the Glitcher

They were filming at the forest reserve near the camping areas, which was very convenient, since their campground had showers of its own – great option if you are playing a green elf and must be smeared with green paint every so often. Whether as it’s always been quite a challenge to wash the paint off; applying it with the rest of the make-up and its props was another cumbersome story! In addition to his elf-ears and elf-like arched eyebrows there were: a completely ridiculous to Andy’s sense, for even if showing off his six-pack, leaving his middle torso wholly unprotected, elf-like costume; the multifariously vivid eye-lenses, being applied over Andy’s beautiful natural eyes, each time a different color, just like his wigs, which, if you asked Andy, was a really useless necessity and a real pain in the ass to all! But to the viewers it was a part of an especially adorable and touchy thing, surely not a superpower, but definitely a super feature, making Glitcher ever so unique, besides, of course, him being an extra-accomplished warrior, an inventive magician, and a profoundly skilled self-performing lyrical troubadour! A strange uniqueness above an average elf…  

The gimmick was simple yet genius, helping the viewers read and interpret the character more profoundly, for every time Glitcher’s emotions and moods changed so did his eye and hair color – a sort of an emotional chameleon, and a fertile ground for funny situational moments. His skin however has always stayed green – an anchor of certainty and a perfect camouflage for a forest-elf.  

As the show caught on and was becoming more and more popular, so more of the fan sites appeared with plenty of creative expressions of their admiration, including glossaries and their intuitive interpretations to the entire spectrum of Glitcher’s hair and eye hues, as if it was a language of its own!  

They could have made it easier, and save some time and trouble for the crew, by simply using computer effects, but their film director was an old generation conservative quibbler, pressing, or so he thought in his individual acuity, on quality over quantity, thus insisting on making it all as evidently realistic and physically substantial as possible, the concept pursued he self-labeled as: “an unbelievably believable storytelling”.  

His name was Terrence, he was a New Zealander, but also an American; “a citizen of the world”, he said, shifting between places to and fro, always adopting and adjusting between different creative jobs, until finally finding his ground in film directing of a very special sort… Yes, Terrence started making films for the porn industry. To his regard, he was and remained one of the best professionals in this field, and probably a very awarded as well.  

The first time he and Andy met, he gave him some of his blue-rays signed, asking to tell what he thought of them, saying, he would probably gladly have Andy in his future films, if he weren’t already a big screen name. They’d had some jolly good time laughing and chatting about the meanings of life, not that Andy understood much of what he’d been told. The man was a philosopher, and Andy… well Andy was Andy – a fairly young and sensible fellow, thinking about the fun of sexual intercourses more than weighing their outcomes.  

That was three years ago, not that Andy has changed much since, besides two things: he has become a grander name and also seriously engaged.  

But back then him and his fiancée had just been friendly coworkers, her perceiving him more as some sort of fostered “younger brother”, a charmingly amusing mate, a very handsome, nonetheless a slightly outlandish fellow; a probable one-night stand, maybe even a possible lover, but certainly not a boyfriend, and definitely not her forthcoming husband!  

One of the days she had come to his place and found those CDs. To be honest, they were easy to find, scattered all over the glass table as leftovers from his latest reckless partying.  

Andy has always been at ease with guests, so the idea of hiding the blue-rays hadn’t at all come to his mind. On the contrary, he had gladly told her of Terrence and his contribution to the porn industry, and without further thinking offered her to watch them together.  

Do not impute, our young jubilant man had no dirty inclinations, not even one of his intents at that instant had been inappropriate – it had simply been a silly suggestion, blathered out in a rush of a moment, for Andy thrived to be a generous host, and as such had really wanted to please and entertain his frequent visitors. As for his much respected, high-ranked guest, at that time, her qualified position had not bothered him in the least. Besides, she was only eleven years older, and looked fresher than most women of her age. He equaled her to the rest of his friends, which were young, noisy, and never had problems with enjoying a good porno for time passing.  

Much to her own surprise, she’d agreed, and they’d had their joyful daylight séance.  

– This porn was like a mysterious poetry of primordial erotism – crude and accrually charged, – she’d said, thoughtfully pinching her smiling lips.  

– Told you, that was some bloody good stuff to watch, – he’d said – he had just polluted all over her middle-aged chest, leaving her with a fresh mark in her fastidiously meticulous journal the next day; a confident tick under – one night stand with Andy – the Silver Drill.  

Wetlicks has been the production company airing the Glitcher project, signing up Andy to play their main character – a traveling warrior-bard protagonist, most noble forest-elf named Glitcher.  

Little did he know, this company had been implicated in porn industry, and if he knew he’d probably wouldn’t get involved. However, he was lucky he had, thanks to his hippy generation acquaintance, as it was all Terrance’s idea in the first place.  

Actually, making a major fantasy saga series was his ultimate dream come true, and to his knowledge no one suited the role better than our Andy, being just pulled out from freshly-shooted Cronan; proving his capability there as a super-sexy barbarian druid magician.  

Andy appeared at the shooting spot later than usual: this morning had felt like a promising start for a perfect day, except that small disruption with the new houseworker – she had been quite blunt, waking him up so inconsiderably uncouth; then there had been that shower time, he has been dreading, since the yesterday’s hotel mirror incident. Having failed to overcome his fears, he’d done his shaving without it, losing his precious time on that untrained chore.  

However, he’d skipped his usual “healthy breakfast and music-channel”, taking one of those energy bars on the go, and had managed to arrive almost in time. This “almost” bit has always made him edgy, for our Andy has strived to be precise, and for that matter, disliked being late, as it felt like he was failing the people around, even if he could have allowed himself such boon, knowing for sure nobody would scold him in Gerald’s provocative manner, because of him being their privileged super-star. Although, as surprising as it may sound, he didn’t want to be treated any different than the other crew members, for the feeling of being the “part of” has been close to his heart.  

It had all started in the dressing room, and since then those little pesky misfortunes just kept piling up. Firstly, his coffee tasted horribly wrong. He usually avoided instant samples, having a proper brew made all by himself barista style at home, but as he had missed one this morning, he had no choice but trying what was at hand. Besides, it was offered to him by such a lovely makeup girl. She must’ve been a new one, because he would surely remember the innocent looking presence of that long blondish hair of hers. That lassie was, maybe, adorable, but the coffee she’d brought tasted like the bleak resemblance of milk and the aftertaste of a piddle, as if someone urinated in that hefty green cup.  

Then there was the long-lasting make-up which had all gone wrong – his silicone ears refusing to stick up and falling off; the girls running out of glue, sending someone to find more of it; then one of them mixing up the color of his lenses, switching it three times before figuring out, leaving Andy with itchy eyes. And then, there was trouble with fixing his wig in place, because it kept falling down, just like his ears.  

And then there was the painting of his arms and legs and his belly to match up to his already makeupped face, which felt far more unpleasant than the usual unpleasantness of this procedure; furthermore, from some reason the paint refused to desiccate, until one of the girls came up with the idea of using hair dryers, at some point accidently nearly scorching the skin on his shoulder.  

And last but not least, there were some issues with his costume – brown leather trousers being too tight, his green linen shirt being too large and too long, as if it had been sewn by some mindless seamstress, whereas it meant to be trimmed and snug to go under his armor vest. The time was scarce, so the girls had to improvise, two of them managed to loosen the side lacing of his trousers, exposing some of his thighs. Andy claimed that it made him look like a slutty cowboy, but with some positive encouragement the girls managed to persuade him that that way was even sexier.  

And what about the shirt, you ask?  

Pins and needles, I’d say!  

Lots of pins, and no time for needles. Those little prickly sticks instead of stitches, turning Andy’s already quite spoiled morning into an on-going event of hopeless annoyance.  

Something was undeniably wrong today! Something happened to his qualified dressers, them failing to adjust his shirt to the right size and shape; have their nimble “all-can-do” hands became shaky out of nowhere or maybe the daylight wasn’t bright enough, or whatever the reason was, but almost every time while piercing the fabric, they managed to prickle him as well!  

“So sorry “, “I didn’t mean to”, “My mistake”, “Oh, shit…” those were the alarmed utters of their apologizing voices.  

As strange as those occurrences might seem, Andy’s conduct wasn’t as normal either, for there is a limit to one’s visits to the lavatories, especially if you’re running behind the schedule still unprepared. It seemed Andy has beaten the annual record of excusing himself…  

One of the assistants had even asked if he was well, after another one of his numerous departures. Andy looked like he was about to have a go at the curious assistant, but snapping at people was not in his nature, and so he took a very deep breath and said, he must’ve eaten something wrong at his breakfast, and that he’d already taken some medications for that, giving a satisfactory enough answer to calm her worries and leave him at peace.  

Finally, the girls had tuckled his shirt in, so it would not pop outside his armor vest, making place for his abdomen muscles to be displayed in their firmest glory. Andy tried lifting up and down his long mighty arms, striding about the room – it was not comfortable in the least, for he could feel the tweaked pins pressing against his body, making his usually vast gestures to be cautiously rigid, but nothing painful; and very, very annoying, though manageable.  

Now all what was left was to put his elf-boots on his funny looking lime-colored feet and send him out late, but ready for the shooting outside.  

He simply couldn’t believe, after all that hustling mess of failing preparations, they forgot about his boots! What, where, when; who on earth has taken them?! – as it is rightly said: seven nannies have a child without an eye, or a more common saying: too many cooks spoil the broth!  

Undeniably, he now looked like a preciously mothered toddler that, after having been bitterly pampered, has been suddenly left on his own so forlorn and neglected, that all he could do was to remain stationary on the corridor bench, awaiting to be retrieved.  

This mainly girlish dressing team must have been boiling a truly distasteful broth out of their brainless brains in their lightheaded heads, – Andy sighed, thinking something of the sort, but far more impolite; he just hoped there won’t be anything worse than pissy coffee and roasting hair-driers for the main course, for he had already more than enough for starters.  

And so, Andy has been patiently waiting for those girls to arrive with his boots, being pinned to the bench like a snail to the tree trunk, until someone’s there to spot it and peal it off, and even then the snail is reluctant to get its sluggish head out of its shattered house.  

Of course, he could have gotten up and head along the place, looking for them on his own, but he’d been caught in a kind of, not exactly indolence, but an atypical apathy, a sort of impassive stalling, when one is just indifferent to think or do anything at all, even if the mind is still being fully alert of the tiniest details around: a crawling fly on the wooden side-panel, badly arranged flowerpots, the fingertips on the smeared white of the wall, the clown-face-like pattern in the floor-marbles, a smushed plastic cup in the cooler, or the birds chirping outside. And then that windy droning of the air conditioner right above your head.  

It was getting pretty cold, so he had made an effort and went back to the dressing room, just to come back again, this time with something to warm himself up with; he’d got that ugly brown woolen blanket, large enough to cover his head and the upper body and kept stubbornly sitting and waiting the way he did, resembling a huge drowsy turtle.  

At last, they have brought his shoes, his lovely handmade tip-pointed genuine leather boots with awesome fastening, going up to his very knees, he fancied so much! And gosh, those were comfy in every aspect, and fitted like a glove, but there was another particularly pleasing bonus about them our Andy covertly enjoyed!  

You see, he has never ever done the lacing on his own, otherwise what was the point in having all those qualified people jostling around! But for the matter of sheer justification, he has always said his fingers were too big and clumsy to do it fast and sufficiently. To his defence, he had tried few times and failed miserably to do right what the Glitcher in one of the episodes termed as an “elfish lacing”. But then he had never put any sincere effort in it either. Perhaps, this was one of the scarcest times on set of him taking an advantage of his position of being a super-star.  

They did the lacing for him, while he was sitting, watching over those, usually two apprentice lassies, dealing with his calves, like a lingering jaded monarch. Nevertheless, it felt strangely and heroically imperial, and therefore emotionally eye pleasing.  

Yet again, as everything else having been going wrong this morning, this boot wearing ritual wasn’t a miss either. Even though it looked and stayed the same outwards, it felt completely distinctive inwards. Same girls – even three this time, just to speed up the process, same shoes, and the same chair to sit on outside the entrance of a temporary occupied camping centre; same Andy – well makeupped and arranged; his elongated-arch bow, his lightweight sabre-like sword and the beautifully carved mandolin are there by the nearest tree, waiting for him as always to be taken to the set. But his face, even more handsomely refined by his makeup artists, and by this time usually consistently beaming, seems to have lost all its beams altogether – it is seriously grim and most likely severely reddened under the thick layer of paint. His strained figure must’ve been loaded with angry endurance, for one can see his jawline muscles steadily pulsating, while he desperately trying to ignore the preoccupied crouched girls, grasping his feet.  

That buzz, that annoyingly overwhelming hum, he thought was never to return, has somehow reverted, and now fills his pointy ears to the brim and disrupts his vision to the fullest. This droning contradictive infusion of both hostile irritation and irrepressible pleasure crawls along his spinal cord, spreading rapidly to his limbs; taking over the insides of his mighty body, like a deceitful biblical viper; as though aiming to inject its venom-dripping fangs straight into the core of his thumping heart, till their aphrodisiacal poison reaches out the depths of his very soul to corrupt the very asset of its virtuous essence.  

Andy ascended the hill from its secluded rocky and dusty side – he didn’t want anyone to spot his distraught face and start asking annoying questions. For a while he stood there, leaning from behind the rock, eying the surroundings with silent displeasure – everything had been ready, and everyone was waiting for one person only – him.  

On the left downhill, not very dense, or particularly impressive, for it was formed of mainly young man-planted trees, but good enough for the set there was the elves’ ancient “ancestral” forest. Filming in one of those huge-trunked sequoia parks could irrefutably benefit their venture, adding the fairy-tale atmosphere of true elf-woods, but it was too costly for the project, and rather challenging to get all of the safety and other types of permissions, thus they used the more low-budget option, besides this was the nearest suitable forest to the studios.  

From the right side of the hill in a distance was rooted a replica of a dilapidated castle; a realistically looking, but much smaller example of its originals, built only for short-term background shootings. The primary filming was meant to be staged inside a vast hangar pavilion, which has been at final stages of preparations.  

Surprisingly, but surrounded by so many castles in his motherland Andy hasn’t really visited any, well, not including the charity assembly to meet her majesty, and the educational trips as part of his school’s history program, which weren’t as fun as one might think; in any case, those trips hadn’t left any bright inscriptions on Andy’s memory; but then most of his impressions of his boarding-school life had been as upsetting and as greyishly dull.  

Anyway, back to our lucky and very green bastard, timidly hiding between the stones, like a rock hare.  

It was quite silly of him staying there in a first place, but at least it gave him time to calm down, afterall it wasn’t his blame, for being so late – sooner or later similar shit happens to everyone, even if you’re an extremely fortunate and consequent person. Though it wasn’t his fault at all, he still felt like a self-effacing tardy student, entering the intense quietness of the class, while all of the classmates’ eyes are pointed at him in an instance, but none of them dares to say anything prior to the tutor.  

And that is exactly what happens to him entering the movie set – they all are watching and gazing but waiting for the film director’s fundamental word to see if he approves it or not.  

Anyone else might have got angry or distressed, anyone but not Terrence. Terrence was indeed a very special man, a man of calming tranquillity and old-generation fire-proofed mindset of stamina and patience. So was his team of trusted men.  

Against Andy’s expectations, neither Terrence nor his crew had shown any censure with his arrival. His crew kept smoking and drinking and talking indifferently by the bushes, waiting for their film-director’s orders – not exactly a healthy lifestyle, so trendy at the moment amongst the youngest part of the show business; as though created in spite of the “sex, drugs and rock’n’roll” of their parents and grand-parents, but now also drugging the older artistic elites after their bizarre fashions of the raw food diet, Korean snail cosmetics and “save the cows” insect eating, and many more stupidly useless web performances, just for the sake of staying “young at heart” and up-to-the-minute, thus noticeable and attractive to the new generation of the short attention span cyberspace users.  

But as said, unlike most, Terrence preferred people of older age as his main crew. And why, you wonder?! Pretty simple, as stated before, high caliber of his vision and work has always been his artistical credo, therefore he had no trust in next generations, clearly voicing those “spoiled kiddos” have a cropped perception of a video-clipped mind and no patience whatsoever each time he had an opportunity to chat to someone younger.  

“Quality comes with lots of perseverance”, his favourite phrase to tell those beginners, “Just like one of those long-lasting top-end orgasms harvested by a hardworking intentional interlude” or another one of his pearls: “Rubbing a magic lamp few times is never enough to make it shine. If you want your wish grunted you need to polish it thoroughly every night. ”  

But the funniest side in this all is, if you saw him any other day but some major showbiz events, where having a proper suit or a least a freshly ironed shirt is a must, you would most likely think his appearance is more suitable for a “mad-hatter” type of a “coo-coo” person or even a trippy homeless vagabond rather than a respectful film director of a worldly-renowned serial. His whole presence was screaming to the front, as if resisting on purpose: “My external looks will never reveal the beauty of my depths! ”; it is messy and rusty on purpose, for I won’t let it serve fake emblems, which are nothing but a faint reflection of a genuine perfection, because true perfection is something that should not be described or exposed by mere looks.  

– Here you are, buddy! – Terrence gets up from his film director’s chair to greet our shying star – no rush and no fuss, for besides the emotional parts of the filming process he is continuously at ease, – looking nothing like a devoted stickler in his favourite longstanding caftan, embroidered with silver thread and pinkish glitter boho patterns and a long-standing greasy tank-top that had seen better days beneath the robes, back then being white and not reeking with different types of spirits and fags. – What took you so long?  

But before Andy answers, eager to defend his unstained reputation of a person that never gets late on set, Terrence interrupts him, by grabbing his shoulders and descending with the puzzled actor towards the grove.  

– Go stand by that tree… – he says, pointing at the set with one hand, and pulling out something that looks like a self-made joint with the other. He lights it up and deeply inhales: – …and, Andy, – the film director rises his voice a little, so his actor could hear him from a distance of about fifty feet away, – take your shoes off; you don’t need them for that scene… – having said that, he puffs the herbal smoke out into the late-morning air.  

– Wh-what… – Andy’s face elongates with distressful astonishment – none of them has a clue what efforts he had to go through, putting these bloody boots on! -That wasn’t mentioned in the scripts… – he whines almost like his younger self when he didn’t want to do his homework.  

Although Terrence has never heard him moaning this way, he skips that notion, swaying his lanky arms at ease:  

– I’ve been thinking how to improve our scene while waiting for you… I’ve made some minor changes to make it look more authentic. We are going for more complimentary free and natural look for him. It is going to be perfect!,  

Andy halts, looking down at his boots – his jaw muscles pulsating in suppressed rage.  

– Do you know how long it takes to put those boots on?!  

He feels truly devastated, because he knows, once they are done with the bare-footed scene, he’d have to put his shoes back on again, possibly going through the same embarrassing experience he’s just gone through; that, of course, if it reoccurs, of which he strongly hopes it won’t, at least not till he completes his working hours!  

– Shorter than waiting for you… – his film director grunts.  

– But this wasn’t my fault…  

– I know, kiddo... But believe me, you don’t need them anymore…  

– Why can’t we make the other scenes first? I don’t want to lose any more time on dressing…  

– Me neither, but you’re not the only one who’s late today. Our Snow white is stuck in traffic gem, so even if I wanted, we can’t start it yet.  

– Okay then… no problems…  

– Great! – the film director lips his joint. – Blanche, help him to take his shoes off!  

– No, no, I can perfectly do it myself in no time! – Andy quickly puts away his sham weaponry and starts untying his shoes as speedy as he can, ripping the laces out of their sockets with force, then hurriedly pulls them off his feet: – See! – he smiles at Terrence, somewhat gasping. – And off.. they… go!  

Andy flings his elf-boots like a rugby player tosses his ball: far away and furiously, sending the latter into the woods, and causing poor heavy-bottomed Blanche to run looking for them in the furthest plants.  

– This is not a horse, this is a unicorn – an intelligent, sensitive, magical creature that loves its master to bits, in this specific case a “She” being named Adeline! – the film director made a nervous twitch with his mouth, huffing his joint. – You shall know by now!  

– Yeah, I know…  

The film director got up from his X-legged chair and strode towards his grumpy looking star:  

– Glitcher rides a unicorn, and now he’s in a process of getting himself a new one! – his penetrating yelling didn’t sound particularly angry or annoyed but served as an excuse to stretch his bones.  

– Is it because the old one was eaten by the angry monsters?  

– Ogres, Andy, ogres! Do you ever read the script?!  

– I thought they only eat humans… – Andy shrugged his green shoulders.  

– They probably do… but these were particularly hungry ones, – the director stopped smiling. – So, in order to carry on his mission and save the poor Snow-white, he needs to catch himself a new unicorn, and for that he needs to earn the unicorn’s trust!  

– I could live with the “Snow-white” dying of food poisoning, but still, it doesn’t make much sense…  

– Seems rational to me! I’ve revised the text… – Being naturally a serene person, the director was failing at expressing his showoff raging. He puckered his forehead, chewing impatiently on his joint, and looked at Andy: – Okay then, make your point…  

– Well, – Andy stepped back, afraid he might accidently smear the film director with freshly applied paint, – why can’t he just get a normal horse and go on with his quest, instead of wasting his precious time roaming about an extremely dangerous woodlands for stupid unicorns…  

The director made a pondering pause, and then blew out a smelly cloud of smoke straight into Andy’s face.  

– For the same reason Steel Duty wears a fucking cloak… We’re filming a fantasy here, not a reality show!  

– Whatever…  

– I can see you are not in the best of moods, but this scene is crucial for the entire episode. I just don’t want to waste extra-footage on this fucking tree and this fucking horse, – the film director’s hand nervously jerked towards a vast tree, decorated all over with fake flowers, and a dappled horse standing beneath its branches, chewing on the pile of grass around its glistening “hooves of gold”, which were evidently ordinary hooves, but gilded with gold-leaves, and so was its stunningly long mane, shimmering with magnificent golden of sprayed luster. – Now go back and throw me a spectacle of unforgettable suspense! I need some tenderness and genuine passion! – the director gave Andy a gentle, but affirming push on his side, where the paint was already dry enough. – …Don’t just stand there like a wooden dummy, do something to alive it! – he lazily hollered at him, returning to his directing” throne”.  

– What do you want me to do, it is a bloody horse with a plastic horn stuck to its head…  

– Just play it out and use your imagination! You’re the actor here, not me! My job is just to guide you to the right direction… – he deeply inhaled another portion of his joint. – You’re being way too stern! Just try to be more affectionate, more gentle – think of her as your lady… – he made another go on his fag. – Exactly, pat her face, look into her beautiful eyes, touch her amazing horn! – his eyes were voraciously following after Andy’s performance.  

– Yes, that’s it, that’s it, dude! Just needed a bit of help from those cosmic positive vibes – all about good energies around us, vibing as one with mother nature!  

The director looked victorious, waving his lanky arms up in the air like a football fan cheering for his winning team.  

– I need more passion, Andy! Pat the horse’s neck, that’s it, gently, that’s it! Now you need to mount it… yes, grab it by its neck, Andy… that’s it… Oh, don’t stop! Why did you stop?!  

The man threw off his funny hippy caftan on the dusty ground by the chair and ran towards the hesitating actor. His face was red and irate:  

– What’s wrong, why did you stop?!  

– I don’t know how to do that…  

– Do what, Andy?  

– You’ve asked me to mount a horse. I am telling you: I don’t know how to do that…  

– Are you pulling my leg?! You rode and mounted it hundred times before!  

– Yes, I have, but that was with the saddle on… I’ve never done it without.  

– That’s strange…Are you sure?  

– Yes, Terrence, I’m sure.  

– But you took them horse-riding lessons.  

– I did. But they never showed me that particular trick…  

The film director's face cringed in a sorrowful manner.  

– You should’ve asked… – he murmured, puffing his joint to relax.  

– Sorry…  

– Oh well, that’s not your fault, dude.  

Andy stood motionless, waiting for further commands.  

– Right… – the director looked a bit lost, anxiously plunging his boney fingers into his grey, badly unkept hair. – Where is that darn horse expert? Tell her to show him how to do that trick… – he turned to go back to his place, mumbling: – That’s strange… really strange… but we never had a scene with him riding a bare horse. We should try and shove it somewhere along the way…  

It had only taken three samples and five minutes for Andy to learn how to mount a “unicorn” – he’s been a fast learner, and the horse was very calm as well. Soon he had to repeat the scene all over again. He looked somewhat bothered after the session with the horse trainer, and undeniably felt so; fortunately, nobody saw the embarrassing blushing of his face and reddening of his elf-like ears covered by the thick layer of green paint and a bright luminescent wig, ignited with green, pink and crimson gradient shades, which transmitted the viewer that right now the Glitcher meant to be peaceful and romantic, even if the actor was feeling completely the opposite.  

The film director finished his coffee, put back on his embroidered caftan and started making himself a fresh joint.  

– You’ve lost it again, dude. You look like you have to catch a shark with your bare hands, not a lovable Annabelle! – he finished rolling the paper over the herby “stuff”, and instantly shoved it into his thin lipped, smirking mouth, – Want some?  

– No, thanks.  

– Good, because if you did, I’d kick your ass off the set, – said the man, inhaling the joint with peaceful satisfaction.  

– Okay…  

The film director grinned:  

– I was joking, man! Nobody’s going to kick you out – you’re our star! – he exclaimed, and giggled: – You can have some after you finish…  

– I’d rather not to, but thank you, Terrence.  

– For Christ’s sake, Andy, what’s got into you?! – he jumped off his chair, waving up his arms, almost like Gerald. – You were great few minutes ago!  

Andy’s face convulsed, him trying to camouflage himself between the tree leaves.  

– I’m fine, mate… just a bit weary, that’s all…  

The film director looked fairly surprised – his easy-going star never seemed to be fatigued, on the contrary, always being pleasantly enthusiastic about his venturesome character.  

– We are having a lunch break soon anyway. So, let’s just try it few more times… okay… just try…  

– Okay… – Andy nodded, coming again towards the horse. – I will do my best!  

– That’s right, dude, do the best you can! Now, grab the horn and stroke it… imagine you’re patting your girlfriend’s wrist or a leg!  

– Feels more like patting a bloody dildo!  

– Whatever makes your day, dude! Just remember your positive vibing!  

– It already vibes on its own, mate…  

– Awesome, man – you’re coming back to your funny self! Stay that way! – the film director repositioned himself in his chair. –Okay, people, back-to-firsts!.. – Puffing his fag like a hastening steam-train, he hastily started to spit out his routine commands. -…And action!  

showers:  

He had no choice but to enter the dreading place to wash the Glitcher’s skin away. He’d already taken a shower in the morning, and nothing had happened!  

For a brief moment he got the better of his unfathomed fear of that “something”. Something he’d seen in that flicker of a moment, standing by his reflection when he’d been foaming his beautiful face. It had been so quick, he wasn’t even sure he remembered it right by now; had it been his mind’s deception, a visual illusion or some sort of ghostly entity? They say, they have hotel ghosts, bounded to a certain area, usually a hotel’s room, but Andy’s been to hundreds of hotels and guesthouses beforehand, with all kinds of rooms from cheap hostels to expensive suites, and never, never ever has he experienced anything, that could not be explained by common sense; nothing extraordinary or supernatural whatsoever. But then again, he has scarcely been on his own in the hotel’s lodging, like he had two days ago, for there has always been someone accompanying him along his charged schedule. The only time he had truly been alone on his travel for extended periods, had been in the beginning of his acting road, leaving him little choice, but to pick what had been affordable within his humble budget; clearly, he couldn’t allow himself all those image makers and managers, he has been pampering himself with now.  

At any rate, if that was indeed a ghost haunting, it was a particularly horny ghost! Can an entity of such sort emanate itself so substantially physically and shamelessly sexual in its self-presentation?! Andy mused, freezing in contemplation by the very entrance to the male- showers.  

He could do nothing but swallow his fears and suspicions, hoping that if that was indeed a ghostly apparition, it was a classic “place bound” phantom, and that it hadn’t started fallowing him around, which, judging by the recent peculiar events, might have been a likely possibility to assess. However, Andy has been stubbornly pushing that startling idea away out of his bothered mind, desperately postponing it to be well-stored in his deepest subconsciousness behind lock and key; ready to throw the key and run for his life the very moment he sees or feels any of that spectre again.  

Andy powerfully inhaled and breathed out, his jaw muscles going wild, as they did every time he felt nervously enraged. He tilted his head back and forth, clasping his fists, as if preparing himself for a boxing match. He had to get his shit together, be rational and courageous again, and be as fearless and as daring as were his invincible macho characters!  

But that invisible treacherous suspense was still stealthily crawling up his spine, fighting the curiosity of his awakened willpower of proving himself he can overcome any foolish gut feeling, heroically facing any upcoming event. He bravely stepped in. Though it was rather large for the average camping facilities, the shower room was not divided into cubicles, or at least separated by some wall-stripes like they had in the women’s section, it was just an extensive wall covered with small white tiles and pipes with clumsy showerheads stuck out from the top on one side, and a long marble piece with a few sinks and just one big mirror on the other.  

It might be quite primitive, but in fact Andy loved it for two mainly reasons: one – it was vast, but always spotlessly clean and empty when he showered, and two – it made him feel very tranquil and composed, for the simplicity of the room reminded him of his rugby club's showers.  

Andy kept on walking along the place, looking straight ahead to avoid that one menacing mirror near the entrance, and heading towards the very end of the room as far as possible from seeing his reflection.