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pennamesmith · 9 months

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Saturday Mornings Sold Separately

This was my entry for the Summer 2023 Entrapdak Zine hosted by @maireadralph! The theme was “nostalgia” :)

Summer, 1983

Hordak held his head in his hands and thought about toys and cartoons.

Mixing the two was all the rage these days. Blame Star Wars, they said. He’d read countless newspaper stories about studios trying to strike it rich by partnering with some plastic peddler and slapping a syndicated story onto what was essentially a twenty-minute commercial, with extra commercials in the middle of it.

It was genius. He wanted in. Why, rumor had it the folks over at Filmation were going to —

His reverie was interrupted by a buzz from his desk intercom. “Your one o’clock is here, Mr. Hordak,” Shadow Weaver droned through the speaker.

All right. This was it. “Send her in,” Hordak replied.

The door swung open. A tiny woman with enormous hair clomped through it, lugging a hinged case that seemed almost as big as she was.

“Entrapta Vesselak?” Hordak asked, glancing at his notes as she approached. He stood to shake her hand, but she merely stepped on top of the provided chair, hauling the case up after her and noisily dropping it on his desk. The cheap plywood groaned under its weight.

“Hi,” the woman began with a massive grin. Her eyes sparkled. She was still standing up on the chair. “Yes, that’s me. Hello. Listen. Do you like gadgets? Do you enjoy space opera and/or barbarian fantasy epics? Do you love money?”

Hordak suddenly felt himself at a loss for words. Stunned, he took a seat. “Go on,” he managed.

Entrapta flipped open the latches on her case, and a universe spilled out of it.

“Well then, have I got a cross-media franchise for you!”

The case unfolded into a diorama that filled the entire desk. An imposing castle sat amid craggy mountains beneath an alien sky. Over a dozen action figures, wearing colorful costumes and twisted into powerful battle positions, faced each other on a cosmic battlefield. Weapons, vehicles, and accessories to fit them all gleamed as only molded plastic could.

Entrapta swept her hands across the display. “Behold, the future of children’s entertainment! Feast your senses on… Princess Emily and the Blasters of the Universe!”

Hordak picked up one of the toys and examined it. It held a purple sword, and a button on the back made its eyes light up with two tiny red bulbs.

“That’s Bone-Head,” Entrapta explained. “He’s Emily’s arch-enemy. You see, at the center of the universe, on the planet U-Turnia…”

Entrapta proceeded to talk for an hour, uninterrupted, about the intricacies of Princess Emily lore: each character’s name, their powers, and how they all connected in an epic battle for the fate of the universe. To his own surprise, Hordak found himself utterly engrossed. He leaned forward. He was taking notes.

“All right. Hold on,” Hordak spoke up, finally interrupting. Both arms were full of toys at this point. “It’s obvious that Princess Emily and Bone-Head are enemies. But how are kids supposed to know that he’s also her long-lost uncle, secretly plotting to steal the throne from his brother the king, just by looking at the box art?”

“Oh, I put in these tiny comic books that explain it all,” Entrapta said blithely. She held out an example. It was printed in four-color and smaller than a greeting card. Revenge of the Space Bats!!! declared the cover in huge block letters, over an illustration of Princess Emily locked in battle with a fearsome cybernetic enemy.

Hordak flipped through it with interest. “I see! How very amusing.”

Monsters, robots, and colorful sound effects filled the pages inside. Alien overlords in fur loincloths and mad scientists with thigh-high boots lunged across each panel. To Hordak’s astonished delight, he found that he loved it. Something intangible and gestalt captured his imagination and refused to let go.

“And now you want to try a more animated approach,” he deduced.

“You got it!” Entrapta finally plopped down into her chair and spun idly. “Listen, I know Crypto Castle Toys isn’t exactly the biggest operation in town. We’re no Mattel, that’s for sure. But hey, you guys aren’t exactly Disney, either.”

Hordak raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, was that rude? I meant to say that Fright Zone Animation is a very small company, financially speaking.” Entrapta completed another rotation and looked Hordak in the eye. “However, I’m thinking that if our two small forces join together, and we work really hard… we just might be able to make something big.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“You, ah, make a most impressive pitch, Ms. Vesselak,” Hordak said, fastidiously fumbling with his tie.

“Call me Entrapta.” She folded her display back up and winked. “So, do we have a deal, Mr. Hordak?”

Hordak smiled and offered his huge hand to shake.

“Call me Hector. We’ll be in touch.”

~*~

Autumn, 1983

“…And through here we have the art department. Catra heads up character design and storyboards, and Scorpia is our lead animator.”

Hordak fidgeted in place as Entrapta enthusiastically greeted the other two women and started pawing through the contents of their desks. It was only an informal studio tour; the legal side of their new partnership was already taken care of, and early production on the Princess Emily cartoon had begun. Logically speaking, showing Entrapta around the building should have been the least stressful part.

So why did Hordak feel so nervous?

“Wow, this is great!” Entrapta exclaimed, flipping through page after page of artwork. “We’re gonna make a great team! Do you guys use the standard frames per second or lower? Any backlighting or moiré effects? I’ve only just started researching the topic, but it’s fascinating!”

Hordak couldn’t help but smile as Entrapta talked. Her enthusiasm was infectious. His anxiety faded. For the first time in years, he found that he was actually having fun at work. With more than a hint of pride, he ushered her into the next room.

“Now then. In here’s the recording studio. Octavia composes all the music — we’ve got one of those old IMP synthesizers — and Lonnie and Rogelio do the voices.”

Entrapta tilted her head at the hulking man and dreadlocked woman who waved from behind their microphones. “Just the two of them? I mean, no offense, I’m sure they’re very talented, it’s only…”

“No, you’re right. It is a bit of a skeleton cast.” Hordak rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Actually, I fill in sometimes for the extra voices. As does my daughter.”

He gestured to the control booth, where a chipper-looking blonde woman smiled through the glass. “Hi! I’m Adora!” she called. “Dad’s been talking all about you. Blah, blah, genius, our only hope, that sort of thing.”

“Oh! A real family business, then.” Entrapta’s expression was unreadable. “Does her mother work here too?”

“Uh, no.” Hordak stammered. “She’s not — I mean, I’m not — ”

Adora leaned out of the booth. “I’m adopted and he’s never been married. It’s a long story. You should have him tell it to you over dinner or something.”

Hordak blushed furiously. “Adora, you and I have already discussed my feelings about workplace fraternization and its associated risks. Extensively.”

“I said dinner.” Adora shrugged. “You wouldn’t be at work. Duh.”

“I think that’s enough of this stop on the tour,” Hordak said quickly, though Entrapta had her mouth open and her finger poised. He shooed her out into the hallway while Adora waved enthusiastically behind them.

“Oh, and this is the writer’s room,” Hordak mentioned as they trotted past. “It’s not super important.” He knocked on the open door and peered in perfunctorily. “You need anything in there, Kyle?”

A haggard-looking young man glanced up from a sea of crumpled notes. “Um, actually…”

“That’s great, Kyle,” Hordak said. “Keep up the good work!” He flashed a thumbs-up and shut the door.

After that day, Entrapta was a regular sight around the studio. She consulted on story details, brought prototype toys and playsets from her factory for the artists to reference, and even improved the building’s electrical wiring. She was a woman of many talents. And more than that, it seemed as though everyone around her put just a little more joy and enthusiasm into whatever they were doing when she was nearby. It was incredible to see.

Gradually, organically, the world of Princess Emily took form. Sketches and suggestions became cels and scripts. The characters began to move and speak. Hordak wound up playing a rainbow-winged unicorn, his deep, gruff voice creating a surreal dissonance that he hated and Entrapta delighted in.

“No, it makes sense,” she would say, flipping through storyboards of scenes where Emily snuck past clueless guards, or used her super-strong posterior as a heat shield for atmospheric re-entry. “It’s what a kid would think of. It’s the kind of story they would tell.”

“It’s silly,” Hordak protested.

“Of course it is. That’s the point,” Entrapta answered. “I mean, you played with toys as a kid, didn’t you?”

“I had a Roy Rogers and Trigger,” Hordak admitted.

“Right. And did your Roy just do regular cowboy stuff?”

“Hmm. No. Not always.” A faraway look crossed Hordak's face. “Sometimes he went to space. And fought space dinosaurs.”

“Exactly! And that’s the thing!” Entrapta leapt up, a fire in her eyes. “All those stories that kids everywhere come up with? They’re all true and just as valid as anything in comics or on TV. Those ideas have been embroidered by so many storytellers over the years that there’s no one continuity. It’s a living myth.”

She looked at him, and he felt his chest tighten.

“Don’t you remember how big your imagination was when you were young? I want to create something like that. A message that tells kids it’s okay to make things up just for fun. That it matters, to be weird and silly and creative for its own sake.”

“Uh.” Hordak gaped. Words were suddenly difficult for him. “I… acknowledge the work you put into this. It is very, um, philosophically sound. Anyone who discounts you would be an utter fool.”

Entrapta smiled. “Thanks,” she said, with a soft bat of her eyelashes. “I like being friends with you, too.”

Two weeks later, they sat squeezed together in the studio’s tiny screening room, watching the finished pilot episode. The theme song blared and Princess Emily struck a pose, holding her sword to the heavens. Hordak sweated while Entrapta bounced in her seat and squealed with excitement.

“Does my name really have to be that big in the opening credits?” Hordak groaned, as Hector Hordak: Executive Producer flashed across a royal blue background in looping white script.

“Of course it does. This is a very serious production,” Entrapta cooed. Onscreen, Emily bellowed a battle cry and charged an army of buzzing bee-people.

Was it Hordak’s imagination, or was Entrapta leaning closer?

“This is your baby as much as mine,” Entrapta went on. “And my name is already on all the merchandise. So I think this is only fair.”

“Thank you for giving me magic powers, Princess Emily! Now I am Rainbow Speed!” the flying unicorn whinnied.

Hordak blushed and looked away from the screen. But then he found that Entrapta wasn’t looking at the screen either. And she was blushing, too.

Their eyes met. As if pulled by gravity, they inched closer together. Something passed between them, like a tiny spark.

Clang. The door banged open, flooding the room with blinding light. Entrapta and Hordak froze, their faces suddenly much farther apart.

Catra stood panting in the portal. “You have to come quick! It’s an emergency!” she cried. “We boarded an entire episode with Bot-Tholomew as a villain, but Kyle forgot to remind us that the script says he’s supposed to be one of the good guys! We’re already behind schedule as it is. What are we going to do?”

Entrapta and Hordak looked at each other.

“Well,” Entrapta said carefully. “I guess we’ll just keep working on it. Until it’s perfect.”

Hordak nodded. “As long as it takes.”

~*~

Winter, 1985

They lasted two seasons. Which wasn’t bad, all things considered.

The episodes they made were madcap and freewheeling. Everyone had their favorites: the one where Emily threw a crashed spaceship back into orbit. The one where she brokered peace between two warring moons. The one where Bone-Head was dying from a poisoned deathberry cobbler and only Emily was brave enough to save her own nemesis, by doing him the kindness of looking at his old vacation photos.

And there were fans. Mostly kids, but some grownups too. They sent handwritten letters and photos of themselves in homemade costumes. Children would beg their parents for the newest Princess Emily toys. Catchphrases echoed across schoolyards. They were everywhere.

The problem was, there simply weren’t enough of them.

“Horde Prime doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” Hordak ranted, pacing up and down the floor of his office. “I should have given him and the other network suits a piece of my mind. Do you know what he said? He said boys weren’t watching the show because girls like it too much! That's not a reason to cancel a show! That’s just prejudice!”

“It’s okay,” Entrapta sighed, looking wistfully at the piled-up boxes of forgotten art. It was late, and raining outside. “There’s no need to get huffy. Experiments fail sometimes. It’s over, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t important. Maybe this just means it’s time for a new project?”

Hordak shook his head. “No, not for me. I’m getting out. I sold my share of the company back to Grizzlor and Cobalt, and I hear they’re thinking of accepting a buyout from Warner Brothers. But the studio will probably shutter either way.”

“Oh.” Entrapta was suddenly very interested in something outside the window. “That makes sense, I guess. To be honest, the toy business isn’t going so well either. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been getting offers, too. So it looks like this is the end for Princess Emily.” She glanced back. “But I still don’t regret what we did. I’m proud of what we made together. It was a good thing.”

Her eyes glistened. “It was nice, being partners with you.”

Hordak felt like a useless machine. He knew he ought to say something. He wanted to say something. But he didn’t know how, and the more he thought about it the more he doubted himself. Long seconds ticked by. Finally, desperately, he extended a trembling hand.

“It has… been an honor working with you, Ms. Vesselak,” he managed.

A longer silence followed as Entrapta stared at the offered hand. Then she smiled sadly and shook it, looking up at Hordak with wine-dark eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Hordak,” she replied. And she turned away, very slowly, and with very small steps, she left.

Hordak let her go, and hated himself all the while.

And then she was gone.

~*~

Spring, 2018

The years went by like a sailing skiff.

In the end, Hordak found that becoming a solitary septuagenarian wasn’t such a terrible fate. His knees hurt, and he couldn’t walk as far as he used to, but he still had his garden and his cats, and Adora called once a week and visited from Vermont twice a year. He had time to read, he ate well, and he liked the view from his west-facing window.

Really, Hordak wondered. What more could he want?

Something deep in his heart fluttered.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Odd, since he didn’t usually get calls at this time.

Hordak picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hector! Hey, did you hear about the Princess Emily reboot? Oh, sorry. This is Entrapta. From the show. Remember me? Hello!”

Hordak’s chest thudded. A sudden, delicious chill shot through him, like cool rain in a blazing desert. He felt his breath hitch.

“…Entrapta?”

“Yeah! Your daughter gave me your number back in the eighties, and you seemed like the sort of person who would still have a landline. And live in the same place. How have you been?”

Hordak took the receiver away from his ear and stared at it as if he held a long-lost curiosity. He was wearing his robe and slippers. He didn’t get out much these days, and he tended to sleep in. He looked around the little kitchen — it was, indeed, the same familiar place he’d always lived in — and was hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia.

Almost tenderly, Hordak brought the receiver back. “Entrapta. It’s so good to hear from you.”

“Well, you know.” Entrapta’s voice echoed tinnily from the speaker. Older, but still with the same unmistakable, vibrant energy. “I didn’t want to bother you or anything. But then I saw about the new show — I sold the character rights ages ago, of course, but I still keep up with some of the fan websites — and I knew I had to bend your ear about it. Have you seen any of the promotional stuff? There was a panel at Comic Con. They got that one webcomic artist to be showrunner. I think it looks really good!”

“I hadn’t heard,” Hordak lied. Adora had told him about it a week ago, but he desperately wanted Entrapta to go on talking.

And she did. Her energy was as wild and uncontainable as it had ever been. She talked as if it had been days, not decades, since they last spoke. About anything and everything. At first they discussed the novelty of seeing a new generation’s take on Princess Emily; their memories of the studio; the glimpses of fandom they’d caught over the years.

“I did an interview for a documentary once,” Hordak recalled. “Small operation; came to the house. Couple of thirty-somethings in ironic t-shirts. They were friendly.”

“I still like to watch the old cartoons,” Entrapta said. “I bought the Blu-ray they put out last year. All ninety-three episodes, plus bonus features. This might sound silly, but it’s kind of like being with old friends.” There was a pause. “And… it’s nice to hear your voice. Even if it is just as Rainbow Speed the flying unicorn.”

Before long, the conversation turned toward their own lives. Their families. How they passed the days, orbiting around and around the local star.

“No, I never settled down either,” Entrapta rambled. “Just me and the big old house I inherited from my parents. But I have my hobbies.”

“Adora?” Hordak smiled. “Oh, she’s married now. Yes, the moment it was legal. I’m so proud of her.”

And so on.

When Hordak finally thought to check a clock he realized that nearly three hours had gone by. The sun was high and the lazy Saturday morning was about to slip into a sunny Saturday afternoon.

As if a spell had been broken, Entrapta paused in her flowing chatter.

“Well,” she said, drawing the word out slowly. “I should probably let you go now, shouldn’t I? I’ve talked your ear off long enough.”

Something that wasn’t quite a thought and wasn’t quite a feeling overtook Hordak’s body. It was as if time flowed backward, then forward, then every direction at once. He was aware of everything around him. Each sound and sensation held meaning.

“So long,” Entrapta sighed.

“Wait,” Hordak blurted. He knew he wouldn’t get another chance. His heart was hammering. He took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to ask you.”

And he did.

The joy in Entrapta’s voice when she answered him was the most beautiful sound Hordak could possibly have imagined. Magic returned to the universe. Flowers bloomed and rainbows arched across the sky. He closed his eyes and smiled.

It was just like he remembered.

#entrapdak #entrapdak zine #Hordak #Entrapta #spop #she ra #fan fiction #80s au #smith stuff

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