charles irons

hear me out...

dealing with mental illness hard-mode, trauma bonding from Steele Plantation, #justfriends, am i helping or hurting you?, parents will never approve, class-difference, protect each other, what to do with paparazzi trope

When Hannah was born, the patriarch of the family's disappointment couldn't be fully quelled, wanting a son to pass his legacy to. Even Jacqueline, her own mother, had shared the same wish, wanting a daughter to pass her own torch to. Being an actress and raising her very own daughter to one day become her producer conjured a feeling within her that was never articulated into words exactly, only wordless gestures.

Regardless, Ian Irons raised his daughter to take over in the role he had expanded the family's fortune in previously. She was pushed into parties to make connections, was taught what would make a good production and what wouldn't, and the other unseen aspects of the business that would make or break her.

Then Charles was born. Jacqueline's temperament to her son was different than towards her daughter somehow. He was full of life, a regular heart-breaker growing up, well-mannered and easy to like. Over the years it became more and more apparent that those same parties Hannah was made to go to were the same ones Charles had much better success in. Ian saw it, too.

When Charles was old enough to sign his contract in his own name, he did because that was the expectation, but something else happened that wasn't planned, that had gone against everything the Irons had wanted for themselves: Hannah signed her contract, too.

The betrayal was written all over her parents' faces, nearly teetering Jacqueline into tears. Hannah had thrown away her future, but worst, she had wasted Charles' potential with her stupid antics. If she had wanted to be a contract so bad, she could have at least given the future Charles could have had, should have had, would have had had it not been for her.

“congratulations.” she knew the information before he said it, a spreadsheet of casting that slowly filled out and adjusted rankings. she didn’t mind running the numbers that shifted on bid days. it gave her a sense of purpose and security, that there would always be this familiar pattern. she’d just forgotten to connect it to the actual people it would effect. “it’ll be good for you.” the names of the crew fill in around the beguiled, the kind that made up stability. no one had to worry if they made it onto a santiago helmed picture, they could only go up. charles doesn’t need to be told all that, his smile is enough. 

“you’ll be out of the state.” she remarked, taking into account his own perspective. though perhaps she was more so relying on the immediate fact that charles wanted to have another meal with her. “you’ll tell me how it was? i haven’t left in a while either.”

She doesn't sound all too surprised, and it doesn't go unnoticed by Charles, eyes flickering from phone screen to analyst. The gaze isn't sharp, no blade being wielded here, only reaffirmation--it was him that should have known already that she would have processed it first. A smile is returned to her, a nod of accepting the token of congratulations following. "Thank you. It's appreciated." He means it, even when the words would have bled out regardless.

"Perhaps you could visit," he suggests. "I'm sure there could be time for the both of us during a weekend, and I hate to disappoint but I'm quite terrible when it comes to visual commentary. You would be much better off seeing it in person." He already knows scheduling might be a challenge, but the invitation remains, adding onto it with a casual shrug. "Besides, I've never been to the southern parts. It should prove to be interesting, whichever state we wind up in. From what I've gathered, it hasn't been exactly decided on just yet, but Alabama seems to be the favored choice so far."

“Hey, I won’t lie to you, because I’m your friend and I care about you,” the same soft chuckle was returned, though underlying the heavy weight understood from the situation in front of them. Though.. Tomas still doesn’t exactly know what the situation was. Perhaps it was Tomas just being usually perceptive and sensitive to the shift in his friend, but it was definitely noticeable to him. Despite having been here more than a few times, Tomas still found himself politely standing in place, shoulders straightened, as if waiting to be given permission. And the moment he was signalled, he continued his movements to cautiously sit down, knowing he might be walking on eggshells blindfolded here.

“Yeah, I know..” Tomas might be put in an awkward position between the two of them, and it would be hard, if his other friend actually would reply. “But.. he hasn’t been talking to me either, nor answered my texts- so..” he trialed off with a limp shrug, Tomas wasn’t one to be pushy, if someone didn’t want to reply, Tomas will just respect that. Didn’t need to continue to be annoying on top of them having a bad day. He was searching for the right words to continue, eyes darting around as if the air around them held the answers. “Did you.. was it.. mutual at least?” He never said he was good at this whole comforting thing.

The air felt suddenly stale after Tomas' words trailed off, as if they took the oxygen with them. Charles' hesitation could have blamed it, the way his gaze became more acute, an edge of worry dashing across them before they glanced down, forcing it to be released. "He'll reply back soon, I'm sure.--For you." It's not his business any more. It can't be.

"In some ways, I suppose so," he answered after a moment, taking his seat on the couch, tongue converted to the diplomatic tone that was well-trained. An Irons never misspeaks. "There were differences between us that we couldn't figure out a way through, unfortunately."

her wine sits waiting for movement, and she should take a drink. it’s only natural in the flow of conversation to do so, but now that attention’s been drawn to it she’s made a mistake. it seemed on the adult thing, have a glass of wine with her meal. but there is something nicer about the drink that’s sat in front of charles. maybe there was something to consider in what he did as well. it looked just as formal, but he was right. it would avoid any of the problems.

 “sure. i’ll have that.” it’s a quick way to avoid the question, after all there was no occasion that she was drinking for. maybe that was the first step in a descending staircase. she marked it, an idea to hold up to the data that had already been gather. “just some time out of the office. no celebration, right?”

"Nothing that you don't already know about at least." It's all part of the job title--to gather the data that comes from every high and every low, to know what role was lost and which were won, the smallest move being integrated into analysis. Charles Irons could be considered one of the lucky ones, but he knows luck has nothing to do with it. "Apparently, I won the role for The Beguiled earlier," he says, a smile hinting at the corners that those in the past haven't been able to claim. This one is different, a chance that he's wanted for awhile, now. It means more than the points that will inevitably come from it. "I'm sorry to say that means we'll miss each other again for another few months, when it comes to inviting myself to sit down at your table, anyway."

the probability that someone in this restaurant is watching their interaction and looking for some sort of red flag is higher than she thinks anyone would be comfortable knowing. but it is lower than it could have been, given the status of his contract, given who she is. “it’s not egotistical.” and it’s hardly the last time she’ll be having a conversation about the choices that contracts make in day to day interactions affecting their public goodwill. “that’s the business.”

if pressed, she’s sure she could come up with the example of someone who was rude to waitstaff, how it triggered the downfall of their career. so many things are the last straw, and all of them are specific to the person. but she does not pretend to entertain running numbers on drinking in public right now, there is no need to bring the mood quite so far down. “i think the phrase is born into it.” whether that was positive or not, she’d leave that one up to charles. “but i don’t write articles about it.”

She's right. This is the business. The only business that runs through his veins. It would be of no surprise to one day learn that Prometheus was his first word, but there's a part of him that doesn't mind. The remainder is reserved in private opinion, stitched together by personal observations outside of the snowglobe that is the world of Irons. "I try not to dive into scandal often," he speaks lightly, a hair jokingly with a spotless record gleaming behind him, "it does seem to help some that way."

Charles' drink comes to the table without even being asked, as if in some cosmic way of putting weight to his words. It softly fizzes, the scent of the lemon-twist that adorns the Sprite is there more for looks than anything. It must photograph better that way. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have this?" Eyes flash to the wine that hasn't had much taken away before returning to her. "Unless there's some occasion you're drinking to... or from."

his answer is accepted without contest, a data point in her graph. charles would order sprite with a smile. she doesn’t know if it makes him the most reasonable person or the most image conscious, but it’s certainly distinct.  she’d drink a glass of anything in the name of her experiment, and there’s nothing wrong with sprite. “social settings.” the place to drink was parties, dinners, sipping champagne while making small talk because it was the order of things. there were plenty of other places where people drank and it was unneeded. the list doesn’t need to be said out loud. “best to just keep up appearances, right?”

He laughs somewhat, in part from experience and in part from the tiredness that pairs so well with it, nearly inescapable when it comes down to it. There's still a soft smile on his face, though, the optimist peeking through. "I suppose that's one way to say it," he tells her before tipping his head up slightly to get the new drinks placed in the queue, an action that's finished as soon as it's started, leaving them alone again. "Not to come across conspiratorial, or perhaps it's egotistical," he adds with a slightly wider smile before going on, "but you never truly know who's watching, so to think everyone is helps more than wondering specifics. I'd imagine we know a thing or two when it comes down to that."

“It’s nothing, just bakery leftovers as usual. We weren’t gonna be able to eat it all anyways,” Tomas softly reassured with a shrug to brush off the gesture. Feeling more comfortable knowing no paps would be snapping whatever pictures having stepped out of a lift to Charles’ door. Tomas lightly nodded his head politely before making his way inside, taking a once over at his friend.

“I’m– not to be rude, but you do look like shit,” Tomas chuckled handing him a small bag of oliebollens, not fresh but comforting enough as a junk food. Not that Charles looked like shit literally, but there was a little light in his eyes lost and Tomas felt it, “and you look like you needed a friend.” He tried to grin as widely and tone as lightly as possible, bending down to give Zeus a greeting scratch under his chin. “It’s okay, I got nothing much going on tonight,” he laid the spread of pastries, bread and snacks on the coffee table, finally freeing himself from the clutter to focus properly to his friend, “..you okay? Wanna talk about it? Or just– watch some cringey show?”

Tomas was let in, having even Zeus back-up to let him have the room to come in before the door closed. There wasn't much of an appetite that went along with the offering, but the appreciation was still there. Nothing had changed, not in the public eye. He could walk outside of his building, onto the street, and the paps wouldn't know one difference from any other day. It was down to the smallest circle that only knew the truth, and Tomas had wound up a step in while even his own parents were so far outside of the orbit they weren't even considered on par to journalists.

"You're not much for comfort," he joked half-heartedly, a breath released instead of a laugh, lips vaguely curved when they could be smiling. He knew he hadn't gotten much sleep, though, could have gone with more food, more company. Charles gestured to the couch for his friend to have a seat before he joined in, watching how the spread was laid out. There was a bite to his cheek, wondering for a brief moment before collecting his thoughts. "I wouldn't know what to say exactly, to be honest," he confessed as he settled onto the edge of the leather cushion, hands clasping. "He's still your friend, too."

 “sure.” It’s supposed to come off casual at the very least, as though she’s navigating rougher waters than first assumed. she knows that she was never the primary reason of visit to the department, but she’s not sure when it’s actually her business to ask about that part of the trips. her mother would tell her never with a disappointed click of the tongue. that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true. but she can accept his wish to join her without having to say any of that. the time for it will arise, it’s a simple calculation of time and drinks, she can answer to a few people’s time tables without a second thought, but charles is a new problem to solve.

“a new drink?” his joke has her attention more than anything else he’s said so far, time tables switching out for a grid that she hadn’t thought she would actually be keeping. but all the same, every time she’s in a bar someone offers her a drink. her working hypothesis is that it’s supposed to be a reflection of what they see in her, or what they hope to see. “what would you order?”

Jacqueline has never particularly liked Myles, but she faithfully went as his guest, sat in the chair for the interviewee, smiled, and pretended to enjoy her time. Off camera, she could hardly stand a single word from him. Her child was of better humor, remembering the few occasions he joined in the studio for the experience, meeting the younger Chloe Delaney and be a makeshift babysitter when there was no one else able to play with her, all too busy with the show. Now, they're both much older, and there's no longer need for the role, even when Charles pulls out his chair across from her to join.

Her glass is looked away from and to her again, the smile tacking on at the question. "Sprite?" He's not making fun of her; he's lightening the mood, along with some honesty. "Usually, I've found it best to save the drinking for when it's needed."

@charlesirons

Now, Tomas wasn't exactly sure what happened, but he went from washing dishes at home after dinner to a flurry of messages pinging back and forth through his phone, to now standing outside his friend's door, emergency snack pack in his arms. He spent the journey here processing what might've happened as he cycled, yet all he really knew, and explained to Juno, was something happened between him and Tammy. A fight, or a break up, or whatever it was, it sounded like Charles could really use a friend.

His knuckles softly knocked on the door, almost not trusting his voice to call out, "Charles? It's Tomas."

Irena was sent home early, giving Charles his loft in solitude, only Zeus to break the silence every so often. His muzzle nuzzled underneath his owner's hand, making him pet him while the two of them sat on the couch. There was no other noise in the open space, eyes out the full-length windows that overlooked the city. There was more of an emptiness inside the actor than anywhere else, a void that was deeper than he would have ever expected could have existed.

To hear the knock on the door was enough to send the dog forward, bounding in the direction of where the private elevator would be on the other side. Charles' movements only came when he heard the voice, eventually gathering himself up to open up with a slight smile. "You didn't have to come, especially with food," he told him, eyes shifting down to the full hands before standing aside, making room for him to come inside. "I didn't mean for it to sound impossibly urgent."

her drink sits in front of her untouched, the white zinfandel stares at her as though it’s asking the honest question of why she ordered it. she prefers it more than anything else she’s drank in the past week, but she was always told that gin was an acquired taste. it’s not the wine’s fault she’s overthought the order, a droplet of water runs down the chilled glass. she’s distracted only by the familiar voice that greets her. 

“i wasn’t tired of it.” charles irons is not an anomaly in the system, he is proof of how it can be made to work for you. his numbers have been steady since the day he started, they will continue to be. she doesn’t often times think of him in tandem with the different issues that she might connect to other contracts. to sit and have a drink with him is net neutral, it is easier than almost any other person in her life. “but you must have been.”

His small smile has been triggered into something vaguely sheepish, and on closer inspection it could almost be considered to be stung. He's a decent actor, but his personal life was never meant to be part of the pretend world; he's learned year after year that it's more of a lie or a wish that he's tried to convince himself of. He's an Irons. Falsehoods are in his blood, an image to maintain at all costs is the prerogative. A sliver of weakness is simply unacceptable, nor can it be tolerated. His recent circumstances have made him realize how tiring it all is, but he still offers a low nod of apology to Chloe, anyways. There is nothing to say that sheds light on the truth.

"It was simply a matter of being too busy and bad with juggling the time, I'm afraid," he tells her before his hand rests on the chair next to hers. "May I join you? It's the least I can do for being as flighty as I have been." Eyes take note of the drink, the wine that has been around so long it has formed droplets around it. He's attended enough cocktail parties to know the look. "I could possibly get you something that you might like, too."

It had started to be a good excuse to visit the cancellation department. Visiting an old friend did pass certain eyes than the alternative, even if that person hadn't been fully aware of the reasoning. It had been for the best. In retrospect, perhaps it should have been taken as a sign of some sort, an example of how fragile a relationship could be, how breakable it truly was, how one outsider could ruin one thing he was so sure of. Now, there is no hidden reason to visit the cancellation department. The alternative does not exist, and he doesn't wish to step foot on the floor. Seeing Chloe outside of Prometheus' walls at all is jarring, actually.

"Well, this is a rare sight to see you away from work," he greets, small smile brushing across his face. She still is a reminder, one he can't escape, but that's no fault of hers. Only his. "You must have grown tired of seeing me for a period of time there."