joanalyce

[joanalyce]

love-levitt.

There Joan was. For all that they had both done on the set of After.Life, Eila couldn’t recall getting to know Joan that well. What did she know thus far? That Joan was serious, harsh even. And yet, her harshness, her seriousness with her work wasn’t enough to salvage After.Life in the way that it needed. A result of them working with a script that needed a lot more editing.

The thought of this failure’s productions must have annoyed Joan as much as it frustrated Eila. Otherwise, Eila could not guess another reason for Joan to snarl at an intrusive reporter whom she sent scurrying away. Scratch that, she could guess one– today was just not her day.

What with most of the other seats being taken, Eila had little choice but to take the one closest to Joan. A bartender noticed her and asked her order, and Eila said pink lady and the bartender went on his way.

“Morning not treating you well?” she asked. She didn’t expect much to come out, considering how private this woman was. Still, she thought it kind to ask.

                it was a brilliant concept, but the story was scrambled, the idea was there but pieces were missing, like building a house but forgetting a roof. it stood on it’s own, but something was clearly wrong. joan was proud of it, the cinematography, the actors, the crew. the vision came to life before her eyes, but it was not her vision, it was Miguel’s, it was his story, and addict brain had forgotten pieces, left them out, plucked them from thin air for last minute changes. she wanted to be proud of it.

                foul mood has director ready to bite, attention is turned toward girl, cold expression pressed firmly to her features, ready to snap agin, but when she realizes it is one of her actors, immediately older woman softens. she has a strict policy of keeping professional and personal life separate, but there are a handful of times she breaks the rules ( mind you, she never allows other people to. ) “rough week.” comes short answer. she is. . . tired. la is a mess of people and places, everything is rushed and scrambled to put together. something she, on a good day, finds comforting. it leaves her with little room to think, one big distraction.

                “are you doing alright?” she switches tracks, something softer, more motherly than she usually presents, she knows all of the actors took a hit, knew that they were all punished for it, and it was a reminder her wounded pride was not the worst of the situation.

[joanalyce]

The Fall S01E01: Dark Descent dir. Jakob Verbruggen

[joanalyce]

               she has been… avoidant, a bad habit of self isolation when things go sour. joan has always been a workaholic, her work a form of validation, a way to cope with a variety of problems she hasn’t quite settled for herself. she doesn’t blame anyone but herself for misfortune, she should have done better. an argument with Tal later and she sits sulking in hotel bar, neat, cold as ever. but there’s something else, boiling blood just beneath the surface. it’s strange for the director, a sensation that puts her on edge.

               “not now.” a growl, tone a bit harsher than it needs to be, something to get the point across. tongue sharp as a dagger.

[joanalyce]

Gillian Anderson for Telegraph Magazine - January 2019

[joanalyce]

teaganharper‌.

            teagan tilts their head from side to side, starting to contemplate what exactly the blonde wanted from them. whatever this was–it didn’t feel professional. joan was a director, but teagan doubted she’d came here to snag teagan for a project. with that in mind.. teagan downed their drink with ease, setting the empty glass down. “audrey klein and cora samson were on there. i know cora’s not really a mom but..” they shrugged. “she’s got mom energy. and cyrus is practically always sucking on her tit..” 

     “so, what uh… brings you to my neck of the woods? doesn’t really seem like a usual hangout for you.” not that they would really know, but joan seemed a little more classy than this club. any club, really.

               Joan doesn’t laugh, though smile lines deepen, she feels a chuckle bubble in her chest but figures it isn’t her place to laugh. The director is safe from Cyrus Roth’s wrath, Teagan... They are for now, but the thought seems rather dark so it is pushed to the side for the time being. “Both are very good options.” She offers her own opinion, shoulder raising in a shrug.

               “I imagine I stick out a bit, hm? But it’s within walking distance of my hotel...” And while she could have stayed at the hotel bar, she craved some kind of social interaction, as sad as that might sound.

[joanalyce]

venomousclairity‌.

So badly did Claire want to use her usual groan of complaint but she figured that using the words fuck me would be a bit on the nose at the current moment. How much of a mess did she have to be before she could call it a night and stop embarrassing herself? “And now I know you’re teasing me here. You say you have all night but maybe I want more than one.” Except if you counted her blinding commitment issues but that was for another time. “You can’t just go around getting girls all excited. It’s just plain mean.” 

               “Oh, but I’m so good at it.” Joan chuckles and it might be a little more revealing than she intends but she’s come this far. She smiles, looking at the writer with a mix of amusement and something else, admiration perhaps. “Now you’re making assumptions, dear... Who said we have to stop after one?” 

[joanalyce]

miguelcardosa‌.

Her correction sparks humor in his eyes. Does he see it as a challenge or an invitation? At this point, does Miguel even know what he’s about to do before he actually finds himself doing it?

“My dreams? Simple?” he laughs as he repeats the words, curling around them like smoke from a cigarette. “I don’t know! You were there! You were, I promise! You had the most beautiful tongue. Like a snake!” His own tongue sneaks out before his pointer fingers spread out, indicating how similar it was to a snake’s in that it was forked at the end, apparently. “Two sides! One for me! One for Tal! Do you know how easy it is to lick with two? You were just as quick, too!” His tongue returns, fluttering just past those grinning lips before his teeth bite at its tip, all the while he’s looking up at her from his still bent over position. “I will ask. I will beg! Anything to see if dreams come true!”

If it were up to him, he’d offer himself up on the table right now, but Joan’s insistence that they continue the game has him obeying, if only temporarily. He’s like a demon who thinks he’s human, not realizing exactly what type of chaotic powers he possesses, even after they’re proven to him time and time again.

Without straightening up, he stays in his lazy position as his hand moves over to pick up the glass, starting to drink from it before a belated moment later his eyes shift to the coaster, remembering that there is a question on it. He nearly chokes on it in the excitement. “MM!” he hums before swallowing the last gulp, bounding up on his feet in one fluid motion with the coaster in one hand and the drink set down on the table. He grips onto it with both hands as he reads it silently to himself, even though his lips move with the words, causing a laugh from him.

“Ah! Very, very, very sneaky! There’s a theme! I see it! Love it. Chey! That’s the answer. Chey!”

               “Sadly, I only have the one.” She hasn’t had enough to be reckless, resists the urge to stick out her own tongue if only because she doesn’t think he needs to know she had it pierced once upon a time. Impossibly blue eyes stay glued to his features. She’s studying him with the same calculating gaze she would use looking over a script or a set. Growing comfortable in the space. She is not easily embarrassed, but bringing her ex husband into some fantasy is... an interesting turn. “Though if you want to play with me and Taliesin, you’ll have to ask him. I haven’t been his keeper in some time” 

               Joan looks at the line of drinks they still have to go through and wonders just how many of them they are going to drink. Just how far they’ll get before Miguel gets too restless, before they cross a line they really shouldn’t. She doesn’t try to read his lips, figures that’s a game for those at home, she figures he doesn’t have much of a filter on a good night. 

               “Oh, now you have to tell me.” She plays along. 

[joanalyce]

Send Me 👍👎 In My Ask

And I will write the following:

my (the mun) FAVORITE thing about your character my chara’s (the muse) LEAST FAVORITE thing about your character

[joanalyce]

miguelcardosa.

Joan is a beautiful creature. A jewel! Her age sacrifices nothing to the eyes, but Miguel isn’t entirely superficial. She’s got a fire inside of her that draws him in, in spite of the coldness that is thrown in his direction, or perhaps it’s because of it that he’s magnetized. Whatever the case may be, he finds himself standing across from her with only a narrow table separating them with a row of drinks lined up for them to indulge in or confess their deepest darkest secrets.

He gives a winding grin over to her as she takes the first turn, but his body is barely patient; hips sway slightly at a beat that’s segregated to his drug-addled brain–matching the tempo to a Pitbull song that’s been stuck in his mind for a solid ten minutes.

The rules of the game have been explained at lengths, but after hearing his director’s answer, those fly out the window. Miguel laughs immediately, claps his hands in one large swoop of the arms before he looks like he’s about to double over.

“Tal! It’s Tal! Bless!” he quickly jumps to conclusions, his mind made for the question before his eyes flicker with another thought. “OH! Spit! I see, I see! So smart! What a question! What a drink! It’s a good tip! To spit first and bend over second!” The audience roars and it only feeds him with a grin that bares his teeth before he reaches over quickly, his whole body melting over it more than it ever needed to to snatch her coaster. Remaining in his position, face more so on her side than even his own, he pretended to read the question, speaking it aloud.

“What dreams have you had of Miguel Cardosa?”

Eyes flick up at her from his lowered, bent-over position, a face plastered on him that looks as though he’s about to laugh. “Like this, yes?!”

               It seems his mind is running a mile a minute, it would worry her if she didn’t assume to know him better. He’s all spitfire answers and assumptions, though he’s right about the target of this particular question. “It is a question about Taliesin,” she uses his name, almost purrs it the same way she did in private, or at times not so privately when she was in a particular mood. It’s It’s slick on her tongue, a guilt that dips to the back of her mind the same way it did when she used his name to get her career started. She’s doing the same thing now, really. Using his recognizable name to boost her own.

               “though if your own dreams are so simple,” It’s far too well practiced, she has a small frame, not quite intimidating, not something that alludes to dominating, so she’s figured ways to make herself bigger, ways to make it seem as though she takes up more space. Years of experience with figuring how to use her voice, her tone the meaning behind it. She all but coos now, her tone all practiced amusement. “all you have to do is ask.” It’s a tone that speaks for itself: If you want something. Ask for it.

               “I believe it’s your turn, Mister Cardosa.” Joan coos his name the same way she purrs Taliesin’s before she knocks back the shot. She’d only hinted at the question after all: What is an activity you used to share with Taliesin Collier? Which everyone in LA knew by now.

[joanalyce]

fabiancbishop‌.

It is not Fabian’s ambition to destroy a shot; however, if it has to come to such circumstances, the priorities are known to him and this is the least of his concerns.

“Ms. Alyce-Lane, I presume.” Her attitude is one Fabian is quickly associating with directors. They have a certain air of authority to them, and a cavalier sense towards manners. In spite of it, though, his briefcase trades positions with the other hand, allowing his dominant one to outstretch for her to greet–a neutral extension of peace and a show that he is only here for a professional call, nothing personal to harm her production.

“My name is Fabian C. Bishop. I am Prometheus Productions’ Contract Liaison.” The tenth time delivered today. It was rolling off of his tongue now without even a drop of thought, like an automatic response. “If we are in accordance with our demanding schedules, I will dive into the matter at hand immediately.–My records indicate that Mr. Cardosa has failed to sign off on the edits of his script. It states in his contract that he must, and yet he has not. As director of After.Life, this is now a matter that directly involves you and your leadership.”

               It has to do with a sense of entitlement, this is her set, he’s intruding on her time, and it’s making everyone fall behind. To Joan this particular attitude is more than justified. Still, she adapts to pleasantries as she was trained to, taught from a young age to smile and play nice. She shifts, tucking a handful of papers under her arm to return a firm handshake, though she doesn’t smile.

               If Joan had to guess, she would say Miguel is the reason he’s here, his carefree attitude would be admittedly amusing and maybe even attractive from afar, but working with him these traits become infuriating. The moment his name leaves Fabian’s mouth she decides she might just smother him with a goddamn pillow before they even finish filming. “Ah.” Her irritation is moved to the back burner as it shifts focus away from the contract liaison and settles back onto the writer, a common occurrence.

               “Of course he hasn’t.” She wonders for a brief moment if Cayla was supposed to deliver the signed papers the night of Cora Samson’s birthday party, she wonders if it’s her fault the paper’s didn’t get delivered having insisted Cayla stick around for the event.  “Shouldn’t you be speaking to him about his...” Incompetence. “Refusal to follow his own contractual obligations? I can’t sign it for him.”

[joanalyce]

Send ‘!!’ and I’ll write a para description of your muse from mine’s perspective, including:

Their looks

Their personality

And who they are to my muse

+ Etc!

[joanalyce]

Joan & Social Media ( 001/??? )

[joanalyce]

venomousclairity‌.

Claire laughed. She couldn’t help herself. One minute she couldn’t form a coherent sentence and the next she could swear the director was flirting with her. What the hell was that? But god, the sound of her laugh was nice. “Yeah? Is that supposed to be me?” For a writer, Claire found it really difficult to come up with witty banter for some reason. Maybe it had to do with the fact that this attractive woman exuded confidence and that had always been a weak spot for her. “And here I thought I was going to run you off with my lack of coherent thought.” 

               Is that supposed to be me? Joan’s shoulder lifts in a half shrug, a way to say is it? “oh, hardly.” She chuckles at the idea, shaking her head ever so slightly. “I’d guess coherent thought is a rather large part of your job... Expressing that thought... Now, that seems to be giving you trouble. But, I’ve got all night, so... Take your time, dear.”

[joanalyce]

teaganharper‌.

     teagan didn’t put out much new material tonight, but the crowd still seemed to enjoy the set. monday was the one night a week the comedians all stuck around after closing, got wasted and talked about life–well, usually about their sex lives, but tomato tomato. having been one of the first to finish their set tonight, teagan sat alone at the bar picking through the nut bowl. when a drink appeared in front of them and a staggering blonde at their side, teagan began to wonder if they’d died and gone to heaven ( ha! as if that’s where they’d be going after they died ). “uh-no, by my guest.” teagan motions with a hand, inviting her to sit down. "thanks for the drink.” 

“and yeah, i did.    –too bad you missed it cause’ you made my list of top 5 milfs in prometheus.” 

               The moment she is invited to sit, she does, crossing her legs. Her appearance is carefully crafted, perfected almost. Being in a dive bar drinking with a comedian isn’t what’s expected of the director. “Top five? Mmm, I don’t know if I should feel complemented or disappointed.” She flashes a slight smile, almost mischievous in nature. “Should I ask who else made the list?” Joan would offer a guess, but she’s not sure about their type, and she certain they don’t run in the same social circles in Prometheus.

               “Or do I have to catch your next performance?” 

[joanalyce]

eloisebardot‌.

“The night is young and so are we!” She returns the laughter, though it’s really more of a formality. as long as they agree that there’s plenty of need for the free flowing champagne, she’s going to keep on drinking. “Besides, there’s plenty of strangers to introduce yourself to. All the fun stuff. There’s got to be a main event later in the night. You think we’re all going to have to sing happy birthday?”

               “Hardly.” Though the word is half under her breath, Joan is fifty, she isn’t exactly young, hasn’t been for a long while, still she plays along. “I have no doubt we’re all in for a treat.” A main event is assured, some sort of surprise carefully plotted by Prometheus. Though she doubts Cora wants to hear them all sing happy birthday. “Do you think that’s the sort of... Narcissism she’d be interested in?” Then again, being here was a contractual obligation for most of the guests.

[joanalyce]

swooncheyenne‌.

Cheyenne laughs, nodding in agreement with… herself she guessed. It was glaringly obvious at this point that she’d had far too many drinks. “It’s silly when they’re only doing it because silly men are telling them to do it.” Otherwise she’d have no problem with it in the least. That would make her day job pretty difficult. She blinked at the woman’s words, replaying the conversation in her brain. “What? Oh no! I wasn’t propositioning you! Oh wow, I think I need to say everything twice in my head before saying it for the rest of the night.” Her hand moved up to rest against her forehead, having enough humility to be embarrassed about it. “There’s enough of that going on tonight. I’m pretty sure I saw Miguel pouring liquor down some poor girl’s throat about 10 minutes ago.” And that wasn’t why she’d hid herself by the door. Nope. 

                 Joan laughs, almost playfully. “I’m sure there is.” She’d passed a few people doing just that on the way in. She has mixed feelings about tonight’s event, thinks it’s a bit strange to have a popularity contest where their opinion sways what should be the opinion of the general public. “Is he?” An eyebrow raises slightly as she thinks about the writer. She doesn’t doubt that he’s going to go far further than just pouring liquor down some poor actress’ throat. “That does sound like him.” She offers, though she doesn’t sound like she she’s against the idea, or at least not as much as most might be. “Should I assume you disapprove?” 

[joanalyce]

                It’s been an interesting night, sitting at Miguel’s side, stroking his ego about how she was immediately drawn to the script, the rewrites go unmentioned, it’s all his genius, I’m just the one bringing it to the big screen. He sculpts the forms and she breathes life into them. It’s quite poetic. Joan is polite but comfortable, relaxed, not quite cold but cool. Still there is some warmth in the way she talks about the actors, the project, Miguel’s writing. As if the project is riddled with nostalgia, as if it’s a reminder of home. It’s a dance, even if she isn’t used to being on this side of the camera, she’s good at it. Probably could have been an actor in a different life.

                They cut to commercial and the set is adjusted accordingly. A bar placed to the left, they are called to stand on markers and the game is explained to them. The rules are simple : each shot sits on a coaster which has a personal or embarrassing question written on it, you will read the question silently but answer out loud. Then you can choose to answer what the question was, or take the shot and keep the question a secret. However, you must reveal at least one question. The stage is set, and Joan hears somewhere off to her side, the studio director count down as they return from commercial.

                The game is then explained to the audience. Joan glances at Miguel as if to ask if he would like to go first before moving the drink onto the counter, lifting the glass coaster to read the question underneath. The director looks to the writer with that same calculated expression, though there is the barest hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. “The drink is called dragon spit. Just so everyone knows.” The drink in question is bright green, a layer of what Joan will assume is cinnamon floating atop the liquid. She glances back at the coaster, thinking over her answer. “I bent him over quite a few times.”

@miguelcardosa