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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Werewolf XVII: Pulp Wolf


Tanuchan

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After hearing of Don's poisoning, Debra makes her excuses and retires to her dressing room. She closes the door and sinks into her chair. Instead of touching up her makeup, or smoothing a stray hair, Debra thinks. Two deaths are quite abnormal, and she is beginning to wonder if it mightn't be safer for her and her career to leave the show.

 

Her mind as troubled as it can be, Debra picks up the phone, intending to call her agent. But to her dismay, the line is busy. She sits back in her chair, a frown dissapearing as soon as it forms. She was always told that frowning causes wrinkles. A smile on her face once more, Debra suddenly recalls that she had pegged Marisa as the saboteur. Was she working with Doug?

 

The actress emerges from her dressing room with a mission. Heels clicking purposefully, Debra heads for Doug's locker. His journal has not yet been confiscated as evidence, and she flips it open with a smile of satsification. The smile dissapears as she eagerly scans the pages. There is no mention of Marisa in Doug's writing.

 

Standing up, Debra carelessly tosses Doug's journal on the bench. After a moment, she decides on a plan of action. The normal course might be to dismiss Marisa as a suspect, but Debra is loathe to believe her innocent. She sets out to interrogate Marisa herself.

 

OOC: Accusing Marisa Hawkins/Quincunx.

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After his recording session, Tim Price was obviously worried about the new turns of event. He thought on the mean used for the second victim and he knows that this time, anyone could have done it. But for what motive? He looks over everyone and scans in the room. He knows that Marisa will go to any length in order to favor her son. But is ruining the very series her son is working on is the right way? He decided to check on Zeke, asking him if he has any clue.

 

- Tell me, Zeke, did you get anything about this?

 

- Actually, there's a tape in which we see Doug along with the other saboteur.

 

Tim rewatches the tape and nods.

 

- This accomplice reminds me stangely of Emmet.

 

(OOC: A vote against Venefyxatu/Emmet)

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Terry hooked up the final wires at the front of the set and pushed the on button.

 

With a quiet belch and whirring sound a thin layer of dry-ice induced mist starts to flow across the floor. Satisfied that it's working and should look good for the show Terry turns the mist maker off and looks around the set.

 

Who else could be behind the trouble here? he wondered to himself, musing quietly on the different members on the cast and crew when he notices that it is quiet... almost too quiet.

 

Emmet has been suspiciously silent today. Maybe he has something to hide.

 

~~~

 

OOC: I accuse Venefyxatu / Emmet.

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Hearing Terry muttering something about it being too quiet, and about him having to hide something, Emmett stops with an amazed look on his face. He runs his hand through his afro and starts talking.

 

"Me? Something to hide? C'moooooon Terry, we've been working on this show for how long now? What, 3 years? 4? I mean, why would I wanna kill anyone here? This show is totally how I earn my living, and I know I talk too much and that nobody else would even want to have me around ... like, Seelvergh's the only one who even thought about hiring me and actually did, all the others had to be carried out of the room after my application! C'mooooon, dude, I'd never find another job if this show went down the drain!"

 

Lowering his voice a bit, he continues slightly softer, but not slower.

 

"Now did you hear how Don was killed? With poison, they say ... everyone knows it's always women who use poison, and I thought I heard summat about Don being annoyed at having Marisa talkin' in his soundproof room yesterday ... maybe she wanted to take revenge, or summat?"

 

OOC : Accusing Quincunx / Marisa

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"I've heard stories about the women, them actresses." The ghost raises his cane as Lizzie French slowly backs away from him, disturbed by his presence. "Yeah, the women, they clean and they cook- but the cooking's poison. Bratwurst, now that's cooking. Uncle Sam's hamburger, that'll poison you. Acting? Hah! Yeah, I know the actresses, I've checked the dressing rooms. Lookers too."

 

Lizzie heads off from her dressing room at a fast pace, shaking her head and ultimately rejecting the spectral presence of Nipkow. The ghostly geezer hobbles after her, unable to keep up with her pace and rapidly falling behind as he shouts:

 

"My day, weren't no actresses, womens had their place! Weren't no actors neither, no acting T.V. Th' mechanical was explosions, war in the lense of the Nipkow. Yer father, he knew. Play 'Go Fish' with him every Friday, and he knew. Oh he knew alright! Lil brat, probly think your old- come back here and respect yer Elders! Have a Nipkow revolution t-to run-"

 

The old geezer comes to a stop as Lizzie French runs out of sight, gasping for breath and wacking his chest with his fist a few times.

 

"Lil brat, should've expected *cough* from a French."

 

Nipkow rests motionless for a moment, then turns his head as he overhears Emmet exclaim "C'moooon! What is this place, a TV studio or some kind of survival-of-the-fittest test?" Letting out an exhausted cackle, the unheard spectre grumbles:

 

"Ha, this? No, no, I've seen it - the future. The future, now there's a survival for you. Reality T.V, I tell you."

 

Nipkow shakes his head and begins hobbling forward on his cane again, passing by Emmet and noticing the door to Tim's voice-over recording studio standing slightly ajar. A mischievous smile spreads across the geezers face as he heads towards the studio, passing through the wall adjacent to the open door and moving his eyes over the tapes and machinery.

 

"Weren't no, wassis, adds on the mechanical. War... that's what it was bringing- still bringing it! Start the Nipkow revolution, show that Lizzie French-face a thing or two about the old ways. See how they like their voicin distorted..."

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Marisa came to the set that day without an ankle bandage but with lower, sturdier high-heeled shoes; Benjamin looked a bit taller as he walked alongside her. The box had been hidden in Benjamin's dressing room alongside the leather case, after she promised to let her son see what was inside the box tonight. She sent him onto the set and immediately turned towards the nearest access ladder but Debra--I know that look, she's going to ask me for something, Marisa thought--stepped diffidently from the set and waited by the base of the ladder. "Marisa?" said Debra, and her voice did not rise.

 

What is this? She's not going to ask me for something--

 

Marisa started negotiations on the offensive. "Do you trust me, Debra?"

 

The young actress stalled.

 

"If you don't trust me, there's no use in us speaking," Marisa frowned. "Do you trust Benjamin?" This time, Debra nodded. "Wait until they finish filming this scene, and I'll have him talk to you, Miss Thompson." She waited with her arms crossed until Debra melted away, then glanced at the sign and ignored it. Once up on the catwalks, she looked down at the set until she saw a subtle change, then scanned the lighting displays for the gaffer. "Kaz!" she stage-whispered.

 

"Didn't you read the sign!" he snapped without turning his head. "Get down from there!"

 

"I am not personnel! We need to change plans!" Marisa stepped to a cross-catwalk and worked her way closer to him.

 

"The plans are off!" He slipped the gel into place and stood up as fast as his old body would allow.

 

"You haven't paid me for those spotlights yet! You haven't gotten recognition for those spotlights either! Do you think Seelvergh will get you a title-screen credit?" She jabbed a finger downwards towards the director as he stalked around the operating snow-blower and shouted to a deafened technician.

 

That stung Kaz. The gaffer held his ground as Marisa crossed the catwalk, watching her warily. "Don't touch anything," he muttered.

 

"I never do," she replied. Good, we are negotiating again. "Doug is dead, but I have five recordings of his. Mr. Cornelius is dead, but Mr. Thessalonian can fill in for him. . .but I don't think the saboteur is done. We will live through tonight, you and I, because I will record tonight. Twelve years I've waited for this, and accidents or no accidents, I will finish my debut tape! And you will have title-screen credit!" She snapped open her purse and extracted a pack of Parliaments. "A smoke to secure the deal?"

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Terry checks over his rig up of the explosives again, always checking and double checking that nothing has been altered, added or otherwise changed. If there are going to be any more accidents, they're not going to be caused by his setup if he can help it!

 

While working Emmett's words roll through his head.

"... Seelvergh's the only one who even thought about hiring me and actually did, all the others had to be carried out of the room after my application!"

 

It was true that Emmett's reputation proceeded him around most of the other studios. That didn't mean it wasn't him behind the accidents, but it did reduce the possibility... besides, Terry grinned to himself, if it had been Emmett's doing someone would've probably noticed he was sneaking around just by the constant stream of chatter.

 

Whispers from above broke Terry's chain of thought the words hard to make out over the bustle on the set with only some snatches coming through clearly:

"Doug is dead... Mr. Cornelius is dead... the saboteur... Twelve years I've waited for this..." any remaining words being lost in the general noise of Seelvergh yelling at some poor unfortunate nearby.

 

Shortly thereafter the familiar smell of the cigarettes that Marisa smokes began to drift down from above. Hastily Terry moves away, a whole new set of speculations opening up in his mind.

 

~~~

 

OOC: Ok, I'm temporarily convinced of Emmett's innocence. Change my vote to Marisa / Quincunx.

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Kaz grimaced, thinking of all the reasons why he shouldn't agree to deal with Marisa (and there were a lot), then thinking of having his name in the title credits. It was too much to pass up. He took a cigarette from the pack and accepted a light from Marisa. He took a long drag, stifling a cough. After Marisa had lighted her own cigarette, Kaz asked, "So, who do you think did it, that Emmett kid?"

 

ooc: changing my vote to Emmett/Venefyxatu for the time being

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"What are you people, blind? I have Emmett on video! I saw him do it! You all can see the video if you don't believe me! Why can't you see his guilt? He saw an oportunity to kill off some of his competition, and he took it. You'll never see anyone more guilty than him."

 

Zeke shakes his head violently, frustrated with his companions' inability to see the obvious. He walks off to see if there's anything left to drink.

Edited by Degenero Angelus
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Hearing Zeke's comment but not being fast enough to react to it, Emmett mutters to himself instead - Emmet being the only one who actually has no problems listening to him for a long time on end.

 

"Whaaaat? Me, on film? C'mooooon, that's impossible! I mean, kill some of my own competition? That's completely insane, I mean ... yeah! Everyone knows I'm the best make-up artist 'round here, and that I can boss the other make-up artists around as much as I like ... I mean, what would I wanna go killin' them for? It wasn't even one of my boys that was killed!"

 

The muttering continues as he watches the recordings, until it gets on Seelvergh's nerves and the latter ruins an entire scene's audio recording by roaring at Emmett to be quiet.

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Tim Price joins Zekes and looks at Emmet.

 

- Zeke showed me the video and there's no doubt that it was you Emmet. Also, while many of us, including me, considered Marisa as a conniving lady, I failed to see why she would sabotage her own son's career. Because the people who have the most to lose in this story are the ones who are the most upfront, by that I mean the actors.

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Lizzie heard Zeke shouting that it had been Emmett, and that had seen it on film even. She was confused, maybe her assumptions about Debra were wrong. She did seem like a nice enough woman.

 

She pondered over this for a while, and was rudely disturbed in her thoughts by Emmett coming in. He was as usual, talking. She took a good look at him, it was certainly possible that he has done it. He probably knew his way around with chemicals, and hadn’t it been glue that contained the poison. That could have been glue used for the wigs….

 

OOC: Changing my vote from Dragonqueen to Venefyxatu/Emmett

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"CUT!" Seelvergh barked, and the weary stagehands moved in with their brooms to push the confetti "snow" back over to the hopper. Make-up artists and hairstylists poised to remove confetti from the astronauts' costumes. "You're not supposed to look worried, it's just a snowstorm outside, you are supposed to look happy! Take five. You've got three minutes!" He made hair-tearing motions as the actors dispersed--why couldn't they act like nothing was wrong?!?!

 

Marisa waved to Benjamin from the edge of the exclusion radius, and she pointed him at Debra, who was standing in her feathered Snow Beast costume in front of a table fan and sprinkling water into the airstream. Benjamin approached from upwind as Debra fanned herself. "Miss Thompson? Mother said you wanted to talk to me."

 

With a sigh, she yielded the fan and the glass of water to another sweating Snow Beast. "Yes, I did," replied Debra. "Did you know that the accidents. . .aren't accidental?"

 

"Yes, ma'am. The people causing the accidents get five hundred dollars to start, and a new job if this show gets canceled because of accidents," Benjamin explained.

 

Debra gasped theatrically. The Snow Beast in front of the fan lost her grip on the glass and it smashed on the sidewalk. Snow Beast extras, all waiting their turn at the fan, crowded around to listen. Benjamin looked up at the circle of yetis and smiled. "I told the agent that he was being underhanded and that liars never win. He said that 'Detective Tracer' went off the air years ago, and he left."

 

The young actress thought for a moment, and then asked, "Why didn't you tell anyone earlier?"

 

"I did. I told Mother," he countered, and several yetis looked over their shoulders. Marisa, standing at the unmarked periphery, tucked her purse under one arm and waved a lightbulb-twisting wave to the group. He dropped his voice to a whisper, and the Snow Beasts leaned in close, blocking out the gaps between them with their headdresses. "Mother said that anyone who wrecked the show would be a fool for thinking they would get rewarded for it afterwards. She said that it would be evidence. But she said the agent was a bigger fool for saying a price before I agreed--"

 

"--It meant he was desperate." Marisa rolled the R and was gratified when the circle of Snow Beasts sprang apart from surprise and stared at her. "And if he was willing to pay before receiving services, he was desperate and foolish! I told Benjamin, someone who is desperate and foolish does not last long in this town. So I gave him a lesson. He approached me, and I nodded, and I took his money--and I did nothing!" She laughed with delight, and Debra glared at her. "Go on, all of you! Go tell everyone that Marisa has been paid by Mendacious Studios for thwarting their plans! They pay well for not getting what they want!" Still laughing, she walked over to the coffee maker, leaving a pack of bemused Snow Beasts and a demoralized Debra. She had been so certain. . .

Edited by Quincunx
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Hours later, the coffee urn had finally been run dry, and a fresh batch was percolating when Zeke finally left his beloved cameras for a cup of coffee. Marisa had refrained from filling the coffee maker until he came over, and had two minutes until he got his coffee and went back to restricted areas. "Zeke. You have access to the editing equipment and the tape players. Could you put titles onto a tape?"

 

"I already do that, Ms. Hawkins. Seelvergh's too cheap to hire a real editor, so he edits and I title," Zeke answered, then narrowed his eyes at Marisa, "while he watches. No, I can't give Benjamin a frame to himself, so don't ask."

 

The coffee maker bubbled while Marisa spoke, "No. I can't tell you what sort of titles I want, but I could show you. I'm not supposed to be near the editing equipment while Seelvergh is still here. Will you work late tonight?" She opened her purse and extracted a round tin of violet breath fresheners.

 

Zeke raised his eyebrows at the dainty item and poured coffee into a plain white melamine mug. "They're not paying me enough to work full days! It's a shame you can't look at the tape players now. I've got some tape which I recorded overnight--"

 

"So you do work nights," Marisa mused, then placed a breath freshener on her tongue and held out the tin to Zeke.

 

"--and Emmett's on there plain as. . ." He trailed off. Underneath the tin, a pair of folded bills peeked out, and they were not small bills. Zeke sipped his black coffee. "Yeah. I can work nights. I can start tonight," he added, and moved to take a breath freshener from the tin, but Marisa pulled it back and returned it to her purse.

 

"Save it for tonight," she explained, violet-scented.

 

OOC: Accusing Emmett.

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"Whattayamean she took money from Mendacious Studios when they offered her a saboteur-job? That's totally a confession, dude! I mean, everyone knows what happens if you take sabotage money and then don't sabotage? C'moooooon, we've filmed that at least a thousand times if not more!"

 

The actor in the Snow Beast costume was sweating more than necessary by now, having to endure Emmett's constant babbling while the latter fixed up the costume again.

 

"I mean ... that's not just putting herself at risk, or all of us one at a time, that's completely putting all of us together at risk! I mean, they'd be insane enough to blow up the entire studio just to get at her and us at the same time!"

 

The Snow Beast tried to get in a few words.

 

"But she wouldn't tell ..."

 

"Of couuuuuuurse she would tell us! I mean, haven't you been paying any attention to all the things we've been filming here throughout the years? I mean, that's absolutely theee best way to throw off suspicion, tell 'em straight to their face you did it when you actually did, and nobody's ever gonna believe your guilt! And whassalthat about this tape I keep hearing about? Me? On tape! No way! I wouldn't be caught dead on film if I didn't spend some time doin' my make-up first, I mean, make-up is my job, yeah? As in, I know all about it, c'moooooon, can't film me without make-up, the tape would be blank or summat!"

 

As soon as the suit is acceptable again, the Snow Beast hurries off ...

 

OOC : Now definitely accusing Quincunx / Marisa.

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Isaac puts downt he cigarette.

'Someone hungry for money, hungry for a job?'

'Bernie.'

'Sides, agents are slime that will do anything for a buck.

'What's yiddish for 'fuck you'?

'"Trust me."'

 

______________________

 

I accuse Knight => Bernie Frankowitz, The Agent extraordinaire

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Looking after Marisa as she walked away, Debra struggles to keep her jaw from dropping. She had been certain, but she was only half right. As Marisa told it, she had taken the money but failed to carry through. This raised an interesting point. Was Marisa lying, or was she telling the truth? Debra muses over this as she leaves. But, as she reaches the door, her mind changes. While she can't determine the validity of Marisa's defence, she can investigate other leads.

 

Hanging around the scene, the actress-turned-detective spots something that wasn't there yesterday. A sign decorates the entrance to the catwalks, reading : Catwalks off limit to ALL personell. I mean it! Debra raises her eyebrows in surprise, and immediatly begins to speculate.

 

Debra finds the old gaffer fiddling around with some of the equipment. Approaching cautiously, she asks "Excuse me, but may I ask why you put up that sign by the catwalks? Has someone been up there doing something they shouldn't be?

 

OOC: Still Marisa/Quincunx.

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During one of Marisa's rather loud claims about being offered money but not being a saboteur Terry interjects one question:

 

"If you're not the other one then do you know who it is?"

 

Suddenly a number of eyes are riveted on Marisa waiting for an answer.

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As the shooting of the show proceeds smoothly, or as smoothly as possible with Seelvergh directing it, several of the actors drop by the room to fix up costumes or make up; most of them quickly retreat when they discover the only one available is Emmett, and the few unlucky ones who need some urgent fixing wish earnestly that some accident would happen, if just to give them a break from Emmett's talk.

 

"Argh ... not me, too! C'mooooon, do I have a sign painted on my forehead or something? I mean, you'vegottabe telepaths or something! Or am I just that obvious and such a bad saboteur? I mean, hellooo? Like, c'moooooon, whattayamean calling me a saboteur? Why would I wanna ruin a show if I just loooove doing all these fancy alien-make-ups? Lizzie, you've gotta know better'n this! I've been doing your make-up forever, I couldn't see you get harmed! And you, Seelvergh, I mean, you were totally the only dude who didn't hafta be carried out of the room after my application! Nobody else even considered hiring me, but you completely sat through my talkin' and actually hired me! Kaz, what did I ever do ta you? Your light made my make-up always look even better, especially if Zeke could find the right angles! Maaaaan that always looked awesome! I mean, c'mooooooon, where would this show be without the three of us?? And.. "

 

"SHUT UP!"

 

Emmet gasps, turning and finding Kaz glaring at him.

 

"Hey, that'snotfair... c'mooooooooon, you talk through your cameras butall I'vegottais my voice, how can you yellatmetoshuttup, and you accusingme... c'mooooooon, totally unfair... And you caneditstuff and make me appear where I wasn't... "

 

Lizzie enters the room with a jar of water and a resolute look, walking straight to Emmett and dumping all the contents of the jar on him.

 

Emmett spurts and gasps and coughs, and through all of it keeps talking.

 

"Hey now, that's plain rude yaknow... my hair, lookatwha'ya'vedone... ruinedit, ya did... aaargh... doyaknow how long I'm gonna take to.. "

 

"Enough, Emmett. You're done."

 

The cool, calm voice has an effect that no one expected. Emmett does stop talking, and doesn't even try to restart. As other people peek in, noticing the eerie silence in a room that's never silent, they see Erwin Aylan, Zeke, and a third man.

 

"Emmett, you have better come with us. I think you know this gentleman? He is an agent from Mendacious Studios."

 

Emmett gasps, blanching.

 

"This is a somewhat secret business, but in some days we will be signing up the contract that makes Mendacious a branch of our own studios, specialized in Fantasy shows. You will be all working for them, under the supervision of E.A. studios."

 

 

There are several murmurs, and Seelvergh has to find some support as his greatest rival, Lucas Georgyu, is the main director of Mendacious Studios. He grits his teeth, trembling.

 

"When we finally agreed on the conditions of the fusion, it was brought to my attention that Mendacious had two agents in the HMS Incorporated show. Mr. Raddenbarry here identified the agent in Zeke Thompson's video tape... Emmett, do you... "

 

"NOOOOO.... you, you ruined my career! You put me into Lucas' hands!" growls Seelvergh, breathing hard. erry and Tim try to stop him, but he draws his brand-new handgun and shoots.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

OOC: Venefyxatu/Emmet was the second wolf. Congratulations, villagers!! A great work by the Seer, Deggy... and good intuition from the Baner, Cherrie, who protected Deggy the first night.

 

You're free to post your character's reactions and, why not, future :)

 

(Thanks, Venefyxatu, for Emmett's looong talk... I hope I did it right in the other ones ;))

Edited by Tanuchan
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Tim was shocked in disbelief when he saw Emmett commiting suicide in from of both himself and Terry. He then sighs before shaking his head in a slow but steady motion.

 

- Emmett... there was no need for this whole mess.

 

Tim steps back, from the grizzly scene and sits on the first seat he comes accross, thinking about the preceeding weeks. He then looks up at the ceiling.

 

- May the innocent victims rest in peace and they shall never be forgotten.

 

 

Tim's epilogue

 

Tim Price still continued his shining career as a voice-over, until he met a genius horror filmaker, Manfred Bankok, who wanted him as his man character in a movie in which Tim was the psychopathic owner of a hotel, in which the patrons are locked in and murdered in ghastly ways one by one. The film had been acclaimed and well received and sent Price in stardom. While his personnal life is filled with four stormy marriages, Tim still managed to keep a solid acting adn voice-over career until his dead, at 78 years old.

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John Thessalonian missed most of the commotion, focused on blowing across the necks of a variety of jugs and bottles, trying for the perfect whirling snowstorm sound. When he did finally look away, a large box of his preferred Turkish cigars had been placed on a table near the door, with a single word written on the binding ribbon: Tonight.

 

*

 

Inside his dressing room after filming had ended, Benjamin unfolded the bolero jacket and circle skirt from the box. "This is. . .nice, mother," he commented. "It's not like what you usually wear." He stood up and laid both pieces over the back of a chair, then asked, "Can't I please stay up late tonight?"

 

"You have a full day of filming tomorrow, Benjamin! You must go to bed early and you are not sleeping in here," Marisa disagreed. She dropped to her knees and addressed her son on a level with him. "Peggy Ann will buy you some McDonald's when she takes you home. No cola! There's some milk in the fridge. I'll be home before you wake up. Be brave."

 

"But mother. . .I've never gone to bed alone in the house, before," he almost pleaded.

 

"Benjamin," she coaxed. "It is a hard thing for any boy to accept, but even a mother cannot share everything with her son."

 

*

 

After night had fallen and only the exterior security guard was still on duty, Marisa, wearing her new outfit, unlocked her leather case and removed the five 45 RPM blanks. Her hair, with the stiff daytime pins and curls brushed out of it, rippled halfway to her waist and swished back and forth while she hummed. A few strands fell forward over her shoulders, and she lifted them mechanically out of the beadwork and set them back into place before leaving the dressing room.

 

The rocky moon-surface set for the HMS Incorporated, painted gray, now looked like the New Mexico desert at sunset; Kaz took out a gel, and a prominent boulder briefly turned magenta before he slipped the color into its new light. Zeke stepped out from behind his camera and paced off the distance to that rock, then went back to the camera, muttering calculations. Marisa skirted the set at the habitual fifty-foot radius, thinking If I step into the light, the spell will be broken!, and delivered the records into Mr. Thessalonian's hands. He gave her a thumbs-up and said something, but she couldn't hear him. It's a dream. . .I'm dreaming. . .

 

Entranced, she drifted onto the set and followed Zeke's footprints out to the boulder and sat upon it; meanwhile John lowered a microphone upon a boom and Kaz changed the angle of the most brilliant spotlight, blinding everyone with the sparkle from Marisa's jacket. The technicians shouted to one another but Marisa still heard nothing, not even Zeke shouting, "Three. . .two. . .one. . .ACTION!", until the first notes of poor Doug's guitar solo came over the loudspeakers. It's real! she thought, and it is time to sing.

 

*

 

John stood at the tape-player, pressing the left headphone to his ear and frowning. "Sounds much better when I dub the instrumentals and vocals separately," he reflected. "With them running together like this, it doesn't sound professional. Sounds like something I'd bootleg at a concert in the park." He didn't notice Zeke, who grinned while he poked his index fingers at a bulky keyboard.

 

Marisa, listening to the right headphone, disagreed, "It doesn't matter whether one or the other sounds better. I need both on the LP or it'll be too short. You can place the separated tracks on A side if you say they sound better."

 

"Doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard," Kaz muttered. He was closest to the door of the soundproof booth and didn't seem pleased with the crowded space.

 

"I'd be surprised if you did listen to ranchera. It is either in your blood or it is not. Where it is definitely not is here, Hollywood. Thousands of people here looking for something new, and they will find it, with your names on it!" Marisa proclaimed. "Zeke! Are you finished with that title screen yet?"

 

Zeke stepped away from the editing machine, letting the others crowd around the tiny picture tube:

 

Marisa Herrara
"Media Nocte"
Guitar: Doug Matthews

           Camera:  Zeke Thompson
           Sound:  John Thessalonian
           Lighting:  Kaz Johnson

"Why does he get a left-side mention?" snapped Kaz, pointing at Doug's name.

 

"Respect for the dead," Marisa muttered. "Does this suit everyone?"

 

They bickered among themselves for a few moments, but Zeke kept tapping his finger on a key labeled "Backspace", and everyone stopped complaining. "Good," Marisa concluded. "Zeke, make five copies of the tape. That's five title screens, and 50 minutes of film, five reels. . .and payment for tonight's filming. . ." She opened her purse and slowly counted out some more large bills. "If it weren't for Mendacious Studios, I could not afford you!" Zeke reached out his hand and took the bills quickly, as if afraid she would retract them again; the other two watched the transaction with hawk's eyes. "Two tapes for me, and one for each of you."

 

Kaz, John, and Zeke all snapped their heads around and stared at Marisa while the editing machine began to spit out tape. "Yes. I pay for your own demonstration tapes. Twelve years I've been waiting for this, and I am happy enough to be generous."

Edited by Quincunx
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