Kai Parker One Shots

Lights, Camera, Action

Movies, to the audience - whether in a theater or simply in the comfort of their humble abode - were always an experience. If it's a romance, it'll make you ponder the beauty of love. If it's a comedy, you'll double over in laughter. If it's a tragedy, the night will end in tears. Everyone has a different point of view from start to finish, but no matter what, they're a way of life that unlike those who watch will never grow old. The memory of the stories will live on through generations, becoming essentially immortal. In order to achieve that success, though, if you look behind the camera it is the crew that gives life to what was once just no more than scribbles on paper. Lighting, hair, makeup, grip, you name it. Every department that contributes is just as vital to the process as the stars themselves. When the term "movie magic" is used, it is not an exaggeration, and you of all people would know exactly how everyone behind the scenes gives it their all.

Fresh out of college, you'd dived headfirst into the business and been hired as the costume designer for a local studio that usually assisted in the production of blockbuster films. The likes of Cameron Diaz and Jason Statham had shot their lines in this very space, and it helped build your confidence knowing that you'd been lucky enough to secure this job over so many others striving to be in the same position. Just a few short years prior, this had been only a dream that you'd cried into your pillow over. Belief that you'd make a name for yourself so early into your twenties simply did not exist. It felt at times like the world was out to get you and happiness was just unfathomable, but here you were against all odds. Waking up each day and living to the fullest, enjoying any and every moment in these halls.

There in your line of sight was a rack of clothes; pieces like sequin jackets or full tuxedos or more wild choices like blood stained jumpsuits or faux fur coats. Today you'd been assigned to dress a newcomer named Malachai Parker, who supposedly preferred to go by Kai because he felt like the shorter version flowed better. A pretty simple getup had been requested - a leather jacket and matching black jeans, white tank, combat boots. The movie's premise was something about gangsters in New York and he was supposed to play one alongside three others. All of them would be roughhousing some stranger for his money to the point of death until a cop vehicle pulls up. Today was one of those days you were grateful you had your espresso from the Starbucks across the street handy, what with you having at least eight other clients in the past twelve hours alone. He would be the last, until tomorrow at least, and the idea of coming home to a giant bed with fleece blankets made it worth it to push through the exhaustion.

"Did I tell you to stop?" demands a voice suddenly, gruff and quite obviously vexed for whatever reason as his stylist pulls her comb away. It belongs to a man with fluffy sepia fringe in a scarlet red robe sitting in a director's chair opposite the mirror. The fluorescent lights surrounding glisten against his light golden skin as he crosses his arms, bringing attention to his etched cheekbones and sharp jawline. "You stop brushing when I tell you, not when you feel like. What are they paying you for, because there's no way it's for efficiency."

Geez. He sure seems like a ray of sunshine. Of course you'd experienced people just like him in your tenure, one of very few cons amongst the bountiful pros. Not everyone would be kind, unfortunately, but nothing could ruin your great day if you could help it.

The stranger across retrieves a Camel cigarette and lighter from his pocket, setting the butt ablaze and then taking a long winding drag. Its scent fills the air, but he's careless to that fact as his attention is only on himself. Posing before the mirror, examining his best angles as though everything had to be flawless. Not a soul in the universe was perfect, but for some reason you couldn't keep your gaze off him. There was something drawing you in like a moth to a flame, a hint of mystery because unlike most of the people who'd come in and out of this room he seemed to carry himself a different way. If you were to put aside his snarky comment, you could tell there were secrets hidden underneath that faux veneer of strong confidence. The blonde woman continuing to fix his hair seems unaware that you haven't stopped ogling, and so you continue, even pretending to rifle through outfits you knew weren't needed. "When will my dressing room be ready?" Now his annoyance is directed to another passerby, except it's the tailor. "I was told it would be an hour ago. Tick tock. I don't like my time being wasted, thanks."