Lockdown and Litigation

Harper

Harper collapses into the chair in Ms. E’s office, feeling emotionally drained to the point of numbness. She contemplates pouring herself another drink, something to take the edge off of raw nerves. She settles for some electrolytes instead. No need to add chemical dependence to her growing list of problems.

The producer, for her part, slinks into her dark corner behind her desk, becoming that formless entity with the silvery eyes. Her shining silver eyes convey worry. A lot of worry.

“Ms. O’Connor, with your permission I will now remove the Calm Emotions effect I placed on you at Ms. Arabella’s set. It may be jarring.”

I feel this way with my emotions suppressed? This is going to be bad, isn’t it?

“You thought I may have lost my cool there?”

“I know you would have. What was done is so rarely done precisely because the Masters do not take it well. The fact that, as you’ve put it, your season is on the wackier side of the transformation spectrum means you losing your cool would have likely lead to Ms. Arabella needing to protect Mr. Cooper with a level of **** I would not permit. So, are you ready?”

Before Harper could even respond, her vision fills with red. A raging tempest boils inside of her, as she feels like something was ripped out of her and is being stomped into mush, over and over again. Knuckles white from her grip, she casts something without even thinking about it. With a wave of a non-existent hand, the spell dissipates before it forms. Then, she’s flung into the wall, pressed so deeply into it that she feels the drywall swallow her.

“Focus, Ms. O’Connor, focus. We severed what was supposed to remain unbroken. It hurts now, your soul screaming for something that is no longer there, but the pain will pass. Remain in control. I can quote some doe-eyed Tobey McGuire movies at you if you wish.”

Breathe. In. Hold it. Out. Repeat.

Slowly, slowly, the room returns to grayscale. The pain, the loss, the rejection remains, but they lose their power for the moment as she just keeps breathing. After an eternity of being pressed into a wall, she slowly loosens, slumping onto the floor.

“Are you ready to talk about it, Ms. O’Connor?”

“Will you drop the facade and just talk to me as you are?”

“I cannot. If you wish to...”

Harper interrupts, “Yada, yada, yada. I’ve heard all of that before. Would prefer the other pretense then. I’ll see Her in my reverie. Just, put me back in the Suite now, please?”

Mattie

Mattie is awake and, frankly, annoyed. She wants to get her P.T. suffering done with. They didn’t lock me in my room before. What’s going on? Well, she can pick locks with the best of them now. It takes longer than she’d like, but she’s out in the cafeteria. Mattie is startled by the cracking of a whip behind her.

“Back to your room, slut!”

Mattie turns around, gun drawn. She is surprised to see Prudence, clad in a business power pantsuit, wielding a whip. “Prudence?”

“I said, back to your room, slut! Set’s on lockdown for now.”

Mattie raises her revolver, but doesn’t put it away. “Mind telling me why?”

“Yes.”

“You know I have a mutual destruction pact with the producer?”

A silver cat, moonstone eyes glowing in the dark, pop on top of Mattie’s head. The cat smiles, “I’m a little busy at the moment, Ms. McMattersen. We have an ongoing situation and I just need to to chill in your room until it passes.”

“Can I help?”

“Outside your pay grade, Captain. Please?”

Behind the Scenes

Ms. E feels the other producer arriving unannounced, so she sends the petulant child back to her room. I’ll deal with her later. For now...

The entity know as Mr. C oozes his way into the film noir office. She feels him smirk, a nondescript body part pointing at the Harper shaped imprint in the wall, “Redecorating, nepo-baby?”

“Just because my mother, may she repent of the darkness in her heart, is an executive producer doesn’t mean I’m here as a nepo-baby, Mr. C. You offered me this job.”

“Yes,” the thing before her speaks, sliding it’s way into the knocked down chair, “I did, back when I thought that you would just be an annoyance to her. Now, you killing my most popular Host? That makes me think you don’t deserve the job anymore.”

“Binky the Clown were a collective menace to the multiverse and threatened one of my cast members. I had every right to defend her from them.”

“What was taken must be paid for, Ms. E. So, pay up.”

“I believe you have already taken one of my Hosts. A Beckie Petersen. Assuming she survives the season, keep her. Mold her as you wish. Surely, you could find enough demons looking for a low-rent possession to build a new Binky. I will not lift a finger to stop her. That payment enough?”

“You wish to pay me with what I have already stolen. Oooh, poor form, Ms. E. Poor form. Pay me with something I don’t already have. Like say, Milton. Now there is a low-rent possession to build a new Binky. Wouldn’t even have to change the face in my marketing materials”

Ms. E taps into her office and has her ceiling unfurl itself like a small blossom first opening from it’s bud in the early days of spring. She drags the moon in the office’s sky directly overhead. It’s radiance fills the room with light. “You have tormented that poor man long enough. I will not hand him over.” She prepares a blast of Moonbeam (upcast to Tenth Level, of course) and makes no effort to hide the fact. The spell holds in her nondescript hand as she mulls over releasing it.

The entity gets up at that. “Only a week into the job, and you wish to declare war?”

“I believe the actions you are allowing Beckie to do would already be considered a declaration. You gave up getting to torment this cast already, remember? This could just be considered an acknowledgment of the state we are already in, Mr. C. Shall we get on with it, or shall you just be satisfied with what you have?”

The entity walks towards the door. “Oh, I’m never satisfied, Ms. E. No good producer is.”

She makes sure she singes the tip of his tail with the radiant blast, just to keep him on his toes. Moonlight burns away the office. Not safe to use this one anymore, if another producer can just barge in here. Need a new office, one where I am the only one with the keys. I suppose I should find another reference to annoy my charge with. That’ll be fun.

Aelene

Lady Skye insisted on tying herself up for reverie. Aelene argued that it was stupid to risk her date on the hope that the upgrade would resolve the problem. Lady Skye argued that she was relying on Aelene too much and should bear the burden. She was sure that Lady Harper would be able to free her from the rope’s effects.

She was worried even before reverie. She is even more worried now.

“This one needs this one’s Mistress. Lady Aelene, can you open the door for this one?”

Aelene sighs and rolls out of bed. She tries the door. Locked? She puts her shoulder into it. Still locked? Aelene pulls out her phone and starts to text for help.

The reply comes swiftly: “<Remain calm and stay in your rooms. Set is on lockdown.>”

Lady Skye paws at the door. It breaks Aelene’s heart.

“Come here, Lady Skye. We can cuddle while we wait. I’m sure your Mistress wouldn’t mind.”

Harper

After her little outburst, Harper finds herself in the foyer of her Suite. She hasn’t eaten since lunch, but she isn’t exactly hungry. Knowing she needs something, she makes herself a protein shake just to settle her stomach enough to let her fall into reverie. Pre-dawn light beams into the Suite. Harper checks the kitchen clock. 6:47 A and I’m still up. I’m exhausted, famished, and heartbroken. Not a great start to the day.

She chugs the shake as she heads towards the bed, only to see that it is surrounded by large boxes? Too tired to care, she just pulls her things into her inventory, including the empty shaker bottle, and dives into the pool. Settling down to the bottom, she just pumps her gills. Breathe. Open. Hold it. Close. Repeat.

Soon enough, the reverie overtakes her. The inky blackness of the water doesn’t surprise her, doesn’t upset her. She swims to the surface, expecting Her there. And She is.

“Cousin, a little late to start the reverie, aren’t you? My sweet little cinnamon roll of a champion has her date with you this day. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?”

“You know why I’m here, Eilistraee. Please...”

The goddess interrupts, “Ok, time for some tough love.” Before Harper could comprehend what is even happening, she feels herself slamming into the churning sea water like a skipping stone thrown across a still lake. Tumbling in the air. Skidding on the black sand beach of the shore. Two blades millimeters from her throat. The goddess speaks, imperial rage radiating off of her like a supernova, “You would DARE complain about the show setting Dinah free to ME!?!?!?!? A goddess of freedom? A bane to slavers everywhere? You blithering clearcutter, are you daft?!?!? We both know what would have happened with her had she stayed. Best case scenario, your Producer, that super cute talking cat or bunny depending on the situation, would have made you write another elimination. One for her, who did nothing wrong other than being the target of the show’s cruelty over and over and over again. More likely case, she’d end up with the one Beckie wrote for her. I will spare you the nightmare of knowing what that entailed. Or perhaps you’d like to explain to me how she would have earned enough VP to avoid that fate, huh, Harper?”

Harper, brain half-shut down by the unbridled divine wrath hovering above her, mumbles, “If we could have worked things out, then, uh, I’d have...”

“Ignoring that first big if, a giant chasm of pain and hurt, if Dinah rolled low, like my sweet cinnamon roll of a champion?”

“We...”

“Nope. We both know that you could not **** yourself to risk a child to this game. You would have needed absolute assurance that Dinah would have been fine at the end of the game before you would even entertain that notion.”

“Fine. You’re right. I rationally understand that what happened was for the best. But I’m not fucking rational right now. I’m only human. Okay. Not actually human, but, you know what I mean!”

The goddess is smiling, holding back giggles towards the end of that. She withdraws her blades from Harper’s throat, sitting on the sand, using her finger to doodle through the ebon grit. “If I could free them all, I would, Harper. I hope you know that. Don’t dare to even think about complaining like that again. But know this, even if all of them were free, none of them would abandon you like Dinah did. And, yes, she abandoned you before this night, honestly even before you really fucked up. You tried so hard and got so far, but, in the end, it didn’t even matter.”

Harper pauses for a beat or two there. “Did you just quote Linkin Park at me?”

“Referential humor! Seriously, listen to the advice you gave that dorky human. Turn this game as close to the good as you can. Make up for the sins this game shoved on you. And, yes, that gaping hole in your heart right now, that need to own Dinah, is something you are going to need to let go of. You shouldn’t own any of them. You are to love them as best you can, as often as you can, not lord your unearned position over them. Understand?”

Harper nods in assent. The goddess continues, “Good. Now, I’m going to let you recover from me nearly killing you a half dozen times there. Rest up. When you awake, you’ll likely still be feeling like absolute emotional dogshit. Perhaps a certain monk of mine could help? Bring Scarlet with you on Skye’s date. That’s an order.”

Wait. What? She nearly... Oh, wait, yeah that makes sense. Ooof, look at the skid mark I left on the beach. Yeah. I’m just gonna lie here until my bones feel solid again. Yeah.

Josie

“Mornin’, Rabbit,” Josie yawns. She squeezes her bunny-girlfriend into her chest. Tina, nuzzling into Josie’s breast, struggles to act like she’s still sleeping. “Maybe we could squeeze in some sex before breakfast if a particular bunny is awake?”

“Still sore from yesterday, between 6 hours of sex before dinner and the two or three hours we did when we went to bed?” mumbles the bonny bunny, “Man, am I out of shape. Wanna teach me some cool fighting moves when I’m not just one giant sprain?”

“So, I can start teasing you for being a little pudgy?”

Tina blows a raspberry into Josie’s breast. She lifts her head to pout. “I’m not pudgy, I’m curvy.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure we’ll whip you into shape. Don’t want the love of my life to fall over dead or anything, right?”

Tina’s smile brightens the room and Josie’s heart swells three times its usual size. She scoots forward, planting a smooch on Josie’s lips. “And Harper would like me more, too? I want our girlfriend to like me.”

“The old lady loves you, Rabbit. You know that.”

Tina smooches Josie again, “And Harper loves you, too. You got to practice with me. Go tell her already!”

Josie grumbles. “Don’t start that fight again, Rabbit. I will tell her how I feel when I’m good and ready. Breakfast?”

The two get up out of bed (Tina moaning like a broken old lady) and they try the door. Locked. Josie, bloodlust rising, rattles the door handle, almost snapping it in two. Tina checks her phone, cursing, “Fuck. The set’s on lockdown?”

“Shower?”

Tina shrugs. “Sure.”

Daphne

“Scarlet, calm down.”

The oread is slowly melting the floor underneath her. “I need to know what the fuck happened to them!”

Honey

Honey walks onto the set, nerves a little frazzled as she takes in the strange environment. She slurps on her mesquite sap smoothie, sends some texts to her supervisor informing him that she is waiting to meet her new client, adjusts her name tag attached to her silk backless blouse, and carries her briefcase all at once. The statue there is disturbing. Why honor mermaids eating testicles like that?

She is so perturbed that when the hotel staff surround her, weapons drawn, she doesn’t notice. One of the staff sticks the point of a spear into the space between her head and neck plates. That gets her attention. Honey turns around and nervously giggles, “Uh, hi? Honey, junior entertainment associate from Cyrene & Hodges: Chanters at Law? I’m here to meet a Ms. O’Connor? She’s my new client?”

A melodious voice from above declares, “If she was a threat, Ms. Cassiopeia, I would not have let her on set. Send her up. I warn you, Ms. Honey, that Ms. O’Connor is in a fragile mood right now. You meet with her at your own risk.”

With that, the mermaids warily shimmy aside. Everyone is on edge. Honey’s antennae twitch, a nervous tic she had from youth. She hovers towards the stairwell, wings happily buzzing. The buzzing drone helps her nerves. Then she has to land, since the stairwell is too narrow to really let her fly. Honey slurps on her smoothie some more, the tunnel making her horny in more ways than one, even with the uneasiness of being surrounded by water. Visions of injecting her eggs in unsuspecting driders flood her mind. Then, there are the statues. The ones on the left do not particularly attract her, but the ones on the right do. That drow girl may be able to lead me to some driders. Hot. I’m going to inject sooo many eggs.

At the top of the stairs, a small antechamber, a silver cat sitting on its haunches. The cat speaks, “Ms. Honey, Ms. O’Connor is still in reverie. Now that we are alone and have a little time, why are you here, exactly?”

“Oh, sorry. I’ve been sent by Cyrene & Hodges: Chanters at Law to represent Ms. O’Connor in her negotiations for an upcoming position as a Host of Harem Hotel. It’s best to start these things as early as possible. Producers can be extremely litigious. It’s weird that a talking cat is the Host here, given the motif.”

The cat giggles, giving a sly little grin. “Silly wasp, I’m the Producer you’ve been sent to negotiate with. Ms. E, if you feel the urge to use a name. Let’s chat together, you and I.”

Gulp. I’m so going to get fired out of a cannon, aren’t I?