Werewolf XVII: Pulp Wolf

[DeanTheAdequate]

*Don heads back to his music studio after checking on what the heck just happened. He's saddened by this turn of events and lays out the "Death Scene" track. He then makes soem notations before playing around with sound effects for the tape clip he was working on. He finally stops and pulls out a pack of Parliments. He lights one and pulls out a fresh score sheet and begins writing down a few connections.*

 

Let's see...

 

Without those two ther would be no need for... Scene 43... And we'd have to modify for a close up scene here and make it the focal point... Lot's of strings, lots of cresendo... Oh... No, that couldn't be it...

 

*He looks at his paper one last time, then tears it up letting the peices flutter into the trashcan. One piece misses, marked 'Scene 48- Debut of plot twist of Deboras Character...*

 

(OOC: Vote for dragonqueen)

[Sweetcherrie]

Lizzie French had been one of the last people to appear on stage, so she hadn’t seen it happening. She had asked the director if she could see the footing again, he’d told her sternly that it was nothing of her concern, but that she had done a good job. As if she needed telling, she had more acting experience than all of the others together. Besides she had not been fishing for a compliment, she had wanted to see what had gone wrong.

 

It seemed to her that it had been an accident, but she also knew about the other times that ‘accidents’ had disturbed the shooting. To her it was clear that something fishy was going on, only who could do such a thing? Their technicians seemed competent enough, and she knew Terry well enough to know that he would never let his special effects get out of hand.

 

Rumours had been going round that it was Doug Matthews who had been clumsy enough to make a mistake, but that seemed hardly believable.

Most of the people had looked scared when Sveelvergh had told them to work harder then ever, or else…, so she couldn’t imagine any of them wanting to sabotage their own show.

 

She sighed, and hoped that it had been a one of event. She left the dressing room, where she had been drinking a cup of tea, and walked back to the set. Walking through the hallway she suddenly felt a cold shiver go through her body, as if she had stepped on someone’s grave. She also had the sensation as if somebody was watching her, the prickling feeling of eyes in her back made her turn around to see if there was anybody there.

 

Someone disappeared around the corner; he had looked like someone she had only seen in old science magazines. But it couldn’t be.

She started walking in the direction where this person had disappeared, and when she looked around the corner, she saw the same transparent figure hurrying upstairs to where the lighting was controlled.

 

With her clicking heels she hurried down the hall, and ran up the stairs to see who it had been.

Upstairs there was nobody.

 

“I must be seeing those ghosts that everybody is whispering about, or I’m slowly starting to feel my age” she grinned, “nah, I’m not old enough for that, yet” with that thought she turned around and headed downstairs, back to the stage entrance.

 

Another thought crossed her mind, “If everybody that was scared for their income, had been looking frightened at the meeting, she would have to find the people that had looked less scared. Those people were surely the people that had least to lose, if they would be receiving income from other sources. Or someone that had something to win by stopping this show.”

She abandoned the thought and checked her watch, she was late. Stephen would not be happy with her. She hurried and arrived at the set, still panting but only a couple of minutes late, just in time to get the full blow of Stephen’s ranting on actors arriving late on stage.

 

OOC: Vote for Knight - Bernie Frankowitz, just because he would probably like it if Benjamin was suddenly out of work.

[Kasmandre]

Kaz looked around the set as he swept up pieces of what used to be one of his fresnels' lenses. He'd have to get another down from his workshop before shooting started again or there'd be a shadowy spot where it was supposed to shine. And that idjit of a director wouldn't even notice...

 

Picking up the last pieces of the lens (and of the gel which had burst when the lens shards poked through it), Kaz made his way back to his workshop. On his way he overheard several members of the crew whispering about sabotage. Most stopped before he could get close enough to hear particulars, though. But that was nothing new. No one really trusted "Creepy" Kaz...If Kaz ever found out who started that...

 

Sorting through the other fresnels, Kaz found an 8" with a fairly new lamp. As he checked the new light over, he thought about who might want to sabotage the set. I'd say the director, but he'd be more apt to do it out of stupidity than design. Same with the producer, buncha stuck up stuffed shirts, got no appreciation for the fine art of illumination... Now that Buzz guy, he used to be a leading man. Now he plays the mask-and-facepaint roles, but if he were to save someone from an onstage accident...

 

As he rushed the new light out to the set, Kaz watched Buzz carefully. He didn't seem to be acting strangely, but it was hard to tell since he was orange. Now that's a pain. Lighting people with regular skin tone's tough enough, now I have to figure out what not to do to a guy who's orange. Maybe some magenta and cyan... no, not magenta...maybe a strong lavender... Kas had the light finished before he noticed that a few of the grips were looking at him more than usual. He was halfway back to the catwalks before he realized why. He'd gotten gel from the broken light all over his shirt. Figures it'd be R26 too...I probably look like the town butcher or something. But, not having another shirt here, Kaz would have to make do with a shirt with dark red stains on it.

 

ooc: accusing Buzz Lightyear...I mean Beckenstein/Gnarlitch

[Quincunx]

The next morning, mother and son came to the studio as usual, except that Marisa had concealed her ankle bandage with a pair of short boots. For today, the catwalks were out of reach. Benjamin trotted over to the set and joined in the filming of an astronauts' scene while makeup applied layers of orange net to Debra's and Peggy Ann's bouffants. Carrot-colored Buzz got up from Terry's chair with only one half of his facial extensions in place and approached Marisa--odd time to ask for a favor, she thought, with all the chaos--and whispered in her ear. She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. "Meet me," she told him, "at Mr. Thessalonian's office in five minutes. Be careful he doesn't drop something on your head!"

 

She met them inside the soundproof room and waved to Don Cornelious at the other end of the room. "Stop!" he yelped, and pressed a button. "The theremin is VERY sensitive to fluctuations and I MUST have the aliens' entry themes done by noon!" He pointed at Buzz, then held his hands at right angles like a ridiculous martial-arts pose and twisted his left hand slowly from the elbow while running his right hand out to the side of his body and back. "That's his theme! But I just recorded that one! Be quick, PLEASE!" He bent over a score sheet and put a small tick against Buzz's name.

 

"What's this have to do with Doug?" Buzz asked, scratching at a gob of glue which leaked from under a facial extension. "He's got all the explosive equipment he needs out there, and he works late--"

 

"Ah, but he was in here last night!" Marisa retorted. "Mr. Thessalonian, would you do the honors?" She opened an envelope and settled a used 45 RPM blank onto the turntable, then stepped back and let John fiddle with some settings before lowering the needle. The record scratched for half a minute and gave off only the faintest of high-pitched sounds before John reached for yet another dial and slowly twirled it. An arpeggio burst out of the woofer and bubbled every so often from the tweeter--guitar music, a rich Spanish tune. Marisa closed her eyes and hummed the song until the record ended in a brief burst of scratches. "Doug has talent, don't you think?" she asked Buzz, softly. "I heard him playing one day and decided I wanted a recording of my own. So I asked Mr. Thessalonian here if he would help record the music. That is why he stays late every night. Not to sabotage."

 

Don gaped at them from across the room. "You're wasting recording time to discuss THAT?! Debra is doing it. Now PLEASE get out of the studio and let me finish those themes!!"

 

ooc: Accusing Debra Thompson.

[Vahktang]

Isaac is sitting in the writers room.

His isolation is assured since no one goes in except writers and Production Assistants.

There'd be no reason for an above the line to come in.

'Think of it as a mystery story. Who's on the suspect list.

'First off, opportunity, motive, and, and, the other thing.

He took another swig from the half empty bottle on the floor.

'A show is so hard to get on, we need someone who would profit from it going down.

'Nobody on this list.

'Except the cameraman.

'He'd been doing black and white for years, this is his first color show, and a lot more work then he's used to.

'And he's get a rep, he'd get a new job when this one is over, easy, and that would give him time to practice to get good at color.

'I bet it's Zeke.

Isaac took the papers he was working on out of the typewriter, then his collected notes.

He placed them in a folder and went into the cabinet, dropping the folder in the file marked 'HMS Incorporated, season 4'.

There were some actual ideas for the fouth season in there, and this file of suspects would be well hid there.

'Especially since it's labelled 'murder mystery episode'.

'A writer uses everything in his life.

 

Isaac put the bottle back in the desk drawer and reminded himself to buy another.

He turned out the light and locked the door.

He had a party to go to, contacts to be made, smoozing to do.

 

_________________________

 

I accuse: Deggy => Ezekiel "Zeke" Thompson, cameraman

[Degenero Angelus]

"What? Someone *died*? Oh, sweet Lord I knew this show was a bad idea, I thought I'd lose my career, but now it might be my life? I didn't sign up for this." He sighs, knowing full well he wouldn't let anything interrupt his job.

 

Ah, cameras. Seeing everything around them, capturing the world exactly as it is, or, exactly how I want it to be.

 

After he finishes setting everything up for the shooting, making sure all the lighting is perfect and all the cameras are in position, he goes to get some coffee.

 

OOC: I accuse Akallabeth/Doug. Just 'cuz it's the cool thing to do

Edited March 10, 2005 by Degenero Angelus

[Akallabeth]

Doug leans against one of the sets thinking over the conversation he's heard. So many accusations floating around. . . there's that actress, what's her name, ah, Debra. Certainly a stereotypical young actress, it would be easy enough for some rival to put her into the show.

 

Glancing over to the left, he saw a man looking at him, off on his own, much like Doug. But that guy was always off on his own . . . a cameraman, wasn't he? Some well trained cameraman on a show like this? What sort of person would willingly come to this sort of job? A show on it's last leg, or so it seemed. Yes, it might be saved but only if they managed to get a good audience watching. And camera work wasn't that important on this type of thing. Hmph, maybe if we lost Zeke, that could increase the prop and special effects budget, while also leaving plenty to get a cameraman more fit to this sort of job. Not someone who should be out filming movies, and other shows where camerawork is more important. . .

 

With these thoughts in mind, he walked off to the directors office with the suggestion in mind.

 

 

(Deggy / Ezekiel "Zeke" Thompson)

[Venefyxatu]

His work at make-up being done, Emmett decides to go and watch the recording after cleaning up his stuff. Just when he enters the room the explosion takes place, and with an impressive movie-ish dive he manages to throw himself to safety on the ground, never mind the fact that he hurts his arm a bit in the process.

Getting up and hitting the dust from his clothes, he looks around in the confusion.

 

"Woweee... what was that?? Terry, what were you doing there? I mean, sure, nice effects 'n all, really cool, I've never seen an explosion like that on a stage, but was that really necessary? C'moooooon! Look at everyone, they're totally ..."

 

"Emmett, shut up!", Seelvergh roars. "The last thing we need now is you adding even more confusion!"

 

Quietly, Seelvergh's roaring being one of the few things capable of shutting him up, Emmett leaves again so he doesn't learn of the death until a few hours later, when he's talking to one of the other make-up artists who's also suspecting murder.

 

"Dead? What'cha mean dead? C'mooooon! That can't be happenin', not here! I mean, aren't we all trying to get this show saved and make mr. Seelvergh happy by getting even higher ratings? Oh, c'moooon! Why would anyone want to ruin the show like this?"

 

With the other make-up artist trying (and sometimes succeeding) to get in a few words, Emmett also learns about some of the accusations being made.

 

"Bernie? No way! If this show goes down the drain, he's going to lose even more money! And Doug? That's ridiculous! You know he wouldn't have one of his sets destroyed even for special effects! Debra? C'moooon! She's so cute, she couldn't hurt a fly if you paid her to! And Zeke, don't be ridi ... whattayamean trying to remove Debra because he can't stand having to look at her through his camera instead of for real? Yeah, he could find a new job as a camera guy easily enough, but he'd be looking at other cute actresses as well, wouldn't he?"

 

They ... or rather, Emmett keeps discussing for quite some time...

 

OOC : Accusing Deggy / Zeke, because of the aforementioned theory. I know it's far-fetched, but maybe that's why it's true

 

Edit : attempt (in vain? ) to clear up some confusion

Edited March 10, 2005 by Venefyxatu

[dragonqueen]

Debra is badly shaken by the explosion. Her hands pressed to her mouth in shock, all she can say is, "Oh my gosh, he's dead..." But at the moment everyone has very little use for a distraught actress, and no one tends to Debra's delicate nerves. The sight of the mangled corpse begins to make her nauseous, and she flees the scene.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Debra emerges from the restroom, slightly more composed and recovered. Unable to grasp what is going on in all the confusion resulting from the accident, she flits from scene to scene, overhearing gossip. What surprises her is the names she hears floating around. Finding a well of information in Emmett, the young actress stops and listens.

 

"Oh dear, murder? But do you really think someone would try to....sabotage the show?" Her questions go unnoticed as Emmett talks right over her, but something else occurs to her. "The ratings! Will this make ratings go down?" Debra notices Emmett has actually stopped talking, and realizes her voice was a little loud. "I mean...they won't show it, right? So we'll be okay?" The make-up artists regard her uncertainly, and Debra blushes slightly. She makes her exit, only to encounter that awful woman, lecturing her little boy.

 

Marisa's back is to Debra, enabling the younger woman to pantomime her with perfect ease. At least, until Benjamin giggles at Debra's antics. Marisa whirls around to see what's amusing her son, only to see Debra walking innocently past them. What an absolutely horrid woman....I'll bet she'd do anything to promote Benjamin's career.

 

OOC: Accuse Marisa/Quincunx

[Gnarlitch]

Voting so far:

 

* Deggy => Ezekiel "Zeke" Thompson 3

* Akallabeth => Doug Matthews 3

* Quincunx => Marisa Hawkins 1

* Knight => Bernie Frankowitz 1

* dragonqueen => Debra Thompson 2

* Vahktang => Isaac Heinlein 1

* Gnarlitch => Buzz Beckenstien 1

[Lady Celes Crusader]

Tim Price was taking a break while sipping a mix of boiled water, citrus juice and honey. News about the sabotage was now rampant and it obviously demoralize everyone. Terry, who decides to go on his five minutes break as well, decides to fish the voice-over's opinion about the whole thing.

 

- I'm maybe not the most knowledgeable when it comes to special effects, but I firmly believe that whoever is the saboteur must know what he was doing. I somehow believe that Doug could have done it.

 

Terry smirks.

 

- I'm glad to know that you and I are thinking alike.

 

(OOC:A vote against Doug/Akallabeth.)

[Wyvern]

Up on the high ramps where the lighting is controled, an old man with a crooked cane hobbles forward, seating himself next to one of many bright green lights that set an eery interplanatary atmosphere on the stage. Unseen and unheard, the geezer stares down at the huge hole that was made in the set and prods at the light next to him with his cane, causing it to flicker on and off a bit but never quite managing to defuse it. Noticing "Creepy" Kaz passing by the stage below, the phantom speaks up in a broken cranky voice:

 

"Explosion, hah. You and your "fresnels' lenses," pssh. Bah, it's nothing, the explosion is nothing. In my day, didn't have those cameras, mechanics was all we relied upon. Just mechanics, might of the Nipkow. You hear me? Might of the Nipkow! Explosion? Nein, explosion is nothing. Watch me, I can make this light burn out. Then you'll really be sorry. Oh, you'll be sorry! Shouldn't have underestimated the Nipkow, foul modernists."

 

The ghost of the geezer continues to poke at the light bulb as his words go unheard, still only causing minor flickers that go entirely unnoticed as a large number of other lights cover for it. After a few minutes of poking, the old man slows down a bit and grumbles to himself, tiring from his arm motions. He gradually begins to float down from his position as if he were on a shakey elevator, passing right through the platform he previously sat on and descending towards the set.

 

"Fresnel lenses. I'll- some lenses, I'll show you fresnel. I'll show you fresnel, just you wait." The phantom lands awkwardly near the spacecraft set, poking his cane in the ground to regain his balance. He then turns towards the hole in the wall, waving a frail hand. "My day, this was television."

 

The ghost turns upon noticing a tray of coffee and donuts that has been set nearby for stage workers and actors to partake in. Hobbling towards the table, the old man wheezes:

 

"War, I'll give you war. Coffee turned bitter, survive that. Explosion is nothing, coffee that's something. Bitter coffee, stirred in swirls like swirls of Nipkow disk. Wrath of the Nipkow!"

[Tanuchan]

The shooting of the episode proceeds smoothly, or as smoothly as it can go with Seelvergh shouting and grumbling and changing his mind every other scene. But, used as they are to him, half the technicians ignore his yells and the other half nods while going around their duties as they see fit.

 

Some days later, Seevelrgh seems to not notice that good results come from having his orders being ignored or twisted, and grins as he watches the edited episode with Mr. Aylen.

 

"Good, good! You see, Mr. Aylen, the show this week will be a good one! See how perfect the orange skin appears on this set, how the lighting I instructed works perfectly for those scenes. And the effects of the explosion are simply amazing, don't you think so? Terry is a good technician, he just need adequate instructions. "

 

Mr. Aylen nods absently, wondering how much he can take from the sponsors with a better audience rating.

 

"What is that girl doing there... screaming all the time?"

 

"Oh... Debra? She's trying to be rescued, of course."

 

"I see..." To himself, the executive produce wonders if the other actor shouldn't let her die just to get rid of the screaming, but then he shrughs. If they like to see her in that scant clothing, and if it gives me ratings... whatever.

 

 

While they watch and discuss the final cut of the episode, on stage there are more mutterings going on. Zeke, apparently intent on checking his cameras, pays close attention to the whisperings around his name. "As if I would ruin something that I can make just perfect through my work... now, that carpenter guy... he is always building strange stuff. Going out of his way to make things work... or is it?" He picks his cup of coffee, taking a sip then grimacing. "Ack... this is just horrible... don't they know how to brew proper coffee anymore? Such bitterness without any taste..."

 

On the other side of the set, Buzz eyes Doug. While going over his scenes on the newly-received script, he also muses about the carpenter. "Carpenter and general handyman... so general that he seems able to build contraptions that would almost look better in the SFX team's hands... "

 

And Terry frowns, overseeing carefully the work of his men. It wouldn't do losing another of them... his new assistant was a promising guy, and he is extra careful. And even if he doesn't appear so, Terry also keeps an eye on his set of tools, checking if someone gets near it - that someone being, at this moment, Doug, who crosses the set again and again carrying plywood and assorted pieces of wood and, strangely enough, metal and wires.

 

In the backstage, Emmet keeps talking and not being listened to, commenting and gossiping about one and another, never stopping in one given person for long. Marisa, paying close attention to Benjamin's makeup, sighs in annoyance at having to listen to a guy that's actually on the other side of the make-up room. Debra, on the other hand, smiles and waves at Emmet in passing, more worried about her dress showing too much or too little of her cleavage - Marisa isn't sure which. Her eyes look for Lizzie, the old actress that eyes the coffee tray strangely then slips out, scripts in hand.

 

 

Doug looks around, giving all the impression of looking for his tools while observing carefully, being sure that there's no one paying attention to him. Then, he quickly attaches something to the door of the ship, pulling from his pocked something and adjusting it quickly. Some lights blink, he adjusts better the wires, and finally nods, satisfied. Ever so carefully, he hides the contraption in a previously prepared niche right beside the real wiring of the door controls.

 

So intent on his delicate work that he shuts out everything else, Doug doesn't notice one of the special effects guys standing some feet behind him, and making a sign to Terry.

 

As Doug picks the covering of the niche, preparing to snap it closed, a heavy hand closes on his shoulder.

 

"What's that, Matthews? It's not the detonator of a small bomb, is it?"

 

Doug freezes, while Terry looks close enough to confirm that it is, indeed, a detonator. "And what are you doing messing with bombs, that should be just my crew's doing?"

 

Doug turns suddenly, hitting Terry across his side with a metal bar and sweeping from his pocket a small handgun. But before he can do anything else, Zeke jumps from his hiding place, knocking him aside so that the shoot goes amiss. Terry, trying to recover his breath, kicks Doug, who stumbles.

 

The gunshot and yells attract more and more people, and all of a sudden another shot comes, barely missing Buzz who is trying to tackle Doug down. Doug, free for some moments, runs for the exit, waving his gun to keep people away.

 

All of a sudden, there's a loud creaking sound and a wall-sized panes comes loose, falling over Doug and bringing down part of the lighting. The live wires dangle dangerous close to Doug's immobilized body. Tim Price appears from behind the panels with some tools in hand, wearing a satisfied expression on his face.

 

"Well, I would call this a very badly-set panel, Matthews... fortunately for us. I didn't expect it to fall so easily."

 

Doug curses in rage, trying a sudden move to free himself and not noticing the dangling wire zapping less than an inch from his ear.

 

There's a scream and the smell of burning hair that silences everybody, and it takes some seconds until someone - Tessalonian - has enough wits to grab a wooden pole and separate Doug from the wire.

 

 

 

There's some quiet talk in Aylen's office after Doug's removed to a hospital.

 

"Keep it going, Seelvergh. It was an accident, nothing else. Be sure that Terry and the others understand that, if it is known that Doug was sabotagins and actually causing deaths here, this show will be buried forever."

 

"But... but... it's a crime!"

 

"Yes, it is. Later, we'll find out evidences that Doug Matthews did indeed cause trouble, but not now. We have too much invested here, Seelvergh... I'm giving you a chance. If you don't care for it, go ahead. Tell everything to the police, and the show, and probably this studiou, will be ruined."

 

 

~~~~~~~

OOC: congratulations, you got a saboteur. Doug Matthews/Akallabeth was the first wolf. It's now Night Phase. Seer, Baner, Wolf, send me your targets within 24 hours.

 

Meanwhile, it's another day at the set. The next episode is starting to be shot. Go ahead, keep your wonderful RP - just do not accuse or speculate!! I'll post a scorecard when next day phase starts.

 

 

 

Episode: "Snow"

A sudden cold front brings snow for the first time. However, unknown to the HMS Incorporated crew, the snow also brings the Snow Beasts at night. At first assumed to be just that, beasts, they prove to be intelligent and dangerous. The beasts are in reality aliens who crashed in the planed several hundreds years ago, and are usually in suspended animation (cold storage) until a temperature drop brings snow. At the end, the crew manages to rig a bomb that destroys the alien's refuge.

 

 

Thanks to Vahk, who sent me both this and the previous episode

Edited March 11, 2005 by Tanuchan

[Vahktang]

Isaac is supervising the handing out of pink pages (rewrites) to the actors for the new scripts.

"Isaac," says Buzz, "I always wondered. HMS - Her Majesty's ship."

"Sure," says Isaac," Or His Majesty's Ship."

"So, in the future, Earth is ruled by a monachy?"

"Or an empire. And it could be that Earth is not the capitol."

"Wait a minute, earth not the capitol. When is this series set? It is the future, right? And where is it supposed to happen."

"Well, it could be a long, long time ago.

"And we have since forgot spaceflight.

"And it could happen in a galaxy far away. Make that far, far away.

"What does it matter as the line count is right," says Marisa. "And, speaking of which-"

"Line count it fine, Marisa."

"Mr. Heinlein," says Debra.

"Isaac, please," he says and gives her an inviting smile.

"Isaac, then. On page 9. What's a meter?"

"Unit of length, a little over a yard."

"Then why don't we use yards."

"Because the rest of the world uses meters, this is supposed to be a future show and in the future we'll all use the metric system."

"Aw, c'mon," says Buzz. "That'll never happen."

"Sure it will. We teach our kids now in school, by the time they grow up, they'll insist on the metric system and change the signs.

"Then we'll be like the rest of the world. Good for trade, business, science, and foreign affairs."

The cast and crew took away their new scripts, reassured again that writers live in their own little worlds.

[Quincunx]

The night before filming the next episode would begin, Marisa tucked her son into bed. "Goodnight, Benjamin," she smiled, and reached out for the light switch.

 

"Mother?" he asked, "What's in that box you hid under the sewing machine?"

 

Marisa turned back to the bed and laughed. "That package is for me! 'Stop being such a private eye and go to sleep!' "

 

"Mother, 'Detective Tracer' went off the air years ago!" Benjamin rolled his eyes at the old tagline. "I was five. I was little back then!"

 

Still chuckling, Marisa turned off the lights.

 

*****

 

A few minutes later, Marisa set the box in question, bound with twine and exotic mailing labels, on the coffee table and carefully snipped the twine. She pulled out some handwritten pages and set them aside for later, except for the last:

 

Hubert came home last weekend, he rode with a truck from the cooperative farm, they made that farm from all the little fields on the foothills, they sell tomatoes in the city all week long. Hubert says he misses you very much too, the record store still does not carry your album, the store says it is expensive to import. Mamma says Marisa what is so hard about recording one here instead? Many new phonograph recorders in the city now, we could survive without your money orders for awhile, we would happily take care of your boy while you sing, we have never even seen your boy!

 

Marco and the family.

 

She leaned her head against the sofa-back and sighed. Benjamin couldn't even read this letter. He barely speaks the language. How could I bring a half-American home to you? Marisa kept her head tilted back while the tears pooled and dried up again so her mascara would not run.

 

When she could, she leaned forward again and took fabric from the box. One piece of fabric unfolded into a black bolero jacket shimmering with tiny silver beads. The next unfolded as a matching full black skirt fluffed out with many layers of tulle and hemmed in silver beads. She laid them together on the couch to study the effect and smiled a wavery smile. Next out of the box was a cookie tin. Marisa checked the dates on the box's wrapper, then nodded and lifted the lid of the tin; she didn't expect cookies, and was pleased to find the family's homemade throat drops. She touched the false bottom of the box, then lifted that aside and sighed with relief to find it undisturbed, and quickly transferred the cigars and commercial pills to their places in her leather case.

 

Marisa glanced at the clock. Too late to try the outfit on tonight, let alone go to the studio, she sighed. But now I am ready.

[Ozymandias]

Thessalonian sat on a rickety folding chair on the massive sheet of plywood he had up on bricks in his 'office'. Surrounded by jugs of dozens of different liquids, he held his portable tape recorder's microphone to a porcelain pitcher that was currently full of water as he twirled it gently.

 

"Pete...now Doug. Damn shame.", he muttered as clouds of odd-smelling cigarette smoke swirled morosely around his head. Satisfied, he set the pitcher and microphone down to hit rewind on his tape recorder. He played it back, and swore as he heard his own mumbling confusing the sounds of the sloshing water.

 

Looking thoughtful after a moment, he rewound the tape again, and listened to it once more. With no further ado, he promptly retook his seat, unceremoniously dumped the water onto the floor, and began muttering at the microphone as he twirled the pitcher, now full of chilled Coca-cola.

[Sweetcherrie]

Lizzie had been upset about the incident all day. When she had come home the first thing she had done was find her photo albums, and get herself a Pastisse. Now she was looking over the photographs contemplating what had gone wrong.

 

She heard that Doug had been offered a job at another company, with one condition to it, that he would have to help take this show down. Apparently they had offered him a higher position, and a greater say in things. This obviously had been too much of a temptation for his craftsmen’s pride, so he had done what had been asked.

 

Her drink was standing on the coffee table in front of her, the ice slowly melting away while she was staring at the photographs that had been taken at last year’s annual BBQ. Each person in the photograph was like family to her, after all the show had been running for a few seasons now. She hoped that there would be no more accidents.

 

Maybe she should try to talk to Stephen about figuring out if other people were unhappy in their jobs, and if so, what they were unhappy about. This way they might be able to prevent this from happening again. On the other hand what could they do? Their budget was already limited. She wished they had accepted her financial aid, but they had blankly refused.

 

It was a shame that more and more people kept to themselves, they just didn’t trust each other anymore and looked suspiciously at one another, afraid that there might be more saboteurs.

They used to be such a great team all together.

 

If this show would end she might have to start thinking about retiring, and she just wasn’t ready for retirement yet.

 

OOC: With help from Akallabeth for the reasons behind Doug's behaviour. Thank you

Edited March 12, 2005 by Sweetcherrie

[Akallabeth]

Doug stood on the ceiling of the locker room, watching the various cast and crew members going through his locker. The injustice of it all . . . using his own hacksaw to remove the lock, looking around inside it with his flashlight, prying open the place where he kept his journal with his screwdriver . . . gah!

 

As he looked down, he watched them look through his journal, reading of the offer given to him by Mendacious Studios. It would have been so great to have been in control of the materials department. . . making real sets, good sets. Not the flimsy pieces of junk that he had been forced to work with here.

 

Sighing, he floated down from the ceiling, and flipped over, trading his feet for his head in a remarkable amount of time. At least the physics of things were more interesting . . .

 

(OOC: Feel free to take whatever you want from the mysterious contents of my journal.)

[Venefyxatu]

"Come again? Somebody else died? C'moooon! What is this place, a TV studio or some kind of survival-of-the-fittest test? I mean, Doug? Who's going to make sure the stages are all right now? Whattatyamean he caused the explosion? Are you saying he was destroying his own work because he got paid for it? Man, that must've been one hell of a lot of money! But at least it'll be over now - I mean, if they had enough money to bribe Doug and somebody else they might as well retire, buy an island for every crewmember and live happily ever after!"

 

About an hour later, one of the technicians can be seen drinking cup after cup of bitter coffee without even complaining, trying to get out of his Emmett-talk-induced stupor ...

[Tanuchan]

After most people leave, there's still one light on somewhere in the set. Alone and in peace, one of the technicians works, putting together bits and pieces needed for the show.

 

"Not here... I need something high-pitched... maybe if I use that one..." He mutters, intent on his work.

 

It takes some time, but at last a sound penetrates his ears and he listens to a test recording being played. He frowns, annoyed both at being disturbed and at having someone meddling with testing material. Quite irritated, he enters the soundproof part of his small studio, heading straight up to the tape recorder.

 

"I'm still working on the Death Scene... what is this doing here? The tape wasn't even supposed to be in the recorder!" He looks around, suddenly suspicious, at the same time reaching out a hand to switch off the tape recorder.

 

"What the...!!" He pulls off his hand, finger starting to throb slightly from something that has pricked it and sticky with some substance.

 

Carefully, he sniffs at his finger, smearing a bit the cold, sticky substance between thumb and index finger. He can't quite make it out, but he does listen to a soft thud and click. Turning sharply, he sees the door closed and the doorknob moving.

 

"Closed!" He mutters, suddenly in panic. "Hey! Who are there?" He tests the door, then bangs at it, sweat starting to drop from his forehead.

 

"Help! Help!!"

 

Unfortunately, one of the few proper things in the set is the Soundproof Studio, as Don Cornelious has overseen its building himself. No sound would ever enter or leave once the door is closed.

 

And so it is that Don's cries for help, and some minutes later, of pain, are never heard by the few other technicians still at the studio as the poison slowly spreads through his body.

 

~~~~~~~~

OOC: Don Cornelious/Dean was an innocent technician (villager). It's now Day Phase and you have 48 hours to find the remaining wolf. Scorecard at the OOC thread.

 

The episode being filmed is the same posted for the 'night phase'.

 

Good luck!

Edited March 12, 2005 by Tanuchan

[Degenero Angelus]

Zeke pulled the tape out of the camera he'd left running on the balcony. He runs to his main camera and puts it in, looking at the watching the playback. He could make out the figure of Don very clearly, and could just barely see someone else on the tape. It looked like... it had to be!

 

OOC: A vote for Venefyxatu/Emmet

Edited March 12, 2005 by Degenero Angelus

[Lady Celes Crusader]

Tim ponders about the previous events he thinks for a moment about Doug.

 

- Amateur! Only losers who have no self-confidence would have accepted to ruin a competutor's studio. But apparently, this one is not alone.

 

While the voice -over reads the text of this new advertisement he had to record, he wince at the whole stupidity of the text.

 

- Can anyone can tell me who laid down this piece of crap? It is horrid!

 

A poor writer decided to modify the text to Tim's taste while keeping the aim at the original idea. The voice-over reads the new essay and nods.

 

- It's not the best text I've read but it is a major improvement from what I've laid my eyes on earlier.

 

Therefore, Tim resumes his recording session.

[Gryphon]

Terry's side throbs gently where Doug had hit him with the metal bar the previous day and he rubs it absently with one hand while he considers the events of the previous day.

 

Doug a saboteur working for another studio... Ha. I knew he was up to something.

 

Shouts attract his attention and he races to find out what's going on in time to see Don's body being carried from the sound room, dead and looking as if he died in a lot of pain.

 

No! Not Don. I thought it had to be over with Doug. It must be an accident.

 

Then the voices of the others begin to reach him.

 

"... poison.'

"... more sabotage."

 

"Poison? Don was poisoned? Who could do something like that?"

 

Profoundly disturbed that there is obviously more than one person working against the show Terry heads back to his equipment to think about who might have been working with Doug. To help his concentration he begins working on one of the SFX groups new toys - a machine to evenly blow 'smoke' around the stage. It'll make a good addition to the explosions for the snow scene.

[Sweetcherrie]

She normally never drank coffee, but somehow lately the coffee tasted different, better even, and with the news about Don, Lizzie had been in need of something stronger than tea. She was just pouring her fourth cup of coffee, when Terry Walkworth walked passed the door of her dressing room. He was rubbing his side, and mumbling words under his breath, he looked very upset.

 

Swallowing the last sip of her coffee she decides to go over to Terry, and ask him if he’s all right. She puts the cup down on the make-up table, and takes a last look in the mirror to see if her make-up is still in place.

 

But in the mirror she not only sees her own reflection, but also a weak reflection of a man standing behind her. She turns around, and finds herself face to face with some sort of transparent person. The man is quietly standing there, arms crossed, observing her.

 

“I wondered when you would finally acknowledge my existance.” He says.

 

Lizzie sinks back in the chair. It was the same man she had seen in the corridors, but he looked even more transparent now. She feels her heart beat faster, and her blood rushing through her veins.

 

“I’ll introduce myself, my name is Paul Gotliebb Nipkow” the man says as he takes a step forward. Lizzie extends her hand in brave politeness, but the man shakes his head, and chuckles “Unfortunately I am past that stage.”

 

Lizzie lowers her hand again, “I’ve heard your name somewhere, aren’t you the designer of my-“

 

“Your television, yes, I am.” The man’s face turns sour, “you’re one of the very few still using a television with my Nipkow disc in it.”

 

“I know, it was a gift from my father, he-“

 

“Was a great fan of my system, I know. That’s also the reason I decided to come over and have a chat with you. I want you to reintroduce my system, you see…”

 

The ghost rumbled on, but Lizzie’s mind was going on overdrive. She just met her first ghost, and immediately following that thought came the realization that, if he was a ghost, he might have seen something about what happened with Don.

 

“….and then we can all have Nipkow discs in our-“

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but have you seen what exactly has happened to Don?”

 

The ghost stopped his rambling, and his transparent face turned a transparent red, “Have you even been listening to what I was saying!” he roared in anger.

 

Lizzie hurried to reassure him that she had, but then urged him to answer her question.

 

Gotlieb grinned evily, “He was poisoned, serves him right, he never liked my Nipkow system, and I thank the person who has done it, although I have no idea who it was. Probably a woman though they are more likely to use poison then men, I’ve heard stories...”

 

Lizzie’s mind raced again, the ghost had a point; women would more likely use poison, and Debra did seem unusually quiet after last night.

 

OOC: vote for Dragonqueen - Debra Thompson. I apologize for the long post, I just had a lot of things I wanted to write.

Edited March 13, 2005 by Sweetcherrie

[Kasmandre]

Kaz prowled the upper reaches of the catwalks, making sure that no one else was present. After all, he couldn't be too careful. How many people had died already, two, three? And he'd have to take precautions if he was going to avoid being next. Decending to stage level, he hung up a sign:

 

Catwalks off limits to ALL personell.

I mean it!

 

Then he climbed back up and went to check on one of the left fresnels. He'd seen it flickering yesterday and it might need its lamp adjusted. He also thought he'd seen someone up there messing with it, but the only one who was ever up on the catwalks besides him was...

 

Kaz stopped halfway to the light. It had to be her. Anyone who would sabotage a defenseless lighting instument would be capable of anything!

 

ooc: Accusing Quincunx/Marisa Hawkins