| Plot #1 |
| In my world of one-word-titles, this little plot is entitled "Fear". Of course, the title, like the rest of the story, is at your mercy. Manipulate it to your heart's content. This is a little bit of dialogue you can build off of, or just take a cue from. Make sure you read the Expectations aka, the rules. Have fun! ~Plot Mistress~ |
| "Can I ask you something?" She looked up from her book, a bit startled. Her eyes narrowed in on him. "Not if you're going to stand over me like that." She used a foot to push out the chair across from her. He set his tray on the table between them and sat down. "Does it bother you?" She waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be struggling for his words. "Does what bother me? The fact I've never met you before in my life, and yet you're sitting here in front of me trying to start an in depth discussion?" He looked at her, nonplused, making her smile. "Go on. Does what bother me?" He tried again. "Does it bother you that I'm famous?" She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Does it bother you?" "I'm serious, dangit!" She could read the irritation in his eyes, so she composed herself. "The fact that you're famous, in and of itself, does not bother me, no. But that's not what you're loking for, is it?" She was curious now. "Does it bother you that if I weren't famous, and you weren't famous, we wouldn't be having this conversation?" She looked pointedly at him, and he realized that wasn't entirely what he had meant to say. "That if I didn't know who you were, and if you didn't know who I was, despite the fact that we've never met, neither one of us would be sitting here, in a mall food court, having an in-depth conversation with a stranger?" "You mean you wouldn't have picked my bright smiling face out of the crowd if you didn't know I had a record deal, a world tour, and money in the bank?" Her expression told him she was joking with him, and he relaxed a little. "Being famous, it's like any other brotherhood, or society, or union. It's what you have in common that binds you together." She watched as he played with his fries. "It's just that societies, brotherhoods, unions, they're all exclusive. And the members tend to be snotty towards outsiders," she whispered conspiratorially. He nodded. "I wasn't like this before," he murmured. "I wasn't afraid before." Their eyes met, and she wanted to take him in her arms right then and there and hold him like she would have held a child. "What makes you afraid?" Her book had long since been forgotten, and they both knew his food would grow cold and go uneaten. "I'm afraid that everybody knows who I am, but nobody knows me." "Do you think that's true?" she asked. "Do you think no one knows you?" He shrugged. "Really?" she pushed. "Or is it just that you can't tell the difference?" "The people that have always been there, they know. But it's all the new people. I've never had to be suspicious before. And now I don't know who to trust. But if I don't trust anyone, then I could be missing out on some great opportunities. I just, I hate being like this. I hate this." "Knowing what you know now, knowing how you feel now, would you do it all again?" His silence boomed in his own ears. He didn't know the answer to that question. When asked in front of the others, of course he wouldn't trade it for anything. But on his own, left with his heartache and his fear, he wasn't so convinced. "I love what I do." "Nobody's questioning that, dear. It's obvious you love what you do." |