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“I punched a wall. And then I punched it a few more times. It was the first time I felt anything all day.”
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There’s a cigar hanging from his fingers as the man is stretched out in what could be estimated in a thousand dollar chair. His cowboy boot taps against the hardwood floor as his gaze trails across Trent’s face almost humorously, the smoke rising beside him from the chair.
“Did I hurt your feelin’s, bud?” There was parts of him that found this hurtful, but the others were just reassuring that Trent is a man and he’ll get over it. Woody’s smile is sickly sweet and he raises his cigar to his lips with ease to try to get it to wipe from his face. Maybe he needed sense knocked into him by whoever’s fist would find his nose first.
Maybe if Trent was a woman he’d get a shot at actually being his girl. But he ain’t, and Woody would never date another man, let alone have others ( including his father ) know that he’s slept with one neither. “Aw. You gonna cry on me, little rabbit?” Woody teases, hand moving outward to slap at his cheek gently. “Come cry on my shoulder then.” / @bloodrodeo
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Woody hates it. Growing up he was told that dressing up like a priest or a nun when you ain’t one was a one way trip to damnation for making fun of the Lord and those who are sent to earth to spread his word. There’s a gnawing at his jaw to say something — it’s feverish and hot, bubbling in his throat to insult the guy, call him names. But he’s a celebrity of sorts, which means he’s forced to keep his mouth shut, however much things bother him. Unless he was drunk enough to let the filters go, which he isn’t.
“I’m into cartoon characters an’ superheros, but a priest ain’t bad. Just curious why you chose it ‘sall. What you dress up as on Halloween could tell a lot ‘bout you as a person.” An understatement, glossing over his true feelings. “But I admire your readin’ choices. If you was dressed as like a cop or even batman we could’a did some cool western photoshoots.” He’s trying to laugh through his discomfort, raising the glass to his lips to take a swig.
As a child his family never did costumes. Never saw the desire to, and Woody still has trouble comprehending why it’s so fun. His ex wife and him dressed up as Cinderella and Prince Charming once. That’s as much fun as he’s had at these types of parties.
“You wanna go out for a smoke?”
woody doesn't appear baffled by the acknowledgement, which in hindsight, informs oliver nevertheless. either he's used to being recognized and generally wary of his fame, or he's the nonchalant sort — an eccentric who tends to preen under foreign attention, positive or otherwise. lucky for woody, all oliver has are wells of adoration, buckets full of attraction and curious assumption. and if he has to nitpick, oliver only wishes woody's opinions and thrilled interest were clearer still, more defined and easier to calculate. it would loosen the tension between his shoulder blades at the very least — unscrew the tightness in his chest knowing woody simply liked him back.
unfortunately, oliver isn't given this particular out — and instead, tries (with questionable success) to hypothesize in between conversation. the longer they talk, the easier it is to assume that there is attraction.
in the mean time, oliver lifts his shoulders up in a genuine shrug. "i spent a good portion of my summer reading the king james' bible." it isn't much of an explanation. a summarizing and vague murmur that goes to paint oliver in new colours, faint and sketchy details coming into view. then, hopeful that woody will take the mystery with good fun, he asks a question of his own. "why? — do you not like it?"
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Better late than never.
EDWARD ASHLEY and CALLUM TURNER as
JACK KIDD and JOHN EGAN
MASTERS OF THE AIR (2024)
Part three
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It would be a lie to most people to approach him to not know who he is. It’s one of the cons of having cameras everywhere, he’s a known face . Where back home he’s just the mayor’s son, now he’s some kind of campus celebrity to pair with it. Woody’s every move being tracked one way or another was just a regular Tuesday for him. But Oliver knowing who he was makes his lips curl into a smirk. Oliver thinking Woody didn’t know who he was makes it even more ironic.
“Full name and everythin’,” Woody teases, hand brushing back his hair that was falling in his face. It’s grown too long, it’s practically a mullet with not all the extra steps. “I guess we’re skippin’ strangers.”
As much as they could anyway. Oliver could read everything about Woody at his disposal, but the same couldn’t be said about him. It just makes Woody more and more desperate to either get out of there or keep talking. He wasn’t sure which he was going to pick yet.
Oliver’s costume still bugged Woody, but it gave him a social opportunity. “Why a priest?” Why a priest and not something horned ?
oliver reads into everything: he notes the generous offering, catches the slight hesitation, the pause in woody's voice, the inquiring question of undetermined reason. more importantly, he takes the drink, cradling it to his chest and shaking his head — a tilted smile in tow. "no to the date. not really to the party." it's a confession he hopes will implore woody to keep him company; show an air of sympathy, a hint of curiosity. it's already kind (in oliver's eyes) that there is an assumption of a date, existing or distant or half-hearted.
he takes a sip. liquid courage and all.
a practiced, timid smile tug his features then, worming in, testing woody's character for preferences. distant gazing can only tell him so much. lifting the offered drink slightly, he adds, " — i'm oliver." he considers playing ignorant, wonders if the disinterest is preferred, but wariness can still be excused. woody is far from invisible after all — a central figure, popular, tall and handsome. "and you're woody tucker."
oliver has enough sense to keep his expression blank, weighed and immovable, before taking another sip.
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Woody’s crooked smile is paired with a shake to the head. Singular ( and sweaty ) curl pressed against his forehead as he leans back against the barn. “ You don’t need t’impress nobody. You’re like if a carebear had millions’a muscles.” It was true, where Woody gained strength through working on the farm, it still didn’t add up to Trent’s own . Impressing his parents was both a challenge and easy to do when someone has potential. Coming from a family with political and social standing, Woodys almost always acting when in front of the camera. When the camera is off , though , he’s a completely different guy.
“I dunno. I got you t’keep me in check if everythin’ goes south now.” It’s a joke, but the sentiment scares him. Woodys been so caught up in his own shit ( and being tested by his own morals) that thinking about him actually being a cop is way different than desiring to be one. He’d finally have something that was his own and not his father’s, so at least Woody had that.
“I think we’re done here, bud . I think the horses are callin’ to me.”
Trent's wrangled Woody outta the bar in a backwards bear hug while he cusses some guy out, decorated with a spray of blood from a split lip, but Woody's still responsible. Looks out for Trent with things like this. Money don't compel him as much as people do, and he figures if he wants a Lambo, it's much less effort to get with a person who has one than to buy it himself. The security of being financially stable sounds like something made up, written for TV, not actually real. "You think? There ain't anythin' I really want right now. Is that how rich people work? Butter 'em up a little bit, then send 'em your Christmas list? I'll start thinkin' on what to ask for then." Trent grins, and steals the bottle back, glugging it down in a way that doesn't make sense for how little work he's done.
"You were doin' it so well. Didn't wanna hold you back." He retorts. Though he straightens up a bit 'cos the thought of laying by the pool with a cute country club blonde makes him itch. "None of nothin' for me. Straight-edge. Gotta be sharp for your 'rents. Wanna impress." Woody's parents kinda scare him if he's being totally honest. "Niiice. You gon' be good? Now that you're a future upholder of the law?"
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Woody gives him a playful eyeroll. “Means I want’cha to meet some rich people an’ maybe in the future they’ll be givin’ you that money.” Woody reaches out to give Trent a pat on the shoulder, leaning over to grab the water bottle that was sitting on the door to the barn. It could’ve been Trent’s, could’ve been his own, but in the end it didn’t matter ‘cause he felt like dying anyway. Woody already came from riches, he didn’t need to network himself nearly as much anymore as his father did when he was a child. Getting him into meetings at sixteen and having him sign deals at twenty was already enough for him if he didn’t count his inheritance.
“I can see that. Poor girl’s not even gonna know you’re terrible at yard work ‘cause you’ll both be payin’ someone t’do it for you.” Trent was a good guy, and realistically any woman would be lucky to be with him. Got good values and worth ethic despite everything, and Woody wants to do right by him with how much Trent’s heard about Woody’s complaining when it came to his father and carrying him out of the bar when he’s had too much. He can’t keep bugging his sister all the time to do it.
“Country club girls party differently than us, though. Too much snow and not enough grass for my likin’.” Woody scrunches up his nose. “Speakin’ of parties, Andy’s got the place off Main booked for us after openin’ night.”
Trent's looking pretty, leaned up against the stable, snorting at memes on Instagram while smacking on a piece of gum. Woody's got it covered and Trent was the kid in school no one wanted to be in a group project with. It's not like he's not moved any of the hay bales, just significantly less than Woody — who Trent would argue needs the extra strength training anyways 'cos he's always got a thousand and one things going on while Trent triangulates between the rodeo, the gym and bar.
His head perks up at that, a look of pure elation lighting his features. "Nah, 'cos you know I clean up good. My time to shine." Really, the chance to weasel his way into anyone's family makes him buzz, whether they take to him or not. "I'd pay to see a metal prod up your ass actually." Trent makes a pfft sound, which sounds like a horse's bray. "Network me? What does that even mean? But go on then, maybe my future wifey's kickin' it at the country club."
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