in Milliways

[searchingfordistraction]

Rich Brook enjoys filming for The Storyteller. He honestly does. It may not be the role of a lifetime, but he could do worse than to spend the day reading fairy tales to kids.

He's always liked fairy tales.

Still, when Milliways pops up during a break in filming, he doesn't turn it down. He glances back over his shoulder first; then, when no one else seems to see anything amiss, he goes in.

At the Bar, he asks for a club soda with lime. He could have something stronger if he liked - with time stopped at home, no one would be the wiser - but it seems wrong for the Storyteller to drink while he's technically on duty.



[OOC: For clarity, Jim is in character as Rich, and will be making a much stronger effort to remain in character than he usually does in Milliways. And yes, he really is coming in from filming. DVDs don't make themselves.]

Comments

[searchingfordistraction]

"Oh. Well, it smells like it's working out well," he offers.

Rich isn't much of a cook, himself.

[semicharmed]

"Thanks."

He brightens a little, even though-- he either should or shouldn't disengage.

Maybe if he just stops trying to figure this out.

"Um, I tried one, it was okay. I can't get the spices right."

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"Well, you're your own worst critic," Rich says, then pauses. As sayings go, that one's a bit more difficult to apply to complete strangers than most.

"Theoretically, anyway," he amends. "If you want to get better at it."

[semicharmed]

Absent, "I may as well."

He glances to the door before returning his gaze to-- Jim?

Nita's not here.

"Uh-- do you want one? I'm trying to think of how to leave some here anyway, there's too many for me to eat."

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He considers the offer for a second, then says,

"Sure, thanks. I can give you a second opinion."

He pauses, then adds,

"I'm an actor. That, uh, might be why I seem familiar to you?" He's not sure of that; there are too many additional factors in Milliways for it to be a very plausible theory. But he knows that look. He may not be the busiest in the business, but he works enough that he gets that look every now and then.

[semicharmed]

Matt, peeling off his oven mitts, pauses.

"... You are?"

[searchingfordistraction]

"Yes," he says. "Rich Brook. London, 2010. Used to go by Richard, but it seemed a bit old-fashioned." He still has a few credits under that name, though.

In case any of that information is helpful.

Yes, yes, he knows, but honestly - if he weren't in it for the attention at least a little bit, he'd have kept it to a hobby instead of trying to make a go of it professionally.

[semicharmed]

Because Matt is not an actor at all, in any way, his face briefly registers an unpleasant emotion as he nudges the potatoes to see if they've cooled enough to eat.

It's akin to how you might look when you realize you should've answered question 36 with b instead of d. Or when you're told they've run out of the bubblegum flavor, and you'll have to get your teeth cleaned with that odious banana.

Or when you meet a guy named Rich Brook, who is an actor, when previously the only dudes you knew with his face were named Jim. (And actually one of them you don't really know, except by some transitive, psychic property of the Biblical sense.)

"Nice to meet you," Matt decides with a nod.

He finagles a potato half, laden with sour cream and cheese and lightly sprinkled with chives. Bar helpfully provides a plate and a fork.

"Here, um-- go for it. Don't spare my feelings. I'm Matt."

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"Thanks," Rich says cheerfully, and yes, he's heard the stories about free food in Milliways, but he is exchanging conversation with the actual instead of just plucking something out of a strategically placed basket, so he should probably be all right.

He takes a bite and chews it slowly, eyes narrowed slightly in concentration.

"I see what you mean about the spices," he says after he swallows. "I mean it's good, but there's sort of something missing." He shakes his head. "I'm not a cook, I don't know what it is. At least you've not overdone with something, that's a lot harder to fix."

How's that for constructive criticism.

[semicharmed]

Well, maybe he's a doppelganger and maybe he's some manner of villain, but that sounded like some solid culinary advice.

"Something missing."

Matt's lips quirk.

"My appetizers have existential problems. Um-- I get what you're saying, though."

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He laughs.

"Yeah," he says. "I usually just add salt when that happens. Maybe a bit of pepper. I'm not exactly a gourmet."

The subtleties of spices are kind of beyond him.

[semicharmed]

"Salt has magical properties," Matt agrees, which for him is actually rather a literal statement.

He eyes the potatoes.

"Maybe if I leave instructions suggesting that people salt them …"

A shrug.

"I don't know. What's the best way to hand out free samples around here? If it were somebody else offering them to me, I'd assume … almost anything but that it was normal food."

[searchingfordistraction]

"New people might take them if you left them on the Bar," he offers. "With a sign or something."

Milliways veterans won't, unless they're really bored, but new people might.

[semicharmed]

"Preying on the vulnerable," Matt agrees with a nod. "I like it."

(... Why did he phrase it like that?? He wonders this as Bar produces a pen and posterboard.

Okay, he's overanalyzing. But seriously!)

Matt considers a moment, then writes.

HELP YOURSELF

(contains sour cream, potato, cheese, chives)

Any feedback can be submitted to Matt Jamison c/o the Bar.

He holds up the sign for approval.

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". . . something like that."

He looks the sign over, then nods.

"I'd go for that."

Maybe. After he asked Bar about it first.

He's heard about the sex-change mints and things like that, all right, he'd rather not blunder into that sort of thing. It's not his . . . thing.

[semicharmed]

"Okay."

Matt nods. "Good enough for me. Bar, can I have some foil?"

She produces a modest amount of aluminum foil, and he wraps up a pair of potato halves to take home.

"I was mostly planning to bake and dash, tonight," he says, peering at the glass dish and the sign. "But I feel good about this. Go crowdsourcing."

There's a slightly ironic lilt to his tone: by Matt's time, crowdsourcing has been critiqued to kingdom come, and hasn't yet come back around into the realm of acceptable practices.

[searchingfordistraction]

The term isn't one Rich has heard before, but he's plenty familiar with the general concept.

"Just don't get focus grouped to death," he advises, his own tone similarly ironic. The focus group can be an actor's worst enemy.

[semicharmed]

"I ... take care who I listen to, these days," Matt decides with a slow nod.

The comment itself isn't pointed-- see previous tangents, in re: overthinking things-- but all the same, he's kind of remembering that ironic conversation he had with Xelloss about never forgetting who he's dealing with.

Matt adjusts the sign and dish a little, then picks up his snack food and oven mitts and steps back from the bar.

"Well. It's been nice meeting you."

[searchingfordistraction]

"You too," Rich says with a guileless smile. "Thanks for the snack."

It's just what he needs to get through the rest of the day's shooting.

[semicharmed]

"Not at all."

He smiles back, faint, and waves.

"Later."

As he turns to go, Matt considers that-- okay, of course he could be wrong. But even if he's not wrong, supervillains can have secret identities if they want! It has nothing to do with him. And as long as things stay that way (he flashes unpleasantly to Rache, who's met a Sherlock and a Watson, and remembers the villain of the piece) then it's totally fine, right? It's a free universe.

Right.