HAPPY FAMOUX FRIDAY!
First off, THANK YOU FOR 50K FOLLOWERS! WHAT??!?
Secondly, do you like the little film noir title I've put in this chapter's photo? Since Famoux can easily feel like a gritty mystery, I've decided to lean into the melodrama and give you a new noir title every chapter. The titles of these noirs will point to the chapter's context. As if like a chapter name. You feel me?
(You DO NOT need to watch any of the films, however. Their own plots and context point to nothing in our story. I'm just using the titles that are best fit.)
I had the longest week ever! I started my two internships, so it's been a very tiring few days, but I pushed myself to find the time to get some writing done after work, no matter how much I wanted to curl up and watch TV.
I hope you like this chapter. It bears many similarities to the other Chapter Ones of Classix past, but there are some BIG differences too! I also watched the pilot of Supernatural for the first time while editing this, so...LET'S GET SPOOKY!
That's been enough talk. Let's get into it:
emeray
It is a perfectly cloudless day in March, yet snow hits the pavement between he and I like the beginnings of winter. This should be impossible––snow without clouds, winter at the start of spring, but it wouldn't be the first contradiction that we've faced today. No, the very nature of our impending interaction breaks almost every single rule we've grown accustomed to these past months. Two hundred and seventy four days, three pens on paper, and a large team of guards keeping us apart are pretty indefatigable subjects; not the easiest of opposers to vanquish. That being said, if today it snows without any clouds to supply it, and if today decides to be winter instead of spring, and if today we can move down this pavement with full faith in our intentions, no moment should be put to waste.
We walk. And then, because we can't quite believe it, we break into a run.
Steps are calculated but sloppy from fervor. My breathing is quick and choppy. My heart careens in my chest like a time bomb ready to detonate. For a moment, I become aware of how my hands are empty, and it careens even further. It feels like a million years since I've gotten to walk down a street without a hand by my side in need of holding. As much as I'd like to relish in this for as long as I can, I pick up my speed, eager to close the distance. Chances like this don't come everyday.
The closer he gets, the more I see of him. His breathing seems steadier than mine, but even so, I know for a fact that he's just as nervous as I am, if not greater. It's flooding up those eyes of his that I know so well. And to think I used to wonder if I'd ever be able to read them.
We are not alone on this snow-sprinkled pavement today. We are far from it. There are passers in pea-coats walking along the sidewalk, shoppers in stores with views from the window, vendors with bright blue umbrellas collecting the steam off their portable fryers, bright yellow taxis honking in the evening traffic. The sunset is almost too perfect against the buildings––the kind newscasters would film and make small talk about on their broadcasts when there's nothing too serious to be discussed.
It's a perfect day. A perfect crowded, cloudless, snowy day in March.
And yet, with so much attention and life and pulsations happening around us, our efforts go unvanquished still. No contract, no matter.
His steps meet my steps.
My steps meet his steps.
I meet him and he meets me.
"Onward," Chapter Stones whispers.
My voice is soft to suit. "Onward."
In spite of every person gathered around us, and in spite of their piqued attention on this one slab of sidewalk we've taken ahold of as our own, and in spite of their eyes like daggers and sabers and fully flexed biceps ready to punch if they don't like what they see, Chapter takes the sides of my face in his hands.
It all comes as one swift nanosecond to watchers, but an eternity to us. Time moves slower, as if my the grace of some higher power. While most days I've been prone to thinking toward the future, I drink in every extended moment I can get, centering myself firmly into matters of the present: what I'm feeling, what I'm touching, what I'm thinking––
Chapter's fingers are not calloused the same way Cartney's are from years of pressing down on the frets of a guitar. No, his are strong, smooth, warm. He strokes the side of my face, perhaps to make sure this isn't a mirage, and he isn't just stroking the air. I understand; I do just the same with the back of his neck.
Our eyes dart to every corner and crack and crevasse on each other's faces. The fraction of an inch between our skin is full of apprehension and hankering. God, I can hardly breathe being so close to him. My mind is like a widening gyre without a center-point to grab onto. How long has it been since I've gotten to be this close? How long will this moment last?
He moves toward me just as I move toward him.
Our lips touch, and it's as if the world gets set on fire.
Chapter pulls me closer to him, the front of his suit pressing against the front of my coat. I can almost feel his heart, quick and pounding, beneath all the layers separating us. I bet he can feel mine too. My hands go up to his hair, but even so, I'm not sure. Every nerve ending in my body has gone completely haywire in the thrill of this moment.
A dozen people around us, but the sidewalk could very well be empty. Snow falling in early Colburn spring, and yet the weather doesn't account for even one of the goose-bumps prickling on my skin. Months of despair since the sun last came back out and we lost a friend, and I have never felt more animate and teeming and wholly extant until this moment.
The back of his neck is warm and smooth against my hands. In a breath, the thought passes out of my lips like a rumor. I'm not even sure if I say it. I know very well I shouldn't, for the sake of the circumstance.
"Are we ruining our lives?"
He doesn't reply, which is a response as any. Do we even care?
A call from just beyond us interrupts, as if that same divine force that gave us this moment has stomped right into the streets of Colburn to end it.
"Cut!"
A bell sounds.
In an instant, the city becomes a replica once again, all its grit and realism darting away with the spotlights. Fake snow stops falling. Microphones shut off. Extras stop moving down the street and break their character with an exhale and a little laugh.
Another scene in our new film, Onward Train, finished.
Our kiss concludes with an unceremonious pull away. Chapter and I step away from each other quickly, awkwardly. Just like that, we start acting again––acting like we're not in love, like we didn't fully mean the thing we just did.
"Absolutely perfect!"
This comes from a lady in a crisp black blazer and thin glasses––Chiara, our director. She nods approvingly, putting her thumb up for more confirmation.
"You don't think the chemistry was off?" Chapter asks her. He gestures to me. "It's a bit weird, you know, doing this kind of stuff together."
I hold back the urge to give him a look. But I don't have to––Chiara does instead.
"You thought that was off?!" she exclaims. "Really?"
"All I'm saying is, we could probably do better. Try a few more takes."
She smirks. "Easy, there. Don't want to make your girlfriend jealous, do you?"
My heart sinks almost instantly at the reminder. I struggle to stay composed, so as not to make anyone suspicious. Meanwhile, Chapter gives our director a smirk, playing mischievous. "You know my reputation, Chiara."
And she does. We all do. Since Foster's death, Norax has been wanting to make the Famoux seem more assessable to the regular layman––to make us the right amount of reachable while also remaining untouchable. For Chapter, this has meant a having a string of semi-famous girlfriends that, in any fan's eyes, could very well be them too! They romances don't usually last long, and are never confirmed past a few well-photographed lunches. What's interesting to me is how the relationships never end with chaos, but rather fizzle out when Chapter's schedule gets too busy. They always understand, and have only glowing things to say about him when the dozens of interviews roll in. And since they're never put under a contract like I was with Cartney, the feelings are real, and the stories are genuine. It all works to make the world fall in love with him even more than they used to.
On set with us today is a girl named Christina Chloe. She's a writer for a local Notness newspaper, which means that her time with Chapter is likely coming to an end soon, given the fact that this is our last day of reshoots before returning back to Betnedoor.
As usual with Chapter's relationships, I can't really find anything bad to say about Christina. She's kind. She's funny. If she lived in Betnedoor, I'd probably seek her out as a friend. Just as Chapter understands that Cartney and I are together, but not in love, I can understand the same of this.
As Chiara and Chapter discuss his love life, I hear someone off beyond us clapping slow and loud over the bustle of staffers and caterers. I'm already rolling my eyes before I turn to see him advancing toward us, grinning.
"What a passionate scene, kids!" Cartney Kirk says with mock acclaim. He puts a hand to his chest and nods to Chiara. "I can just smell the awards already, can't you?"
"No!" Chiara shushes him firmly. "Don't jinx anything!"
Instantly, Cartney puts his hands up. "Right. I forgot. No referencing awards season."
Chiara twists one of her blue stud earrings––a nervous habit of hers I could't help but notice. It's part of her long list of superstitions, including demanding everybody knock on wood if we film a good scene. Things of this nature might've seemed odd at first, but she's got enough awards under her belt to make anything ludicrous seem incredibly legitimate.
As Chiara leads Cartney away, demanding he knock on one of the wooden set doors this instant, a few seconds between Chapter and I are gained. Even though there are plenty more staffers still bustling around the set around us, there's nothing wrong with a little more talk between costars. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I turn to Chapter, who's scratching the back of his neck, where my hands used to be. He speaks in a low whisper, just in case anybody on set is trying to listen into our conversation. Wouldn't be uncommon these days––plenty rumors have arisen about Till's love life based solely off of on-set conversations.
"Haven't done that in a while, huh?"
"Months," I reply.
"Three. And one of those months was on this very set." He looks around us, at the fake snow beneath our feet. "All those weeks meaningless dialogues with the other actors, and we just now got a kiss scene. Feels like a ripoff, don't you think?"
Chapter looks down at my fingers as they glide along the marble caps on his cufflinks. They're maroon.
"It's so unrealistic," I say.
"What is?"
"That you'd be wearing only a suit jacket in the middle of winter. Most overcoats coats aren't even enough."
When I glance up at Chapter, he's watching me with the softest smile. We're still so close, I can nearly feel my insides melting into nothing in all of a second. After months of being forced to generally avoid him, it's like I'm meeting him again for the first time.
"Nobody watching this movie is going to be paying that much attention to detail, love," he whispers. "They just like it when I wear suits."
"They like it when I date Cartney, too, but that doesn't make any of it realistic."
"Sticks." He tries, but he can't hide his smirk. "Keep your voice down."
"What are you two laughing about over here?"
Cartney steps right between Chapter and I, making a real show of it. He throws an arm around my shoulders, leaning his head into my neck with a sigh. When Chapter's face hardens into a scowl, I assume this is exactly the reaction he was aiming for.
"Come on, Cartney." I shrug out of his grip on me. "You don't have to do that."
"And why not?"
"You're being unnecessary."
"Hardly!"
"We've talked about this."
It's a word the two of us have been using often nowadays. In any social situation, it's important for Cartney and I to make clear to one another how we should be acting based on the volume and status of those around us, so as not to cause any greater of a commotion than already present. Thus, before either of us does anything like holding hands or kissing or loudly proclaiming devotion, we turn to each other and discreetly whisper, "Unnecessary?" If the other shakes their head, it's permission to move forward.
"I think we look adorable," Cartney decides. He slings his arm over my shoulders, throwing Chapter a challenging look. "You think so too, right?"
I frown. "Unnecessary."
"Again, hardly."
Chapter just narrows his eyes. "We'll just have to wait and see how the audience feels about the chemistry in this movie," he says. "I mean, for all you know, your contract could be coming to a premature end."
"Impossible," Cartney says. "A love like mine and Emeray's is too damn strong, even for you."
They continue their banter on the walk from the set to our trailers. All the while, I stand in between them, feeling like I should take off my heels and walk barefoot so that they don't have to keep craning their necks past me to see one another. It is an incredibly odd dynamic, the three of us: While Chapter trusts Cartney to keep the secret of the Fissarex and Callan, and while Cartney has commended Chapter before in our own private conversations, none of it constitutes to an actual, genuine friendship between them. Perhaps it would've, if Cartney didn't have to date me, or if Chapter didn't have to watch us holding hands everyday on our very publicly broadcasted walks. As long as this dating contract stands, it doesn't seem like a friendship is on the way any time soon.
When we reach the trailers, I clear my throat. "Um, we have about a couple minutes until the jet leaves, right?"
"We do," Chapter says. He looks over to Cartney. "Do you mind if Emeray and I talk for a minute?"
"Don't you have a girlfriend waiting for you in your trailer?"
Like clockwork, the door of the trailer furthest from us opens, revealing Christina. She smiles and waves at Chapter.
Cartney animatedly waves back. He pats Chapter on the back. "All right, go on and break up with her, or whatever you do."
"Christina is nice. Don't be insensitive." He then turns to me and dares to put his hand on my cheek while he says, "I'll see you on the jet later. Concern."
The way my breath catches near giddily makes him smile. "Concern."
Gerald is waiting for Cartney and I inside my trailer. He's seated at the dining area, clad in full sentry-ware––the bulletproof vest, the belt full of at least four different firearms, the whole nine yards. His helmet is on the table, its rounded edge rocking back and forth against the hardwood like faint music. When he looks up from the magazine he's reading and sees us, he can't seem to contain the look on his face.
"Uh oh," I say. "What's wrong?"
"Well, Emeray." He rises from his seat with a cough, gaining his composure. "I do believe I deserve a raise from my current payment as a sentry."
"Huh?"
He waves the magazine in his hand. "Since the Notness Newsflash here has finally figured out that I am the man who, quote, has stolen you away from Cartney Kirk, I think I should be getting some more special treatment than the other guards."
When my face scrunches up, Gerald bursts into laughter. He hands me the magazine, pointing at the headline: FAMOUX GUARD STEALS EMERAY ESSENCE'S HEART. HOW IS CARTNEY COPING? Beside a hefty block of text full with quotes from apparent "inside sources" is a blown-up image of Gerald holding my hand to lead me through the front doors of a restaurant. The caption claims that I was, in fact, not on my way to lunch with Cartney, but secretly having lunch with my "secret bodyguard boyfriend."
Cartney rolls his eyes. "Notness! Always trying to ruin a nice thing!"
"I just hope this doesn't affect my shift or something," Gerald continues, folding the magazine in half. He sets it down into a wastebasket as leisurely as placing clothes in a drawer. "You know how Norax is about preserving your little relationship. If she make me sit in some awful closed up room filing papers because of one little rumor..."
"They wouldn't," I assure him. "Everyone knows Notness has the least reliable tabloids. Especially Norax."
"You've got a point."
Gerald and Cartney step outside the trailer to give me time to change and pack. Now that the reshoots are finished, my schedule has gotten a lot less hectic. In fact, the only things lined up for me for the next few months are the interviews before Onward Train premieres in April and a few appearances at the other members' special events. It's the least busy my schedule has been in months.
Even though I should be glad about all this, I can't help but wish we had a few more weeks of reshoots left. Even though Cartney has been by my side nearly every second off-set, on-set Chapter and I are the ones expected to be in love. Albeit, he has to tell me that he loves Kendall, the character I'm acting as, but at this point, we'll take what we can get.
There isn't much for me to pack, since most of the outfits I've worn this past month are ones from the wardrobe department. I'm out of my trailer in less than ten minutes, yet everybody is already out, waiting on me. Chapter even had enough time to break up with Christina––a parting which, in his words, was a mutual understanding.
The flight is quiet, mostly. Gerald chats with Chapter and Cartney's bodyguards, discussing techniques on how to get us through crowds quicker. Here and there they slip in stories about their families, maybe their kids, a spouse, siblings. It's all an interesting concept to me, how these people have lives outside of us, yet also seem to be around us every second. I try to picture Gerald returning home to his family, but I don't know what to picture. All I can really see is him stationed just outside my door.
When we touch down in Betnedoor, there are plenty real clouds sheeting down snow on this snowy day in March. This is one of the colder places in the country, and spring doesn't truly start for another month or so. After weeks of fake snow on set, it's jarring to step out and actually feel cold. Here, I don't get to walk as freely as I did, nor dare get to walk toward Chapter. Instead, our guards form their barrier, pushing the three of us celebrities through a mob of flashing cameras and brusque shouts. The paparazzi must be delighted––they're back! A whole month of having to follow around Kaytee, Till, and Race is good content to paparazzi, but when it becomes consistent, it's not the best content. Now that Chapter and I have been gone for a while, pictures of us are rare. They eat it right up, the lights of their cameras nearly blinding me on the way to the car.
When our big black car arrives at the Metropolix, Chapter's guard tells him that he has a meeting scheduled, and that the car will take them there after dropping me off. It figures. Norax rarely lets Chapter and I be in the Metropolix at the same time. Not like we could even be together there, given the increased volume of guards flanking every room.
Cartney gets out to open my door. The cameras can't get enough of it. Before I can step away onto the curb, he steps closer to me, putting his hand on my face, just like he saw Chapter do it before in Notness.
"Unnecessary?" he asks.
I look to the eager crowds, then back to him. "I guess not."
He nods, pulling me in for a kiss.
This kiss on a street in front of dozens is nothing like the one I experienced this morning. There is no feeling attached.
As it turns out, I have come home to an empty Metropolix. The other members are all out keeping themselves busy in the public eye. I'm not surprised by this. It has become usual for there to be only one of us in the Metropolix at any given time, what with how packed our schedules are.
According to the guard stationed in the kitchen, Norax is due to return within the hour. I look to Gerald, and he nods.
"You go up to your room," he says. "I'll get your bags."
As my personal guard, Gerald is supposed to be stationed inside my room to protect me in the event that someone sneaks in and tries to kill me. Whenever Norax is gone, though, Gerald steps outside of my door to, as he says, "Have plausible deniability."
My room smells like fresh peonies. Ever since I mentioned that peonies were my favorite, Norax has employed a group of people to come in and spray my things with the scent whenever I'm out of the room. The smell is strong, even down on the ground next to my nightstand, where I crouch down and pull a small rectangular box out from beneath it.
For a moment, this makes me nervous. I sniff the box, and it smells of old books. I exhale, relieved. So no one has found this yet.
Good.
I open the box, pulling out the items one by one:
My copy of The Last Tycoon, where the labels from the bottles of Fitz's Gin are carefully pressed within its pages.
The note from DEFED Cartney got while we were in the Fishbowl.
The MISSING sign for my brother Dalton.
I set them all out, side by side on the hardwood floor. Mysteries I haven't solved yet. Problems Norax wishes to sweep under the rug and never discuss again. And so, for the hour I have before she returns, I have to get to work, reconsidering each piece and what it could mean. I can't let these things get swept under the rug.
Not yet.
I start with Cartney's note from DEFED. Since it's the final note we've received from them, I've been trying to figure out if there are any kinds of hidden messages for us lingering within it––something that would last us the past three months in their absence.
The stationary they used is beginning to yellow. I reread the message carefully, taking time to consider each word:
You Famoux think you are so original, like all your gadgets and tools couldn't be replicated by anybody.
You've got a machine that can change everything about the way a person looks?
We've got one just like it.
You've got makeup that acts like a magnet to your face?
We've got bullets that do just the same.
Lucky for five of you, the bullets aren't set to hit you at all. You could stand there in the middle and they'd move right past you. But how'll poor Doctor Foster size up to that shower of rain?
Much love,
The Disorder Evolution Fellowship of the Establishment of Delicatum
Just reading it over makes me shudder, especially at the mention of Doctor Foster. I set the note down out of my line of sight––just looking at it makes my stomach turn.
Over the last few months I've begun to unpack DEFED's threats here. They obviously want us to be afraid that they not only have a Fissarex, but also technology that can be specifically designed to kill us. It's hard to tell if they're bluffing or not about the Fissarex, since we've seen proof of their bullets in action. The only proof I can find for their own Fissarex is the possibility that they created a copy of my old friend Marlon York––the same copy of him that ran up to me and kissed me in front of everybody one afternoon at Wes Tegg's. Since DEFED has yet to claim that, however, I can't be too sure. It seems like a move they would have claimed as soon as they did it.
Deciding to work on the gin labels next, I grab The Last Tycoon, flipping to the page eight where the first one lies. It's the one with the sheet music that spells out DEFED.
Straightforward enough. I then go to page eighteen. It's the one whose notes and symbols translates to, as I interpreted, DON'T BE CAGED. I take in a deep breath and think about this message. What deeper meaning could DEFED be trying to make here, besides making an allusion to living in the Fishbowl?
After a while, I come up with nothing new, so I go to page twenty eight.
But then, my blood goes cold.
There isn't a next one.
I flip to page thirty eight.
None.
Trying my best to reel in my panic, I try to rationalize things in my head. The box didn't smell of peonies. How could they have gotten to it? If Norax had found it, wouldn't she have just confiscated everything?
Frantic, I turn the book over and shake it.
A single golden slip of paper falls out.
The whole world seems to slow to a stop. The paper hangs in the air, suspended for a moment, while I register exactly what it is and what it means.
They've made contact again.
The paper hits the floor face-down among all my other clues. For a few moments, I stare at it––at the bright glint of the gold. The way it makes me squint my eyes reminds me of the flash of the cameras from the paparazzi earlier. The ever present omniscience of it all. The knowledge that someone is always watching.
Slowly, I muster up the courage to grab the paper and flip it over. There is no signature at the bottom like usual, no indication of the sender. But it's not like I need one. I already know who sent it, and they know it.
You have always been caged.
But worry not. We are here to free you.
Soon.
xxx
THERE IT IS! AGHHH!!! TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS!!! Things escalated pretty quickly. At least, it felt quickly when I was writing it!
HERE ARE THE LOVELY READERS WHO WERE CHARACTERS IN TODAY'S CHAPTER:
ClarySweeney was our lovely director of Onward Train! Chiara, you're going to be a recurring character, since we've gotta have our movie premiere at some point!
The amazing ken_you_not shares a name with the character Emeray is playing in Onward Train! This means that you, Kendall, technically just got to make out with Chapter too. You can also consider that Emeray longs to be you, and to personify you, and to act as you.
And, finally, we have the lovely christinachloe as Chapter's girlfriend. So..... my friends, NOW do you see why in last week's afterward I "jokingly" told you to "comment your name so I can make you a mysterious flame of Chapter's"??? Because CHRISTINA commented, "Wait, I wanna be Chapter's mysterious flame," to which I responded, "NOTED."
She saw the opportunity and ran with it. I want YOU to run with it! Comment your name, future lover of a Famoux member. Comment away. (Any gender identification and sexual orientations welcome with this offer, too. None of this is reserved for any specific type of person!)
Also, please know that I am most preoccupied with making you happy, and that if you are unhappy with the character you are made to be, I am sorry. I don't want to be adding unnecessary characters all over the place and start bogging down the story, so there will be roles that are "bigger" than others, and choosing who gets what is not in any way a reflection of how much I like you. Because I love everyone who is reading SO MUCH. I don't know if this is going to become a problem, but back in earlier drafts it sort of was, so I'm covering my bases now before we get too far into the story.
With this, I leave you. Have a wonderful day, Wattpad!!!! Have a wonderful WEEKEND!! And remember:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.