Drink, Bash, Bitch, Ditch
Danni lounged in one of the booths under the moonlit sky on the Terrace at Pure. She twirled the little straws in her drink idly as she waited for Darick to arrive. She'd had a bit of trouble getting in the door, never a true A-lister, but being a member of the Birthright cast got her through. She nodded to a few people as greetings were offered but mostly just kept to herself.
 
She was in a mellow mood this evening, a rare event for the raging bitch on set. She rarely thought of anyone but herself and boy did it really burn her ass to be finally shot to stardom by Ed. The shit. She shook her head and fluffed her hair out with a low growl.
 
At least she had her looks and her voice; at close to 40 if she didn't, she'd be sunk. She played a mid 30 something on the show, but expert makeup artists concealed the signs of aging on her extremely well. Not that there were terribly many to begin with. A few crow's feet around the eyes, a bit of a set of brackets around the mouth. Both could be sexy on the right kind of woman, and she was that kind of woman.
 
Trouble was, not too many people realized it. They mobbed the younger cast members and the older ones like herself and Di were left in the proverbial dust. Ah well, it definitely wouldn't hurt her reputation to be seen with Darick this evening. Where the hell was he, anyway?

“Off the jacket, Jessica... Get off. Get off.”

A sea of prying fingers... it was the story of his career as of late. Though Darick Delmacher had graduated Harvard and brought home a prestigious award to his fledgling documentary filmmaking company, those days were far removed. Fresh out of ideas and inspiration, the handsome talent first had a breakdown, complete with trip to an outpatient mental clinic. Then he resurfaced as an actor, relying heavily on his looks and snobbish delivery to gain him credibility as Darian on Birthright

Hollywood credibility, that was... Not so much with the scholarly crowd. However, so far as wealth and fame were concerned, there was no shortage of cash and neither did Darick lack for fan girls, a fact that was apparent as he pried the fingernails out of his clothes.

He worked his way to Danni’s side and plopped into a seat. The dramatic flair wasn’t finished there. Darick whipped off his glasses -- purely aesthetic, of course -- and polished the lenses. “Sorry, I got manhandled by some celebutante at the door. You work with Martin Scorsese once, suddenly she thinks you’re Jesus fucking Christ. How are you?”

Danni watched as Darick practically ripped the hands off some girl who'd managed to get through the security at the door and smirked to herself at his tirade as he settled across from her. She pushed the half finished drink in his direction, nothing girly, single malt scotch on the rocks.
 
She knew the obnoxious little waiter would be along in about half a second to drool on the exceedingly handsome man now occupying her table. "I'm not too bad, not nearly as well mauled as you though," she answered with a faint sneer for the fan girls just barely keeping their distance. The Greek accent she used for the show was absolutely absent, she was from Canada, after all.
 
Oh, she had her share of rabid fans, but they weren't really the sort to be partying hard in a place such as this. They were more the sort to be putting her name into Google and stocking up on tissues and letters clipped from magazine articles. Goddamned middle aged stalker men. She flicked a wrist to hurry the waiter up and ordered a fresh drink for herself as she lit a California Dreams cigarette. It was bright blue, which amused her to no end.
 
"So do tell, Darick, what's going on in your rich and famous lifestyle?" It'd been a bit too long since they'd last spent time together and she was hopelessly behind. Between spats with that whore, Jean, and vicious claws and hair tearing with Rachel over her constant pranking, she just had no time to do anything but be a bitch anymore.

The actor took a gulp of Danni’s scotch and made a face. “That tastes like horse piss.” He brought a new pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, which was brown corduroy and worn at the elbows. Tapping into his palm, he went on, “I got a call-back for an Ang Lee project. I don’t think I’m going to take it. He’s so washed up... talk about a one-hit wonder. Can you believe he‘s going for the gay angle again? I can‘t imagine why he thinks I‘d be perfect for it.”

Darick put a cigarette in his mouth and lit up. The taste went down smooth. He crossed his arms and leaned into the seat. After a moment or two, he rubbed his neck, the epitome of a man who could not sit still. “Do you feel a draft? I can’t wait until scarf season.”

He smoked steadily and watched a troupe of socialites at the bar.

Danni had to laugh at the face Darick made at the drink, he made like such a manly man but the finest scotch tasted like horse piss. "To each their own," she toasted him with the fresh glass and smoked as he related the Lee project. She could imagine why he'd be perfect for it. Utterly hot as some roughed out fag doing who knew what.
 
She blew a few absent smoke rings and watched the people around them as well until he asked if she felt a draft. Then she burst out laughing and pointed over the railing, "Of course there's a draft, we're four stories in the open air!" The Terrace was absolutely huge, all tricked out like a swank garden patio in some very wealthy idiot's back yard but it was on the roof of Caesar's Palace instead.
 
"We could go get cozy over there in one of those chairs made for two by the fire pit if you're chilled though," came the offer in a slightly amused tone. They were big wicker and rattan nests, very plushly lined with a large pad in the bottom and comfortable pillows to create any kind of support one might desire.
The actor snorted and scratched his nose. “Can you imagine the rumors? Darian and Dyan up to old tricks.” He ordered a Guinness for himself and kept rubbing his neck. In the process he noticed how long his hair was getting. He wouldn’t pretend to understand what was going on with the hairstylists now. Compared with season one standards, the Dealmaker was looking almost grizzled; just two episodes ago, they left him with a five o’clock shadow just to see what the viewers would make of it.

“Let’s move,” he decided. He was grateful she picked the Terrace over the crowd inside; it meant he didn’t have to argue with her. The woman was antagonistic. In fact, she reminded him of Tatum O’Neil. Antagonistic was better than boring, except that it occasionally had them bickering like two bitches.

Darick got up and made himself comfortable in one of the chairs Danni pointed out. He didn’t care if she was joking or not. His beer came and he drank some off the top before deciding he was tired of talking about himself. “You’ve got two choices,” he said, practically snapping the ash off his cigarette. “We can talk shit about somebody on set or you can tell me what’s going on with you and Rachel.”

Danni had to laugh, one hand going up in the air to drop the too long ashes over the edge of the roof and send them swirling into the night below. "Old tricks indeed, wonder what the fans would say." A chuckle followed the rhetoric as she got up and followed him over to the fire pit.
 
She had a drink in each hand now, the scotch he'd derided as horse piss and the second she'd ordered in case he'd kept it. She settled in beside him after dropping her spent cigarette somewhat clumsily into the fire. Then she finished off the more empty of the glasses and set it on a table close by before she looked over at him, the fire setting amber sparks to dark blue eyes that regarded him with something like surprise.
 
"Talking shit or discussing my paid make out partner, huh?" The blonde shook her head and set the still mostly full glass alongside the empty one, those suddenly intense eyes taking in everything and everyone around them. She really did not want to wind up in the scandal rags for discussing Rachel. Not that there was much she could say. 
 
"Rachel is a joker, so different from her character. I take it you haven't had her prank a scene on you yet?" She snorted softly, remembering the time Piper had surprised them in the middle of a love scene by bursting out of the fridge of all places! "It gets on my nerves sometimes, creates a hell of a lot more work than is really required to swap spit and pretend to fuck, you know?" They fought about it constantly, but maybe that was because Rachel had flatly turned down the older woman's off screen advance once upon a time.

Darian waved his cigarette at her. “Speak for yourself. Who’s pretending?”

The bottom of his beer was a long way off, so he redoubled his efforts to finish it and get on the road towards a buzz. He was by no means a lightweight, but unlike his character, Darick was still capable of getting drunk within the allotted hour. He went back to the thing about Rachel. The Scottish actress was the reigning princess of the blooper reel on the DVD extras, and a favorite of the convention fans. That was fine by him; the only blooper he featured in was when his clip-on tie flew off his shirt mid-take.

“If she did that to me, I’d be pissed. It’s unprofessional.” He tossed his cigarette on the cement, suddenly feeling very jaded. It was possible to tire of one‘s own personality, a fact that Darick experienced weekly. “Ignore me, I’m jealous. No one’s crashing my scenes. I’d practically pay for it, at this point. Since when did the writing get so stale?”

On a roll with a topic he could actually care about, the former Ivy Leaguer leaned towards Danni and lit into the creative team. “You ever notice what Darian does? He negotiates... over and over and over. Nothing ever happens!” The actor sloshed his beer. “It’s the fucking censorship. They upped the rating on that episode with the Bethany look-a-like, the one he shot, and now his storylines are so squeaky clean, you’d think the network wiped them down with Purell.”

Darick finished his beer and sleeved his mouth. “Maybe I should do the Ang Lee project.”

Danni snorted and took a long drink from her glass as she considered the pretending question. "She's pretending, I wouldn't be.. crew and cameras be damned." She toasted him as he began to drink in earnest and waved a waiter over to order a fresh round for them. "It might be unprofessional, but most of the cast adores her. I heard there's some tape of the Searchlight graveyard from last night, she nearly scared the pants off Piper."
 
She blonde stroked his arm and let her fingers trace lightly over the back of his hand before withdrawing into her own space again. "I'm sure she'll crash one of yours eventually, she's gotten everyone but me and you, it seems." It helped that most of Danni's scenes were with Rachel.
 
"Your Purell, my mush. I play a gods be damned vampire in love," she spat and made a face. "Vampires are supposed to be violent and cause trouble and be rampantly sexual! Instead, I do that in reality and my character is a little lamb." She made a harumphing noise, lit a fresh cigarette and swallowed the last of the now watered down scotch just as the waiter came by with their fresh round.
 
"I know just what you mean, the writers they have on crew these days just have no real head for demonic evil. Purity’s got a decent story going on, what with those shadow things and Elfleda with being kicked out of her spot as the Bride." She drew hard on the tobacco, this one wrapped in baby pink paper, and blew the smoke at a couple of people who were staring and taking pictures with their cell phones.

Without a drink or a smoke to busy the fastidious actor’s hands, he was stuck smoothing back his hair. He looked stressed. “Man... I completely blew off that scene. Did you see the dailies? They wanted Darian to fall all over himself at the chance to screw her drunk. The thing is, they’ve got him built up to be this debonair asshole, but he’s supposed to be arrogant. The way I see it, Darian would love to pound her back to whatever Hell she came from, but wasted? That’s doesn’t even count. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”

He shielded his eyes from the bright beam of light shooting out of some woman’s camera phone. It wreaked havoc on his glasses lenses. Thankfully the amateur paparazzi got the point and closed down shop.

Paranoia crept up on him. “Do you think I should’ve gone through with it?” Darick asked. “I mean they’ll probably make me shoot it anyway, fucking contract, but I definitely pushed back the schedule.”

Danni handed Darick the fresh drink she'd ordered for him and shook her head slightly. "Stick to your guns, an actor without standards is nothing." She flicked the second spent butt into the fire, only having barely resisted the urge to send it in the direction of the gawkers instead. She sipped from her own fresh glass and leaned a little closer to him to comment quietly, "You could probably demand to write your own stuff and get it pushed through." 
 
She set the glass aside and tugged the ends of his too long hair lightly with a smirk. "At least you've still got your looks, everyone knows I'm just about washed up." Her tone was harsh, even if her expression was not. Without warning, she burst into song, that velvety sandpaper voice, "I'm no Barbie doll, I'm not your baby girl, So I've done ugly things and I have made mistakes, And I am not as pretty as those girls in magazines, I am rotten to my core if they're to be believed, So what if I'm no baby bird hanging upon your every word? Nothing ever smells of roses that rises out of mud..."
 
The people around them looked on, startled as she let the words trail away into nothing. Some rock song from the mid 90s that had been kicking around in her head, it sort of applied to the studios and the tabloids for her. "They might make you do it, but I bet you could force it to be sober and more of a challenge. You have enough pull to do something like that." 
 
It's a cable network, for crying out loud. Why were they being subjected to exactly what he said, fucking censorship. The television viewers these days were so much more liberal with the things they wanted to see on programming they paid to receive, why not give them what they asked for?

"Maybe you should do the Lee project,  who knows? Is the script any good?" An afterthought, for sure, but it'd take his mind off Elfleda and the like. "You'd be hot as a gay guy, one of those that comes from around the corner and shocks the hell out of everyone." A wink as Danni finished her third drink and set the glass aside to twine her fingers together in her lap.

“Yeah, maybe,” Darick said, uncommitted to the idea.

The actor went half-deep into the new Guinness and licked his lips. “Tell you what though, I’ll quit before I write an episode of a serial drama. It’s one thing to act in it; you can blame the writers if its schlock.”

He was too cold on the edge of the terrace, but now by the fire, Darick felt like his corduroy jacket might spontaneously combust from all the heat. He got up and stood instead, a hand in the pocket of his jeans, while he polished off the beer. “Maybe I’ll film a documentary about all the fucking and drugs going on behind the scenes. There’s the real story.”

The doors swung open and gave view to the posh party happening inside Pure. He tipped his head at the terrace rail, seeming to actually consider jumping his way out of there instead. “Too bad I can’t teleport.” He put the glass down. “Try not to kill anyone on the way to your car. The press is out in force. See you.”

Danni watched him with a faint smirk, the cold and the heat and the crowd finally getting to be too much for the star. She stood as well and nodded before giving his shoulder a squeeze. "A documentary would probably sell like hot cakes, Darick." She winked and shook her head as she headed to the steps. 
 
"You be careful too, thanks for coming out tonight." She gave a wave as she stepped onto the crazy twisting steps and started down. Of course, she had to dodge drunken fools all the way down but it wasn't nearly as bad as the line to get into the elevator and descend into the main section of the club as if one were a god.
 
She made it out the doors and was promptly accosted by a jerk with a video camera shoved in her face. She shoved the camera out of her way with a growl. "Get lost, can't a woman have a few drinks with a pal in peace?" That was what she got for going to the drinking home of the A-list starlets.