silly goose / 29 / queer / australian / artist in an okay way, writer in a one trick pony way
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ALT An artistic render of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov in the style of an indie movieβ a close up on their brown and blue eyes, their temples pressed together. The title, Cold Read strikes through their eyes, in bold, blue, caps lock letters. Written above, in the white text: A social media au original. Below are film creditsβ Written by Faeee Baeee. Directed by Lottie Dottie. Music by Peter Peter. Screenplay by L. D. B. Bottie.
ALT Tweet: hollabackboy shecret (shane secret) @hollabackboy Is it moose or meese? Mooses? http:// twitpic.com/my33ty Shane has posted a photo of the hotel room, at night, with the bedside lamps illuminating two paintings of moose above the bed. 6:25 PM 19 Jan 11
ALT Tweet: @ilyilya rozy Π― Ρ ΠΎΡΡ Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ (I want/need to eat him) http://twitpic.com/hg67dh Ilya has posted a photo of Shaneβs immaculately packed suitcase- full of never neatly folded Nike socks, cream and brown sweaters, white and black shirts, and jeans. 6:42PM 19 January 2011
ALT Tweet: hollabackboy shecret (shane secret) @hollabackboy His bag probably looks like this, so http://twitpic.com/jl09aw Shane has posted a picture of a black leather duffel bag, filled with cigarettes, vodka, Durex condom packets, and loose clothes. 6:45 PM 19 Jan 11
ALT Tweets: @ilyilya rozy http://twitpic.com/sk62po Ilya has posted a picture of Shane, zoomed in on his socks, resting on the windowsill. His socks have ranger snoopy embroidered on them. He has also posted a meme photo from a vine, of someone gesturing wildly at crocs and socks, captioned: what are thooooose? 7:22PM 19 January 2011 svetlana del ray @svetlanabana Replying to @ilyilya How do you have someone in your room already? rozy @ilyilya Replying to @svetlanabanana i am efficient ?
ALT CUT TO: INT. HOTELROOM, LATER, WIDE ANGLE - WIDER THAN THE SMALL ROOM REQUIRES- The pair bracket the borders of the shot; Shane folded into the breakfast nook, tucking himself against the windowsill - Ilya sprawled over the occasional chair, fingers tapping at his Blackberry. The space between them is larger-than-life, distorted by lens. They avoid the bed like it's the plague and they've personally discovered infection-control. Bored, or hungry, or thirsty, maybe all three- Ilya tosses his phone onto his duffel bag, rises from the chair, and pads over to the mini- bar. He digs out a beer and holds it up to Shane in a silent offer. Shane shakes his head. ILYA You do not like fun? Grabbing the beer and a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, Ilya crosses the divide of the room toward Shane. ILYA I have noticed this about you. SHANE I don't drink while working. Ilya presses the cold bottle against Shane's socked foot. Shane's toes curl at the chill, face scrunching with a hiss.
ALT ILYA You are working? SHANE Shut up- He snatches the water from Ilya's hand, then shifts upright to sit properly at the table. Breaking the invisible seal, Ilya perches on the edge of the bed. ILYA No, is great- I thought you were unemployed, out-of-work actor. If you are booked and busy- SHANE Fuck off- Under the table, Shane kicks at Ilya's shins, just shy of rough. Ilya retaliates, pitching for Shane's ankle. He misses, grazing the side of Shane's leg - and there he lingers, heat burning a hole in Shane's pants where their calves meet. SHANE (the hard set of his jaw loosens) This is work. ILYA Mm, more like- vacation. SHANE So why are you here then? I thought you were still shooting. ILYA oh, you are so mad- SHANE I'm not- Ilya cracks his beer open with a fizzle, and takes a long sip. SHANE I'm just - CLOSE UP - on the hollow of Ilya's neck. SHANE - curious. Shane stares at the bob of his throat as he swallows.
ALT SHANE (refocusing - unscrewing the bottle lid) You're not in the program. Or on the website. The film wasn't submitted for consideration. ILYA(cocking an eyebrow) You look for me? SHANE No-! Silence swells as the SHOT WIDENS with a Dolly Out. No. SHANE (repeats, firmly) Setting down his beer, Ilya throws up a placating hand, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards with something self-satisfied while Shane shuffles a coaster under the can. ILYA Shooting is finished. Post is...messy. Trailer is in festival previews. Cast is here for pre- press. Horror dawns across Shane's face as he realises he's about to be tormented by Ilya's face, attached to the role he desperately wanted, before every screening, every day, for the next ten days- ILYA And you are here for- what? -As he realises he's about to be tormented by Ilya, in this hotel room, every day, for the next ten days.
ALT SHANE Oh my God, you're such an asshole- Instead of fiddling with Ilya's beer, Shane raises it. ILYA Da, obviously. But also, no. Ilya sweeps his foot along the seam of Shane's pant leg, where their connection has remained constant. ILYA I am asking, Hollander. The rim of the can halts on Shane's bottom lip. SHANE oh... um- Short film. My short film. Not my- Biscuit. ILYA Not your biscuit? Whose biscuit is it? SHANE Biscuit- the film is called Biscuit. Shane tips, and drinks, ignoring that Ilya's eyes are devouring him as though he's a biscuit. ILYA When? SHANE (wincing through the taste of hops) -Sunday, I think. ILYA You want to go to dinner? SHANE Uh, Sunday? I'll be- ILYA No, now. Ilya's eyes are devouring him, because he's hungry. Ilya's starving. And Shane is- SHANE I'm not hungry.
