No CGI: Matte Painting 2
Story by Tagenar on SoFurry
The ideal job is staring at dinosaur slits all day and rubbing elbows with important people in the film industry.
No CGI: Matte Painting 2
by tagenar (https://www.furaffinity.net/user/tagenar | https://tagenar.sofurry.com/)
{The ideal job is staring at dinosaur slits all day and rubbing elbows with important people in the film industry.}
You can’t believe it. They went through all that trouble to get the dinosaurs in makeup, and they weren’t even needed for the shoot today. It was all closeups of the human actors talking.
So your job becomes helping the makeup team wash the paint off. That woman finds you and has you on a speakerphone call with your supervisor. She really wants you to stick around for a while, and she is willing to compensate the employer if necessary.
You do not know what to say. You wonder how they found out where you work. Hell, it’s hard enough for _you_ to get your supervisor on the phone, so how did this woman get through?
R is with you when you get the paperwork. All you have to do is sign on with this guild as an intern. Your job is to paint dinosaur thighs and slits. Your name will be in the credits as a “matte painter.”
R bumps shoulders with you. He thinks it’s a good deal, so you sign.
You now have a job in Hollywood, and your supervisor is strangely accepting of you not being there for an indefinite amount of time. Temporary Leave of Absence is usually reserved for military deployment and medical emergency. Nobody ever said taking a quick job on a movie set was a valid reason to abandon one’s job.
Seems you are now here for the duration of production.
One of the makeup artists offers to buy you a drink. You like the idea of getting alcohol for a change, and R nods profusely at the offer. He runs off with E. You haven’t seen X and wonder where he’s been, and what he’s done with the Daddy Longlegs.
A chance to see Hollywood from a somewhat inside position.
Turns out this man applied the makeup to R on the first Jurassic Park movie, and he did not want to do it again. Of all the dinosaurs he’s had to apply makeup to, R had the strongest scent. He’s convinced this is the reason dinosaurs have their own district.
It’s a casual night out. You did not expect to have this much cash on hand, or to have an open-ended vacation from work.
*
It looks like they are finally ready to film a raptor chase sequence.
You don’t think you can watch Jurassic Park 2 when it hits theaters. Whenever you see a dinosaur, you will know what their slit looks like, and that’s all you’ll be able to smell.
You have seen every single dinosaur in this production. You have personally painted every single dinosaur’s inner thighs and around their slit. You don’t see their faces, lying on your back all day; it’s an assembly line of dinosaur holes moving over you.
But you do pause when you recognize E’s scent. Seems a shame to cover his green scales in earth-tones, but that’s your job, and E can’t stop giggling, seeing you working in Hollywood, officially.
You recognize T.
You recognize X.
You recognize J.
You recognize K-T.
R is one of the last to get his matte painted. You take a moment to appreciate his thighs from this angle. Sculpted cliffs leading to deep, rippling abdominals. While your hands are at work painting his bits and his bulging thighs, he bends down and whispers between his pectorals.
“Hey, Co[mm]a, I gave so[m]eone your nu[mb]er last night.”
“Really? Is he into humans?”
“He _is_ hu[m]an. He saw your little indie [m]ovie. I told hi[m] I knew you.”
“He saw it already?”
“He was first in line.”
“Who?”
“I’d rather not say his na[m]e here, [b]ut he’s a connoisseur of dino [p]orn. He wants to [m]eet you.”
“What should I say? Why does he want to meet me?”
“Either to co[mp]li[m]ent your acting or your ass. Not sure which, but this is good news! So[m]eone in Hollywood has noticed you! He’ll [b]e at the video store [M]onday night. I’ll tell you [m]ore later.”
He straightens up. You resume painting his thighs. Others seem to consider this a labor of Hercules, getting between every single muscle, but for you it’s just another weekend afternoon.
When the last dinosaur matte is painted, you receive applause from the makeup team. You take a bow, brush still in hand.
This time they don’t have to wait long. Spielberg calls the dinosaurs to position, and they begin filming the chase. You are on standby with your mop, and in your other hand you hold a brush and bucket, ready to touch up R when his slit lube wears out the makeup.
Dinosaurs come to you when they need a touch-up between their legs. Most of them do not need it. They just like seeing you down there, with your headlamp, like a coal miner or something. You are sure T does it on purpose just to make you be near a female slit for an extended amount of time. It is not punishment, as she quips, rather a cultural moment, taking in the scent of a dinosaur just days away from laying eggs.
*
It’s been a busy week, painting and washing dinosaur slits. You’ve gotten to the point you know which color and pattern they require by scent alone; no need to consult the schematics and match them up to each performer.
You have been the talk of the dinosaur district. R has been showing you off, letting crowds see why you’re so good at matte painting. Now you’ve seen a good many of the penises inside the slits you’ve been painting, including multiple herbivore species. They smell different. English has no words to describe how, but they are distinct. You wonder if pineapple influences their scent, too.
And now it’s Monday at the appointed time. R has still not told you exactly whom to expect, as he did not want to get your hopes up in case he canceled or flaked.
The crowd of dinosaurs hanging around outside the video store assures you someone important is inside. You stroll in, dinosaurs making way for you.
Someone rubs your cheek with his snout. “Saw your [m]ovie. Great stuff. It’ll do well overseas.”
You nuzzle back. “Had fun making it. Thanks.”
The video store is packed with dinosaurs. You got so used to seeing them in movie makeup you forgot their real colors, especially in a crowd. It’s like a paint factory collapsed after an earthquake in here.
Standing against the back wall, flanked by three muscular t-rexes, is someone you should have expected to see.
You must stand out as the only other human in the store, for he zeroes in on you and waves you over.
He shakes your hand. “Nice to meet you. Nice to meet you. Professional Comma, is it?”
You nod, smiling. “That’s my stage name.”
“I see you’re writer and co-director. How on Earth did you convince them to make something like that?”
You laugh. “I had the idea in my head for a long time. I pitched it, X liked it, and before I knew it, it was real.”
He has both arms around the necks of the muscular T-rexes, feeling their shoulders. “I’m impressed.”
“And I’m flattered. By the way, I enjoyed _Falling Down_.”
“Oh, you do know who I am! No need for introductions then. Well, I’m here to return my tapes. Always support small creators. Even if it’s not my thing, I respect the craft, especially if they’re not in California or New York. Do you have a pass to stay in the dinosaur district?”
“I’m registered, and I paid the extra fee.”
“Glad to hear it.” He bumps noses with all three t-rexes, patting their pecs and biceps. The T-rexes are sniffing you.
“I’m still waiting for a couple of people. You’re welcome to join us for olive oil.”
“I’d be happy to join you.”
The T-rexes are winking at you as they bounce their pecs and ripple their shoulders in your direction.
They are moving closer.
You are hard.
“I see your name on the credits for the new sparring video, too. That’s one hell of a thing.”
“Oh, I was just a cameraman, but I did get some of closest shots.”
“Not very often we get to see open display of bloodlust between two raptors.”
“Two... What?” You blink a few times.
*
You step out of the club and look both ways. The streets are busy, even on a weekday after 9PM. You spy a phone booth at the end of the street, and you begin walking.
You told everyone you had to piss. It wasn’t a lie, but you also wanted to step out and find a phone.
You are covered in T-rex cum. As usual, you wiped it off but haven’t washed. Doing this seems to attract more muscle-dinos, and it’s been fun so far.
At the end of the block, you plunk a quarter into the payphone and wait for a dial tone. After consulting the piece of paper in your wallet, you dial the number for your motel room. Someone picks up on the second ring.
_Hello?_
“X!” you say. “I’m glad you’re there. Is Charles around?”
_No, but E is here. So is R.
“Get them close. I don’t have a lot of time. I’m with Joel Schumacher and a couple dinosaur escorts. They saw our sparring video, and they told the guy at the desk the tape was mislabeled with a zero because there are no humans in it!”
Silence on the other end. You can practically hear them exchanging looks.
“X,” you continue, “ask someone at the video store if anyone else says the same thing. The people I’ve talked to said there’s some clawless yellow raptor with a blue ass slicing up a red raptor with a machete! I didn’t know what to say because I taped those shots! Find Charles and tell him!”
_Will do.
A dinosaur of a species you don’t recognize is sniffing you as you hang up. He bumps noses with you, and then he takes your hand and places it on one of his pecs. He’s taller than R, and his arms are thicker than yours.
You gesture down the street. “Wanna meet Joel Schumacher?”
He curls his neck back. “He’s here?”
Locking elbows, you lead him to the olive oil bar.
{If you like what I do, consider buying one of my published books. Links below. Thanks!}
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4539730.James\_L\_Steele