"Did Ari Gold account for wind variations and proximity?"

"Well, honestly, Charlie, I read about it in People I wouldn't know, but it seems like you spend as much time watching him as he spends watching you."

"I've noticed Chase's appeal even works on A, um, people who should know better...I'm trying to generate an algorhythm based on symmnetry research, but women's preferences in facial features change throughout the month so..."

"Let me stop you right there, Charlie. I don't care if you're asking for science or what...never ask a woman what time of the month it is. Ever. Okay?"

"Well, Amita is not as delicate as the women you like...she understands about scientific research and.."

"I'm telling you. Just don't. How's Chase doing?"

"He watches me hold my coffee cup and my chalk and then does it after me...he repeats what I say and the order of operations appears to be a complete mystery to him. If he picked up after himself it would be like sharing a room with you all over again."

"I'm not sure who got insulted more there, Charlie. Good luck with the movie."

"Do I really want a movie about my life?"

"I love you, Charlie."

"What was that for? Am I dying or something?"

"No, you're just the only guy in LA that doesn't want to be famous."

Vince Chase picked up his cell at the Urth Cafe. He was just soaking up some semi-private time and hoping that the green tea he ordered would still his pounding fuckin' headache...he hated to admit it, but it had been a long damn time since anyone made him *think* that much. "Hey, E."

"Mr. Pupkin, I presume. Sorry I couldn't be there. Meetings. Also, it makes me feel like that dream where you show up naked to your finals?"

"I never had that one."

"That's cause you're a lucky fuckin' mutant.So, how was it

"Amita was there again today. She smells like vanilla, and did you notice she crosses her sevens?"

"I gotta tell ya, Vince. I never notice any woman's sevens."

"Yeah, you know...I'm already starting to think like Eppes...I'm noticing things are sexy that I never thought of before."

"That's cool, but you cannot fuck her. Promise me."

"Jesus, E, I never knew you wanted to be exclusive. But I love it when you show me who's boss."

"God, Vince, I know you think that shit's funny, but some of those paps can listen in on cell phones."

"Somebody's blushing. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I promise I won't do anything to mess up the movie. Aguaman turned out great, right?"

"Am not. And, yeah, right, asshole. I bet there are thousands of wrap parties that broke up at 10:45."
"But that isn't the movie, is it?"

"No, but...I'm gonna tell you something, and if you're gonna laugh, you're just gonna laugh."

"I swear on Drama's life that I won't laugh."

"Ok, well, I saw Amita and Charlie together when we met them, and I think they're a thing."

"What? Did they make out in the teacher's lounge?"

"No, but he looked at her like he was going across the desert and she was a big glass of water."

Vince sighed. "If there's one thing you know better than me, it's that crap, E. I'll give him a week to declare his intentions and then, you snooze you lose, you know?

I started writing this fic ages ago for an AU challenge, and I got stuck. It's sort of Entourage/Raymond Chandler. I figured the hivemind could help me out.

"You the shamus?"

I liked it that he didn't waste my time...pretty straightforward for a Hollywood pretty boy. And, make no mistake, Vincent Chase was pretty, with the kind of blue eyes that would cause young girls to wet seat covers in moviehouse balconies from here to Peoria. Suddenly, I wished I thought to refill the flask in my desk, but I had to pretend disinterest in Chase's fame. Not that I make it out to the pictures all that much these days; a guy like me hears enough hokum at work to last for a lifetime. But you'd have to be actually *in* the La Brea tar pits not to know that Vincent Chase, in addition to being mentioned in the same breath as Cary Grant, was considered to be the number-one choice to make an upcoming Green Lantern serial. He didn't look like that; he just seemed young. I decided to be brisk and efficient.

"Eric Murphy," He had a solid handshake, strong, but not he-man enough to break my fingers for the hell of it. "My friends call me E."

"I'm..."

"Mr. Chase, I know who you are... Everyone knows who you are."

"Can I call you E?" Something about the way he asked pulled at my heart. It was as if he didn't have a friend in the world.

"Unless you know some reason why we can't be friends."I smiled, but not too much. You can't take too much for granted in my business and there was a reason this actor came to my office, with its dead ceiling fan and half-dead plants instead of sending one of his studio's bigger outfits after it, but I still liked Chase. As he moved closer, I had to revise my opinion of his age.We were probably within a few years of each other, but it was as if the war and the atomic age had bounced right off of him, instead of settling on my back and shoulders. It was all I could do not to ask how he managed that particular neat trick.

"I was glad to hear that you were from Queens...Shauna said that might help, that you know what it's like to be a regular guy...trying to chase a dream and all that."

"I'm pretty sure that when you see Shauna Roberts, you don't talk about me."

I had heard that he had dated Rita Hayworth, but at the merest hint of the madam's occupation, he blushed. I didn't think that was allowed."Well, not when I...when we... Afterwards."

"I'm a detective," I assured him. "I can put it together from here."

"She'll never forget the way you handled that blackmailer for her."

"I can assure you I didn't handle him like Shauna did."

He laughed, an unaccustomed sound in my sad rooms...I'd almost forgotten what it sounded like.

"Is that what brings you here? Pictures?"

His blue eyes widened as if I'd pulled a quarter from his ear. "How did you know?"

"I just figured as much."

Chase's agent Gold looked at me as if I were something the dog dug up and said "Miss Gordon should make sure you have everything you need," and he flashed me a tight little smile, as if he hoped everything I needed was a blindfold and a cigarette for the firing squad.

"Of course, I'd be happy to, Mr. Gold," Miss Gordon said. Unless I missed my guess there was no great love lost between Miss Gordon and her boss. Although she tried to act liked the model employee(something I'd never been good at, and which sent me after the war straight into the gumshoe game. I hoped never to take orders again.) Miss Gordon's expensive French perfume reminded me that taking orders could be very lucrative.

"Hold my calls, Miss Gordon," he said, from halfway down the hallway.

"Of course, Chief," she said and winked at me, as she covered her typewriter with a snap.

"You know, if you're busy, I could come back later."

"Not at all...he always makes me do something like that to show off how important he is...please call me Dana. I don't feel like Miss Gordon."

"You don't look like Mr. Gordon either, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Well, at least you asked first..." Dana said. "Do you have a cigarette...I'm about to die and he won't allow them in his inner sanctum."

I lit one for her and there was a pause as smoky as Dana's tone."You're sure I'm not keeping you from something...more official?"

"Nah...everyone who's anyone is in Palm Springs for this whole month."

"And Gold isn't anyone?"

"Not yet, but he'd like to be..."

I considered the opulent furniture, meant more to be photographed then sat upon, and Miss Gordon herself, chosen as carefully by Gold as she had been chosen more than a decade earlier to fill the Jewish quota at some Eastern women's college. "And all this?"

She blushed. "Family money. Mrs. Gold is definitely someone and she's summering in Palm Springs. Or as much of it as she can see from the bottom of a highball glass." She put her hand to her mouth. "I'm absolutely not supposed to tell anyone that."

"If it's not part of the investigation," I reassured her. "I won't say anything.What do you know about Vincent Chase?"

"Vinny? We all love Vinny...sweet guy, seems like a terrific talent."

I must have looked skeptical because she said "After a while, you get an eye, and can find the gold, no pun intended, among the schmucks He has something that makes everyone want to look at him all the time." Despite the chill in the room, I was suddenly flushed and felt that my tie was too tight. For it was true...I'd already spent more time than strictly neccessary eyeballing my famous client. I told myself that I had to think like him to protect him, but when Dana said that, I felt called out.
She narrowed her eyes at me. "Did Warners' send you? Because if they did, I don't think we have anything else to discuss."

"I'm not really supposed to say," I explained. "it's not official privilege, like with lawyers, but we still try to keep our clients confidential."

"Well, I guess I'll tend to my manicure," and she pulled out some Rich Girl red and began touching up her nails with it.

"C'mon, Dana...you can't just drop big hints about Warners and then not tell me anything..."

"Oh, yeah...watch me."

"okay, then, I'm breaking a rule too...Vinny hired me...pulled the wrinkled bills out of his wallet and everything."

"Jesus."

"So, what happened with Warners, Dana?"

"Mr. Gold had a confrontation with the president there about Vince's contract...they want to loan Vince out to make a Western...isn't that ridiculous? I mean, if it's not Stickballs Along The Mohawk...if he belongs in a Western I'm Dale Evans. But they are probably going to have to do it."

A short one this time...True Blood/ No Reservations gen [link] [link] [link]

Bear in mind, I don't write Supernatural fic, but I have a bunny that's breeding the longer I leave it. I'm begging Amy for as much help as she can give.

Premise: A family is at the center of suspicious deaths (all of fright), and the boys have just interviewed the parents. As they're leaving the fruitless interview, they spot two of the family's children eavesdropping:

There's a staggered pair of eyes peering around the corner at them, and Sam nudges Dean in that direction. Eric steps forward, arm protectively behind him around his sister. As Sam moves closer, Cynthia tries even harder to disappear, pulling Eric's T-shirt tight as she wraps her tiny fists in it.

Dean catches Sam's eyes and gives him a short shake of the head. Let him take the lead on this one.

"You guys know something about all this, don't you?" The pairs of siblings pull up closer to each other, Cynthia still hiding behind her brother, and Eric bracing himself, puffing up to seem as big as possible. "You've heard…or even seen something that might help us."

Sam starts to talk and Cynthia flinches. With a quick gesture Dean signals for Sam to be quiet. This is possibly the only situation where everyone forgets that Dean's a big guy himself, standing next to Sam "Redwood" Winchester. Looks like he intended to use the size discrepancy to his advantage. Sam hangs back.

"Tell me about what you've seen..."

"Cynthia. Her name is Cynthia." Her brother reaches for her hand without needing to look and clasps it in his. "She can *see* it. I can only hear it. She's terrified and keeps ending up in my bed."

"Oh, man! That! When Sammy over there was your age, he ended up in my bed all the time. ALL the time."

"Seriously?" Cynthia speaks for the first time and looks directly up at Sam, who's doing the best he can to shrink and hide behind his bangs.

"Seriously." says Dean in an over-grave voice. "He was like a...like a clinging thing that clings every time he got scared."

"What did you do?" Eric asks.

"My job." Dean's tone is lighter now, sincere. His gaze is on the middle distance. "I protected him."

"Were they real, the monsters?" asks Cynthia, stepping out, still holding Eric's hand, but emboldened by the idea of this massive man scared like she was, and mesmerised.

"Sometimes, yeah."

"And then what?"

"I took care of them, didn't I, Sammy?"

Sam thinks back to when he learnt nightmares were more likely to come true than dreams. And shortly after that, he learnt his young teen brother was as adept with a handgun as with a shotgun, and slept with a hunting knife within reach. There were never monsters under Dean's bed, nor boogey men in *his* closet. They knew better. Sam was safe there.

"He sure did." Sam's eyes are soft, and Dean is smiling the smile he can only give to people who still have most of their innocence left.

"And he's grown up now, so we're both going to take care of whatever this is."

He reaches back and pats the flat of his hand against the expanse of Sam's chest. The sound is solid and reassuring.

"This is really scary, though." Eric is insistent. "What if it scares you? Grownups can totally get scared. I've seen it."

"We'll still take care of it. That's what being grownup means."

Ohhh, I want more.

I have a minor quibble--I don't think Cynthia would step all the way out from behind her brother, no matter how mesmerised she was. Partly, maybe. Leaning, peering. But she doesn't sound ready to step all the way out.

That said, I still want more.

Fantastic, ita !!

Seriously. Dean and kids just make me all heart-melty.

Thanks, That was the easy bit. Amy is going to help me with the hard stuff. My sister's going to help me with the lore, as will my parents.

I plain don't remember how to write a whole story.

I would definitely want to see more of this, ita.