Behold: Paul at his most awkward interview (that I recall)
This gifset is from ep 1 on UML (start watching around 27:22 minutes), which means this interview came to my attention in the context of mclennon initially.
Don't know if this is indeed a mclennon situation, but I think this is the most awkward interview of (a normally very put together) Paul that I remember. This is an interview from around June 1964, while Jimmie Nicol was subbing for Ringo in the Netherlands.
We fade into the interview, where the interviewer brings a question from the audience:
Q: The question we just had: were any of you (ever) in love?
John: Me.
Paul: Yes, he's married.
John: That's right!
(Watch closely for Paul exhaling in the gif below)
(Note: The others seem either awkward or giddy about this, perhaps because this is the first time John talks about being married publicly?)
Q: Does that put you in an exceptional position?
John: On Sunday, yeah.
(It's a 100% juvenile dad joke, but I actually think it's really funny. Paul's response, however-- his smile drops and he squirms in his chair... )
Q: Would you want to get married, the others?
Paul: No, I don't like marriage.
Which causes John to nudge him repeatedly.
Paul: No good. No good, marriage.
Then, John pretend to cradle a baby in his hands (someone call 1969 Paul stat!).
Paul looks down and away, touches the back of his neck, and John breaks whatever's going on by looking at the camera and grabbing a drink (it's George who comes to Paul's rescue, off camera, saying something about having enough money first).
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Writing some cute fluff as a palette-cleanser to go along with my whumptober fic
Jon was very sleep deprived as usual so he didn’t pay attention to the book as he took it out of the dusty box. “Ugh, Martin really needs to be better about dusting the cobwebs off these things before bringing them into my office.” No, he didn’t know it was necessarily Martin who brought it in here. But he was so very easy to blame for everything. He put the book on his desk and opened it. He was going to research the Web.
CW: Elliot being an opportunistic little shit, toxic relationships
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Cups piled up on the foldable table next to the couch, a skyline of liquors and spirits next to them. Elliot plucked the tablecloth neatly over the corners. It looked great, though nobody knew for how long. In a few minutes, the first guests were about to arrive and with them the reason for his detour into the unknown.
He had been the first to appear at Sahra's doorstep and offered to help prepare the living room while they caught up. Like her invitation, the reason for his attendance surprised Elliot - in a way that should've worried him more than it did.
"Oh, and I need to give you a fair, I wouldn't call it a warning, but still," Sahra stammered and put a bowl of chips down, "She has her special kind of humor, so just…"
Lie there and take it?
"…don't think that she's serious about it or anything!"
"When that's all it takes for the Philharmonic to treat me to a seat, your friend can tar and feather me all evening. Seriously, if she's into that."
Sahra's proposal had sounded a bit unappetizing to Elliot, at first. Radio-silence had taken over since their graduation, sometimes proximity was the only reason to keep contact, until she made the first step. He was always willing to work hard and climb the ladder, an ethos as thankless as it was childish.
On the contrary, Sahra made the rounds rather frequently.
Naturally, Elliot would rather bite his tongue off than admit the slight twinge of jealousy whenever reading yet another feature article about Sahra's performances. Caught between angry customers whining about gas prices and spreadsheets, maybe this Amber could really be the steppingstone he desperately waited for.
"I can't promise you anything," Sahra turned around, nervously chewing on her lip, "but I'll give you three guesses why I am where I am."
"Because you're qualified, I hope?"
"Of course," Sahra replied bemused, "but sometimes a few links grease the gears."
"Thank you for the opportunity, then."
"Thank Amber, when the time comes." Or her father, financing half of the philharmonic's budget. "I hope you leave a good impression with the board members, our current guy is just… Ugh, don't get me started."
The audition started next month. Sahra was right, it didn't hurt to give it a try.
--------
The night passed by quite differently than expected. Not only were Sahra's friends the kind of personalities Elliot usually avoided like the plague, they also were not ashamed to show this fact off.
As soon as all formalities had been provided, Rhys, a long-term student of mechanical engineering and incredibly proud of it, demanded a round of poker. Real money as wager, that goes without saying.
Elliot considered him to be joking, at first. What pretentious fuck would actually suggest that? His decision to decline made him unpopular quicker than one could say "trust fund baby", a rough start to a night he couldn't wait to be over already.
Sahra, also in no position to finance their games, meanwhile kept herself busy with the drink supply.
"Anyone else?" she asked, empty bottles of wine in her hand with labels Elliot didn't dare try to pronounce.
The reason for his farce, however, kept herself in the center of the group to sprinkle insults like glitter among them. Mostly about Rhys being a sore loser and his girlfriend Liz, a woman as sharp as a marble.
Awkward. If nothing else, Elliot thought, this is awkward.
"I'm out," Amber sighed. Cutting her losses early, she shifted and slipped towards the corner he silently took a seat in. She kept her eyes on the game, but not without pursing her lips at every stupid joke coming from its direction.
"So you're an old school friend, huh?"
The chance he waited for. Elliot cleared his throat and switched over to the offensive: "Yeah, we met in summer music camp."
"Music camp? Wow, that explains why you're such a party animal, huh." She wordlessly mustered Sahra flitting from room to room. "Was she always like that?"
Busy uncorking another bottle for her friends? With every second, the little voice at the back of his mind doubted that they were even that.
"The mom of the group," Amber explained, as if they were all unable to stand and top up their drinks themselves. Nothing too surprising, though, especially when most of them only found an amused grin when hearing about Elliot's days in the office.
"Yeah." He insistently tried to return her attention, "How did you guys meet?"
Amber shrugged. "Here and there. They all came around one day, and we're hanging out ever since."
"That's nice." Ice cubes sloshed against the walls of his cup.
Well surrounded from all sides, Elliot had never felt so alone in his life. Better that nothing, right?
Minutes stretched into hours of draining small-talk, and minute per minute, Elliot's hopes of sneaking into this circle for certain benefits kept on dwindling. Suddenly, a shrill laugh ripped them from their chat. Liz waved her phone from side to side, short flashes of an auditorium clear to everyone around her.
"Oh my god, that's you!" she exclaimed and jumped up and down on the couch, like she just won the lottery. Seconds later, the scattered group gathered around Liz to catch a better view of the video.
This all too familiar scene stirred Elliot awake. Oh, fuck.
Not his recitals. His elementary school had taped one or the other, used in its online promotions in exchange for free lunches. Evelyn had always known how to bargain for her son.
"Wait! That's from years ago, I-"
Behind the screen, the boy gave a little bow, music sheets nearly slipping out of the folder he had tucked under his arm.
"Good evening, my name is Elliot Ribera," he chirped, "Today, I will be performing Cimarosa's Sonata No. 42 in D Minor for you."
Seriously?!
Then, he bowed again, nervously eyeing the audience to his left. Where Mom sat.
Memories came over Elliot in a flood: how nervous he had felt playing in front of maybe thirty people, how the sheets refused to flip, how his legs couldn't even reach the pedals-
"Aww, so cute," Rhys pouted. The clip showed them nothing Elliot had to feel embarrassed about; besides a rough start and a few missed modulations, yet his face still blushed red in humiliation.
"So cute," Amber parroted behind him and tapped the bridge of her nose, "Maybe you want to show us a video of your talents now - if you count snorting lines off Liz' tits as that."
Pixels of Elliot's past self chinked Cimarosa all throughout Sarah's house. Yes, this was awkward and so much more.
Yet, out of nowhere, the tension broke with Rhys' dirty laugh. If anything, these friends', if one could even call them such, had in common was the dislike of one another.
Enough now. Enough underhanded jabs, enough shallow gossip. Elliot was about to excuse himself, because of a headache he thought up, when Amber linked arms and swooped him to the side.
"I have an old box like that at home," she whispered in his ear after the rest got busy with another round of poker. Of course, she does. "How about a private performance?"
--------
Escorting her home was one thing, yet performing by hook and crook to maybe somehow let her connections help him gain an advantage suddenly felt natural to Elliot.
Trying to ignore how massive the house she had led him to was, he quickly spotted the promised piano at the back of the living room. Wiping over the old wood felt so familiar. Why not strum a bit for her?
"Alright, Amber," he smiled and lifted the piano lid, "What would you like to hear?"
The lady of the house faltered, half-up the stairwell to the first floor already, and looked back at him in bewilderment. A long pause stretched out between them, until her face finally twisted into confusion:
"I kinda don't care for the music thing you got going. Sorry, I guess."
Didn't. Care. He should have stayed home today, should have saved himself from this complete disaster.
"Okay…" Perhaps she just needed some idiot to bring her home safely. "Then that's the part where I say goodnight. Anyway, it was such a pleasure meeting you."
"Oh, was it?" she barked, irritated.
At this, Elliot was speechless. The one chance he had tonight never existed to begin with, a big ruse that leeched any kind of patience left in him. And now, this.
Amber leaned on the handrail, focusing on her guest down at her feet: "So, the whole night you suck up to me and when I give you a free pass you'd rather just piss off?"
Free pass? Not this again.
"No. God, no, this is not what I wanted-"
"But you want something. You all do. I don't mind, but don't you even have the courtesy to fuck me for it? How boring. Looks like we both don't get what we want tonight."
She looked offended, Elliot realized, offended that he didn't use her in a way she liked. To prostitute himself for a better likelihood to perhaps get a part?
Thank you, Sahra, but I waive.
"That's fine by me." Elliot slipped back into his jacket, voice firm: "But to be clear, I'm not-"
Her eyes widened. In the blink of an eye, her face turned pale and Amber collapsed on the stairs.
Elliot jumped forward, barely catching her before hitting her temple on the banister. Shit! Both his arms wrapped around her shoulders, struggling to slowly pull her to the floor and always careful to protect her head.
"Hello?" Elliot laid her down and lifted both her legs up over his shoulder, "HELLO?"
Never meet up with old schoolmates again. Never, never, never!
After a few grueling seconds, Amber's eyes fluttered back open. She coughed, once or twice, and growled weakly: "Not again…"
"Should I call someone?" Elliot's heartbeat danced on his tongue, too scared of letting her go, "Do you need an ambulance?"
"Yes. No. It's just this blood pressure thing I've got." Rolling her eyes, in annoyance not distress, it was her turn to be embarrassed about nothing now.
After making sure her consciousness wouldn't leave him again, he ran across the room and back to her. From off the couch, Elliot had swiped a few pillows and stuffed them under her head and knees. More and more, Amber found her voice despite the scare still shaking her to the core: "Don't you dare take a pic."
He halted, then scoffed. "Why would I? What the hell is wrong with you people?"
Strangely, she just snickered. Chortling at first, until it turned into full-blown giggles, like her request wasn't disturbing enough.
"That's not funny, Amber." Elliot ran a stressed hand through his hair, "Someone needs to have an eye on you."
"Good luck with that. Chase went out, and my parents won't come back until next week."
Great, fucking stellar. He knew what he was about to demand from himself: "I don't want to leave you alone tonight."
"Really now?" Amber squinted over to him and raised one eyebrow. "I'm fine, dude. Probably."
"Not if you might faint again."
Amber didn't mind his objection, suddenly, and gave a short nod. He helped her up onto the couch to settle down beside each other. In the soft light of the chandelier, Amber appeared much smaller. Frightened, maybe.
"The house gets so quiet at night."
Perplexed, Elliot gave her more space to study the carpet fibers intensely. She was a lot gentler when alone and none of her minions swarmed around her. Cute, he might say.
"Is Chase your boyfriend or…"
"Brother," she clarified.
"Got it." Lucky him, nobody would beat him up for coming home with her. That's what he got for messing around, so he might as well make the best out of it.
"You looked disappointed there for a second, Elli!" she cackled. Not nastily, not dismissively. And though Elliot only rolled his eyes at the nickname, he thought that this cheesy side fit her quite well.
It would stay the only jab in the following hours, as minutes turned into hours again, this time drifting past like a dream. Elliot didn't play for her that night, a temporary goodbye at dawn forcing them apart, but promised to meet her again the next weekend. After all, they wanted to make up for the rough evening.
Social anxiety so high that I still can't go through doors that say "Employees Only" without the fear that I'll get caught and get in trouble. Did I mention I'm talking about when I'm at work? In my uniform. With name tag.
