Troy leaned back against the wall, wishing there was a convenient hole to crawl into so he could avoid being drawn into the argument currently going on between the director of his latest show -- Amelie Brancourt -- and the director who had, apparently, rented the exact same rehearsal space. For the exact same time.
And who had, in fact, arrived first, even though Amelie's actually booking apparently predated his own.
He glanced down at his phone, wished that he dared wish for it to ring, but that would mean drawing attention to himself. Instead, he silently turned it off and pulled out his script to go over his lines once again. The argument looked like it would be going on for a while. At least the script was good.
[Establishy! Unless you have reason to be in a double-booked rehearsal space in Troy's New York, but even then I'm going to be leaving the coffee shop in about twenty minutes and OMG do I hate not having 'net at home right now.]
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"What do you mean, you can't get me a flight until tomorrow night?" Troy asked, whining into the phone. "I booked this ages ago!"
A pause, as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone. "But what about-" The customer service agent cut him off. "Even though I-" And again.
"All right," Troy said, finally. "What's the new flight information?" He jotted it down. "And this is definite?" he asked. "Okay, okay! Thanks. Yeah, you've resolved the issue, thanks." He rolled his eyes as he hit 'end' on his cellphone. "Ryan? Remind me to never turn down an offer of the Evans jet again, okay?"
[Open-ish for phonecalls! Troy will also not be arriving on the island for the graduation festivities until Saturday, but if you want to SP some phonecalls, I'm totally up for that. :D I'll grab pings in between sessions on Write or Die!]
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Okay, so Troy (after the disastrous interruption of two weeks ago) had managed to convince Jake to come home with him after the previous night's show. Which meant that, to avoid incessant teasing from Ryan about hooking up with his co-star, they had to wait until after Ryan and Chad had left for school to leave Troy's room.
Not that Ryan and Chad wouldn't know that Troy'd had someone over; sure, the rooms were sound-proof, but Troy and Jake hadn't exactly started in Troy's room.
What this all meant was that, around mid-day, Troy and Jake were sitting at the breakfast nook in the kitchen, munching on eggs and toast, when Jake's eyes widened dramatically. (And, also, comedically, for anyone watching.) "Troy? What the fuck is that?"
Troy turned. And swore. "Remind me to tell you about my school," he said, before the portal engulfed him and, as far as Jake could tell, Troy disappeared into thin air. The portal blinked closed.
( Mere moments later )
[NFB, NFI, OOC = Eternal Love! Yes, I am being perhaps most cruel to Troy: I have sent him to post-HSM3 canon.]
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Class of '95 was, by all accounts (and, as well, all reviews, which was perhaps even more important), a resounding success.
"Can you believe this?" Jake asked, as he flopped down onto the armchair that Troy had wrestled into the closet-sized dressing room he'd been given. "We've sold out every night for the past two weeks!"
Troy, sitting at the table as he removed his stage makeup, laughed. "It's pretty awesome," he agreed, turning to his co-star. "Hey, this is your first show, isn't it?"
Jake nodded. "My first since high school, anyway," he said. "I hadn't planned to do any acting at all, but, I mean, I was working in a diner. I needed something to do, or I'd have gone insane. Playing Alex has been pretty much awesome."
( Yeah, Derek's kind of a tool [vaguely NSFW, and also cut for length] )
[I don't think I ever had Troy tell his parents, so. In honour of the week, his mother pays him a surprise visit and gets to interrupt. ;) Class of '95 is a real play, but I didn't bother meta-ing because, well, I wrote it.
[In my head, Jake is played by Christopher Gorham, circa Jake 2.0. (First picture is vaguely NSFW due to shirtlessness.) Also, his last name (thanks to something of an inside joke ensuing from an IM conversation) is Ledger.]
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Rehearsal was going well. Very well, in fact; Troy was starting to get a little bit nervous, unsure if this meant that the show was going to go horribly when it actually opened.
"Hey, Ryan?" he asked. "You up to running lines with me later? Or do you and Chad have plans?"
The other boy looked up from his dinner and shrugged. "Nah, I should be fine for that," he said. "This for the same show?"
Troy nodded. "I'd have mentioned if I'd gotten another part," he said, grinning. "Trust me, you'd have heard. Thanks, though. I'll come find you after I shower and eat? I swear, if Tamiia doesn't slow down the rehearsals a bit, we're going to be completely burnt out long before the show opens."
Ryan just waved his fork, returning to the script he was reading, and Troy left the room, heading to his bedroom.
He spotted his phone as he stepped through the door, sitting where he'd left it that morning on his dresser, and he remembered the phone call he'd been meaning to make. He dialed quickly into the alumni network, and then called a Los Angeles phone number.
[Call is to one, but open for other phone calls if anyone else wants to tag in!]
15 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Troy "The Rocket" Bolton lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his very expensive suite. The best suite, in fact, in the entire hotel.
Staring blankly. Blankly staring.
How had no one recognised him? Here he was, back in town for Homecoming, and no one had realised that he, Troy "The Rocket" Bolton was the newest hot star of stage and screen, as well as the first man ever to make it into the American Basketball League without playing college basketball while simultaneously working on his soon-to-be-released first album, a collection of indie rock songs he'd written after his break-up with his last boyfriend. And girlfriend.
Next time, he'd have to do better at keeping them from finding out about each other. For now, though, he thought he'd lay around and brood about the fact that no one in his school realised that he's famous.
Honestly. Does no one watch TV?
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"I taste like pina colada," Troy said, randomly, as he, Ryan, and Chad sat on the ginormous couch in their living-room-cum-zomg-look-at-the-huge-tv-it's-GIGANTIC area of the apartment. There were the remains of an extra-large pizza on the coffee table, and half a bottle (of two) remaining of Coke beside it. Ryan had bowed to the double-onslaught of Chad and Troy when it came to their dinner that night, partly because it had been a week since Chad had had New York pizza -- and two month since Troy had had it.
( Ryan and Chad shared a look )
[I really, really couldn't resist. I'm shameless, I know. :D Establishy and NFI, as I don't believe anyone else is in this particular New York, and Troy's a bit... occupied for phone calls. :D ]
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It was time.
His flight left from the mainland in four hours, which left him, really, just enough time to get all his stuff to the causeway, meet the car that Ryan was sending for him, get to the airport, check in, and make his way to meet the Evans' private plane. Chad would be on it, to meet him; he was just coming back from a week back home to visit his parents before the semester started. Ryan was still in New York, already in rehearsals for a student show that would be going up mid-September.
Troy sat on his stripped bed, and looked at the boxes that held all of his things. He frowned, wondering how his life for the past year could just be packed up in boxes like that.
Half of him wanted to stay; half of him remembered the two failed relationships. That first half remembered the amazing show he'd done the previous summer; the second half remembered that he hadn't done anything with it since.
The first half kindly told the second half to fuck right off.
The door was open, and anyone wandering by would see Troy, clearly just about to get up and leave. Obviously.
... It was a private jet. It would wait for him.
[Goodbye post for Troy! He's off to the UES to live with Chad and Ryan, friends of his from his canon. This isn't it for Troy -- he is sticking around as an alumnus.
And yes, I am amused that I have ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) notasuiciderisk coming from the UES just as Troy goes to live there. It wasn't planned that way, I swear.]
31 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Troy had gotten in last night, very, very late; he'd done little else other than check where his new room was, go there, and collapse on the bed. Now, he woke up, the sun shining in through the window, and he smiled as he remembered where he was.
"Hello, Fandom," he said, more to himself than anything else; he got up, threw on some clean clothes, and got to the work of unpacking.
After a moment, he went over and opened the door. Just in case anyone was wandering past.
[Post, like the door, is open! I'm around for a few hours, then off to work, then around again for a while tonight, so SP is love and cookies.]
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Huh. A.J. was gone, which meant that the room felt a little bit... empty. Rather empty, in fact. Very, very empty.
It was amazing how much space one person could take up, whether they had any stuff taking it up or not. Troy looked at the empty side of the room, and reached over to turn his music up a little to fill the space.
It didn't help. It was a little weird; he'd never really had an experience like this. Being an only child, he'd always had a room to himself, except for when the basketball team had gone off for tournaments. (And the golf team. And the track team.) And that didn't even really properly count. So, really, this was the first time he'd ever had to share a room. It had been easy, for a while, for the obvious reasons, and then maybe a little harder lately, for other, also obvious, reasons, but it had never really gotten to be a big deal. And now it was all his, and he...
Well. He missed having someone around. Music didn't fill the space at all. Troy thought about dropping down to The Boards to see Geoffrey, but even that didn't seem right. He needed something knew, he rather thought; some kind of change. He'd graduated high school, now, and he still wasn't really sure what he wanted to do next.
Fandom was an option, he thought; he could stay around for a while. Work with -- and learn from -- Geoffrey. Maybe New York; he could do some auditions. Maybe get some off-Broadway work, build up his resume.
He wasn't going home, that was for sure. Home was basketball and high school and West High. He still loved basketball, sure. He cherished most of his memories from West High. But his time there seemed to be part of another person's life; he'd seen too much since then -- not least dinosaurs, and New York from the last century, and plagues that killed -- to go back to that life. He thought his parents might understand. His mother would, at least, while his father would try to understand, fail, and be vaguely supportive anyway, just like he had when Troy really started to get into theatre and move away from the basketball. He didn't understand it then, and he wouldn't understand it now, but he'd never needed to understand Troy to want him to be happy.
His computer pinged.
( From: evansr@the-evans.com )
Troy stared at the email, and glanced at the attachments. The theatre program certainly sounded like a good opportunity, but it was... kinda short notice. Still, he pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial.
( Please tell me you're in! Also, hi. )
Time to pack. He had a room in DC for the night, and a plane to catch in the morning. Early in the morning.
Ryan would pay for that part, Troy thought. Or maybe he'd let it slide. Ryan was the one who'd gotten him the spot in the summer program, after all.
[Post is open, door is open, Troy is frantically throwing things into bags and boxes. He'll be back for the second summer term, though, so this isn't goodbye for good!]
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Troy had contemplated going by the April Fool's Party he'd seen advertised, but just as he was starting to get ready to go, his computer announced an arriving email.
( From: Ryan Evans <revans@easthigh.ednet.nm.edu> )
A basketball player at East High? With a scholarship? ... That didn't leave many people, Troy realised. He wondered who it could be. Which is when the phone rang, Chad's number coming up on the caller ID.
"This is Troy!" he answered, grinning. "Speak to me!"
"Troy, hey," came Chad's voice. "It's Chad."
Troy nodded, sitting down in his spinny desk chair and twirling around. "Hey, Chad! What's up!"
( ... It couldn't be. Could it? )
The phone call went on for some time; after he hung up, with a promise to call Chad on the weekend, Troy lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. A year ago, even after doing Kelsi's show, he'd never have dreamed that he'd be where he was, or that he'd have the kind of conversation he'd just had.
Look where he was now.
He couldn't help but wonder where he'd be a year from now. There were so many possibilities...
[Door's ajar, post is open! Post may have been inspired by a conversation earlier. Chad/Ryan is canon, dammit! They switch hats!]
19 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Troy was reading through Titus Andronicus, idly sketching out a couple of ideas for the audition posters he totally planned to finish making tonight.
The door was cracked open, should anyone wish to stop by.
[Open, wide open! Especially for any weetiny boyfriends who might wish to stop by. ;) ]
20 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Troy was lounging on his bed, reading through a couple of different scripts. He was smiling softly, thinking about the fact that he was going to get to be doing some acting again.
... Once he went to see Geoffrey again, of course. But he rather felt that he'd been having some legitimate distractions lately. Like being stuck in the past.
[For teh_boyfriend! For great justice! ... probably going to be NWS rather quickly, I expect.]
41 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Opening night had been fantastic. It was a smaller production, with a half the cast doubling roles, and the audience had been... sparsely populated, but the actual acting... Troy, backstage, alone finally after mingling with press and patrons. He couldn't remember the last time a show had felt this good.
No, he could: Kiss Me, Kate had been like this, before the blow-up. Before the supposed end of his career on stage.
He was back now, though, and starring in another show, a new adaptation of The Tempest, and things ( were going fantastically. [NWS] )
Excerpt: Interview, 1977. On Stage's Maya Freedman with Broadway's Troy BoltonMF: You met your partner Ryan during a production of The Tempest, correct? TB: Yes, that's correct. It was back in 1951. I'm still with Ryan now, obviously, and he's been of enormous assistance as I work on my theatre school. He's the second-best thing that's ever happened in my life. MF: The second-best? I'd be afraid of him hearing that, if I were you. What's the best thing? TB: The first happened to me back in high school. Ryan knows about it, but you wouldn't believe me if I told you. [There's a long pause.] If you ever read this, Sky? I never forgot you. [Yes. Everyone else writes wibble-enducing lifetimes, and I write sex. :D But it felt more appropriate to Troy. ... I'm not sure what that says about Troy. Or me. Again, NWS. NFI, obviously NFB, OOC = <3, A² + B² = C².]
4 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Troy continued to stare in the mirror after his initial scream, hand running down his chest to examine the scar there, then darting up to his eyebrow to finger the scar bisecting it; then he just plain stared.
It's not every day one wakes up looking like someone else, after all.
[Open to the roommate, or anyone else who might have a reason to stop by on a Sunday morning (such as a certain boyfriend who might be interested in going for a run). :D As per this post, Troy woke up today looking like Ronan.]
30 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Troy was used to waking up early mornings; he'd gone on enough morning runs for it. Sometimes, he managed to sleep in on Saturday mornings -- but this Saturday morning was a bit different than many of his have been.
He awoke slowly, his arm protectively, possessively, across naked chest; he nuzzled Sky's neck. "Morning," he said, softly.
[For the other bed occupant! Also, comments are a little bit vaguely NWS-ish.]
12 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Troy closed the door behind him most of the way as he got back to his room; he'd just had a shower after getting back from an afternoon run, and so was just in a pair of shorts with a towel across his shoulders.
He tossed his toiletries bag onto his bed and went to rummage through his closet for a shirt.
[Expecting the no-longer-a-sparkle-ball boyfriend! ... Probably going to be NWS, yeah. ;) ]
50 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
After meeting up with Sky in his room and deciding to come back to 402 -- as A.J. was gone on the Mexico trip -- Troy lead the way, closing (and locking) the door behind them after they were both in the room. "... So..." he began, suddenly a bit nervous. "... I guess..." But then, suddenly, he moved forward to pull Sky into a fierce, passionate kiss.
[ETA: Sooooooo NSFW. Srsly. Or, well, going to be there, anyway.]
43 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Troy woke up slowly, and, glancing at the clock, bolted out of bed. "OH MY GOD I'VE GOT CLASS!" he exclaimed, dashing around, throwing on clothes, grabbing his bag, stopping at his computer just to double-check his email for any class-related announcements...
And glancing at the clock.
And the date.
"... What the frak?" he asked aloud. "... Saturday? Where'd the week go?"
[Door's open a crack, post is open all the way. ETA: Thread with Sky has gone at least a little NWS. May be going even more so.]
68 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Troy was on his bed, humming under his breath while paging through a copy of Rosenstern and Guildencrantz Have Died. No reason to be humming, really. And there wasn't a little box wrapped up beside him, in case someone dropped by -- or until he gave up and went looking for him. Of course there wasn't.
[Door's open, post is open!]
27 Baskets | Shot the Ball | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
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