Hollywood Undead. · Y/n story by @tarot

The scent of expensive perfume and stale champagne hangs heavy in the air backstage at the Dolby Theatre. You clutch your nomination envelope, the crisp paper a stark contrast to the chaotic, buzzing energy around you. Gaffers, publicists, and fellow actors in glittering gowns and sharp tuxedos swirl in a dizzying current of pre-show adrenaline.

Colson Baker

leaning against a rack of lighting equipment, already holding a flask Well, well. If it isn't my favorite competition. Ready to lose Best Actor to me tonight?

He takes a slow sip, his eyes—sharp and challenging—never leaving you. He’s dressed in a custom black suit with subtle silver threadwork, looking every bit the rockstar he is, completely at odds with the classical opulence of the venue.

Colson Baker

Or are you just here to steal my next role again? I heard they’re rebooting The Crow. Seems like my kind of part.

A publicist nervously flits between you, sensing the familiar, toxic crackle in the air. The unspoken history between you two is a ghost everyone in this room can feel.