elliotcnderson

[elliotcnderson]

gideonhan‌

There was no reason for Gideon to be embarrassed about his rehab story. In many ways, it was less embarrassing than the truth, at least in certain circles. It was expected of people like him to have substance issues. He was the privileged son of someone rich and successful, raised with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was supposed to be an absolute brat. And maybe he was. But something told him to try and be better.

Once Gideon and Elliot were alone, he made the decision to test the waters. Elliot was a bit of an enigma when it came to synthetics. He played up being a sympathiser, but behind closed doors, he was much more skeptical. “It was… the most fascinating, eye-opening experience of my life.”

He supposed he couldn’t really blame Elliot for not quite believing him. It might have been tough for Gideon to believe once upon a time too. “I know, I know the stories and what they tell us to believe. I just… It was so real. They were more human than a lot of people I know. They saved my life, and not because of their programming.”

“They saved your life?” Elliot was incredulous. Exactly what Gideon had been doing with a synth wasn’t clear. Much less this nonsense he was spouting about a synth being able to feel. Yet Elliot was quite familiar with the rumours. Knew them intimately. He took a large gulp of the water he’d ordered and shirked back into his seat. What was he supposed to do with this information? Did Gideon want confirmation? Should he whisper about the synth that ruined his life? Elliot kept his lips uncharacteristically shut. Stared just beyond Gideon out at the horizon. Glittering city lights and the flash of car headlights as it flew by.

Eventually, it became obvious that Elliot couldn’t sit in silence. The nervous bounce of his knee grew and grew until he could not keep quiet any longer, and started a quick-fire round of burning questions. “I don’t understand Gideon. Can you start from the…beginning? What were you doing exactly with a synth? How did it save your life? What do you mean by any of this?” Now, Elliot never cared much if someone overheard him but just now, he did drop his voice. “Are you telling me synths are…alive?”

It was an awful lot to process. He didn’t want to consider the implications that had on Zodiac. Wasn’t Elliot always getting himself into precarious positions? His history with the fellow entertainer was just another one, a hideous complication. Regardless of Gideon’s apparent discovery it didn’t, and wouldn’t, change what happened. He exhaled and took another large gulp of the water. It did nothing to sober him.

Let There Be Lite-Beer || Gideon & Elliot

#gideon ( 001 )

[elliotcnderson]

You know I like it loud Cause that's the only way No taste for subtlety And no time for restraint

#( jukebox ) #the music video for this... #is a goddamn mood

[elliotcnderson]

carringtonbishop‌

Carrington didn’t make a habit of frequenting these sorts of affairs. There was far too high a chance of being recognized. Though he always took measures against such an occurrence. Subcutaneous facial recognition scramblers inserted just behind each ear, and augmentation buffers built into the suit he wore should do the trick. Though on the plus side, most parties like this were filled with people too high or too intoxicated to give a rat’s arse who Carrington was. They were too preoccupied with their own good time, with flaunting their money and their influence and their… attributes… to turn a suspicious eye on someone like Carrington, who made sure to blend in with the crowd. 

As much as he would’ve loved to join the revelry - the sheer amount of narcotics being passed around like candy was ridiculous - he was here with a purpose. His efforts in the lower city were making noise. But they were still works in progress, underground channels being slow going at times due to suspicion, caution, or finding your informant dead in an alley. It was time to boost the signal. 

And finding a famous and influential face was the first step. 

So Carrington - who went by Winston at times like this - idly sipped his champagne from a seat in the corner, watching the parade of beautiful faces for anyone that caught his eye as a young woman nattered on beside him. Carrington had no idea who she was, but she’d come over and started talking to him - after promptly snorting a line from the mirrored compact in her purse - so he’d made sure to be just interested enough to keep her there. A man sitting alone drew more attention than a man sitting with a companion, after all. 

Finally, someone noteworthy caught his eye. Granted, it was because Carrington could hear him over the rest of the crowd, but once he saw the younger man - who he vaguely recognized - and ran a scan, Carrington knew he’d found his target. “Darling-” Carrington politely interrupted the young woman next to him. “Would you be a love and fetch us a bit more champagne?” The woman gave him a lopsided grin, looked at him with eyes blown dark, and nodded. She got up and left, staggering into the crowd. Carrington knew she wouldn’t be back.

He got up as well, snagging a bottle of something expensive off a serving tray before slipping onto the private balcony a few minutes later. He watched the younger man sway drunkenly, and wondered just how to play this one. By ear, he supposed. It didn’t take long for Carrington to be acknowledged, and he leaned heavily against one of the pillars, bottle of scotch hanging loosely from one hand. 

“On the contrary… I didn’t know anyone was out here…” He tugged at his shirt collar, loosening it a bit as if he were overheated. He gave the younger man a slightly knowing look. “Crowd like that gets greedy after too long, don’t they.” He paused long enough to pull out a cigarette and light one. “Smoke?” he offered, holding out the small, muted silver case. 

The world was at Elliot’s feet and it pulsed at an alarming rate. He thought for a moment that he was in-fact definitely falling. Only his hand was still quite firmly on the railing and although he’d stepped away, everything was still in its rightful place. There was the small matter regarding in the intruder. Elliot supposedly had locked the balcony, thrown up the privacy screen, mostly so no-one could see him in this awfully dubious state. Unfortunately for him it seemed the city just kept on giving tonight. Handsome gentleman, suit, probably from one of the many skyscrapers next door working on highly important and credit boosting bank jobs. Frankly, Elliot had no idea what they did. He’d slept with more than enough of them to know they were a mixed bunch. For a man that had just stumbled out for some fresh air he looked damningly in the know. Elliot furrowed his brows at the offer a cigarette but took it anyway. He made a point, usually, of not smoking. The one habit he didn’t feel inclined to indulge.

Still, there was nothing like a freebie. It might just be enough to clear his head of whatever was swimming through it. “Oh, alright…” He kept blinking away a double head for the young gentleman, which made him considerably less handsome each and every time. “Always!” He exclaimed, as he pinched the cigarette in one hand and reached for his glass of abandoned champagne with the other. No he didn’t feel like sharing his drink with a complete stranger, not yet. “Can’t help but love them,” Elliot hummed. Truth be told it’s why he came back. The attention, the love, everyone here knew his name. Well, nearly everyone.

The problem, with drinking something like champagne, was that one had to drink quite frequently. Not that Elliot minded or found this much of a problem. It did mean that Elliot quickly lost track of how much and when you mix something stronger in there, that’s when the black spots in his memory started to appear. “There’s what like a…hundred balconies in this place?” What was the luck of this man just happening upon the one that Elliot occupied. He smiled. “No matter! You can stay.” He’d swayed forwards to give a little tug on his tie. “Come sit, make yourself at home, if you’re going to be my companion of the hour least tell me your name.” Elliot could not be bothered to find out for himself.

#carrington ( 001 )

[elliotcnderson]

jacksummers‌

Jack wasn’t easily rattled. He couldn’t afford to be. Acting like that would get you ripped to shreads on the streets, if not physically than at least metaphorically. Elliot wasn’t the only actor in the room. Jack just didn’t need to be given a script. He dipped into a number of qualities and personas, pulling out whatever tools in his arsenal that might best serve him in that moment. He’d tried the naive, helpless little kid. He was just waiting to see what Elliot would give him to work with. So far, it seemed to only be anger.

“Whoa whoa,” Jack held up his hands non-threateningly, still trying to calm Elliot in spite of how ridiculous that probably was. Someone was going to hear them and come bursting in trying to see if everything was okay, which it most definitely wasn’t, but Jack would rather deal with Elliot directly than risk one of the bouncers coming in. At least Elliot didn’t seem ready to throw hands. So far, he just wanted to throw words.

What Elliot threatened in that next moment might just have been worse though. “Wait, what? You can’t–Dude, you can’t do that. It’d ruin my whole life. You know what it’s like trying to make a living down there. Some of us can’t get out like you did. You’re so lucky, bro.” Being pathetic hadn’t worked, so he figured why not try flattery? There was more desperation in him this time though. His literal life depended on this working out. “No! Delete that!” Elliot had snapped the pic before Jack could even cover his face. “I can’t get the ring in ten days. I probably can’t even get it at all! It’s not like back alley dealers leave a cyber trail. Come on, please… let me find some other way to make it up to you, okay? I’ll do anything.”

“So what?” Elliot folded his arms over his chest and made himself awfully comfortable in one of the grand old chairs. He had no intention of bowing to him. Jack was scum of the earth and Elliot well, he was an angel. Divine. Jack should be doubled over on the floor on his hands and knees for Elliot to put his feet up on. “I worked for this. Maybe you should just try harder.” There was an undeniable element of hard work. Cloud 9 could’ve let Elliot loose and no-one would’ve missed him for it. After the first role he’d fought hard to get a second. Done his damned best to get the third. Then it had just snowballed until his life was thoroughly out of control and it was no longer luck nor work any longer, just the status quo. “Do anything? You think you can drop to your knees and solve this?” Elliot simpered. “Sweetheart I have everything I could want. Nothing you can give me would be of interest.”

“Your problem, not mine.” Elliot wasn’t going to concern himself with lowly problems. Really the ring didn’t matter that much to him, but making a scene out of this had a certain satisfaction. Jack was quite sweetly pathetic, although it was getting a little too much. “You get me my ring back before time runs out and I’ll delete the photo of your hideous mug. If not…well I’ll let the world decide your fate.” His guess was whatever tricks Jack ran down below were over, dead and done. There was almost a sweet vigilante justice edge to this. Even if Elliot was being something of a spoiled brat.

“Excellent! Now that’s decided I’m going to go spend my time with someone worthy, oh I would leave soon if I were you. Security might be on their way up.” They weren’t. Not yet. But Elliot was a few seconds away from buzzing them up. He leant against the door and flashed Jack a rather toothy and wicked smile. “You don’t belong up here Jack. But get me my ring and you can deliver here, to me, personally. I’ll even pay for your ride up here.” Hell if he could humiliate Jack that little bit more he’d pay for a personal car to come collect him. It might’ve been years ago, it could be three decades ago, and Elliot would still burn from the hurt of being used for some lousy scheme. Friends. There’s no such thing. “Chop, chop, it won’t find itself.”

Familiar Faces || Jack & Elliot

#jack ( 001 )

[elliotcnderson]

#( musings ) #just shit posting while i find the energy to write

[elliotcnderson]

i temporarily fall in love with like any guy thats nice to me at all like the checkout guy at CVS told me to “stay dry” this morning bc it was raining and i thought about him for like 2 hours after that 

#( musings )

[elliotcnderson]

gideonhan‌

Gideon gave an easy chuckle at Elliot’s response. His smile spread across his handsome features and he reached over to squeeze Elliot by his slender shoulder. “Look at you, sight for sore eyes. A little devil with the face of an angel. Can’t fool me.” He was pleasantly tipsy and his voice and cadence reflected that, but he wasn’t drunk. His words were genuine and filled with affection. Whatever he thought of his so-called friends from that fateful night, at least he wasn’t forced to see Elliot any differently. He’d have gone crazy without someone else as eccentric as himself to hang out with.

“Aw, you know. Hospital, rehab, this and that,” he chuckled. It wasn’t technically true. Hospital was some synthetic’s hideout and rehab was a spa retreat and after that, it had just been his little wild goose chase. He settled comfortably next to Elliot, enjoying the easygoing physical, platonic affection of the gentle arm around his waist. “Champagne? You spoil me. I think I’ll stick to the drinks and not the pills tonight,” he joked, giving Elliot a wink. “Oh, I’ll tell you plenty. Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit.”

He wished it was as simple as a fling, but then again, he was also strangely invigorated to have a new purpose, a new outlook and new lease on life. It was like being reborn. Gideon took Elliot away from the crowd so they could find a more private area of the bar, bottle of champagne and a pair of glasses in tow. Once there was nobody to over-hear him, Gideon’s face lit up with a devilish grin. “I did meet someone. But not the way you think. I met one of /them/. The synths who can think for themselves.”

Rehab. Well that was less than glamorous. Although it wouldn’t have been a first time for either of them. Elliot had been in lock-down for sixty days a year or two ago, at the request of Cloud 9. Unfortunately the ordeal only made him a great deal more bitter towards his poor agent, and eager for his release. To be here. Amongst the glittering lights and pretty faces. Cliched, yes, that he loved a party more than anyone but there wasn’t much else to pass the time with up here in cloud city. Elliot pouted, it was always twice as fun to trip with someone then it was alone, he washed down a pink pill with his champagne all the same. Away from the bar and in their own private sphere Elliot relaxed a little. No-one to judge them. No-one to be constantly checking on them, regardless of whether it was amicable or not. He had grown tired of being watched like a misbehaved child.

Then Gideon went and spoke so plainly and Elliot spat his champagne back into the flute. “W-what?” He composed himself by dabbing a tissue to his lips. Synth who could think. There’d been rumours, of course. But Elliot knew well enough himself not to pay any attention to those. “It could think?” They couldn’t. Quite simply they were machine and nothing else. Elliot could even remember studying them at school. Not that he could recall what wire did what. The cross-section of a synth in their textbooks was over simplified and perhaps, nothing like the real deal. But that was all they were – wiring. Metal and braided cables. He took a large gulp of his champagne and tried not to let his throats stray to him. The synth that had given Elliot definitive proof they were nothing but machines.

“That’s impossible Gideon, they’re machines. I know it.” He eased back into the sofa and let his head fall back, the room had started to spin without warning. “What were you doing with a synth…” Regardless of whether it could think or not. Emotions from a machine was one thing. Gideon spending his time with a machine was quite another. “I think I need some water…” Elliot flagged a waitress, the synth politely smiled and nodded as it took his order and disappeared without an additional word. Once it was out of earshot Elliot said, “see? They’re just machines. Built for us for whatever purpose you want…” It was as if he was reading aloud the synth synthsphere advert, but badly.

Let There Be Lite-Beer || Gideon & Elliot

#gideon ( 001 ) #just needs a Little convincing... #drugs tw

[elliotcnderson]

It was glorious! Elliot was bathed in the pink light of the city and quite pleased for it. Someone had ordered the entirety of the menu at Last Light but, they’d moved onwards to a second bar. Well, to a party that had no finish time. Everyone who was anyone, was here. Elliot no stranger to drama and attention had arrived in style in someone else’s sports car. Really the entire ordeal had been quite uncomfortable but there was nothing like doing stardust off of a stranger’s thigh. Everything in the velvet rope was quite surreal, as if the walls had popped out of their confines to personally greet Elliot with a thick but soft hand. He grinned, sashayed through the throng of familiar faces and, creatures, people with two heads or scales in place of skin. Elliot was quite certain he saw the christian ideal of Jesus in there somewhere. The party was thriving and Elliot, well, he found himself a quiet corner to sink into until the sweet calm hit him. It took an hour, or two, but some pretty young thing came to talk to him. Gushing about a movie he’d been in recently. What movie was that? She didn’t seem to hear him and carried on talking without pausing for air.

Elliot managed to find steady enough feet to traipse across the lounge to the bar, there leant against it with a devilish smile was a familiar face, Dante fucking Reid. They laughed in sync and Elliot lurched forwards to wrap his arms around him. Dante was nowhere near as far gone as him. “Have you seen the girls?” Elliot blurted, the words slurring together as swayed, one hand on Dante the other on the bar. His friend shook his head and urged a glass of water in Elliot’s direction. “No!” The night was still young, Elliot had no intention of slowing down just yet. Although truth be told after he parted ways with Dante he did think about finding a private room to have a nap in but somewhere along the way he got caught by someone else, and then someone else again. Everyone it seemed was out tonight. Everyone wanted Elliot with his endless credits or pocket full of goodies.

In the end, he found a private balcony that overlooked the city for a brief moment alone. A synth had followed him out with a bucket of champagne and canapés. It now stood as quiet as death in the corner. Elliot had managed to pick a little bit at the food but everything swirled, violently, in his vision mostly. He was half afraid that if he let go of the railing that he’d simply fall straight from the skyscraper down to a gloomy doom on the walkway below. The door behind him slid open Elliot gasped, and turned around in slow motion. “Excuse me,” he slurred. “Come to steal my canapés?” 

#ihqopen #drugs tw #open ! to anyone ! #feel free to have someone snek up into this party #or y'know just bee there #i wasn't going to have this as 90% exposition but #it happened and now #here we are

[elliotcnderson]

The Secret History

Interview by Cecilia Heather 9th November 2365

Under the influence of their charismatic classics professor, a group of clever, eccentric misfits at an elite New England college discover a way of thinking and living that is a world away from the humdrum existence of their contemporaries. But when they go beyond the boundaries of normal morality their lives are changed profoundly and forever, and they discover how hard it can be to truly live and how easy it is to kill.

That’s the pilot description released by Cloud 9, unfortunately, other than the tease of set photos and the nondescript trailer there’s little else until the show airs next Sunday. In the meantime, I caught up with Elliot Anderson regarding his role in the big-budget holoshow based on Donna Tartt’s classic novel.

The Secret History, had you ever read the novel before you got the role?

If only! Admittedly I was clueless to the book’s popularity before auditioning for the role. It was all blind casting so even if I had, I wouldn’t have known who was who. We read Life of Pi at school for our classic studies. Actually, I did listen to the audio book after my audition and I was positive that they were going to cast me as Bunny!

What was it like working alongside the likes of Robbie Shaw?

Oh, he was fabulous! So awe-inspiring to work with someone that you’ve admired since you were a little kid! I grew up on Robbie’s movies so it was a real treat to work on this project with him. He makes an excellent Julian and frankly, there’s no-one else who could play the role in my opinion.

Now, we’ve seen the photos of you and Dante. Is there a romance on the horizon?

Goodness, no! He’s quite the handsome fellow but we’re just good friends. When you work with someone for so long on the same project it’s hard not to be involved in each other’s lives. Not to mention of course we both recently worked together on the film Crimson which was out in the summer. There’s not been a day that I’ve not seen or spoken with him in the last year!

We see you’ve changed your look again! Is the blonde permanent?

Well, it was either that or they told me I had to wear this really hideous wig! Of course, I’m just kidding. I felt like a bit of a change and it seemed like the right time and opportunity to ditch the pink.

Did you have any particular tricks for getting into the role of Charles?

Any role needs preparation and lots of it. I seem to find myself doing lots of these...vintage roles. Gives me a good excuse for delving into old-school music. Although I can’t imagine that Charles would be all that found of Britney Spears. Just having a general awareness of the time really helps in these sort of roles.

If the show is faithful to the book Charles is a difficult character is he not?

Yes, and no. I think all the characters change throughout the story and we see what happens when they’re pushed! It was really exciting to play Charles as this is fresh territory for me. 

Of course, I mean it’s well known to the book readers that Charles is an addict, was it ever an issue? There’s rumours...

No, not at all! Really it’s all a matter of sinking your teeth into the role and finding out who they are. Of course they all drink quite heavily in The Secret History. They are after all students at a college in the 1990s! That seems to have been in vogue back then. And, Cecilia you really shouldn’t believe the rumours.

Well we look forward to watching The Secret History when it airs next Sunday...

#( reviews ) #ihqmmc #interview under the cut #this was alot of fun #elliot getting called out in an interview #MHM #not going to cover all the terrible aspects of charles macaulay

[elliotcnderson]

gideonhan‌

Gideon’s past experience with the overdose hadn’t really taught him much, at least as far as his partying went. Maybe he wasn’t /quite/ as reckless, was a bit more careful about where his stash came from and how much he consumed, but quit cold turkey? No. That just wasn’t Gideon. He’d still drink, vape his moongas, swallow a couple of black beauties. He’d at least cut down on the bliss, but that was about it.

On this particular night, Gideon was already a couple of drinks and pills deep. Not enough to really impair him, but enough to give him a happy, pleasant sort of buzz. He’d been mingling, networking, flirting, doing a bit of everything at the Last Light when he spotted the familiar face, and his own face lit up with excitement. “Elli!” He called. “Excuse me, darlings,” he added, leaving the small crowd of people he’d been chatting with to go up to Elliot and drape his arms around him. “You little devil, I haven’t seen you in forever.”

In fact, he hadn’t seen him since the night of the overdose. Luckily, at least for their friendship, Elliot had excused himself earlier in the night before Gideon had ended up in a ditch. Neither of them likely wanted to know what Elliot might have done if the rest of their so-called friends had tested his loyalties and morals.

It was a night amongst the stars. Elliot well, he was shining obnoxiously bright. As always. Deep in the throng of a crowd of people he scarcely knew drink in one hand and an e-cigarette in the other. Eyes glassy and bright, he’d had his fair share before he’d made it to Last Light and now that he was here, everyone had something to share. He’d grinned only half an hour earlier at a pretty blonde as they pushed a heart-shaped pill between his lips. They’d spent the rest of the time in their own private heaven. Now, Elliot was back, mingling and looking for fresh faces. Like usual he had beelined for the bar but along the way gotten distracted, face lit up with fresh joy as Gideon called for him. Immediately, Elliot carved his way through the crowd and fell into Gideon’s side with ease. “Devil?! Why sweetheart I am most innocent!” He laughed, all giddy and light as if they were gliding on the clouds together. After downing his drink in one, and getting rid of the glass, he hooked his arm around Gideon’s side.

“Where have you been? I have missed you!” How loathsome and boring it had been without Gideon to brighten the stars. Everyone else was as dull as dishwater – well not quite. Certainly no-one could come close to them. On the matter of Gideon’s absence, he had heard, or rather read the rumours regarding his disappearance. It was all quite perfectly timed with the last messy night they’d had together. When Elliot had gone home early and woken with two synths in his bed, waiting for orders, or payment, he could never remember what they’d wanted. The hangover had been like no other and Elliot had left early. So he dread to think what had happened after his disappearance. They were all terrible company for that. No-one really knew when to stop. ‘Why stop when you can afford to go on forever?’ Had been the retort of a certain loose canon that they both called a friend.

Not only had Elliot missed Gideon, there’d been a degree of worry, no-one just disappeared off the face of the earth without a reason. But it wasn’t unusual to not see each-other in weeks, occasionally a month. Filming would drag him away. One of the many careers that Gideon had struck up for himself like quick-fire matches would occupy him. They only seemed to make time for each-other if it involved copious amounts of alcohol. “I shall get us a bottle of champagne, we need to celebrate this reunion and you! You will tell me everything. Did you have another wild fling?” Why was it they had only just crossed paths now. But Elliot just hummed and gave his order to a synthetic as he paved the way to a cosy little corner overlooking the city. There, he tugged Gideon down into the sofa next to him, just on time a synth arrived with a bucket of champagne and two glasses. “Okay,” Elliot giggled, “I’m ready, listening. Spare no detail.”

Let There Be Lite-Beer || Gideon & Elliot

#gideon ( 001 ) #drugs tw

[elliotcnderson]

#( jukebox )

[elliotcnderson]

*slowly removes my heart-shaped sunglasses* i beg your fucking pardon

#( musings )

[elliotcnderson]

gabrieldeacon‌

‘Still digging up dirt on everyone.’ Well that was one way to describe what Gabriel did. Some similarly biting remark about pretending to be other people for a living briefly flashed through Gabe’s thoughts, but went quickly dismissed. He didn’t come over here to fight. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had come over here to do, but it wasn’t to get into some kind of public spat. Besides, Elliot looked… Elliot looked more or less how the rumors had suggested he would. Like he didn’t need any extra stress. “Yeah, more or less,” he answered, after what was probably too long a pause.

Sitting down seemed like a bad idea. But so did continuing to just hover over him. Somewhat hesitantly, he sat down. He was suddenly entirely too aware of how close they were. Physically, anyway. “I’m good, thanks,” he answered. The chicken looked good, but sharing a dinner - taking Elliot’s food - didn’t seem like the thing to do. It implied too much familiarity. Sitting side by side was already enough of a boundary pushed. Elliot didn’t need to know that he hadn’t eaten.

“I had an interview with someone at Cardinal,” he explained, frowning slightly at the memory. “It was a bit of a slog. Typical corporate stuff. No real interesting… dirt, so to say.” Okay, maybe the comment about his job had stung a bit. He took a swig of his drink.

“How’s the script?” Gabe asked, quickly changing the subject. He didn’t watch a lot of movies (especially not Elliot’s, that would be… too much) but he’d rather talk about Elliot’s life than his own. “Is it an interesting part?”

For a very brief moment, Elliot worried that he had done something to upset Gabriel. Perhaps said something that had just rubbed the wrong way – wouldn’t be the first time. Then again, Gabriel always seemed to look a little like a kicked puppy. Big eyes and a wobbly bottom lip. Once upon a time there might’ve been something he could’ve done to tease a smile out of him. That was all for naught now. Elliot would be surprised if he could get so much of a flicker of a smile of Gabriel. He decided, and quite quickly, that it’d be a waste of his time to sit here wondering. This was just a passing conversation. Neither of them had reached out afterwards, because you didn’t. No doubt they’d fall back to the same old silence. All Elliot had to do was endure this conversation without saying something that really pushed a nerve. He could do that. After all he was sober, so tick one step already complete.

Elliot tried to create a little more room in the booth but he’d run out of seat, his back pressed up against the wall. Gabriel nearly grazing his thigh which would’ve been entirely fine if it was anyone else. He would’ve encouraged it if it was anyone else. Elliot made a concerted effort to shift to face him without inching any closer. “Cardinal?” He repeated. “I’m sure you put an excellent spin on it.” Although Elliot wasn’t going to go out of his way to catch that report. He had incidentally watched one, or maybe two, of Gabriel’s reports. Sometimes the bite-sized digests just happened to roll on after whatever trashy holo box set he was binging. Not that Elliot could recall what they were about. Too hazed for that.

“Anyone important? Anyone I should immediately meet?” He asked but immediately gazed down at the little pocket mirror. His forgotten task of the evening. “Yeah, yeah.” What could Elliot say without breaking his non-disclosure agreement? Not a lot. “It’s for a new movie we start filming next week. Looking forward to it. Especially after the show I just finished, actually I think that’s out soon on a holobox near you,” Elliot winked and immediately regretted it. Fuck it. He wasn’t going to shy away from being himself just because Gabriel was sour-faced. “It was a little intense.” Came a little too close to home but Elliot didn’t need to elaborate on that, certainly not with Gabriel. “Bit too much murder. But! No spoilers I promise.”

He did wonder if Gabriel had actually seen any of his movies. It was a little too late to ask now and Elliot had a feeling he knew the answer. After all Gabriel had never seemed to care much for the buzz of stardom. Just stared straight through him to his rotting soul. Although he had always wondered. If Gabriel hadn’t cared for his celebrity status, why did he sell a story to the tabloids? Elliot couldn’t prove it was Gabriel that had done it. Really it could’ve been anyone. He wasn’t the first boy he’d pissed off. Just one of the few that had stuck around. At least for a little while. Elliot stirred his empty glass whilst he waited for the new one. Gabriel just kept looking at him. Fuck.

“There’s a rumour someone is going to be remaking The Great Gatsby and well, I would love to audition for Daisy.” If there was any vintage film he wished he could be in, it was The Great Gatsby. Nothing was confirmed yet, but Elliot had told his agent he was most definitely interested. Even if they didn’t consider him for Daisy. “As for this one,” Elliot gestured at the table. “I just hope I don’t die at the end of it.”

#gabriel ( 001 ) #ok so the tabloids part ??? up to you #but it could've also been shite that someone wrote #just to drag elli thro the mud #cause the tabloids be LIKE that #and he's pissed off a few people #he's trying to keep face so #will see :')

[elliotcnderson]

s-m-350‌

Sierra doesn’t miss Elliot’s reaction to sir, and he frowns, re-searching the online fanpage he’d found.

It only takes a second, which he spends walking over to the counter as Elliot’s order is called, and retrieving the coffee. Sierra’s entire expression falls as he hands over the coffee – not because of the beverage, but because he’s just discovered the reason for Elliot’s odd reaction.

“I am Sierra. And please allow me to extend my fullest apologies for using an incorrect pronoun, I’m afraid I too briefly skimmed over a fan website when I recognized your face. If you could inform me of your preferred pronouns, I would be very grateful!”

It’s not just the therapist programming that feels bad – Sierra, too, feels bad. He hasn’t quite figured out the intricacies of human gender. He has access to all of human writing on the topic, and yet, just the notion of having a gender seems foreign and strange. Very… biological.

But he brightens quickly enough, even as he has no idea if trying to act as Elliot’s therapy synth would work. He has an appointment to change his cover in a few days, but perhaps if he pushed that back for the first session, and then, nobody would need to check his identification for further sessions… it could work. Access to a celebrity could be useful.

“I will inform my employer. And I will note, on record, your preferences regarding ‘finger guns’,” Sierra says solemnly. “Until we meet again, I would like you to think on this affirmation: like the old cowboys used to say, don’t squat with your spurs on.”

This is all becoming a little too much. He does however strain a polite smile at Sierra and is somewhat soothed by the apology. Sierra seemed to mean it, although who knows if a synthetic could really mean an apology? Elliot almost feels a little guilty himself, as if putting this synthetic through the meat grinder for getting mixed up was a little too harsh. Pronouns were fickle. Elliot abided by his sex but answered to any pronouns.

“How about Queen?” He grins and takes a sip of his coffee, it’s good, he can’t really taste the difference in terms of caffeine. Elliot supposes it’ll be better for him. Maybe he’ll just crash later but that’s probably what he was going to do anyway. No interviews, no appearances, and no homework to do later so Elliot was free to waste away an evening in bed. Not entirely atypical. Even diva queens needed a rest and a reset. “Mmm,” Elliot hums. “Don’t worry about it, never specified any pronouns publicly.”

That’s it really, when your life is public whoever you are when the limelight is off, well it’s another story entirely. But in moments like these Elliot just carried on with that stage persona. It’s hard not to restrain an impolite snort, Elliot does it anyway even if it’s ugly. Sierra just looks awkward talking about finger guns much less enacting them. Did synthetics get awkward? He supposed not. They couldn’t feel. It was all programming and hard wires up their heads. If you peeled back the silicone there’d be nothing but metal. Elliot tried not to grimace, forced yet another polite public smile as Sierra delivered yet another affirmation. Initially it doesn’t click. Elliot raises an eyebrow and waves Sierra goodbye with a friendly farewell. It’s only when he’s half-way down the road does it all start to make sense. Don’t squat with your spurs on.

– - END.

#sierra ( 001 ) #a finished thread..this is wild #short and sweet for the last one #but wow sierra thxs for just #mindfckin elliot a little #he thinks you're IN his head

[elliotcnderson]

natureunwound‌

it began as all things often do — with a birth. the brain is a war - ground of design filled to the brim with its own children’s bones. some you have come to recognise as past concepts or ideas that rattled well - beneath the cranium for days, or maybe weeks, or maybe even years — 

— – hey, kid, what do you want to be when you grow up?           — – who are you, really, underneath these heavy, heavy chains? 

and some you’ve simply brushed aside, left bruised to rot inside this giving soil like compost for imagination’s fruit, so more can grow come spring. well, you were a concept too. a man - made toy, no more emburdened with humanity than a simple television screen — it’s all the same beneath these eyelids, all white noise and artificial gore and not a spark of sunlight. 

it’s strange now to feel — noisy. first outside and then inside too, each shock of pressure to this faux - skin reverberating in the chest, then brain, then spine. it’s oftentimes hard to define what, ultimately, remains without strict definition. to feel is to breathe, is to have something more than just a shadow of humanity hooked onto the ribs like a burr. a machine is only capable of processing its surroundings through complex mathematics, each new discovery a pathway, all the while humanity has feelings, tacks names onto the words tied to the concepts no machine could ever dream of grasping. to dream is to be alive, and to feel alive is to be human. 

well, are you human? — no. do you feel? — — – … yes.

it’s cold now. dark. the rain is merciless and resolute in its desire to soak each passerby to the bone. he knows what cold means. 

          cold. /kəʊld/ adj.          1. of or at a low or relatively low temperature, especially when compared with the human body.          “a freezing cold day”

the halo stuck onto his right temple flickers a dim, sunset - yellow. yes, he knows. his arm, previously left idle at his side, is gently outstretched now, palm to dirt, as he traces every ridge of gooseflesh scattered all across the marble - shaded skin, elbow to wrist, with careful curiosity. it’s odd to feel, odder still to pin a definition to a sensation one had only learned in passing from an online dictionary source. he now is the blackboard and the pen, connecting words to chest like highways to a city. and amidst all the commotion and the noise, inside his own skin he is but a guest come late. a stranger caught outside in the rain. 

it’s colder now. darker. the rain is pouring still. his shirt sticks to every edge of him as if a secondary skin and he is lost to the world, to the cars, to the human traffic all around him. only there is no longer any traffic left to clot these rotting streets and he now only has himself for company. he sees little and acknowledges less, stuck in a world too detached from the one where his physicality roots, caught on the edges of an emotion too unfamiliar to don. and now, in the hush of the night, beneath the waterlogged cloth, the fern plant starts to bloom. / @elliotcnderson

‘This is good exposure Elliot.’ He tried to remind himself of that, replay the words over and over in his mind as he watched from behind the tinted glass as his car sunk lower and lower. Elliot was sprawled in the backseat. They’d already prepped him with make-up, chosen his outfit for the day ( something glamorous but modest, even if they were opposing vibes ) and now, all he had to do was wait. Someone had kindly set up a hologram in the backseat so Elliot could read over his lines. This was of course, all orchestrated, it might be a heart-spun piece about what his life was like back in the slums. It had all the same markers that Elliot was familiar with. If he closed his eyes then it could’ve been someone else’s life he was inhabiting. It was all just another act, another scene. Elliot exhaled and watched as the rain got thicker. He never quite understood how it was possible. Underneath all the glittering skyscrapers of mid and upper town, how the belly of the city could be so wet. Damp and dark as if everyone really was living in the sewers.

The car touched down and there was frantic hushed whispers as everyone organised themselves outside. An umbrella was held open for Elliot as he stepped out into an unfamiliar street. Of course, they couldn’t get his real apartment. Not the one he’d lived in previously as it was let out to some other poor unfortunate soul nowadays. Instead the agency had bought an apartment in the safest part of the lower city – was there really a safe part? The building was drab. No different to the memories he’d so desperately tried to purge. Everything was the same down here, as if it was possible to crush hopes and dreams simply by living in the same stock apartment. He shivers and pulls his pink faux fur closer around him and is led upstairs, flanked by a bodyguard either side.

It’s all a little – forced. Elliot perches on a stool as they touch up his make-up, as if he wasn’t already flawless. There’s a rig being set-up ready for the first scene. Someone reassures Elliot that the mascara is waterproof but the rest is meant to smudge, a little. He doesn’t feel the twinge in his chest like he’s supposed to. Just empty. There’s nothing here to mourn in this haphazard apartment. The furniture is alien. It’s been spotlessly cleaned within an inch of its life, nothing like the Anderson residence of the past.

Someone is rigging him with a microphone as Elliot zones out watching the kettle in the kitchen whistle. Steam fills the kitchen and in an explosion of laughter, a boy runs across the dirty kitchen floor barefoot, his father right behind him with his hands outstretched. In his hand is the holo-disc he’s stolen. It’s supposed to have the game from Saturday night recorded on and Elliot, ever the fool, recorded over it to watch a silly film. His father doesn’t know it yet, seems to think this is all an elaborate game, and Elliot, mischief in disguise is willing this to never-end. If it does, it’ll end in tears.

Elliot blinks, his shift-tacts move a little but otherwise he’s okay. The kitchen is empty, except for a lost looking cameraman filling up his thermos with hot water, the floor is spotless and Elliot is not okay. He lurches from the stool nearly knocking it over in the process. “I need some fresh air.” He mutters, someone tries to follow him but Elliot is quick, too quick. That was after all what had kept him out of table in his younger years. Steal a packet of noodles from the local store? No problem, just run until your feet could carry you no further. Piss off the lady across the road by making a ruckus with hover skates? Easy, just skate into the sunset as fast as your little legs can carry you. Elliot was the master of running away.

The rain hasn’t stopped, somehow in the thirty minutes he’s been inside it’s gotten thicker, heavier. Elliot didn’t think to grab a coat so he’s just in a shirt now, and its already soaked through. It’s quiet in the street that was chosen to be his childhood home, but Elliot keeps running until he’s in the thick of it. Somewhere in lower city that feels vaguely familiar but that could be anywhere. He’s lost, and gods that’s never good down here. Panting Elliot leans against a bus stop, as he straightens up there’s a light in the distance that catches hi eye. One that he’s seen before. Definitely. Perhaps one that he wanted to forget – wasn’t he trying to forget everything? Hedonistic nihilism at its finest.

Across the road only just visible through the dark is a tattoo that Elliot had memorised only a few years ago. One that he thought he’d never see again. Rumours had flown, but Elliot had his own suspicions. Synthetics that were no longer useful ended up down here in lower city, in the scrapyard or recycled. Somehow Zodiac had escaped his fate and now, that fern was taunting him. It couldn’t be him. Elliot took off again, this time with a purpose, a destination in mind. He dodges between the traffic, underneath a car that’s flying too low, and with his heart hammering he steps up onto the pavement opposite. “Zo–” he gasps. “Zodiac?”

In the panic he’s fled without his direct line to the net, so he can’t ask if synths can turn into ghosts. Shit. What was he thinking? Elliot blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “What are you doing here?” Nothing awe inspiring.

#veles ( 001 ) #stfu you know it was EXCELLENT #hello i'm *here* for this

[elliotcnderson]

Sunspot review – a quirky drama depicting life before the collapse ⭑⭑⭑⭑⭒

Review by Katherine Barton Monday 21st October 2358

What was life like before the collapse? Well, Sunspot aims to reveal all. In a bleak but quirky new drama based on the novel of the same name. The story follows the friendship of Kerry and Noah. Starring breakout star Elliot Anderson and the critically acclaimed Kaylen Reid. Last night’s pilot episode opens in Hastings and with a touching start to the series Jadine Crowther’s Sunspot looks to be another series inspired by the much beloved arthouse films before the collapse. Will it be too niche to hook the average viewer in?

#( reviews ) #ihqmmc #this was alot of fun to make #elliot would've been 18... #oh so INNOCENT

[elliotcnderson]

Augmentations

Fashionware 

Light Tattoos – Elliot has two, one on the inside of his wrist (geometric vers. of his zodiac sign scorpio) and the other on his back (an outline of a lotus)

Shift-tacts – They shift colour depending on his mood. Red (energy, excited adventurous), Black (stressed, nervous, tense), Blue (calm, relaxed, lovable), Yellow (unsettled, mixed emotions), Grey (very nervous, anxious), Pink (fear, uncertain), Orange (daring, stimulating), Brown (restless), Purple (clarity, sensual), Green (normal, average), White (bored, frustrated)

Neuralware

Nothing special here, Elliot has the basic processor installed on his spine like everyone else in the city (well nearly everyone) has. But thanks to a steady income of credits he’s now personally linked via an add-on processor to a little pocket mirror he keeps about him at all times. Without cyberware all it means is he can think and activate the miniature computer. Still, no-one else can unlock it. It’s his own private diary.

#( about elliot ) #( augments ) #yes i based his shift-tacts on a 90s mood ring chart #it's very cyberpunk okay #okay i **edited this again #and went back to the og augments so #> i know he has to take out his shift-tacts for acting roles but