Chapter 44: Very Minimalist

The plot of [Silver Comets] was pretty straightforward, to say the least.

Owen Winters, the protagonist, was a talented singer and songwriter who just happened to have been raised by a failed musician of a father.

And although the man had never once projected his failures onto his son, or even tried to get him to be a musician for that matter, Owen had managed to find his way onto that path anyway.

In an effort to support his son’s aspirations though, he did his best to teach him everything he possibly knew.

Sadly, on the eve of Owen’s high-school graduation, the man got into a fatal accident that put him in a coma.

Forced to now fend for himself, and equally his father’s medical bills as their insurance could only cover so much, it didn’t take long before Owen found himself getting a job at a restaurant he hated.

Luckily, he managed to employ his skills to secure a reputation as a dependable lead guitarist within the suburbs of LA, hence affording him the opportunity to land gigs that paid well enough to keep him afloat.

That reputation, was what had secured him a full-time position as the lead guitarist of Red Velvet, an indie band that had started off rough, and then slowly began making a name for themselves around the suburban parts of LA.

Then came the ’Battle of The Bands’ announcement by an established record label looking for fresh new artists they could mold into their next pop phenomenon.

After noticing a steadily increasing trend in the demand for a pop band in the music industry, they decided to take the dive.

Going by the name, JukeBox Records, they advertised a ’winner takes all’ cash-prize of one million dollars, and a record deal for a full album.

And for every aspiring indie band in LA--Red Velvet included, they immediately jumped on the opportunity, ready to prove they had what it took to be the next big thing.

But for Owen whom was kicked out of Red Velvet and was unwilling to give up on the life changing opportunity, he decided to make a band of his own after much deliberation.

However, before he locked in that decision, he was rather distraught on what to do.

And after just being kicked out of his band, he made his way back to the one person he could only really talk to.

His comatose father.

{Silver Comets | 10th September 2016 | Act 1 | Scene 3 | Take 1}

Observing the necessary formalities at the reception upon walking into the establishment, Owen made his way through the halls.

As usual, the scent of antiseptic hung stubbornly in the air under the fluorescent lights.

The doctors were too tired to be inclined to smile as they moved from ward to ward.

The nurses drifted briskly through the corridors with a quiet urgency as their rubber soles squeaked softly against the polished tiles.

The hospital floors bustled with patients and visitors alike, some slumped in plastic waiting chairs with anxiety written all over their features, while others idly scrolled through their phones.

Familiar with the monotony of it all, Owen made his way through the floors and soon arrived at his father’s ward, the doors closing with a soft click behind him.

Glancing over to the monitor, the soft beeps indicating normal physiological life signs, Owen slowly moved towards and eased into the chair next to the bed, his gig bag gently set next to it.

For a while, the youth said nothing.

Instead, he just stared at the steady rising and falling of his comatose father’s chest, his thoughts trying to arrange themselves in the best order before he chose to speak.

Then, when he was finally ready, he spoke;

"Hey, Dad. I’m still alive, barely."

"You, on the other hand, seem positively fine with being in limbo," he casually made a dark joke.

Then, leaning back into the chair, the faint plastic creak sounding louder than it should have in the quiet ward, he committed to the bit, a thin, barely concealed smile touching his lips;

"You’d probably call this the ultimate life hack, huh?"

"No rent, no bills, free meals, and all the sleep you could ever want."

"And look at that, you’ve even got a personal DJ. Beep... Beep... Beep..." the onomatopoeia escaped his lips as he gestured lazily towards the monitor whose beeps remained rhythmical.

"Very minimalist." he nodded approvingly.

"I know how much you like minimalist music."

"Still," he continued quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You might wanna wake up soon. I just got kicked out of the band,"

A brief pause followed.

"And I’d really love your guidance on what to do next." a small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Glancing over to the man who remained unresponsive despite his shenanigans, Owen let out a resigned sigh.

Then, gently clasping his father’s palms, holding it for what seemed like forever to him when in fact it was just a few minutes, Owen inclined his head forward and whispered;

"I’ll do my best to heal you, I promise. In return, try to wake up soon, okay."

And with that, Owen remained seated, his head pressed slightly to the man’s palm.

It didn’t take long after that though. He dozed off, straight into slumber.

"Cut!"

-

"That was a great take," Harrison remarked upon checking the cameras.

"Nice touch on the ’beeps’ too Niall," the director commended the actor whom was already trying to suppress a chuckle.

"Unfortunately, we’re gonna have to take that ’dark joke part’ again." the director himself chuckled, same as most of the cinematographers in the room.

The reason?

The middle-aged actor whom was tasked with playing Owen’s father had let a smile slip during the shot, one that was almost imperceptible, but was still noticeable with enough scrutiny nonetheless.

"Thanks a lot, Jonathan." Niall commented, playfully looking to the man whom was rising from the bed, his hands raised in defense as he countered;

"In all fairness,"

"You weren’t supposed to make those sounds." he stated.

"Improvisation never hurt anyone," Niall casually shrugged, an amused smile on his lips.

"Not when you’re doing it like that!" the man countered once again, earning another round of chuckles from the crew.

As dark jokes had always been Owen’s father’s thing--something that would be touched on later in a scene in the movie--the habit had been passed onto his child.

A child who often did it whenever he came to visit, cinching onto a sliver of hope that it could maybe revitalize him in some way, shape or form.

Then there was also the fact that Owen also used it as a coping mechanism.

In any case, though the original bit had already been humorous enough, Niall couldn’t help but take it a bit further, just for shits and giggles.

Truly, he was having a good time filming the movie, even though it was practically still the first day of filming. It had been a while since he’d been on a film set after all.

"Alright. Enough playing around," Harrison’s cool yet authoritative voice commanded the room, prompting everyone to assume their professionalism once more.

"Let’s try and get it right this time." he clapped and once again, everyone moved into position.

*

It didn’t take long before news got to Joaquin that Henry’s movie had finally begun filming.

Having gotten more details about it over the past couple months, the man had kept himself updated on the proceedings of the movie.

And though he wasn’t able to lay his hands on the movie’s script, or any other tidbit that might give him some insight into how well the movie was bound to perform, he did understand how much effort his older brother was putting into it.

That alone, had been enough reason for him to make the movie a catastrophic failure by whatever means necessary.

However, as if reading his mind, Henry was currently seated before him in his office at Diamond Productions, a stony expression on his features as he spoke;

"I’m only here to give you one warning, Joaquin,"

"Keep your mangy hands off my movie." he warned.

"Whatever do you mean," Joaquin simply replied, a sweet smile on his lips.

"I may have entertained your bullshit for far too long, but this time, if you so much as fuck me over, I will come after you with everything I’ve got," Henry ignored his response as he rose up from the chair while adjusting his blazer.

"Once again, you’ve been warned."

No sooner had he said that, he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him as Joaquin’s gentlemanly features took on a rather sinister smile.

On an average day, Henry knew better than to downright challenge his younger step-brother.

As cunning as the little shit was, he was certain he was already scheming several different ways to ruin the new movie he was producing.

Him challenging him like this, would probably only serve to make him double down on doing so.

However, it was exactly because of that that he did it.

Now, if anything happened to the movie... if so much as the wind swept in the wrong direction on set, or a couple equipment misbehaved, he was indirectly telling him that he would hold him responsible.

Joaquin too was well-aware of his older brother’s tactics.

And because of that, he was even more inclined to see the movie crash and burn.

The only issue now, was how covertly he would go about it.

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/Caer07