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Two Oscars, a CAS Nomination, a BAFTA Nomination and a Memory to Last a Lifetime

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'I just don't know how to get the right sound!' Gary groaned and thumped his head into an especially-sticky patch of the bar. 'Eew, what the hell is on my face now?'

The bartender, a weedy guy with a bright blue mohawk and several hundred tattoos shrugged. 'Dunno. Also dunno why you haven't paid your tab and fucked off yet.'

Gary glared, but it was a half-hearted affair. He was fairly drunk, very stumped, and working his way towards panicked. Steven was expecting rough cuts of all the dinosaur noises in less than three days, and Gary had come up completely blank on the most important one of all.

He was going to wind up blending half a dozen feline growls and get summarily fired because it would be utter shit, and he'd never work in Hollywood again, he'd have to move back to fucking Chicago (and he hated the pizza there)-

'Third thing I dunno,' the bartender said, pulling a seriously dented baseball bat out from under the bar. 'Is how much clearer I can get. Twenty-five bucks and then you fuck off.'

Gary blinked at the man, then fumbled his wallet out and tossed a couple of twenties on the bar. 'Sorry, man. I'm going!'

He walked out into the faintly-chilled, potently-smelly New York night, carrying a beat-up canvas duffel containing several thousand dollars' worth of recording equipment. Maybe the Bronx Zoo would have something suitably-threatening sounding, Gary tried to tell himself. A particularly pissy red panda or something-

There was the sound of glass breaking somewhere nearby, then a fascinating grunting sound. Gary started towards it without thinking, the sound engineer inside taking over and bypassing any self-preservation instincts.

In his defence, whatever was grunting would (mixed judiciously with an ocelot roar and possibly one of the pissier snakes) be perfect for the velociraptor snarl.

The grunting was coming from an alley with even less lighting than the cubby hole he'd been trapped in for Terminator 2, so Gary fished the parabolic mic and tape recorder out before he shuffled in. No point hearing the perfect sound if whatever it was murdered him and there wasn't even ten seconds of tape for Sandina to work backwards from. He only slipped the headphones over one ear in case anyone was thinking of creeping up on him while he was creeping up on the grunting.

Whatever it was was a fair way down the dark and slippery alley. Gary had to concentrate to keep his footing and to keep the mic aimed right at the grunting.

'Fuck, yeah!'

Gary stopped and jerked back a step, blinking. That had sounded enthusiastic. He waited a moment, but when the grunting continued uninterrupted, he inched further towards the sound. He slipped a little in a puddle of something he was going to ignore, made a mental note to burn his shoes, and shuffled around a dumpster to aim his mic at the source.

He could just make out a darker patch of shadows; two dudes pressed against each other and the alley wall. The grunting was in time with the fucker's movements, and Gary could hear muffled swearing from the fuckee.

That was fine, though. He could edit that out, or even drop it a couple of octaves and add some reverb to bolster the intimidation factor for the raptors.

'God dammit, Raph,' the voice was pure Bronx, and squinting, Gary thought it was coming from a big guy leaning against the alley wall. 'Put your backinto it!'

'Big talk,' the – holy shit, Gary swallowed compulsively, massive dude fucking the first one said. 'For someone who cried like a baby when that shuriken flew past his face.'

'Fuck you,' number one said, but he sounded half-laughing and half-orgasmic. 'It's gonna take five stitches to sew up the hole that thing left in my arm.'

'Bitch, bitch,' the massive dude shifted just as a police chopper flew past, its searchlight sweeping over the scene for a second. 'Moan, moan. If you're bored, I can go find a movie to check out or somethin'.'

The sound over the headphone cut out, and Gary scrambled to bring the mic back up. The sound he was recording was the sound of a massive fucking turtle wearing an eye mask fucking a man against an alley wall. He shoved his free hand into his mouth to stifle the whine that wanted out.

'Nah,' the... Jesus Christ, the human said. 'I'm gonna give you a chance to recover. Y' got the fuckin' yips, man. I get that. Just need an ego boost-'

'I'll boost your fuckin' ego,' the turtle grunted and he did something Gary couldn't see that had the human making a desperate, choked gasp. 'How you like me now?'

'Eh,' the human waved a hand in a so-so gesture that had Gary swallowing against an hysterical laugh. 'I've had better. Maybe I should go ask Leo to gimme a ride-'

The turtle grunted again; a deeper, rougher, hotter sound and the human whined and shoved his hips back.

Gary opened his mouth to quieten his breath, raised the mic and grinned at the thought of how perfect this rough cut was going to be.

There was a sudden, almost-painful increase in the volume of the grunts, and Gary picked out the human's shout, the splatter of something wet hitting the wall. The turtle drew a long breath and pulled away.

'Same time next week?' the turtle said, accompanied by the sound of fabric being dragged back up the human's thighs.

'Same Bat-channel,' the human agreed, pivoting and lunging to plant a loud, enthusiastic kiss on the turtle's... did it have lips? Gary wasn't sure; the last time he'd looked at a turtle's face there had been a distinct absence of labia, but who knew what the standard was for six-foot-plus turtles?

The turtle backed the human against the wall again, leaning in to deepen the kiss before it stepped back, flipped a casual salute and leapt twelve feet up in the air to grab a fire escape. It climbed quickly, disappearing over the roof edge only a few seconds later, leaving the human leaning against the wall and laughing in between gasping breaths.

'Hoo-boy,' the human muttered, head tilted back to stare up at the sliver of cloud visible where the turtle had disappeared. 'You sure know how to show a boy a good time, Raph.'

Gary eased back around the dumpster as the human straightened, certain that the guy would not look kindly on Gary's surveillance. He waited until the sound of the human's jogging steps faded away, then he double-checked the tape had captured everything.

The tape was intact, and a quick rewind showed the sound was crystal clear. Gary grinned, punched the air and packed his equipment away. He wasn't going to lose his job! He was, in fact, going to win a fucking Oscar!

Gary did a quick two-step victory dance, then shoved his hand into his pants and brought himself off in three hard strokes.

This was going to be the greatest fucking sound scheme in history.