instant he started talking, “whed I saw that the boovie had a domidation, I was v-ihhhh-SHUHHHH-uhhh!”

The sneeze caught him off guard, and he bent forward as he buried his nose in his palm.  When he resurfaced, wiping his nose with his thumb, he was blinking in… what – surprise, kind of?  Megan didn’t really know, but whatever it was, it melted her.

Any tenuous grasp she had on the fact that she was standing next to Francisco Morales at the frickin’ Oscars went right out the window.  Somehow, her mouth found presence of mind even if her brain didn’t, and she heard herself saying, “…Salud?”

“Gracias,” Francisco replied offhandedly, with a quick sniff.  “Do you speak Spanish?”  There was an artlessness in his delight as he asked, and Megan hated to disappoint.

“Poquito,” she admitted, “as in, I’d better quit now before I run out!”  Francisco chuckled at that, and Megan remembered to breathe.

“Well, addyway,” he continued (he was a little stuffed up, she could hear it now, and his voice was a bit husky – with all the ambient noise and Megan’s understandable surprise at finding herself talking to him at all, she hadn’t noticed it before,) “I was so happy to see the filb dobinated, so I wanted to see add beet you.  The film bakes be so proud, add the soud is amazig – I really hope you wid.”

Between Francisco Morales talking to her with a stuffy nose, oh my god, and praising her work, Megan’s head was in a happy place she couldn’t imagine too many humans had ever reached before.  Be cool, come on, she urged herself.  “Thanks – thank you very much,” she managed to say.  “I- I mean, I’m not, Ben Burtt is going to win, but – really, thanks.  Honestly, I can’t quite believe I’m here.”  She wanted to cover her cheeks with her hands, but she figured that would just draw more attention to her blush.

“I doh, be too!” Francisco replied, turning to take a quick survey of the room.  He leaned in even closer, right in her ear as he said, “Did you see Bartid Scorsese over there?”

And then, Megan did something she hadn’t expected; she laughed.  Was she starting to relax?  Just possible, though not by anything she’d done – he had such an easy charm about him, he was putting her at ease despite herself.  “Yeah,” she said.  “Were you on the red carpet?”

“Oh by god,” Francisco told her, “you move your head, add there’s a celebrity!  I almost walked idto Adgelida Jolie, I promise you.”  His breath hitched and he turned away, eyes closed, offering her a great view of his profile as he sneezed again, a heady “ehhshhhhh-ihhh-UHHHHH!” into his cupped hands.

Catching her sympathetic wince when he opened his eyes, his smile turned gorgeously sheepish.  “I doh,” he said.  “By first Oscars, add I have a cold.”  He sniffled twice, hard, scrubbing his nose with his finger.

No lie – hearing him actually say those words made Megan’s toes curl in her impractical heels.  “That sucks,” she told him, praying to God that the stupid grin she felt was a strictly an on-the-inside feeling.

“Sucks,” Francisco repeated.  “Ub, that is like terrible, yes?”

“Oh, right,” Megan said.  “Yeah, terrible.”

“Ah – doh, it’s okay,” he assured her.  “I dod’t feel so bad.  I just hope I dod’t cough whed I, ub, when I give by award.”

“You’re presenting?” Megan asked.  It was a dumb question, she knew, but it was less about asking and more about being impressed.  At the very least, then, Hollywood knew he was someone to keep around.

“Yes – best docubentary short,” Franciso replied.  He grinned as he leaned in again, and Megan nearly died hearing his husky voice in her ear.  “Dod’t ask be why.”

“Hey, most of the time, I don’t even think they know why they put what person with what category,” Megan told him.  She felt like she ought to win an award just for being so calm in the wake of all the amazingness that was happening inches from her face.  Shaky start, admittedly, but now, she seemed to be on a pretty decent autopilot, able to act and sound roughly like a normal human being while the back of her mind was doing high-kicks and yelling, he has a cold, he has a cold, oh my god, he has a cold, just kill me now…

Francisco chuckled, then cleared his throat.  “Yeah, I guess so.  But I ab giving the award with Bichael Fassbender, so…”

Megan raised her eyebrows appraisingly.  “Go you.”  Checking herself this time, she added, “That’s exciting – he’s such a big movie star,” before Francisco had a chance to express his probable confusion at what she meant.

Honestly, he had to be careful about letting that smile out in a crowded room.  “I doh, I am giving ad award with Magdeto!” he enthused.  “I guess that beans doh wud wih… uhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!”  Again into his palm – Megan could’ve shivered.  “…Will look at be,” he finished, wriggling his nose a little as he sniffled.

“Hey, I’ll be looking at you,” Megan promised, and though her tone was light, joking, she didn’t think there was much in her life that she’d ever been more truthful about.

Francisco started to reply, but at that moment, a bevy of tuxedoed ushers appeared, ushering the assembled famous and fabulous to the various theater doors.  “It’s tibe to go idside, I think,” he remarked.  “I have to go – I have to fide by friend before it starts.  I’m so happy to beet you, Megad.  Good luck todight!”  He gave her hand a friendly squeeze in both of his, and then he was gone, ducking and weaving through the crowd.

At that moment, it was too bad that the Oscars weren’t held in New York instead of LA, because it would’ve been a lot more helpful to step outside onto a New York street in February to cool off – California weather was no good for keeping a girl’s arousal in check.  Megan brought a hand to her cheek, hoping she hadn’t turned too alarming a shade of red in Francisco Morales’s presence.

And she’d thought the fact that she was nominated for an Oscar was the most surreal part of the night!  Taking a long, still slightly-incredulous breath, Megan started looking around for someone to direct her to her seat.  The ceremony hadn’t even started yet, but she was pretty sure she’d just gotten all the award she’d ever need.

[Privatedancer]

Love it

[Dusty15]

This is fun!   You have a lot of great details and I'm excited to learn more about these two characters!

[Sneesee]

Very cute and well written! Looking forward to more!

[HowFitting]

I hope this story continues. Really into it!

[angora48]

Thanks for the comments, everyone, I appreciate it! And @HowFitting, not to worry! I learned years ago that I'm better off waiting until I've written a complete fic before I start posting it (I have a tendency to get busy and/or distracted by shiny new writing projects, and I wouldn't want to leave readers hanging.) That means I can always update pretty regularly. 😁

Here's Part 2:

 

Megan had come to the Oscars in full-on “honor to be nominated” mode.  She wouldn’t win; she’d known that going in.  Ben Burtt very rightfully deserved to win, and if anyone else took home the award, the sound-editing community would’ve been abuzz and given the interloper the stink-eye for at least a month.

Still, when the category was announced (by Chris Pine and Naomi Watts, no slouch!), she got that nervous little flutter of hope in her stomach, and even though she was so sure Ben Burtt was going to win she could’ve said his name in unison with Naomi Watts, she still felt just a tiny pang when she heard it.  She clapped and tried to look gracious (not thinking about the fact that only the winning sound editor was filmed, not the nominees, so no one was looking at her gracious-loser face,) keeping her placid smile firmly in place.

She knew it was dumb, but she couldn’t help it.  As much as she knew she wasn’t the best, as much as she was simply thrilled to be here at all, there was still those few little strands of wistfulness as she saw Ben Burtt take the stage.  That could’ve been me.

No lie, she waited until they announced sound mixing then went out to the lobby for a drink.  Not a long one and not a very self-pitying one.  Just “a bit of a restorative,” as Downton Abbey would probably say.  Just enough to make her return to her seat a few minutes later, strictly telling herself she was going to enjoy the rest of the night.

This was her only excuse for the dopey smile that spread across her face when the pleasant-voiced announcer intoned, “Please welcome to the stage Michael Fassbender and Francisco Morales!”  Not that she deserved or needed a pick-me-up or anything, but remembering their brief, blissful encounter before the ceremony, she was only too pleased to welcome Francisco Morales to the stage.

Though she was seated way too far away to see either actor with any actual distinction, Megan hid her smile behind her hand as Francisco came into view on the enormous screen above the stage.  Both men wore their tuxes equally well, and Francisco flashed the camera a grin as he took his place at the microphone beside Michael Fassbender.

The Irish actor began, smoothly reading from the teleprompter.  “Tonight,” he said, “we’re celebrating stories that are created on a page and brought to life on a set, but those aren’t the only stories worth telling.  Every day, real-life human dramas are playing out in every corner of the world, and unfortunately, many of those stories go untold.”

God bless that enormous screen, because Francisco was definitely wriggling his nose while Michael Fassbender was speaking.  Just for a moment, he raised a hand to his face and rubbed his nose with his finger.

When it was his turn to speak, though, Francisco was ready.  “The five idcredible filbs we honor here todight have uncovered just a few of those- stories for us,” he read (a small, sudden intake of breath – oh god, he had to sneeze again.)  “Od, od the screed, w- we see….” Nope – he wasn’t going to make it.  Francisco Morales turned away slightly, cupped his hands over his nose and mouth, and sneezed.  “Huhhhh-CHIUHHHHH!”

Uhhh, what a gorgeous sneeze.  Even with his mouth covered, it was loud enough to be picked up by the microphone, and the force of it bent him forward, making his hair fall in his eyes.  Michael Fassbender shot him a questioning glance, but Francisco raised a finger to him, indicating for him to wait a moment. 

With a quick sniffle and another nose rub, Francisco turned back to the camera.  “I just do that to prove we are live,” he explained wryly.

“You good?” Michael Fassbender asked, lightly, like a quip.

Francisco nodded, clearing his throat and sniffling once more.  “Dow,” he went on, gesturing to off-camera teleprompter, “as I was sayig,” he cleared his throat again, “we see trebendous issues of our world distilled idto idtibate hubad stories.  The dobbidees for best docubentary short subject are…”

The screen switched to showing snatches of each nominated short as Michael Fassbender read off their titles.  Megan shifted in her seat to see if she could get a better view of the stage itself.  Francisco had his back to the audience.  Watching the clips on the screen, or coughing or sniffling away from the microphone?

“And the Oscar goes to…” Michael Fassbender said as the camera cut back to the two actors.  He opened the envelope while Francisco (very endearingly) drumrolled on his thigh, with a playful grin that suggested he either didn’t mind sneezing on live TV or was good at pretending he didn’t.  Michael Fassbender held the envelope open to him, but Francisco deferred to his stage partner.  “…A Thousand Miles, Edwin Ballaste and John Vokum!”

And now the camera was on the best documentary short winners, two white guys in probably their 40s who were hugging each other and shaking their heads incredulously as they stumbled to their feet in amazement and made their way toward the stage.  As a sound editor, Megan admitted she’d always had a soft spot for categories like these, where the winners were people that no one had ever heard of or cared about, but dammit, they were getting their moment in the sun and they were going to gush until the orchestra forced them offstage. 

Tonight, though, they couldn’t hold her entire attention.  When the camera cut back to Michael Fassbender and Francisco on the stage, she couldn’t help wanting to will it to stay on them, on Francisco clapping with what looked like genuine excitement (Megan knew he was an actor and all, but this didn’t seem like the sort of thing a person could fake,) on Francisco stepping back, a little behind Michael Fassbender, for a moment to cough into his fist.

Edwin and John found their way to the stage, where they received their Oscar, handshakes from Michael Fassbender, and hugs from Francisco.  They began their speech, and it was everything a best documentary short acceptance speech should be – bubbling over with the thrill of what just happened to them, full of nervous rambling and too many names but they didn’t care because they’d just won an Oscar, ending on an impassioned plea championing the social issue their movie centered on – but Megan was still lost in the previous minute, on Francisco Morales onstage at the Oscars turning away from Michael Fassbender and the teleprompter to sneeze into his hands.

Just when I think I’m out, they reel me back in, she thought bemusedly.  She might need another drink.  Or possibly a cold shower.  Okay, Oscars – you win this round.

[PennyLane]

I adore this! Great writing!

[angora48]

Thanks, @PennyLane! Here's Part 3.

 

By the time they made it to best picture – there was a sweeping drama about the early days of Hollywood in the mix, so the big award was little more than fish in a barrel – the ceremony wrapped up only 25 minutes behind schedule.  All things considered, not bad.

Sure, there was a lack of major upsets and the host was slightly meh, but it was still Megan’s first Oscars, so it wasn’t like she had much to complain about. The mere fact that she was there was crazy – every last award could’ve gone to Meryl Streep and Megan still would’ve sat there with her mouth hanging open pretty much the whole time.  

And of course, there was also the small matter of meeting Francisco Morales and later seeing him present onstage.  That was so much more than Megan could have expected, so much more than it would have ever occurred to her in want in a non-fantasy way.

She was very slowly navigating her way to the exit (it was slow going when you had to be careful not to bump into any of your idols who were mingling glamorously in the lobby,) and just thinking about it made her smile again.  She was maybe thirty feet from the door, trying to find a path around Anna Kendrick and Tom Hardy, when….

“Baygan!”

Her smile spread warmly across her face, knowing she’d have to gather it up again before she turned around.  Even if she hadn’t recognized the accent and the congestion, she was positive there was only one person in the building who actually knew her name.

Sure enough, there was Francisco, standing beside one of his peers in the Mexican film industry.  “This is Baygan Sh… Shell Stat?” he told his fellow actor, glancing at Megan as he stumbled over the last name.  She nodded; close enough.  To her, he said, “And this is-”

“Arturo Casilla – I know,” Megan replied.  Though she didn’t consciously follow Arturo Casilla’s filmography like she did Francisco’s, she’d seen him in a handful of Mexican films, in particular ones he’d appeared in with Francisco.  She knew enough about him to know that he and Francisco had been friends and collaborators for a long time, and realizing he must have been Francisco’s plus one for the night, Megan felt oddly charmed.

“Okay, I like her,” Arturo quipped to Francisco.  Like Francisco, he was good-looking, a little taller and broader with short, well-styled black hair (although even without a cold, Megan was pretty sure Francisco still would’ve had the edge.)

So now here they all were, standing in a little cluster in the middle of the sea of celebrities in the crowded lobby.  Did Francisco Morales find me in all these people just to introduce me to Arturo Casilla? Megan thought amazedly.  This night was never going to stop surprising her.

“…So what did you think of the show?” she managed to ask.

“Excitig,” Francisco replied.  “I bead, excitig to be here.”  He turned a little coughing into his shoulder.  “Dot a big surprise to see The Fifth Reel wid best picture.”

“Right,” Arturo added.  “I thought Points on the Compass was a better film.”

“Yeah, well, you know the Academy,” Megan said.  “Movies about their own industry are like-” She stopped herself before saying, “like catnip to them,” remembering that she wasn’t speaking these guys’ native language.  “-their favorite thing in the world,” she finished.

“I doh!” Francisco agreed.  “Ad for acting, you deed to play a real persod, like that’s proof of your acting because they- theyyyyy….” Eyes fluttering shut, he lifted a hand to his face. “hehhhhhhhh-shooooooo!” he sneezed breathily. “-Because they doh what you’re supposed to soud like or look like,” he said, sniffling hard. He wiped his nose with the side of his thumb.

“Salud,” Arturo told Francisco. “And hey, it was not all boring. You gave an award….” He grinned, his eyes sparkling playfully.

Francisco groaned in what sounded like mostly-mock dismay, burying his face in Arturo’s shoulder.  “Doh!  Dod’t talk about it.”  Surfacing, he looked at Megan and said, “I cad’t believe I sdeezed od TV od the Oscars.”

“I can believe it,” Arturo replied.  He informed Megan, “All the time we have been in Los Angeles, he has been sneezing and sick.”

Megan sternly reminded herself not to smile blissfully at the fact that she was having this conversation.  “At least you didn’t say anyone’s name wrong or swear on-camera,” she offered.

Francisco just shook his head ruefully.  “I thidk I bight be od YouTube toborrow,” he commented.  Here’s hoping, Megan thought deliciously.

He turned, catching a strong “Hihhhh-chii-UHHHHH!” in his hand, because that beautiful man was God’s gift to Megan tonight. Arturo poked Francisco in the ribs, speaking Spanish with a jesting tone.  Whatever he said, it got a smirk from Francisco, who replied wryly.

Just as Megan started to think her (admittedly very small) part in all this was over, Francisco looked back at her, saying, “Do you have plads for the rest of the dight?”

“Oh, you know,” Megan replied, “head home, frantically clutter up the shelf I’d cleared off to hold the Oscar I didn’t get.”  At the last minute, suddenly worried that she sounded snippy or ungrateful, she added, “Joke,” a bit lamely.

“You should cobe with us,” he told her, sniffling offhandedly.  “We’re goig to a party.”

Megan’s brain legitimately glitched – did not compute in the slightest what Francisco Morales had just said to her.  “I… what?” she stuttered.

“We think it might be at Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s house,” Arturo added.  “That is what we heard, but we are not sure if it is true.”

Megan’s head was still struggling to keep up with what suddenly appeared to be happening to her.  “Uh, how do you go somewhere and… not know where…?”  If there was a coherent sentence in there, Megan couldn’t find it.

“We are invited,” Arturo said with a shrug.  “It just happens this way, I think?  Someone has a party, they invite people, those people invite people…”

“And you’re…?” Megan began incredulously.

Francisco gave a vigorous nod.  “Idviting you,” he finished.

Megan felt herself shaking her head.  “I couldn’t,” she started.

“Of course you cad!” Francisco enthused, and the on-the-cusp-of-Hollywood-famous actor actually threw his arm over her shoulder as he told her, “It’s the Oscars!  You cad’t just go hobe; that’s dot how you end Oscar dight!”

A few stray neurons firing somewhere in the back of Megan’s head went, yeah, but an actor’s Oscar-night experience isn’t really supposed to be the same as a sound editor’s.  She couldn’t hear them, though.  What she heard was this:

Ray, when someone asks you if you’re a god, you say yes!

Megan, when a gorgeous, talented actor with a frickin’ cold invites you to a party, you say…

“…Okay.”

Francisco beamed.  “Yes?  Great!”  He looked at Arturo, then glanced around.  “We should probably go.  There are supposed to be, uh, libbos or cars or sobething.  Where is Adda Keddrick?  She is the wud who idvited us.”

As he and Arturo scoped out the sea of celebrities, Megan worked on containing her freak-out.  Going to a party.  With Francisco Morales (with a cold!) and Arturo Casilla.  At possibly-Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s house. 

Yep – wherever the night planned on taking her, Megan was all in.

[ID2006]

Mmmm, sounds like a fun night to me

[angora48]

I know, right, @ickydog2006? Sign me up!

Part 4:

 

Megan didn’t think she’d ever done much fantasizing about what a Hollywood party looked like, apart from during the ride in the limo they shared with Anna Kendrick and other assorted people that no one would ever believe shared a limo with Megan. (Side note:  if she didn’t find a way to take some pictures on the sly with her phone at some point, she’d never be able to convince her friends that any of this had actually happened.)  By the time they arrived, she wasn’t sure whether it was what she’d imagined or something completely different.

In some ways, it was a party.  Just a regular party, except in a nicer house – they still didn’t know for sure whether or not it was Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s – with more expensive food, better drinks, and a more kickass sound system, and where everyone was way better dressed.  Oh yeah, and 98% of the people there were crazy famous.

At this point, Megan had made the decision to stop thinking of things as surreal.  She was just going to go with it.  Her brain would have plenty of time to explode later; for now, she was just going to soak it all in.

Francisco and Arturo were unstoppable forces to be reckoned with at a party.  Even on a night in which some of the world’s most beautiful people were celebrating themselves, they set the bar for exuberance and energy.  They ate, they drank, they danced, they laughed, they mingled, they told funny stories, their tuxes got more and more disheveled and it somehow just made them sexier… In short, they made everyone fall in love with them.  Megan lost count of how many actors told Francisco they were dying to work with him, and Arturo may or may not have made Lily James nearly swoon when he brought her out on the dance floor.

Francisco’s cold didn’t seem to slow him down at all, nor did it keep him from being disarmingly touchy-feely with practically everyone he came in contact with.  Megan was going to have to keep an eye on the social media and upcoming late-night appearances for some of the actors here, because it was pretty much a statistical certainty that in a week or so, at least some of them were going to have colds.

Not that Francisco was running around sneezing on celebrities or anything.  It didn’t appear to be too bad of a cold – though he was definitely sniffling more and looking more tired as the night went on – and he always covered his sneezes and coughs, but he had no qualms about, say, leaning in to speak right in Dev Patel’s ear over the volume of the music.  It was just devastatingly hot.

Because Megan was there to see all of it.  She wasn’t exactly in the thick of it like Francisco and Arturo were, but her escorts for the evening never let her drift too far into the periphery.  She spent a good chunk of the night at Francisco’s elbow, trying to will herself not to blush when he launched into a description of her sound-editing talents anytime someone famous euphemistically questioned who she was and what the hell she was doing there.

Megan was taking a quick breather on a couch – if she’d had any idea any of this amazingness was going to happen, she’d have worn different shoes – when Francisco fell onto it beside her.  He cupped his hands over his mouth.  “HIHHHHH-ehhhhhhh-shoooooo!” he sneezed.  “ihhhhhhh-SHIIUHHHHHH!”

“Salud,” Megan told him.

Francisco grinned sheepishly.  “Gracias,” he replied, rubbing his nose.  He surveyed the room with a contented, somewhat bemused expression, and Megan was again charmed by the fact that he seemed to be almost as surprised to be here as Megan did.  He fit in better, of course, and he wore it wonderfully well, but she wasn’t the only one who was a little star-struck with the people they were rubbing elbows with.

Truth be told, Megan got just the tiniest bit lost in looking at him – good thing he wasn’t looking her way.  “Did you always want to be an actor?” she heard herself asking.  Her voice was loud enough to reach him through the music, but the moment felt comfortable, familiar, if that was even possible (freak out later, Megan, she reminded herself.)

Francisco sank down into the couch, sniffling as he leaned back and considered this.  “Dot for a job,” he explained.  “I didded’t thidk about that udtil I was older add realized I coulded’t do buch of addythig else.”  He sounded really stuffed up; he sniffled again and stifled a cough into his fist.  “But I always liked to act.  I would be id, uh, id shows at by church add by school, add I would bake plays to do id by yard add bake all my, ub, by aunts add udcles cobe to watch.”  Megan smiled.

“What about you?” Francisco continued.  “Did you always wadt to be a- hehhhhhhhh…”  He turned away, pressing the back of his hand to his nose.  “ehhhhhhhh-CHUHHHHHHH!”  The way his neck tensed when he sneezed, turned at that angle, made Megan shiver; she was lucky she wasn’t drooling when he looked back at her.  “…A soud editor?”

“Not exactly,” Megan replied.  “I mean, it took me a while to know what a sound editor was and that it could be a career.  But in a way…”  She smiled, remembering.  “My grandma used to have these old tapes of radio plays that I’d listen to whenever I went to her house, and I used to love the sounds, how you could create this entire world, sharp enough that you could practically see it, just from using the right sounds.  Then one day, I found a book in the library on foley artistry and thought it was the coolest thing ever.”

Francisco frowned; he coughed into the crook of his arm.  “A book about what?”

“Oh – uh, foley art,” Megan repeated, “like sound effects.  Creating one sound that sounds like something else.  Like, in those radio plays, maybe there’d be a fight and it would sound like someone was getting slapped, but really, it was the foley artist slapping a piece of meat or something.”

“Ah,” Francisco replied, nodding.  “Like, ub, Bonty Pythod, with the cocoduts f- f…” He clamped a hand over his mouth.  “IHHHHHHHH-shiiahhhhhhh!  Mbb…”  He sniffed hard.  “For the horses.”

“Right,” Megan said.  “Or like how they made the TARDIS noise by scraping a set of keys along piano wire.  Anyway, that stuff was so amazing to me.  I started trying to recreate some of the things I’d read about, then tried to make up my own.  I used to record them and then make people guess how I’d done it.”

This was a bit more hardcore-nerdy than Megan had planned on being in front of Francisco Morales, and, realizing it, she abruptly cut herself off.  “So… yeah…” she fumbled quietly.

Francisco sneezed again, a hard “huhhhhhhh-CHIIOOOOOO!” into his hands that morphed into coughing.

“You okay?” Megan asked.  She stopped short of putting her hand on Francisco’s shoulder.  “If you’re starting to feel pretty crappy-”

“Doh, I’be all right,” Francisco assured her, clearing his throat as he rubbed his nose.  “Cobe od, it’s the Oscars!  I cad sleep a lot toborrow.”  Sniffling, he said, “Dow, what do you want to do?  You are the wud dobbinated, so you should do addything you want.  More food?  Dridks?  Do you-” he stifled another cough, “-do you wadt to take selfies with celebrities?”

“I… I don’t know,” Megan admitted, at a loss.  The continued insanity of the situation was certainly a factor – the notion that “take selfies with celebrities” was a legitimate option for the night’s activities – but it was hardly fair to expect her to think and be a functioning human being when Francisco was so congested.

“We caddot sit od a couch for the Oscars,” Francisco told her.  “Do you wadt to dance?”  Whether this was just what Francisco wanted to do himself or Megan indicated that she was totally into that, Megan couldn’t be sure.  Either way, Francisco ran with it.  “Cobe od!” he urged, taking her by the hands and jumping to his feet.  “Let’s dandce!”

Megan had to admit to being impressed that Francisco could muster up so much energy.  It was nearly 3 in the morning, his voice was starting to get strained from shouting over the music all night, and he had to be feeling his cold.  If it were her, she’d be dead on her feet, but Francisco bounced up with a peppiness that couldn’t be real.

A Bruno Mars song was playing, and within moments, Francisco was tearing up the dance floor, bringing Megan along with him.  She certainly couldn’t dance like he could, even if she hadn’t been wearing heels, but it was like Francisco’s dancing was a wave and all Megan had to do was ride it.  He could, all but effortlessly, make it look as if she knew what she was doing.  Dips and spins and her hips moving in time with his – there’s no way this is actually happening.  I’m sitting in the corner hallucinating right now.

Francisco swept her up – Megan could think of no other way to describe it – drawing her in close to him.  “This is good, right?” he asked, his voice deep and just a little scratchy in her ear; she could have shivered.  “You’re having fud dow?”

Megan laughed at that, a weak, breathy-sounding laugh that was at least half arousal.  “Definitely,” she replied.  She was making every effort not to stare at his nose, but it twitched with each sniffle, and good god, she was only human.

“Good,” Francisco pronounced.  “This dight will always be yours, so we have to fill it with so b- so badd… y…”  With one hand still on her waist, he turned and sneezed a hard “hihhhhhh-CHIIUHHHHH!” into the opposite shoulder – Megan could have physically gasped.  “Mmbb…” Francisco murmured, rubbing his nose before turning back to her.  “…So baddy good thigs for-” he sniffled, “-you to rebebb- beb-berrr…”  Another sneeze, “hahhhhhh-IHHHHHHHH-shuhhhhhhh!” into his hand.  Sniffling as he pressed a finger to his nose, Francisco offered her a disarmingly-sheepish smile.  “You get the idea,” he said, and then he spun her on wobbly knees.

[starpollen]

This is delish!  I’m so loving the sneezy cold and Megan is a doll.  ☺️

[Feo]

oh oh, this story is nice!! Hope to see more 🥰

[angora48]

Thanks for the comments, I really appreciate it!

Here's Part 5, the end of "An Honor Just to Be Nominated." I had a lot of fun with these characters, and I'm glad people enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!

 

It was after 4 a.m. when they finally left the party, tumbling into one of the fleet of town cars on standby.  Francisco squeezed into the middle between Arturo and Megan, coughing hard into his hands.

“Where’s your hotel?” Megan asked.  “You can drop me off wherever it’s convenient – I’ll get an Uber home.”

“What??” Arturo and Francisco chorused (they would’ve been in unison, but Francisco had to clear his throat first.)

“No – do not think it,” Arturo intoned.  “We are not leaving you on the street somewhere.”

“Honestly, guys,” Megan told them, “I don’t really know where we are right now, but I know it’s nowhere near where people who make my kind of money live.  I’m not dragging you across several zip codes to-”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Arturo interrupted.  “We try to be gentlemen, but you make it too hard.  We will go more into the city and then find a good place.”

“We should fide a place to eat,” Francisco decided.  “You cad eat add eat a- aalll… aaaaahhhhhh-ihhhhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHHHH!” He sneezed, hard, into his hand. “…All the little food at a party, and it is like you ate duthing.”  He rubbed his nose, sniffling, as he looked at Megan.  “Are you so huggry?”

She was, come to mention it.  “Starved,” she agreed.

Between them, Francisco and Arturo tried to describe where their hotel was, but it took Arturo taking out his phone and showing it to Megan on Google to figure out where they were talking about.  It wasn’t close to Megan’s apartment by any means, but it was at least in the right direction, so Megan searched for a 24-hour diner not far from where they were staying.

The place was all but dead.  It was only to be expected – not too many people around before 5 in the morning – but after the boisterous, bustling atmosphere of the party, it was almost startling to walk into the diner and see no one but a sleepy-eyed waitress. 

In their formal wear, Megan knew they were conspicuous as they slid together into a booth.  Not that it mattered, of course, when you were the only customers.  The waitress ambled over with the steady air of someone who’s used to operating on night shifts.  “Hi,” she said, setting three menus on the table.  “Can I get you started with some coffee?”

A trio of yesses, with Megan adding, “Make it decaf, please!”

Soon, they were digging into heaping breakfast plates:  eggs and bacon, waffles, hash browns, the works.  While they ate, Francisco and Arturo kept Megan laughing with their anecdotes, good-natured bickering, and general attitude.  Francisco’s voice was definitely going, but he didn’t seem to care.

It was while Francisco was insistently refuting Arturo’s account of a misadventure they’d had in Nicaragua that his nose came for him with a vengeance.  “Ahhhhh… hehhhhhh… ihhhhhh-SHIUUUHHHHH!” he sneezed into his napkin.  “Haahhhh-chioooooo!  Ehhhhhhh-chiiaahhhhhh!  Ihhhhhhhh… hehhhhhh-uhhhhhh-CHOOOOO!”

Arturo exclaimed to him in Spanish – Megan caught “salud” and not much else – giving Francisco’s shoulder a rub.  “Bless you,” Megan offered weakly.

“Yes,” Francisco replied; not the most fitting response, but it had been a long night. He swiped Arturo’s napkin to blow his nose.

When Francisco finished, coughing a little into his fist as he tossed the crumpled napkin onto his plate, he and Arturo continued to bicker in Spanish. From their tone and body language, Megan gathered that Arturo had taken on the role of the pestering nursemaid, Francisco the cranky child who swears he doesn’t have to go to bed yet. It was just distractingly cute.

After a minute, they switched back to English and resumed their anecdotes, but it was clear Francisco had hit a bit of a wall. He was talking less and nodding more, and he gradually sank down, crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin on them (though he told Arturo in no uncertain terms that he was not falling asleep.)

“Dod’t forget about the para- parasailig- teacher…” he reminded Arturo drowsily, turning his head to muffle an “ehhhhhhhhh-hihhhhhhh-chiiaaahhhhhhhhh!” into his shoulder. He rubbed his nose with his thumb, sniffling hard.

“Right,” Arturo replied. “So after that in the bar, we meet this parasailing teacher, and Francisco and me, we have never gone parasailing before, and she says, ‘Well, my boat is just down by the dock….’”

Megan laughed. “Wait, and this is after how many drinks?” she asked. It was a testament to how interesting their lives were that she was paying any attention to Arturo’s story at all, what with Francisco sniffling and half-nodding-off at his side.

“No, it was maybe only three!” Arturo said, as if that was reassuring. “So we went down to the water, and it is like 2 in the morning, but there was such a big full moon in the sky that it almost was not dark at all, and-”

Francisco shifted beside Arturo, clearing his throat and mumbling a little under his breath. He was doing those long, congested breaths that you hear from people with colds, the kind that aren’t full-on snores but are damn close. Megan and Arturo exchanged a look, and Megan felt herself grinning. “Okay, so Francisco Morales just fell asleep across the table from me,” she remarked. “That’s a thing that happened.”

“He was too tired,” Arturo commented, and he fussed a little with the jacket of Francisco’s tux, like he was making sure his friend was warm enough. “He will be more sick today,” he told Megan. “When we get back to our hotel, I need to make him go to bed.”

“At least he was still able to enjoy his first Oscars,” Megan said. “It would’ve been crappy if he’d felt too bad to have any fun. I mean, at least it seemed like he was-”

“Oh yes,” Arturo assured her. “I know Francisco. I know when he is real and when he is acting.” The waitress came by with the check and Arturo reached into Francisco’s pocket for his wallet, waving off Megan’s protests. “He would be mad if he woke up and heard that you paidyou’re your breakfast,” Arturo insisted. “See how much I know him?”

A couple of coughs and a sniffle from Francisco; Arturo gave his shoulder a fond squeeze. “And you?” he asked Megan. “Did you have a good time?”

“Are you kidding?” Megan asked. “I had an amazing time.” And not only because of certain developments – she stole a sly glance at the sleeping Francisco.

Arturo grinned. His smile wasn’t as incandescent as Francisco’s, but it wasn’t half bad either. “Good,” he replied. “Francisco was so sad when you did not win your Oscar, and he wanted you to have a very great night.”

“Oh, I did,” Megan told him. “Very, very great. Like, ‘I’ll remember this night for the rest of my life’ great.”

Francisco drew in a sharp breath and sneezed, a loud, “huhhhhh-SHOOOOOOOO!” Sniffling, he gave a little groan and sat up. “What?” he asked, blinking.

So goddamn beautiful. “Arturo and I were just talking about what a great night we had,” Megan said. “Thanks so much for letting me come along, both of you.”

“Of course!” Francisco replied, sniffling as he gave his nose a hasty wipe. “It was your dight. We couldd’t let you just go hobe add- add dot celebrate for your wodderful work, a- aaaaddd….” Breath hitching, he caught an “IIIHHHHHHH-ehhhhh-shuhhhhhhh!” in his hands.

“Okay,” Arturo announced, hooking Francisco around the arm, “we need to go back to the hotel so you can sleep for your cold.” Francisco made to protest, appeared to course-correct mid-syllable as he realized he wouldn’t win, and instead lifted a hand in the waitress’s direction. “I finished that already,” Arturo told him. “You gave a very good tip.” Standing up from the booth, he pulled Francisco to his feet.

As Megan slid out from her side of the booth, Francisco waved Arturo off of him so he could step forward and offer her a hand up. “Thanks,” she said, not wanting to guess how deeply she was blushing. “For everything.”

“Fide be,” Francisco urged her, “od social bedia – I’be @ElFranciscoBoralesReal. DM be, so we cad codtact each other. I’d like to work on a boovie you with agaid, you’re so talented. I bead, I dod’t have a lot of idfluence yet or addything ihh-” he turned, coughing into his fist, “id Hollywood, but whed I’be id addother boovie, I’ll ask if they deed addywud for soud editing, because I doh sobewud who’s so idcredible. I doh you’re going to be a big Oscar widder sobeday.”

It was possibly the most earnestly nice anyone had ever been to Megan. The stuffed-up voice was just the sexiest of gravy. “I- you too,” she finally stammered in reply. “As soon as the right movie comes along, someone’s gonna be handing you one of those statues.”

“I-” Francisco started, then immediately cut off, bending at the waist against a hard “ehhhhhh-CHIIOOOOOO!” When he straightened, sniffling, he gave her a sheepish smile that was just to die for. “I thidk I deed to go sleep,” he admitted. “We’ll talk id DMs, okay?”

“O-okay,” Megan answered. What was even her life?

Francisco and Arturo’s Uber came before Megan’s, and she wouldn’t let them wait until hers showed up. “It’s three minutes away,” she told them. “You go on.” To Francisco, she added, “Get some rest.”

As she watched them go, Megan tried her damnedest not to look like a 13-year-old gazing at her favorite boy band member. You are a grown-ass Oscar-nominated woman, Megan, she reminded herself. Get a grip.

Still, when her own Uber arrived and she climbed in, Megan could feel herself grinning so hard she thought her face would crack. “Big night?” the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror at Megan’s dress.

An almost-giddy laugh burst from Megan. “You have no idea.” Smiling to herself, she watched the city roll by across the window in the predawn light.

[sneezygirl97]

OMG!!! I’d love a sequel - particularly if a romance blossoms and Fransisco gets sick again and needs a bit more care-taking!

[ID2006]

This is awesome. Mmmm, maybe a sequel  where he decided  to stay in town for a little while longer so he didn't have to fly sick and he realizes she's coming down with his cold.

[SneezingGodess914]

On 1/30/2021 at 8:04 PM, ickydog2006 said:

This is awesome. Mmmm, maybe a sequel  where he decided  to stay in town for a little while longer so he didn't have to fly sick and he realizes she's coming down with his cold.

YESSS!!! PLEASE!!

[angora48]

Aw, thank you all! I'm glad you like these characters as much as I do. By now, I know not to make any promises (it's way too easy for me to distract myself and leave things half-written,) but I DID have a lot of fun playing with Francisco and Megan. If, somewhere down the line, I write for them again, it's good to know someone will be happy to read it.

[PennyLane]

What a great story!! Thoroughly enjoyed the whole thing and I hope to see your writing again. Thank you for sharing!

[groundcontrol]

Holyyy... This was exceedingly well written and oh my god, do I want a Francisco in my life. If you return to these characters, I’ll be right here. 

[ellwren]

This was great! Thank you for sharing it!

[Reader]

This story was very deliciously detailed! 

Edited February 24, 2021 by Reader

[Garnet]

Man, I kept meaning to comment on this and then kept putting off because... I don't know, executive dysfunction or something. But anyway, this whole thing was lovely and I was hanging on updates when you were actively posting it. You write with such confidence and detail that I had to double-check that these were not real celebrities that you were portraying. Also, I love Megan's inner narrator voice, it's very cute. I know it's kind of perfectly crafted as a stand-alone, but I would happily read about these characters again any time. 

[angora48]

On 2/19/2021 at 10:29 PM, groundcontrol said:

Holyyy... This was exceedingly well written and oh my god, do I want a Francisco in my life. If you return to these characters, I’ll be right here. 

You and me both, @groundcontrol. 😉

Thanks for everyone's kind words! @Garblin, Francisco and Arturo were very loosely inspired by Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna and their whole vibe as friends/collaborators, but once they sparked the idea, I went and did my own thing with it. I also made up all the random details about the various movies myself, hehe, although I did Google a few things on foley art (i.e., the keys on piano wire for the TARDIS) to make sure I wasn't misremembering any particular factoids!

[Evian]

Perfection 

[Evian]

This starts out well