It wasn't that he was any Nomi Malone in the making, ready to shove his closest competitor down the longest flight of stairs. He may have had ambition in his blood, but he was a Hufflepuff, not a Slytherin. He was loyal and hard-working and he always meant well. Unfortunately, his best of intentions were groundless against his utter lack of social graces. If someone said a thing was okay, he took it to mean that the thing was okay. If someone said they didn't want to talk about a problem, he took it to mean to not ask after it. And if someone said they wanted to be left alone, then by God, he would ghost on them until the next semi-social gathering where he'd act like nothing had happened, because in his mind, nothing had. His guilelessness was charming to some, who were sick of all the phonies and false friends of the business. Good for them. For everybody else, he was a bit of a headache.
So no, it wasn't surprising that he would choose jumpstarting his own career over seeing a class project through for the sake of everyone else's, because he wouldn't be seeing it that way. If it had been anybody else, he would have been the happiest for them, seeing as many shows as his wallet and his numerous part-time jobs would afford him with flowers every night. He was sweet. Even the people who couldn't tolerate him for extended periods of time had to admit it. He was sweet, and he was talented, and fine, he deserved it. Of course he deserved it. Everyone came to his show; some even went back. They all told him he had a great future ahead of him, and most of them meant it.
It took a while, but it started to get there, in fits and little starts. Readings, workshops, guest spots on every other crime show in the city, they all added up to a sporadic but respectable stream of work. Sure, it wasn't going to get his name in lights or even guarantee the rent would be on time every month, but how many people could say that for sure? As for Alan, he had no dreams of stardom driving him. He just wanted to be good. No, he wanted to be great. He loved acting, and he loved what it let him do, but he didn't want to be famous. He didn't want to be a celebrity. He didn't want to get stopped on the streets because of who he was, Alan Avison, though he regularly and thoughtfully answered any fan mail he got in response to Beethoven, or Chris or Eric. He barely wanted people looking at him when he wasn't being someone else.
It was a wonder his agent got him to the audition for Girls at all.
In all honesty, Alan hadn't thought he had a shot in hell at the role anyway. He was no romantic lead, even in a cast of characters as offbeat as Adam and Hannah. No one was going to look at him and think, "Yes, perfect for the hypersexual deviant the protagonist just cannot resist" (and many reviewers said as much, even while praising his acting). But nothing had been panning out, failed audition after failed audition and yet another rent hike skewering him because his landlord knew he had nowhere else to go. Maybe it would be educational, he had reasoned. Maybe meeting these people might lead to something else, something better, something fitting. Maybe it would lead to real work.
If you counted Star Wars as real work, it sure as hell did.
On the one hand, he couldn't not go for it. He'd grown up with these movies. They were a part of him, and he loved them - enough to own even the prequels on Blu-ray, just out of principle, though he never watched them, also out of principle - and it would be thrilling and exciting and hands down the most fun he'd ever have on set. He'd get to be a little kid again, relive all the magic and sheer joy that acting had filled him with, which it still did, usually, sometimes, but never quite in the same way after all that training and technique and the knowledge of what things were supposed to be, how to do them and do them well. Do them great. Do them the best. After several long talks with friends and mentors, many of whom sat on their hands as not to smack him upside the head while saying, yes, obviously, you dumb fuck, take this opportunity of a lifetime, Alan accepted the offer. After all, he couldn't live his life in fear. And since this role was everything he feared - the fear of failure, as well as the fear of success leading to the loss of control - of course he had to say yes.
Alan's still not sure if it was the best decision of his life or the worst. Yes, the experience was great, and thank God people thought the movie was good. But privacy, anonymity, they're all relics of the past. Every time a small child sees his face on the street and starts screaming or crying or, worse yet, verbally assaulting him, his heart breaks just a little more. So why get on the street at all? While he'd never been huge on parties or clubbing, Alan's turned into a recluse, refusing to leave his apartment unless he has a job, a shoot, a premiere, yet another interview he doesn't want to do for yet another magazine cover that's going to get him another dozen double takes. And he's not going to complain about it. He knows he can't. He knows this is the dream. Millions would kill to be where he is, and maybe he would have once, too.
That's not true. Hufflepuff, remember?
+ Left-handed.
+ Born to working class parents who were completely removed from the whole acting thing, but supported their son in every way they could, including picking him up from late night rehearsals whenever they were able and dutifully buying him new tap shoes every time he outgrew them, which was far too often.
+ Yes, he motherfucking taps.
+ Plays piano, though not as well as he would like.
+ Sings, and better than he'll admit.
+ Sometimes when he makes small children cry for being Kylo Ren, he'll sing them the reindeer song from Frozen. On at least one occasion this has backfired with a little girl who thought this meant Anna was in danger.
+ Has absolutely been in to his mother's elementary school to hang out and sing with the kids.
+ More to come