The Lies We Weave
Uno.
An elegant room with highly polished dark parquet flooring. A sideboard with platters of canapès, a bucket with ice and various alcoholic beverages on the right side of the door. A huge yucca on the other side. 5 men sat around a large round glass table near the floor-to-ceiling windows, another one stood by the sideboard. No other detectable buildings in shooting range that would reach up far enough to sight one of the people in the room. No other entrances. Cieran Imbrussè has checked out the room he is lead into by his new employer in the blink of an eye – that is what he does. The new employer is an overly joyous man in his late 40s with a designer suit which does all it can – not enough – to hide the wearer’s still prominent spare tire. He walks up to the men sat around the table and engulfs each of them in a brief manly hug and makes small talk. Cieran zones it out – he can’t possibly be less interested. Then, he is shaken out of his thoughts by the new employer – Richard Walder is his name – offering him a drink.
“Whiskey, please. On the rocks.” He offers a timid smile to the men sat around the table as he is ushered in a seat, the drink appearing by his side almost immediately. He nods at the server thankfully.
“Well, lads, we came together today to-“ Mr. Walder stops. The attention is clearly not on him: the 5 other occupants of the table are staring at Cieran, who is currently pouring a few drops of liquid into his drink from a pipette which he fished out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket, completely unaware of the tiny scene he is causing. Looking up, he finds six puzzled faces directed at him.
“What?” he asks.
“What in god’s name are you putting into your drink?” the one with a fuzz ball of hair on his head asks.
“Oh!” Cieran grins, “That’s just a tracer that indicates the existence of flunitrazepam, different benzodiazepines as well as zolpidem and gamma-hydroxybutyrate which I developed a while back.”
More stares.
“That stuff makes pretty colors if there’s rape-drugs in my drink.”
“Richie, where in god’s name did you find that one?” the man with the military cut asks, laughing.
“Not where I found you, mind you.” Richie answered chuckling. Cieran quirks an eyebrow. He doesn’t like the show business, but he’s desperate and everyone in the business knows he’s the very, very best. What’s it he’s great at, you ask? Well.
“Let’s get down to business, lads.” Mr. Walder says, “This here is Cieran Imbrussè.” he motions at him, then motions at the five others, “These here are going to be your protégés, so to speak, One Direction, what you surely know already.” Cieran did not. He was good at his job – tour manager – because of that; he didn’t care for his protégés’ fame.
“I want to introduce Zayn Malik-“ he motions at the dark skinned man with the nice brown eyes to the far left and Cieran stands to shake his hand.
“Niall Horan-“ he motions to the next one, a light blonde who grins at the man with his adorable smile to shake hands,
“Liam Payne-“ the one with the military cut nods at him before engulfing Cieran’s hand with his,
“Louis Tomlinson-“ the brunette with the designer stubble sitting next to him gives him a lazy grin while shaking hands,
“and Harry Styles.” the one with the perfect green eyes on the other side of Louis runs a hand through his messy brown curls, then extends it.
“It’s really nice to meet all of you.” he smiles before taking his seat again.
“Well, Cieran here will be your tour manager. It’s going to be different from your past tours where I was in charge of everything from out of my office down the hall. There are going to be a few assistants, but unlike the last few tours, Cieran here will make decisions and deal with eventual problems. He is going to be with you 24/7 to ensure your safety as well. You aren’t going to have interview coaches any more, those proved to be useless before. Cieran is going to make sure you are fit for all the questions anyone possibly ever could want to ask you. Any questions?”
“Whiskey, please. On the rocks.” He offers a timid smile to the men sat around the table as he is ushered in a seat, the drink appearing by his side almost immediately. He nods at the server thankfully.
“Well, lads, we came together today to-“ Mr. Walder stops. The attention is clearly not on him: the 5 other occupants of the table are staring at Cieran, who is currently pouring a few drops of liquid into his drink from a pipette which he fished out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket, completely unaware of the tiny scene he is causing. Looking up, he finds six puzzled faces directed at him.
“What?” he asks.
“What in god’s name are you putting into your drink?” the one with a fuzz ball of hair on his head asks.
“Oh!” Cieran grins, “That’s just a tracer that indicates the existence of flunitrazepam, different benzodiazepines as well as zolpidem and gamma-hydroxybutyrate which I developed a while back.”
More stares.
“That stuff makes pretty colors if there’s rape-drugs in my drink.”
“Richie, where in god’s name did you find that one?” the man with the military cut asks, laughing.
“Not where I found you, mind you.” Richie answered chuckling. Cieran quirks an eyebrow. He doesn’t like the show business, but he’s desperate and everyone in the business knows he’s the very, very best. What’s it he’s great at, you ask? Well.
“Let’s get down to business, lads.” Mr. Walder says, “This here is Cieran Imbrussè.” he motions at him, then motions at the five others, “These here are going to be your protégés, so to speak, One Direction, what you surely know already.” Cieran did not. He was good at his job – tour manager – because of that; he didn’t care for his protégés’ fame.
“I want to introduce Zayn Malik-“ he motions at the dark skinned man with the nice brown eyes to the far left and Cieran stands to shake his hand.
“Niall Horan-“ he motions to the next one, a light blonde who grins at the man with his adorable smile to shake hands,
“Liam Payne-“ the one with the military cut nods at him before engulfing Cieran’s hand with his,
“Louis Tomlinson-“ the brunette with the designer stubble sitting next to him gives him a lazy grin while shaking hands,
“and Harry Styles.” the one with the perfect green eyes on the other side of Louis runs a hand through his messy brown curls, then extends it.
“It’s really nice to meet all of you.” he smiles before taking his seat again.
“Well, Cieran here will be your tour manager. It’s going to be different from your past tours where I was in charge of everything from out of my office down the hall. There are going to be a few assistants, but unlike the last few tours, Cieran here will make decisions and deal with eventual problems. He is going to be with you 24/7 to ensure your safety as well. You aren’t going to have interview coaches any more, those proved to be useless before. Cieran is going to make sure you are fit for all the questions anyone possibly ever could want to ask you. Any questions?”
Notes
So. This. Please comment, you can even tell me it's complete shit, I just want honest feedback. The other chapters probably won't be much longer, but I try to update frequently.
Also, if you want a pairing in this, care to share your desires. ;)
Can you do a Larry pairing?
Thanks!
Update soon
3/9/15