"Do take care of yourself, darlin’. Also, I’m not getting any younger~. I want mini Niall’s running around this ranch as soon as possible." Claire suggestively winked at her son.
Niall let out a genuinely hearty laughter upon hearing that.
Seated in Camille’s truck, the young man was on his way to the airport as the lady slowly pulled out of the driveway.
"What your ma said," Clark reinforced as the vehicle began to leave, his expression reserved as he stood next to his wife with an arm gently wrapped around her waist.
"And remember, when things get overwhelming, you always have a home to return to." he added with a warm smile.
"Will do... though I make no promises on the other front," Niall replied in kind, his shoulders shrugging slightly and his head inclined in an unhurried tilt.
Then, watching their reciprocating figures recede into the distance from the side mirror, Niall waved goodbye until they were completely out of sight.
A gentle smile touching on his lips, he turned to face Camille;
"Thank you for the lift. Reception’s here’s really bad given my parents are practically luddites at this point,"
The red-haired lady chuckled amusedly in response, her expression jovial and relaxed.
"My grandmother’s essentially the same, so I can understand how getting an Uber would be a hassle,"
"Also, its nothing. I was headed to the city anyway." Camille kept her eye on the road as she said.
Nodding appreciatively, Niall reclined into the seat.
Granted his father did in fact have a vehicle, due to quite possibly months of not being operated, the old truck had refused to start this morning.
As a result, his parents had resorted to contacting Camille in hopes that she had plans to deliver anything to the nearest city. Franklin.
Luckily for Niall, she did. A truckload of freshly picked apples to be specific.
Jumbling around gently in the truck bed, the crates occasionally creaking when she rode over a bump, Camille’s gaze occasionally flitted towards them with the aid of her rear-view mirror.
In any case, his dirty-blonde hair gently tousling in the soft breeze, Niall soon pulled out a few stacks of paper from an old messenger bag he’d looted from his father’s study.
Having brought his parents up to speed on the novel he was writing two days ago, Niall had ended up spending the rest of the day writing the first Chapter and equally brainstorming a name for the simple farm boy with his parents.
Soon, they’d settled on one they’d all felt was fitting; Tristan.
And for Niall whom had structured a detailed outline of the story, he couldn’t help but give it another proud look over.
ACT I: THE MISPLACED TOKEN
Ch. 1 – The Edge of Nowhere
Tristan’s farm life. Quiet, repetitive and perfectly blissful. He fixes things, helps neighbors, tends to the farm animals, plays with the younger kids. Nothing particularly remarkable ... except that he always chooses to help. That’s his core quality.
Ch. 2 - The Man in the Field
Tristan finds the wounded stranger on his ’deathbed’ in the fields. Hesitates at first ’cause he seems so out of place... then helps. The man gives him a token for his ’kindness’. Tristan accepts it because refusing feels... wrong. A moment after, the stranger ’dies’.
Ch. 3 - A Thing Without Meaning
Tristan buries the stranger. Prays for him. Casually keeps the token on his being. It’s the stranger’s dying wish after all. It’s also pretty useless anyway... or so he believes. Life goes on peacefully for a couple more days.
Ch. 4 - Hunters at the Door
Newer faces begin to arrive at The Edge of Nowhwere. Bandits, bounty hunters, rogues, warriors... all of different races, seemingly searching for something. Tristan begins to suspect it has to do with the man he buried... or was he just overthinking things.
Ch. 5 - A Choice That Doesn’t Feel Like One
Wariness gets the best of Tristan. Just to be on the safe side, he visits the stranger’s grave, and albeit he notices a few oddities in the earth, almost as if it had moved slightly, the corpse is still there, much to his relief. Realization then dawns on him. If the stranger’s truly dead, then the newer faces must be after something else. Soon, he realizes it’s the token. Tristan quickly realizes his home is now marked. He reluctantly chooses to leave to draw danger away. Unfortunately, his actions hadn’t gone unnoticed.
END OF ACT I
"So,"
"I hear you’re an actor?" Camille’s words pulled the young man’s attention from the words on the pages.
Her tone signified interest... perhaps in an effort to make small talk given the quiet car ride.
"That I am," Niall replied, earning a simple nod from the lady.
Then, she asked curiously;
"That a script?"
"No. It’s an outline for a novel I’m writing," Niall replied casually to which Camille arched an intrigued brow;
"You’re not planning on making an autobiography at such a young age, right?"
Niall laughed.
"Nice joke, but no. This is more of the epic-fantasy variety. Autobiographies can wait till I’m hundred."
"Damn. A hundred years, in this economy? Quite the optimist, aren’t ya?" Camille glanced over to him with an amused smile.
"Have you seen my parents? They look not a day older than thirty." Niall doubled down.
To that, Camille was the one who laughed.
"Fair point," she replied shortly after, to which she then added;
"Well, if you’re in need of an illustrator, don’t hesitate to contact me."
It was Niall’s turn to be curious.
"You’re an artist?"
"Yeah," Camille simply replied.
"When I’m not tilling the soil and managing my grandmother’s ranch, I run a small art gallery just off Main Street in Franklin," she added, a faint hint of pride in her voice.
"Still, I dabble every now and then," she continued with a light shrug.
"Who knows, maybe you’ll like my work and I could freeload off of the popularity of your book when it becomes a global best-seller," she joked again, to which Niall laughed once more.
"Fine, give me your contact info and I’ll inform you when I require your services," he replied shortly after.
Not a moment wasted, Camille pulled a business card out of her glove box and handed it over with a triumphant grin... almost as if she’d been waiting for that very demand.
"You are so shameless, you know that?" Niall couldn’t help but comment.
"Most business owners are," she glanced sideways with a smug wink.
"Besides, a girl’s gotta make her bag." she added, a cheery zing to her voice.
"I respect the hustle." Niall remarked in amusement.
And with that, the drive continued on in comfortable silence.
Out of curiosity though, Niall appraised Camille.
What he saw, left him genuinely impressed.
A brush paint icon lingered over her head, beautifully plated in gold. Her hue, on the other hand, was a striking platinum.
Granted Niall had been honest when he said he’d inquire for her services, now he was all the more certain that he would.
Twenty minutes later, having arrived in Franklin, Niall thanked Camille for the lift and assured her he’d contact her once he got around to finishing the book.
Waving each other goodbye, Niall soon boarded an Uber to the airport.
Upon arriving roughly thirty-something minutes later, he informed his parents he’d reached the airport, sorted out the boarding shenanigans and eventually, found himself on the flight to L.A.
Six hours later, barely clutching late afternoon, he’d arrived in L.A.
Once again, he contacted his parents, informing them he’d safely touched ground.
Finding his car in the parking lot just after, he quickly made his way out of the airport.
However, instead of heading straight to the agency like he’d been planning, he instead pulled out his phone, searched for what he wanted, located a pawn shop nearby and went on a side quest.
About an hour later, after haggling with shopkeeper, one he felt genuinely sorry for by the time he was done, he walked out of the pawn shop with a sleek, black, manual typewriter.
Niall had come to realize how much more he’d enjoyed working with a typewriter as opposed to using a laptop these past two days.
Maybe it was the way the keys distinctly ’clicked’ and ’clacked’... or maybe he’d just been having too much fun sliding the roller... Niall couldn’t say.
Still, he’d figured he’d be writing his plot outlines for his novel going forward using it.
As for the actual Chapters, that would have to be done using his laptop.
Afterall, if he used the typewriter for that, it’d be tedious to translate it back to the modern formats for publishing.
In any case, having completed the side quest, he made his way towards Century City where his agency resided.
Having received all the details for the filming of the [The Promised Queen] as he’d requested, all of which he’d catalogued in his mind on the flight back to Nashville the day he’d regressed, it was finally time to start taking action towards rebranding his image.
And no sooner had he walked into Callow’s office, the sharp-looking, middle-aged agent gave him a cursory glance, gestured for him to seat and then continued speaking to whomever it was on the other end of his smartphone.
Niall however, was having none of it.
"I need to speak to the director."
No sooner had he spoken, the agent’s head snapped in his direction with full attention;
"What for?" Callow lowered the phone and asked in a guarded tone, his pupils narrowing into pinpricks.
To that, the young actor walked towards the arm-rest of the plush leather chair and leaned on it as he spoke;
"I figured,"
"If I’m gonna play Julien’s role perfectly," Niall pressed on.
"I’ll need to do my own stunts myself." he concluded evenly.
For a brief moment, Callow considered it.
Then, seemingly working it all in his head that Niall’s role was mostly forgettable and diminutive to the story so there wouldn’t be any overly crazy stunts that could imply he had good range as an actor, he gave an approving nod.
"Alright, I’ll inform her myself. Whatever she says, I’ll get back to you on it." he casually dismissed to which Niall nodded in appreciation.
Niall had expected Callow’s response. The agent was just that cagey. Especially since he was hell-bent on micro-managing his career into a pigeonholed corner.
He probably also thought he was being very smart about the whole thing by barring him proper access to the director.
Afterall, as B-lister on the lower end of the spectrum, there was only so much Niall’s star power could afford.
Also, given the movie’s director was a household name in the industry, why then would a renowned director like her want to spend her precious time speaking to some rando like his talent.
That was what his agent presumed.
Unfortunately, his thought process couldn’t have been more wrong.
Ivelia York, as Niall had accurately remembered from an interview he’d seen before his regression, had a habit of paying extra attention to actors whom were more interested in the artistry rather than the money.
She was also the rare kind of director who equally loved it when actors challenged her scripts in creative, brave new ways.
And for Niall...
Well, he planned on doing just that in the coming month.