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insane-control-room · 4 months ago

Text

Fluid Lines

Henry and Joey try to coax some funding from Grant. It does not go very well.

ink demonth - line

Aleph Paradox Rated: G Warnings: None AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58207054 Length: 3000

notes: there's a bit of yiddish usage in the fic; also, jewish themes & characters written by a jewish author.

Equations were only a multitude of lines.

Numbers - easily shown in the form of tallies, in firm, sharp lines. It was the easiest form of speaking, a simple streak, straight and swift. Numbers were lines. Art was lines; be it written or drawn. It was all the same, you see, numbers and words and pictures, all lines in different forms.

Supposedly, according to the two artists who were ganging up against him, that was why he had to sign off on them getting more funding for the next ‘big project’.

Grant stared at them through his hexagonal glasses, though he knew they could not see his eyes with the slight silvery tint. Henry was inching towards Joey, trying to discreetly step on his partner’s foot so he could stop shoving it in his mouth, cluing in on the fact that Grant was entirely unimpressed far sooner than his motormouth companion.

Eventually, though, Grant decided that he had enough of them wasting his valuable time.

“Drew. Stein,” he rumbled. Henry went pink and Joey’s mouth snapped shut. “You two fools have no clue how business works, not a single one. See here,” he wheeled himself over to the revenue chart, his office chair smoothly gliding on the white oak flooring. “You make money, you can get funding. You lose money, you don’t have funding. Khap?”

The looks of dismay on the two men’s faces were enough of an explanation that they very much did understand, but Grant did not like the look on Joey’s face- a cheeky one, hesitant but determined. Grant held his breath as he waited for his boss’ next words, almost certain that they would be nothing good to hear.

“Well, can’t you just… pull it? From somewhere?” Joey asked, raising an eyebrow and giving a lopsided smile. Grant’s expression darkened, eyes narrowing and lips twitching downwards into a frown. Henry, the quicker of the two, grabbed Joey’s arm and began pulling him towards the door. Joey, finally getting the picture, paled slightly as he backed out with his business partner. “Actually, on second thought, can we scrape together abisl of cash? For a fundraising event?”

“Maybe make like Stein,” Grant growled, standing up, and started stalking towards them. “Shut your pisk, and get out of my damn office before you find yourself in deeper drek!”

Henry quickly closed the door behind them.

Joey’s face was pink with the embarrassment, dark brown eyes with little remorse but plenty of regret. Henry shook his head as Joey reached towards the door handle again, and the other man’s hand fell to his side. He gave a sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading away towards the studio’s rotunda library. Henry followed after him, a mite dejected himself.

Joey sat down with a long groan, rubbing his face, adjusting his kippah. Henry seated himself across from his khevruse, silent and lost in thought.

“What are we going to do, Henry?” Joey asked, looking at him like a bit of a lost puppy, eyes big and mouth slightly downturned. “We need the money for funding, yes, but we also need the money to keep this place afloat.”

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” Henry crossly replied, folding his arms over his chest. “Grant already gave it to us straight. We don’t have the money for this right now. We really should… should work on getting another episode out.”

“We have one ready!” Joey splayed out his hands, and his arms. Henry blinked, surprised. “You know, the three that we have in backup!”

“Oh, right,” Henry blinked. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. But Joey, we shouldn’t use the backups all willy nilly like this. It comes across as… a rush? I don’t know. It’s just… not a good idea.”

“Well, I…” Joey tapered off. Then, he rebounded with a smile as big as Bendy’s, making Henry tense up with what was sure to be a bad idea incoming. “I was thinking that we could make a bigger cartoon. For fundraising. Something… feature length, maybe.”

“Joey, that’s a terrib-” Henry caught himself, blinking twice. “Did you just say to make a longer cartoon? That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s ‘it’,” Joey replied, offended by Henry’s surprise. “What did you think I was going to suggest? A strip show? Khas v’shalom?”

“You would enjoy that, you farze'enish,” Henry grumbled, though with a light in his eye. Joey glared at him with mock offense, calming down from the genuine upset of a moment prior. “Either way… it’s something that could work. The only problem is….”

“Reb Natan,” Joey glumly finished, nodding his head towards Grant’s office. “He’s never going to okay this, not with an episode half finished.”

“So let’s finish this line, and then we can pitch our idea to the almighty check signer,” Henry said with a smile, encouraging him. Joey gave a small smile in return, nodding. “And I’m guessing you want to make it a musical, right?”

“How do you know me so well?” Joey asked, eye twinkling as he winked. Henry laughed a bit and clapped him on the shoulder as he stood up. Joey kissed his own fingers and pressed them briefly to Henry’s hand, standing up himself. “Ach, Chaim sheli. Let’s get to work.”

The pair of them quickly made their way up the stairs, in a comfortable silence as they entered the art department and slipped into seats- Henry into his usual one, and Joey into whichever he pleased. Within a few moments, the soft scritching noise of sketching filled the room, conversation passing between them every now and then. Henry eventually stood up, stretching out his back.

“It’s time for mincha,” he informed Joey. The other man nodded, and stood as well. He gathered up their papers, dropping them off in Norman’s box for the projectionist to synthesize and set up for the film reels. “Be right back. Getting the Broadway trope.”

Joey nodded in acknowledgement as Henry slipped out the door to get the remaining members of their minyan from the theater next door. When he returned with the group, he was glad to see the studio was already gathered and waiting for them. Jack, as their khazn, nodded in greeting. They began shortly after confirming everyone was present, the services adding in aravit. Soon, Joey was thanking everyone for coming, and adding in a small Torah remark- one that made everyone groan, though appreciatively. Then once everyone had filed out, Wally came in with a smile, Joey thanking him personally (as he did every day) for his work. Henry wrapped a hand around Joey’s wrist, tugging him back to the art department. After chugging an entire pot of coffee between the two of them, they sat down and got to work. The pair worked until tikkun chatzot, and after that post-midnight prayer, both of them stumbled up the stairs to the small bedroom and passed out- Henry not even making it to his usual upper bunk and falling asleep next to Joey’s as they chatted quietly.

The sun beaming across his face woke him. Joey was already awake, washing negel vaser in the connected bathroom. He waved at Henry, murmuring the morning prayers after he stepped out, gazing out the window to the sunrise.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” he said in way of good morning. “I’ll see if Susanna brought for us some coffee and bagels.”

“Two bagels,” Henry murmured, pulling Joey’s blanket over his head- as, once again, he could not find his kippah. After reciting the brief gratitude of the return of the soul, he got up. Stretching out, he too made his way to the bathroom, noting that Joey had refilled the double handled cup already for him. Soon, he too was downstairs, finding Joey was in fact munching on a bagel. The man pointed at a plate with another two bagels on it, making Henry smile.

There was a third, extra bagel, though.

“Who’s that for?” Henry asked, nudging a hand towards the plate. Joey glanced at him, and then upwards with his eyes closing slightly. Henry fought a snicker. “Grant’s office is down the stairs, Joey.”

“Aye, yes,” Joey nodded ‘sagely’, pinching a few fingers and emphasizing his words with the gesture. “But we must beg haKadosh barukh Hu for the man to sway. For only They know what lies in the mind of a person. And maybe, just maybe, They might give him a nudge. Who knows? Maybe I will put Their name twice in the credits.”

“Are you trying to bribe God, Joey?” Henry questioned teasingly. Joey only smiled. “I don’t think He really goes for stuff like that.”

“Damnit,” Joey sighed in mock defeat. “Maybe She’ll take a cut of the revenue? Our biggest and best investor and fan.”

“We’ll see about that,” Henry smiled, patting Joey’s shoulder. “Let’s finish up this episode, at least.”

Joey, reinvigorated, nodded. First, they went back to the in-studio synagogue. Once shacharit was done, though, Joey beelined to the art department once again, savaged another mug of coffee, and dove back into trying to finish up the episode. Henry joined him soon after, as well as Daniel (their ‘intern’ [Henry was sure that Joey simply liked the kid being around, and was glad to be able to support him]), once he finished up at school. Henry’s head shot up, however, when what that truly meant clicked in his brain.

“Joey.”

The head of the studio hummed in response.

“We didn’t eat lunch.”

The other man raised his head, blinking with surprise as he recalled that Henry was in fact correct.

“Ah. Oops.” he stood up, smiling apologetically at Daniel. “Well, little mensch, Henry and I will be right back after we devour some potatoes. Or something. You can keep working on those midframes- you’re doing absolutely fantastic.”

They left the teen glowing with the praise. Joey whistled as they walked to the lunch room, Henry shaking his head at him.

“You like walking on a thin line, on the breg,” Henry nudged Joey, “Stop that whistling.”

“It’s not Wednesday,” Joey replied with a cheeky smile, and promptly resumed the high pitched titter. Henry rolled his eyes, but let the matter drop. The duo scarfed down a soup that Joey had put in the freezer a week ago, discussed the upcoming parsha in brief, and then returned to work. Joey glanced over Daniel’s work, smiling brightly. “Looking good! We’ll be done with this episode in no time!”

Henry rolled his eyes once again at Joey’s positively silly demeanor. Though, it turned out that the dark haired man was absolutely correct when it came to speed. The three of them managed to crank out the remaining panels before the end of the week, beating out the deadline by nearly two weeks.

Tired but exhilarated, Joey gave Daniel a bonus from his own funds, the student practically skipping with joy out of the studio at the end of the day they finished. He was also extremely pleased with the long weekend he had earned for himself.

Deadline- beaten. They now had an episode to air, as well as the three in the archives for backup. There was no way that Grant would reject the feature length idea now, considering how prepared they were for the workload. And, their non-Jewish employees would be available again after their holidays were concluded. Which would mean that the eight empty seats in the animation hall would be filled up once more, and developing the cartoons would be a breeze.

Henry followed Joey up the stairs to the bedroom again, both of them talking excitedly once more. This time, though, Henry was on the bed next to Joey, a paper pinned to the bed above them, Joey sketching ideas as they talked. Henry found himself growing drowsier, slowly tapering off into silence, dozing off. Joey happily curled next to him, doodling until he too felt sleep tugging on his ankles.

He quietly recited shma, and went to sleep feeling extremely hopeful for the next day.

-----

“No.”

Henry’s eyes widened at the same time Joey’s rapidly moving mouth snapped shut.

Weakly, Joey asked; “Can you repeat that?”

“I said, ‘no’. Beshum oyfn nisht.” Grant repeated, narrowing his eyes. He leaned back in his office chair, steepling his fingers into a small pyramid shape. “Loy v’loy, if you need it in straight Hebrew. No, in plain English.”

“But- why not?” Joey struggled to keep himself from whining, forcing his mouth into a smile. Surely Grant was mistaken. “The studio is completely ready for a big project- and we finished the current one way ahead of schedule-!”

“What Joey means to say,” Henry cut him off, trying to salvage the situation as well. “Is that we’re confident in our ability to pull this off. And there have been funds coming in. And there will be more funds coming in as well. So-”

“Not in a thousand years,” Grant denied, stamping the request for funding with his red rejection. “Tsvey mol di tsores when you’re together! No means no! Maybe after you have ten episodes in the vault, then we can talk!”

“I’m not nearly as bad as he is!” Henry protested. Joey looked at him, wounded by the other animator’s attempt to distance himself. Grant rolled his eyes, and replied; “You’re seventy, and he’s one hundred and thirty. That makes two hundred percent!”

Thoroughly chastised, Henry’s mouth turned into a thin line. His ears turned slightly pink. Joey did not say anything, shoulders raising slightly as he tried not to dwell on the unfairness. Henry noticed that he was biting the inside of his lip, a nervous tick of his when he was attempting not to say anything negative or upset. Henry felt bad for a brief moment, but then he snapped to attention when Grant knocked his nail on the desk twice.

“Times ticking, nu?” he waved them out of his office again, shaking his head. “Shoyn!”

Joey’s face burned with an indignant shame as he, this time, pulled Henry from the office. What really was getting under his nails, though, was the slight gaze of satisfaction he caught on Grant's face. The jerk! Henry, still dismayed, was yet to see the look on Joey's own visage, but when he did, his down put expression faded somewhat as he tried to cheer up his friend.

“Well, let's get to pouring more of our hearts and souls into making those moving pictures,” he told Joey, but Joey's scowl only deepened at the suggestion. “Joey? Is something… wrong?”

“Of course something is wrong!” Joey snapped, though he tried to keep his voice low. “That farssiener! I'll wipe that look off his face!”

Joey whipped out his turquoise eye liner, marching over to the bathroom to apply it. Immediately comprehending what his friend intended to do, Henry reached desperately to stop him, but missed the man's waistcoat by a fraction of an inch. Still, he caught the dark haired man on his way out of the restroom, slinging his arm around his waist and pulling him swiftly into the spare room before Grant's office, a small, tight smile on his face for anyone who saw him drag Joey off. To Joey's credit, he did not make a word nor sound of protestation, letting the other twirl him away.

“Joey. Iyov. My friend, balibter, do not do this,” Henry pleaded with him. “Grant will not take well to it. He will not. Being… quirky will not go over well. Please.”

“It's not a big deal,” Joey, still upset, replied. Henry pursed his lips as he looked into his eyes- the blue-green makeup brought out the brighter colors in Joey’s typically dark eyes, like an aurora borealis with exposure. “I'll break his brain a little. Then we'll get the checked line.”

Henry pursed his lips, brow furrowing.

“Fine,” he sighed. Joey's unhappy little scowl turned into a hopeful half smile. Henry pointed a finger in his face. “but I'm coming with you.”

“Works with me,” Joey beamed brightly, leaning over and pecking Henry’s cheek. He slipped out of the door, Henry following his swagger infused gait. The two of them silently approached Grant’s office, Joey turning his head towards Henry- checking to see the reaction of the other man. A slight, half lidded smile met his gaze, assuring him that he looked enticing and alluring- as much as he could, being so goofy as he was. He knocked on Grant’s office door, and without waiting for a yes or no, entered the room. “Cohen… maybe I could… convince you that we deserve the funds.”

Grant had not moved from furiously scribbling on papers, and sharply shook his head.

“No.” he snapped, not looking up. “Get it into your head, tumpik. You’re not getting it.”

“Cohen,” Joey said, his voice low and chiding, almost amused. He carefully moved to lean against Grant’s desk, striking a flirtatious pose. “Look at me.”

Grant, about to tell Joey off, only stared as his gaze landed on the other man.

Henry could feel the tensity growing, thick and slow.

Joey’s fingers slid under Grant’s jaw, making their gazes align.

“I can guarantee,” Joey murmured, “That we will be successful. Emet.”

“‘Truth’, you say, you promise,” Grant was slow and uncertain in responding. “But we all know you to be a big promiser, Joey.”

“Tsuzogn aun lib hobn kost gornisht,” Joey replied, the silver tongued bastard. There was that slight smile on his face again, eyes twinkling beneath the blued eyeliner. The expression was a cross between desperate and determined, and Henry sympathized with the mixed feelings in poor Grant. He had gotten that look frequently. Joey’s fingers found Grant’s hand, giving a light squeeze, still looking in his eyes. “Zay azoy gut.”

“Fine. Fine, you glatiker,” Grant gave up, tearing his gaze away. His eyes landed briefly on Henry, shaking his head with exasperation. “Take it and go.”

Joey triumphantly presented Henry with the blank check.

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