asherwelles

[asherwelles]

Boundaries. It might not be a great wall, lined with barbed wire and helmed by militia, but something pricks the skin when crossed. Atticus might be able to walk right through, but the Winters quota steeply declines from there. "Not enough to get the name right," he breezes back, ego and pride too strong to pass as the joking tone it could have otherwise tried to emulate. Forced smile, quick and thrown away as he slowly pockets his phone and the notes app it clung to.

"Filming is going to start in a minute," he hints. Get lost, Aria. "Think we're good here. Don't want you to be overstimulated."

@asherwelles

“Oh, yeah. Bones. That’s something,” he returns with the bare minimum amount of interest, throwing in the bonus of raised eyebrows for accentuation of how that’s as good as any reason to send someone off to the contract farm. He’s not a bleeding heart for any of them, but that’s a new reason for him. Less said on it the better, more focus on his phone’s notes is even better than that. “And now here you are…” It feels almost as much punishment as having bad bone structure. He dreads to ask, but there’s only so much he can think of adding into his notes app as distraction. “Atticus sent you here to kill time?” Funny way of saying annoy.

----------------------------

"here i am." her expression turns bright, a flower suddenly facing the sun, though it seems to have the radiant blue glow of a phone screen. there were plenty of sets she might have ended up on, but this was the one she chose. she turns his question over, scrutinizing it for equal parts trap and bait. if atticus expressed interest of course she was curious. but she was't led by the nose.

"i have access to more sets that just this one." she states the obvious to draw her line in the sand, a friendly reminder. "i happen to like our conversations ashton, they're intellectually stimulating."

[asherwelles]

Okay, she didn't catch any of that. He's checked his privilege at the door--what little he has left--and still the subtle hints and headline acts aren't being picked up on. He takes a calculated swipe around the room with a casual crane of the neck; if she didn't get what was voiced to her, it's not a stretch to think he'll get away with a chance to see what's really got her attention. He just winds up being empty handed by the time his eyes refocus on her. The only thing he clocked was the other half of the Reeves marriage at the opposite end.

"Cool…" He begins. Not condescending. Respectful. That's why he's here with her and not the traditionally obvious choice. "Timing's the thing right now." A hand props up the side of his jawline, elbow on the countertop, helps to keep this conversation closer between the two of them. "When's that story on Lauren Gibbs going live?"

@julianxsantiago asked: 18. for an envious starter

maybe it was the laughter that peeled through the air, or the distinct lack of her husband that seemed to tether her to any purpose at the post-screening happy hour. she should have been relieved that it was finally the time of year to cover the steady rise in celebrity for the lucky few potential nominees. for once the stories turned towards quoting speeches and running polls instead of the same drudgery that had started to consume each and every aspect of her days in the office.

instead, she was still left on the out. some producers still formed a loose half circle, pitching their stories and jostling for ad space on the magazine. but she — the envy of all, and envious of them right back, could not find any meaning to the words other than, "yes, we'll have to set up a meeting."

[asherwelles]

List of Asher's Character Tropes

Former Rich Kid

Plagued by Mommy Issues

Fuckboi

Blackmail Victim

Liberal™

Accidental Manslaughter

You Can Never Go Back Home

Child Prodigy

Wasted Potential

Self-Preservation King

Paid Asshole

Dad Embezzled My Trust Fund

[asherwelles]

"I haven't heard any complaints," he reminds, lips already taking another sip of energy like it was too easy to do anything else, risking nothing, gaining just as much but the satisfaction of her missing victory. There's more pull out of him when the conversation takes on those she's leeching off of, one more than the rest. It takes no time at all for him to know she's referring to Claudia Marshall. She might as well have a shrine to her, making his eyes finally roll.

"How long did it take her to get one?" he shoots back, painpoint touched on. He's the prodigy. He got there long before she ever could have, but it's not about him. Beth just holds a particular talent for getting under his skin. "Just remember: never meet your heroes." Because the best way of digging her out of him is to dig right back into her. "She was brought up by her wannabe cowboy uncle. What does Freud say about having an Indian giver as a role model?"

"have you read freud recently? it sounds like there's been a halt in development during your phallic stage. wait—" she pursues her lips, double entendre always found for those who were looking for it. for those uneducated enough anyways. she could lecture on psychoanalysis all day, it didn't change that people saw what they wanted, especially when they happened to be looking for evidence of something.

"how dare you." there's only one person she cares to actual defend in that sentiment, an op-ed already made her opinion on that particular situation clear. "you know just as well as i do that a contract in the family isn't worth what people think." nor does it build a career that is separate. "when was the last time you won an award?" vitriol isn't exactly the word for her tone, but she's certainly not batting around playful ribs anymore. "and just because she's not interested in a work ethic like yours doesn't mean you can just cry nepotism. for shame asher welles."

[asherwelles]

"Oh, yeah. Bones. That's something," he returns with the bare minimum amount of interest, throwing in the bonus of raised eyebrows for accentuation of how that's as good as any reason to send someone off to the contract farm. He's not a bleeding heart for any of them, but that's a new reason for him. Less said on it the better, more focus on his phone's notes is even better than that. "And now here you are…" It feels almost as much punishment as having bad bone structure. He dreads to ask, but there's only so much he can think of adding into his notes app as distraction. "Atticus sent you here to kill time?" Funny way of saying annoy.

“me?” she scoffs, as incredulous as a child. the idea finds no purchase in her mind. her points sat, waiting to all be spent at the right time with the right project. she didn’t feel any particular attachment to what had happened to her cast. the inconvenience was enough. “she didn’t have the bone structure for the role.” why try and waste breath defending what was innately the problem. “no amount of wallpaper can distract from fillers, it’s a shame i know.” 

[asherwelles]

Ah. Girlhood. Give him a break. Somehow, he restrains himself from outright rolling his eyes, but the gesture holds up in the way he blinks, an exaggeration of the lids, as if the eyeballs could detach from their sockets if he didn't realign the skin just right. "Right. The perversion level wasn't high enough? You needed some pedophilia? Does the ending involve the soldier turning out to be their abusive uncle?"

He's as big of an ally as you can get, but sometimes you just have to call a fake a fake. They may have had their differences, but there's not a chance Astrid would fall for anything like girl power. Call it the work of the patriarchy, but Santiago's name is the first to bubble up in his mind when she questions him, but it doesn't get as far as his tongue. He's reformed.

"Look. Good for you for bagging them, but how long are you going to rest on other people's laurels? Especially the nepo-couple. You're better than that, Beth. Aren't you?"

"girlhood." she throws back without thinking, the clarity only apparent to her because she's had the life experience to know that women and girls are different. they have thoughts all their own, funnily enough. "they deserve to be fully realized characters, not just random blondes." inevitably what her characters would be seen as if the interpretation was left up to someone who couldn't tell the difference.

"sell you?" the scoff is hot and harsh, a punishing overstatement of their respect for each other. she needed his opinion on her work like she needed a hole in the head. but, when did that ever stop the comments from coming. "i don't want your approval for this, and i don't remember needing it." of course astrid would be a tougher pitch, she had talent and she'd studied her work. "if she needs credentials for the project, i can give them to her. you have read the other names attached to it right?"

[asherwelles]

Whatever answer he'll give her, he knows it'll be turned against him, or at least she can try. She has that right, always will, but it doesn't make it any less annoying. Instead, he does the only thing he can do: force a smile at her, an emphasis on force. "Whatever you say."

The carbonation of his energy drink pops against the aluminum can, a soft little buzz underneath Beth's defensive voice. "Since when has womanhood been mitigated to nuance?" he asks back, but he might be too late; maybe it's his imagination but there's a particularly distinctive pop that echoes when she mentions Astrid's name. His eyes instinctively squint, not out of pain, but of how hard he's trying to figure out what she's getting at and how. Too bad for him he already has a good idea of the answers that go to both.

His attention is pulled away by his own hand, returning to look at the movers, the items that they carry from point A to point B. He tries to make it casual, but the intent is obvious, no matter how hard his lips scrunch together in nonchalance. "I don't know… Her schedule is usually full. You'd have to have a solid pitch, and…"--his eyes drift back to her--"you haven't sold me yet. She's tougher."

"your name?" she lets the sentence hang just for a moment, there were plenty of other names to choose from in the article. but she was smart enough to let the question be, to let him fill in the blank with whichever insecure answer he might choose. but still, she let it linger. "who said i picked it because it had your name?

and if that wasn't enough, he doubles down on the inaccurate takes. "not the south, girls. although i should know nuance is completely lost on you." perhaps not many people would understand the story she was trying to tell, but at least the studio was willing to try. "do you think astrid winters would be available to consult?" she skates past the comment about assault, because if he's going to take shots at time period, then he's definitely looking for her to defend the intricacies in the scenes she's written. and she will not give him the energy. "i want to get the costumes right for the girls, and you two are so close."

[asherwelles]

Why shouldn't he expect anything else from her? His head slowly rolls in a burning annoyance before he finally meets her eyes for the first time today. "Yeah, okay, that's cute that you read anything with my name on it, but shouldn't there be a limit to what you'll buy?" Because he's still a director. He's still maintained that title. Don't take that away from him. He might be Atticus' director, but he's still one. Not some lowly A.D. New angle.

"Oh," he begins, head rising in revelation, "is that why I'm supposed to sympathize with the south during a time of slavery? Because you know the facts say that happened. And facts are… what's the word… factual." Cheers with the help of his energy drink before taking a sip. "But you probably cover that in between the sexual assault scenes."

"you read that?" the illusion of calm was quickly lost, the smug expression that might have otherwise found its way to her face when talking with him. of course he would find a way to introduce sex, to find a way to make her work a pastiche of what it really was. "and not the actual script." deep breath, "because you of all people should know a summary doesn't do work justice—" avoid the landmine, keep eyes on the prize. "or are we making excuses for your step to assistant director, i think i read that too."

[asherwelles]

The same energy that goes into saying 'what can you do' goes in the form of Asher's head swing. Family. You hate them; they hate you. It's nothing new. "They're the ones who chose NYC over LA." A lost bet. For both of them. The Welles could have still been a leading figure if they had come together, like families are supposed to, like how they're depicted in Norman Rockwell paintings and ads for new cars, or even one of Ash's earlier films The Impossible. That family was willing to do anything to save their children, even if it meant dying. A psychiatrist has gotten enough out of him to build an extensive pattern of reasoning for that. Lina could no doubt claim the same.

"I don't get the politics," he goes on while he reaches over to put more ice in his glass. "They hate the idea of freedoms being taken away from contracts by taking away the freedom to sign up like people aren't smart enough to know the risks." Is she out of lime juice? Lemon will have to do, taking a knife to halve it. "You'd think they'd love that it's usually the poor ones that get cancelled. Hypocrites."

The drink gets mixed together, a make-shift Moscow Mule with vital ingredients subbed for whatever Lina has that's close-enough. "So, what are you bidding on?"

ASHER.

His brow furrows at the question. He sees them all the time. They’re part of his every-day life like a pair of handcuffs is to a prisoner. He talks to them because he’s commanded to, because he has to, because he needs to. But before he can answer her, the circuits in his brain connect the intended dots, reframe themselves away from the Winters and onto his own family lineage, not the one he’s diseased with. The Aldridges. Their family line. It’s been so long, he’s nearly forgotten them altogether, as if their existence was scoured from his DNA.

“No,” he begins, a dead type of thought, the kind of answer that lingers until it seeps into the atmosphere. Does he tell her what she probably already knows? That they wrote off any members of the family that took out his mother? That they knew from the beginning that all of it was a mistake, a con-job, a pointless loss? “No,” he simply decides to repeat with a shake of his head. Leave it at that. Take a sip of your drink.

“How’d it go when you told them you signed your contract?”

something like a laugh sticks in her chest at his answer, builds ask he continues talking. the aldridges often felt a far off, a kingdom who’s gates only opened when there was an event large enough to garner photography. they expressed no interest in her personal life, only her career seemed to matter. and for a time on broadway, it was. and now, it was something a little more wary. 

“that i was throwing my career away.” she recites the words that had been left in a voicemail, phone never being picked up in time. “the one with the singing and dancing, at least.” as though that could sum up the work she’d done in the past, a careless dismissal of what had once been hopes for a tony, if she’d ever been the awards type. “but they’ll be watching.” 

they always were. it was the kind of statement that didn’t even need to be paired with the listless shrug she’s given it. “but it’s not up them what i do.” or don’t do, as had often been the case it seemed. “my mother was the one who recommended los angeles, i don’t know what she expected.”

[asherwelles]

"I never mentioned overalls," he corrects easily, slipping in between her own words. He watches for a beat longer, stretching his neck to see just how many trucks they have to fill before their cross-country roadtrip takes off. He wonders who's going to throw Beth in the back of one of them or tie her to the bumper. "I read it's about confederate women sexualizing the first disabled soldier they see. I can't tell which side I'm meant to support..."

her expression is dour at best, finally acknowledging who’s speaking to her. there’s nothing that asher is going to say that she needs to hear. it’s not a blanket discount of someone’s opinion, she would never do that, but he has not given her anything positive in their prior interactions. in fact, she’d rather forget them all. “if the civil war south is just images of overalls and banjos to you—” a complete discount of all the nuance of those who were living through it, real people and her own characters included, “then i’m not sure why you’re here to observe.”

[asherwelles]

Basics

Full Name: Asher Warren Welles

Birthday: July 6th

Age: 37

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Religion: Non-Denominational

–Religious Level (1-10): 1

Birthplace: Los Angeles, California at the Welles Mansion [x]

Current Residence: Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles, California. Renting a bachelor pad. (and may one day get evicted)

Height: 5' 11"

Hair Color: Dark brown

Eye Color: Slate blue

Sexuality: Bisexual

Love/Romantic Preference: Biromantic

Relationship Status: Single / Formerly arranged to marry Astrid Winters / Picks up stray contracts

Languages Known: English, French, Spanish

Details

Car: Ducati Streetfighter V4 Lamborghini [x] (formerly had a Laborghini Aventador in orange before crashing it shortly after being given it for his 16th birthday [x])

Phone: iPhone 14 Pro in black

Music Genres: Neo Soul, EDM Trance

Wardrobe: Luxury Streetwear (casual). Jackets: [x] [x] Jeans: [x] [x] Shirts: [x] [x] Shoes: [x]

Estimated Net Worth: formerly, the family's net worth was estimated to be close to or at $1B. All was liquidated jointly via Prometheus' claims and his father's embezzlement. Currently, Asher is reliant on his director salary which is equivalent to $175,000 (which is stretched due to his inability to budget). He has a habit of running tabs and being late to pay.

Ransom Value: Up to Atticus, so probably not a whole lot!

Accent: Standard American

Bloodlines + Connections

Full list of immediate family [x]

Atticus Winters | Captor

Astrid Winters | Owes him something but he doesn't know what, just trust him

Aria Winters | almost sister-in-law but won't go away

Lina Papen | distant cousin. only family he has left

Katie Wright | childhood pal (thought she was a total square growing up but just said it behind her back. now she's the only one from back then who's nice to him.)

Stella Roberts | unfortunate accident | deceased contract

Beth Walker | Feminazi (but still a 9/10)

Levels

Drinking (1-10): 5. Mainly can be found with an overpriced energy drink like Xyience. At a club, he'll order a Moscow Mule or a few shots. Top shelf liquor only.

Swearing: 4

Smoking status: 4. (uses a Juul)

Drugs: 2 (could go for some party drugs now and then)

Cooking proficiency: 1 (knows how to use a microwave sometimes)

Intelligence: 8

Emotional/Social Intelligence: 7 and dwindling

Creativity: 7 and dwindling

Temper: 5 (if he wasn't a coward... that's the only thing holding him back. Otherwise, he's just a former spoiled brat who never grew out of the habit but can't back it up with money.)

[asherwelles]

Out of state productions are like the reverse of a circus being in town. Still gets the same amount of attention, but the attraction isn't that it's coming to you; it's that it's going elsewhere. It's the kind of spectacle that's been hard to come by, especially lately. Asher is just here to catch a glimpse of it like the freak-show it is; Beth is the side act that only the bearded lady can bring.

His eyes follow the lighting equipment being rolled away before taking a sip from the can in his hand. "Don't let them forget to pack the mandatory banjo."

"let's see..." she's journaling, little observations from everyone that's packing up a production to send across the country. her production, she'll proudly take credit. she finishes her note before finally turning back up to who's spoken. "do you want to say that again?"

[asherwelles]

"Oh, come on, man…" He knows it's useless before he even finishes his breath as he rolls his head away from his direction, avoiding the accusatory gaze he can hear in his tone. He can't help himself but try. "Look, I'm not crazy about seeing Barbie, but we know her work. That's all I'm after." And she can't shut up about someone else, anyways. That fact won't help his case, but it's there if he has to go there. He better not push it, though. The earth is beginning to tremble beneath his feet.

"…We won't." Promises are empty. Results are everything. He doesn't need to be reminded. "I'm on it." And worst case scenario… "Or I'll cancel Bellamy. She won't be a problem.--Neither will Katie."

“she’s fine.” a late bloomer if anything, more concerned with conversation than with the work that being on a set required. it wasn’t just pairing different hues of pink and smiling away questions. “her work ethic is lacking.” and by association, so was anyone who recommended her. “this is not going to be a social club.” or worse, insinuation heavy in the atmosphere. “if we’re going to have to deal with a bad hand in casting because sarah kinney, or for god’s sake carolina papen is too fucking busy to bid on the role—” the exhale does little to suppress the anger that’s found its way back into his voice, “we cannot have another weakness on the set.”

[asherwelles]

His bottom lip is pulled in, latching his tongue in place until it jimmies free. "Yeah. Feelings. Remember those?" We used to have them. He's glad for not tacking on the last line. He's barely pleased he even said the first, but he wouldn't have even meant the unspoken thought in a way their backstory would twist it into. All the feelings he has left are spite and fear, and doesn't he swing between the two enough. "What's your take? Professionally," he amends casually, nothing to see; nothing to hear; he's back on his leash. "Better?" But it's never going to be her hand that holds it.

He throws his attention towards the satchel he's brought with him, unzipping it and taking out the set designer's sketch. Maybe off the books. Maybe done after a few drinks down in the back of a bar where the booth is worn from a long night. "I'm full of surprises," he tells her dryly, can almost pass as humor before sliding it over to her to inspect. "It's about two rival gangs coming to a head.--I could use your eyes on it."

“feel?” the word strikes her as odd, still fishing for an opinion rather than facts about the period. it seemed as though asher was always destined to be indirect about his desires, a shame. “i feel you’d need a good lighting designer.” after all, when had electricty finally gained popularity, replacing all the flickered gas lamps and fireplaces? it certainly wasn’t any time in the 1860s. “i didn’t think you were one for such a grimy setting.”

[asherwelles]

He doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until Atticus says the words back. It's not relief, but it's the closest thing to it in Asher's current state of affairs. Another bolt of the energy drink gets knocked back before the can turns hollow. Done deal.

Almost. He's more confused than anything. Caution is always in the undercurrent, but he truly looks at him with a pair of drawn in brows, a moment of silence while he tries to put together thoughts he'll never unravel. "She's good at what she does. Really good." Nothing short of great or whatever adjective that'll meet his approval, as if it's possible. "What's wrong with her?"

asherwelles​:

Okay, here we go! Asher expected nothing less from Atticus. It’s equally as annoying as it is pointed, captures his eyes and pins them to every minute action. Granite would be softer in emotion than him, just as harsh when it comes to the way he’s holding his jaw, how the words hiss out. But he can’t show how the back of his neck feels as if it’s been yanked by the scruff of it. Liquid courage bottled up in an aluminum can and labeled as energy; even the half-empty variety is good enough to tip back and gulp to busy his tongue before he says something he’ll surely regret. Even when it’s down his throat, though, his mouth tingles either from the bubbles or the urge to spit. He looks at Atticus again, a quick flash, and the guesswork is gone.

“She's… the best that’s left,” he mumbles before his lips shift, a bite before releasing. “Katie can fix her to whatever you want. I’ll fix the attitude.” He holds his gaze, longer than expected before it drips to the popped open can for a moment of rest, like staring into a black hole, until he returns to be sucked in again. “She’ll be good. Once we have her on a leash, she’ll be perfect.” She’ll have to be.

katie. things are grim if they’re already reaching for transformations and ious. while the sorority girl turned emergency solution might be able to do something about the platinum blonde but she couldn’t change reputation. “she’ll be perfect.” the word has a bitter aftertaste, searching out the way to make it go done. of course she’ll be perfect if she’s going to be on his set.

he searches for an easy target, swinging fist in the dark, making mark on frustration that cannot be aired out here. because while his own research is revealing asher is right and the bid will have to go to bellamy— that doesn’t mean he had to say so. “what do you want with wright on set?”

[asherwelles]

"One week," Asher reflects back in a mumble, a countdown beginning to when he'll be down to just one Winters crowding the set. It's never been soon enough. "I hate that," he commiserates with every word rolling off and falling onto the floor, but it's not for her. She can just think it is. He can continue to watch the dailies, hope she doesn't touch anything else, and have his patience tested for the next seven days.

"Cancellations do that," he tells her while texting a short note in his phone about the next set of frames that pop up. "Didn't you throw any points on her?"

asher!

Aria has always reminded him of the kid sister he never wanted. He didn’t marry into the family, yet she still exists in his life, like a piece of gum he’s stepped on and can’t kick off his shoe. He’s been tasked with her presence, watching her from the director’s chair with a hand propping up the side of his head. It’s never been easy to figure out if she’s ever meant well with the smile or if it’s just another flavor of the Winters’ venom.

“…Noted,” he eventually concedes, swallowing back the words he really has on the tip of his tongue. “How long is your set closed down for again?”

“one week.” there’s something of a pout that clouds her features when nothing happens at her instruction. noted doesn’t exactly fix the issue that’s presented itself. and it doesn’t fit her own problem. a completed set without a lead is just an issue waiting to happen. she can’t color walls if she doesn’t know hair color, and she can’t design spaces if she doesn’t have measurements for the people in the space. it’s all a loss. not that some people would notice. 

“they’ve asked for patience in this trying time.” recasting certainly was difficult when everything had be set for so long. as though it were a test! “i don’t suppose they’ve considered what i would do while we waited.” 

[asherwelles]

"Cool…" His hand pulls back the chair for himself, sitting down in the same movement. Wasting time has always been a sin to both families. It hasn't changed. Just like when even agreements are reached, a welcoming feeling is mutually unfelt. "What do you feel about New York circa 1860?"

ASHER.

It’s not taken. He knows that, but he still stands, hand resting on the chair opposite to her. He doesn’t want this to be an extended visit, anyways. He barely wants the meeting at all, but it’s a necessary evil like most of Asher’s life. “It feels that way after every Christmas,” he replies back, the last time they really saw each other more than a glimpse or passing. “I want to show you a project you could be interested in.” And help back. Let him have one win. “Do you have a second?”

she checks her watch, follows the smallest hand as it ticks an even tone. there’s nothing less interesting to her than a project, nothing she would rather help with than whatever was about to be presented. there’s a frost across her skin, spreading to the table. “yes.” obligation holds her tongue, there’s just enough of a flash of her brother’s face in his own when he asks. she does not feel a particulate debt towards asher, but perhaps there’s just enough to clear the place for him next to her. “but i won’t guarantee any opinion.”