#this set took me so long and my perfectionism really wants me to dislike it but no
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@pscentral event 25: seasons
#b99#b99gif#nessa007#userrobin#userlauraj#userrlaura#useralison#userleila#tusererika#tuserella#userace#usertj#userisaiah#trueloveistreacherous#usershreyu#useryoshi#mygifs#this set took me so long and my perfectionism really wants me to dislike it but no#im proud of it idc
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AMBITION Season 2 ♫ “Are We Out of the Woods” [ 2.03 ]
CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (daphnegolshiri) || S2 Tag || Official Page
WRONG THINGS, RIGHT THINGS – Disaster strikes rehearsals for the fall musical when a major vandalism throws everyone off schedule. As the junior class points fingers at prime suspects, Riley and Isadora attempt to clear a good friend’s name. Although only one student is responsible for the crime, more than one of them is lying.
62 Minutes (16K words) || No warnings apply.
[ ← Second Choice ] [ S2 Synopsis ] [ Valerie De La Cruz → ]
( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )
A black screen, only for a moment, as NIGEL CHEY cues us in…
Nigel: Once upon a time --
INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Prologue: Into the Woods” as performed by Into the Woods Original Broadway Cast || Performed by AAA Juniors
The orchestration of the seminal Broadway class launches us into the musical-centric episode for the season. The camera eases its way down the hall, students running by in costume or techies giving tasks to one another as they go. A set piece, half in progress, is pushed by JEFF MONROE back into the auditorium through the dressing room doors.
On the wall outside the black box theater, a poster for the musical is up: Into the Woods (in case the first song hadn’t tipped us off). On the bulletin board outside, the cast list is still posted, where all of our main players have initialed next to their given roles.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
On the stage, set still in progress but nearly complete behind them, our main players are doing a run through of the opening number in real time. This is where our first true taste of the casting comes into focus, RILEY MATTHEWS as Cinderella stage right, CHARLIE GARDNER as Jack with his prop cow at center stage, and FARKLE MINKUS taking on the role of The Baker with YINDRA AMINO as The Baker’s Wife stage left.
Other roles are introduced as they step into the number, such as ISADORA DE LA CRUZ as Little Red Riding Hood, and MAYA HART as The Witch. However, the opening prologue is a lengthy piece, and there’s much more going on that shares focus as we settle into Sondheim’s musical world.
For example, LUCAS FRIAR is in the midst of conversing with DAVE WILLIAMS over the construction of their most complex set piece. It’s nearly complete, and Dave has been slaving away over it for weeks. It’s clear that he considers it his baby at this point. He speaks about it with overt enthusiasm, slapping DYLAN ORLANDO’s hand away as he tries to touch it.
Unfortunately, Lucas isn’t in the mood for enthusiasm. It’s clear Dave is getting on his nerves with his perfectionism, warning him that they’re running out of time to finish the damn thing, so he’s going to have to either hustle or settle for less than perfect.
Dave: You can’t rush art.
Lucas, flatly: It’s a fake hill with fake trees.
Dave: Shh! It’ll hear you!
NATE MARTINEZ exchanges a look with Lucas, assuring him that they’ll get it done. Dave continues to assure the set piece that Lucas didn’t mean it. He’s just stressed, once again in a role he doesn’t want to have. And ain’t that the truth…
Meanwhile, SHAWN HUNTER and HARPER BURGESS are at odds yet again. They’re quietly arguing in the front and center section as the rehearsal progresses, Shawn pointing out that giving Isadora such a large role has seriously depleted her ability to help the techie brigade.
Harper: Perhaps you shouldn’t put such an exclusionary attitude on the techies, and teach some of the performers who didn’t get roles to work.
Shawn: That would take more time than our current crew doing it alone.
Harper: Well, then maybe you should’ve been doing that the whole time. Hindsight truly is 20/20, isn’t it?
Harper is done with the conversation, turning her focus back to the rehearsal. Shawn rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair before marching off in the other direction.
In the wings, ZAY BABINEAUX is conversing with NICK YOGI and SARAH CARLSON. The boys are dressed in their costumes for their roles as the Princes, looking pretty sharp. Although he seems unbothered, Sarah makes an offhand comment about how Zay was duped for a leading role again by Farkle. That’s a shoddy track record, especially with Farkle being kind of universally disliked at this point.
Sarah: Guess talent really is the ultimate factor, isn’t it?
Zay: Please, time on stage does not equate best performance. The Prince is a far more interesting and fun role anyway.
A true statement, perhaps, but there’s an equal amount of truth to Sarah’s earlier statement as well. Despite how well he brushes it off, there has to be a frustration to constantly taking a backseat to the villain of Adams’ history.
Focus shifts back to the actual number when Maya is laying down the required items for the Baker family to get their wish. As the rest of the rehearsal unfolds and each core character begins their journey into the woods, the performances clearly show off why the show was casted the way it was. As usual, the choices seem to be spot on.
That being said, Farkle’s perfect casting doesn’t stretch into his overall state. He doesn’t seem… on top of things, for what it’s worth. He’s lacking his usual pop of energy, and there are small moments as the last minute unfolds where he’s actually starting to look a little unsteady.
This comes to a head when they reach the final chorus, Farkle front and center as they sing the final harmony. He gets through the note and then promptly collapses, sending the screen into black as everyone reacts in concern and shock around him.
Cue title sequence.
INT. AAA - TEACHER’S LOUNGE - DAY
A blurry visual fades us in from the titles, fading in and out of black until the vision stabilizes: the ceiling with speckled tiles, lighting dim in the lounge to make for a less intense setting.
Farkle blinks, confused as he comes back to consciousness. He lets his gaze drift, allowing more things to come into perspective. This includes the three people looking at him -- Charlie, kneeling next to him with a cold compress, having been the first one to jump to his aid; Riley, watching in concern but not quite ready to be right at his bedside; and lastly Lucas, glaring at him from over his shoulder and reminding him how to feel fear.
Charlie: Farkle? Can you hear me?
Farkle: What the hell is going on?
Zay darts in with another cold compress, exchanging the old one with Charlie. He tries to put it on Farkle’s forehead, but he pushes his help away and struggles into a sitting position instead.
Riley: You fainted.
Zay: Scared the hell out of everyone.
Charlie: People just weren’t expecting it. Are you okay?
Farkle: … oh, so now you all suddenly care? Just because I took a little tumble?
Lucas: Don’t flatter yourself.
Harper enters, tailed by ERIC MATTHEWS and the school nurse. Eric instructs all of the other students to go back to rehearsal and give Farkle a little bit of space. They obey, Zay patting Charlie’s shoulder as he glances back over his shoulder in concern.
While Eric is able to settle right down with the nurse and address Farkle, Harper keeps her distance. The two of them have had a strange relationship from the first week, so she’s even more uncertain how to handle this situation. She awkwardly wishes Farkle well and says he can come back to rehearsal as soon as he’s more steady.
As she leaves, Eric begins questioning Farkle on the status of his health. Has he been feeling sick? Is he drinking enough water during rehearsals? Farkle is able to answer things pretty pointedly, until Eric starts gearing the conversation towards more mental areas. Is he getting enough sleep? How are his eating habits? He dodges by answering vaguely, but it’s unclear whether he genuinely doesn’t really know or if he’s just wary of discussing his current emotional state.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
Isadora makes her way across the stage towards where the techies are working on the major set piece, getting sidetracked by Maya. She eagerly wonders whether or not Valerie has responded to Isadora’s invitation to come see the show. Isadora claims her starlet mother is in fact planning to be in attendance, and the two of them share a moment of excitement.
Maya lets her go, leaving her to approach her former usual crew. Lucas, Nate, and Dylan are arguing about a feature of the set piece that still isn’t complete. It was supposed to be Farkle’s job as part of his punishment, but considering he’s in rehearsals ninety percent of the time and is now sick, they’re going to have to pick up the slack.
Isadora swoops in just at this moment, asking how things are going. Dylan relays the situation in quick terms, and while Isadora attempts to begin brainstorming like old times, it’s evident that the boys aren’t really all that interested in what she has to offer. In fact, there might be some resentment already in place considering how her focus is split in rehearsals as well.
Nate: Well, you know, maybe you could actually help if you weren’t so double-booked.
The moment passes before she can form a retort, Dylan offering to take up the extra work. They settle it and break without further discussion. Lucas heads off in another direction without waiting up, so Isadora has to jog to keep up with him as he begins the long journey through the auditorium towards the booth. He claims they’re both busy and maybe don’t have all that much time, but Isadora seems determined to have a conversation.
Isadora: I just wanted to let you know that my mom is planning on coming to opening night. I know how you feel about her, so I thought you might like the warning. You know, so you can take your civility shots or whatever you need to do.
Lucas is clearly displeased by this information, but he covers it with nonchalance. He doesn’t buy that she’ll actually show, but Isadora is welcome to get her hopes up if that’s what she feels like spending her energy on.
It’s frustrating, how conversations seem to have this edge between them these days. Isadora charges onward regardless, shifting gears and pointing out how brusque Nate was to her. With Lucas also sort of giving her the brush-off, she attempts to get a read on if they’re really pissed.
Lucas: Look… I don’t know. I guess we just didn’t realize that you doing the musical was going to be like… a recurring thing. I figured after The Miserables --
Isadora, without thinking: Les Mis.
Lucas: … did you just correct me?
Whoopsie. Rookie mistake. Isadora tries to recover, quickly changing the subject and pointing out that they handled the production of things totally fine without her last year. She has no doubt that they’ll be able to pull it off again.
Isadora: Besides, you guys really did a great job with Les Mis --
Lucas: THE MISERABLES.
Clearly, this conversation is not going to produce positive returns. If Isadora was searching for reassurance that her footing with the techies was all well and good, she’s not going to find it here and now.
INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY
Meanwhile, rehearsal must go on, so they’re gearing up to move forward on numbers that don’t require Farkle to run through. Harper finishes telling the boys this before giving them a five minute warning. Zay and Yogi finish getting into costume, their duet as the princes the next one up that fits that criteria.
Zay: Well, if our supposed leading man is going to sleep on the job, Yogles and I will be happy to pick up the slack. Not that we really need the practice --
Nigel rolls his eyes, exchanging a look with Charlie. Charlie can’t help but smile, eyeing Zay as he’s getting ready to march back out onto the stage.
Zay: But, well, the show must go on.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Agony” as performed by Into the Woods Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux & Nick Yogi
Perhaps the most straightforward performance we’ll get all episode, Zay and Yogi take their rehearsal time seriously and deliver an entertaining rendition of the princely duet. However, the duet in it of itself is theatrical and over the top, so maybe “seriously” isn’t the right word.
In any case, it’s clear that Zay wasn’t kidding when he claimed they hardly needed much more rehearsal. He completely owns the stage, demonstrating how much that summer confidence has done for him. Harper is thoroughly enjoying the performance, as well as their classmates as they watch from the wings. Riley and Maya laugh along; Charlie is totally enthralled.
When they wrap, Harper gives them a quick congratulations for actually being on top of their roles. Zay gives a cheeky little bow, exiting the stage with a flourish.
INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY
Riley is on the hunt for Zay, aiming to tell him he did a great job and potentially thwart any diva meltdown that might be brewing before it can take hold. He’s nowhere to be found, but she accidentally runs into Maya and Isadora instead.
Maya is in the midst of talking Isadora down from stress over the rehearsal process, the latter just finishing up lamenting how she can’t help the techies and that might be becoming a real problem, but she’s stressed that she can’t keep up with the performers either.
They both grow quieter when they realize they’re not alone, Riley giving them a tight smile. She apologizes for interrupting them, but Maya claims it’s fine as she actually has to go get ready for her own number. She backs off, giving the two of them the potential to talk.
There’s still an uncertainty between them, but it’s clear that Isadora isn’t unhappy to see her. Riley timidly ventures some advice based on what she overheard, explaining that she knows all too well how it feels to be the one who can’t keep up. She has no doubt that Isadora will catch up in no time, though, and she shouldn’t forget that she’s in this role for a reason.
Considering the walls Isadora has been hitting with Lucas and the techies, hearing such blatant encouragement is a welcome change. She nods, giving Riley a quiet thanks.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT
The doors to the hallway on the opposite end of the stage kick open, Dylan and ASHER GARCIA arriving and declaring that they’ve successfully picked up the new supplies from Home Depot. It’ll take a lot of help to move it all, so all the techies head out to assist.
Harper is pacing the stage, determining who still needs to hang around for evening rehearsal. Farkle returns from the teacher’s lounge, looking less pale but still tired. Still he jogs up to Harper anyway, reporting for duty and asking if he should start working on one of his numbers again. Maybe “It Takes Two,” if Yindra is around?
Uncertain how to address him, Harper sort of blows him off. She claims they can probably hold off on his other performances until tomorrow, and perhaps he could use the additional rest. The last thing they need is another collapse. He grows frustrated at the dismissal, asking if he should then keep working on the set piece, or go back to the script library. There has to be something he can do -- but Harper has made her decision.
Harper: Farkle, you’re done for the day. Go home and rest. We don’t need you here anymore.
The sentiment obviously hits Farkle, although he swallows it rather than lashing back. He backs off as Harper switches back into directorial mode, calling for the cast and crew to meet center stage for a pre-dinner meeting. As she’s taking account of major players, one absence becomes immediately glaring…
Harper: Where the hell is Babineaux?
INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - NIGHT
Babineaux, as it were, is in the costume loft. And there’s really only one reason that anyone besides Jade ever goes in the costume loft.
If there’s one thing to know about Charlie Gardner and Zay Babineaux, it’s that perhaps one of the most attractive traits between them -- and what brought them together in the first place, all things considered -- is one another’s talent (i.e. the boys certainly understand Artists Are Attractive). So following such a phenomenal performance of “Agony,” it’s unsurprising that Charlie felt the need to… express some things.
Their banter is playful like usual, the mythos of the costume loft giving them a faux sense of privacy as they kiss. Zay points out that Cinderella’s prince and the lad Jack hooking up would certainly make for an interesting twist, easily emphasized by the fact that they’re both currently in costume. Charlie takes his face, looking him over before shaking his head.
Charlie: Don’t get me started on the costume.
For what it’s worth, it is a good, appealing costume for a good, appealing prince. Jade did an excellent job. Such words aren’t necessary, however, as how eagerly Charlie kisses him conveys the message effectively enough.
Just as they’re getting into it, the doors opening to the loft from down below startle them out of it. Charlie lets out a panicked “shit” before Zay urges him to hide, both of them fumbling for a cover until Zay literally knocks Charlie over, behind a rack of costumes and out of sight.
Just in time, as Maya pops her head up on the ladder to the loft and asks him what the hell he’s doing up there alone. They’re grouping for rehearsal and he needs to get his ass in attendance. Zay nods in agreement and promises he’ll be down in a flash, waiting until she rolls her eyes and disappears again to let out a sigh.
Charlie digs himself out from the rubble and into a sitting position, flushed and obviously dazed. Zay drops down to start helping him, trying to take his hands and help him back up.
Zay: Holy shit, are you okay --
Charlie: I’m -- just go! Go, go, before she comes back.
Zay nods, dipping down to give him a quick kiss before darting down the ladder. Charlie sighs, falling back into the costumes.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
The performers assemble on the stage in a circle, the techies continuing to move set materials while Harper discusses the rest of their rehearsal plan for the evening. Charlie jogs up and joins the group last, jumping in next to Yindra. When she asks him where the hell he was, he makes a face and shrugs like it’s no big deal. Nothing for her to worry about.
Given that tomorrow is their first full-day weekend rehearsal, and they’re only five days away from opening, the pressure is on to start cracking down. Harper releases the performers for a quick dinner break, and informs the techies that once they’re done moving things they can break for dinner as well. Everyone is dismissed.
All of them begin moving at once, the technicians heading back out the side door to keep working while the performers flutter off. Lucas hesitates when he realizes Isadora isn’t following them, calling after her.
Lucas: … Dora. [ when she faces him ] Are you not going to help?
Isadora: Oh. Well… I kind of want to eat with my castmates. That’s like… part of the bonding thing. You know?
Lucas: … oh, yeah. Sure. That’s fine, whatever. Break a leg, then. [ under his breath ] Maybe both legs.
It’s so hard to tell when Lucas’s sarcasm is dipping into genuine disdain. Isadora takes the spoken acceptance for what it’s worth, nodding and heading in the other direction.
Yindra and Nigel tease Zay about showing up so late to their meeting, pointedly wondering where the hell he was. Maya throws out that he was in the costume loft, to which both of them are like ooh, the costume loft? What could you possibly have been doing there, Isaiah? But the friendly jeers take on a slightly sensitive slant when Sarah throws in her two cents.
Sarah: No wonder Farkle keeps getting roles over you, now that he’s able to help with tech and perform while having a diva meltdown. You can’t even show up on time. But no, you’re clearly above it all.
Zay looks like he has choice things he’d like to say, but Riley distracts him and yanks him back towards the doors for dinner. She states that eating will make him feel better, but Zay pulls away and claims he just wants a few minutes alone to destress. He’ll catch up with her later.
Dave, on the other hand, is in no hurry to head to dinner. He’s still obsessing over his magnum opus of a set piece, growing nitpicky and getting a little too attached to it. Asher and Dylan are pulling him away, claiming that he needs food and like… healthy separation.
Lucas finishes bringing the last of the wood in and encourages his lieutenants to get Dave a good distance from this thing that’s eating him alive, to which they’re like aye, aye, captain. He starts to follow them out, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder at the set piece. Large, impressive, the most important piece of their set design. Then he leaves, casting the auditorium into quiet.
Farkle is the last one present, sauntering out into the auditorium with his things to discover he’s been left behind yet again. He supposes that makes sense, given that he was already blatantly dismissed, but it always feels more pointed when he’s standing all alone. He meanders to center stage, spinning and taking a look at the set. He stares up at it, contemplation coloring his tired expression…
INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Harper shares dinner with Eric, taking the chair across from his desk as she vents about the rehearsal process. She feels as though she’s doing her best, but this whole experience is still super overwhelming. Everyone looks to her for answers, and sometimes she doesn’t have them. Not to mention the attitude she gets from Farkle and how that’s morphed into a complicated dynamic she has no idea how to move forward from, and the techies clearly don’t respect her. That’s particularly frustrating, considering she was a techie when she first attended AAA all those years ago.
Eric talks her down, assuring her that she’s doing an excellent job. Especially given that they’ve only had… what, one student ailment and zero tantrums so far? That might be the least trauma they’ve ever encountered during a typical AAA production. What else could possibly go wrong?
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT
Great question, Eric. As is storytelling tradition, the moment someone asks that rhetorical query, it must be answered.
Dave is heading back into the auditorium before everyone else, in good spirits and eager to get back to work. He’s humming to himself and dancing a little bit as he goes, coming back to the set building area and rubbing his hands to get back to work.
Only the moment he looks up, it’s as though we’ve entered a horror movie. The camera goes close on his face as he stares up above him, eyes wide before he screams bloody murder. Nothing but pure, abject terror -- Dave is quite the scream queen -- but why?
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT - LATER
The central set piece has been majorly damaged. It’s a hollow shell of the beauty it used to be, pieces broken off and torn and holes through the paper mache. Totally vandalized.
It’s Dave’s worst nightmare. As we ease away from the damage, the full class assembled comes into focus. Isadora is staring up at the destroyed set piece, stunned, while the rest of the class discusses the damage in hushed murmurs.
Lucas jogs in on the heels of Nate, asking what the hell is going on. His jaw drops when he sees the set piece, as well as Dave huddled on the floor in front of it in a total state. Asher and Jade are kneeling on either side of him, attempting to comfort him. Lucas seems genuinely upset by Dave’s reaction, but Dylan pulls him out of it by asking him what the hell they’re going to do.
Riley adds that this is bad news for all of them, considering they only have five days of rehearsal left and that set piece took all production long to make. They simply don’t have time to put it back together at the same rate, at least not the way they’ve been approaching it so far. It’s going to take all of them dedicating time and effort to it while working overtime, including the performers.
Not to mention, as Charlie points out, who is to say that there won’t be more trouble? Only one of them could’ve done this as they’re the only ones in the school this late on Friday. Whoever openly sabotaged the show, they’re guaranteed to be in their midst.
Naturally, such a dark realization instigates a frenzied slew of accusations. After tossing some words around the popular narrative seems to narrow down to three potential suspects.
Haley: It was obviously Farkle. After everything that happened last year, what does he have to lose?
Yindra: Um, news flash, American Girl? Farkle’s not even here.
Nate: Yeah, but he was. He left after the rest of us, and no one saw him leave. Clear motive, clear opportunity.
Sarah: Yeah, except he literally wiped out like an hour before. I don’t believe he could do all that damage with his twig arms, let alone when he’s already running on dead battery.
Yindra and Nigel turn the tables on her, asking if she’s so sure, who the hell does she think did it?
Sarah: Seriously? Is this even a question? [ gesturing to Lucas ] Who is our local delinquent?
Asher/Dylan, in unison: Hey, no way --
Riley: I don’t think --
Lucas: Real ballsy of you to say so to my face, Sarah. Just because you enjoy constantly cutting down the work of your classmates doesn’t mean I get the same sadistic thrill.
Jeff: Yeah, why would a techie destroy another techie’s work?
Good point, but a lot of people seem to think Lucas isn’t a bad argument. He is always angry, after all, and he’s vandalized things before. He scoffs.
Lucas: This is so bullshit. This is profiling.
Zay: That’s not what profiling means, white bread.
Darby: Well I don’t know if I would be so smug, Zay.
Zay: The hell are you on about?
Darby: You’ve been acting kind of weird, too. And you weren’t at dinner until later.
Riley: Yeah, but not long enough to do that.
Zay: Are you seriously claiming I did this?
Sarah picks up the slack on this thread, pointing out that Zay was also pointedly late to their group meet up before dinner. He could’ve been getting everything ready then, and then he could easily pull it off quicker. Zay grows defensive, stating that he has better things to do than fuck with their production.
Nate: Yeah, because you’re always above everything, aren’t you?
Riley steps forward and rubs Zay’s arm comfortingly, obviously not believing it could’ve been him. Charlie also looks like he wants to say something, but as things grow more heated he keeps his mouth shut.
The in-fighting only ceases when Harper returns with Eric, both of them shocked at the state of the set piece. When she frantically questions what the hell happened, a bunch of people start speaking at once and it’s impossible to figure out what anyone is saying. It’s a lot to absorb all at once, so Harper snaps and tells all of them they’re dismissed for the evening. Clearly everyone needs to cool down, and they’ll figure this out during their 12-hour rehearsal day tomorrow.
It’s the first time Harper has raised her voice in front of the class, so everyone takes the demand seriously. They disperse, Eric going to assess the damage as Asher and Jade manage to pull Dave up from being a puddle on the floor.
INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
JACK HUNTER is in the midst of a dinner date with ANNE MARIE WINTHROP, beginning the transitioning from the meal to the… extracurricular portion of the evening. The mood is disturbed when his phone rings, Jack pulling back from her to check his phone.
He states that it’s work, which Anne Marie points out can wait considering it’s the weekend. He’s working on the work-life balance, remember? She regains his attention, gently pulling him back into a kiss… when his phone rings again. She relinquishes him with a sigh, Jack offhandedly explaining that with the musical going on right now, it probably has something to do with that. He’ll be quick, he promises.
Anne Marie watches as he dashes off with the phone, propping her feet up on the couch.
INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT
Farkle is in fact home for the evening, half-heartedly eating something for late dinner alone at the dining table. He jumps when his phone rings, surprised to see Riley calling. He answers immediately, not even sure what to say in greeting.
She says she’s simply checking in to see how he’s feeling, and also inform him about the set piece debacle and how that might impact rehearsals tomorrow. To his credit, Farkle seems stunned by the news.
Farkle: What? That’s terrible. It was fine when I left… are they going to fix it? I mean, we only have a few days before opening --
Riley explains that they’re going to get more information tomorrow. Farkle appears genuinely frazzled, but on the one hand, he is an actor. Or it could just be nerves…
He attempts to try and keep the conversation going with Riley, who he hasn’t really spoken to since the end of last year. But she finds an exit route and tells him she has to go, stating she’ll see him tomorrow before hanging up. Not giving him much of an opportunity to reconnect.
INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
KATY HART is likewise on the phone, deep in a debate with their landlord. She’s talking numbers and clearly trying to negotiate something important, but she abruptly ends the call when Maya stumbles in from rehearsal. Based on her expression it’s obvious something’s up, but Maya does not seem in the mood for talking.
Katy: What’s going on? How was rehearsal?
Maya: Exhausting. Everything is bonkers as usual. Whatever. I’m going to bed.
Katy doesn’t argue the point further. Maya drops her duffle by the door and gives her mother a quick kiss on the cheek, stomping off to sleep.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
The grueling 12-hour rehearsal kicks off with a tense start, the destroyed set piece looming over the cast and crew as they saunter in early in the morning. People continue to throw around their suspicions, particularly at Farkle now that he’s returned for the day.
Farkle: I’m amazed at the sexism on this stage right now. You all have decided on your three prime suspects, and yet, why are we only assuming a guy could’ve done this?
Yindra: It’s not our problem all y’all boys in this class are emotionally unstable.
Clarissa: Besides, that part of the set piece is too high up for most of us to reach.
Maya: Izzy and I are innocent for sure. We’re tiny.
Yogi: Step ladders exist.
Maya: Which is obviously what you used, you’re the shortest of all of us --
Harper ceases the arguing with her arrival, essentially banning discussion about the culprit. She wants all of their focus directed towards rehearsal and repairing the set, not trying to pin blame on one another.
Yogi: [ singing under his breath ] No what really matters is the blame, somebody to blame…
The investigation, Harper wants them to leave to the professionals. Which in this case, are Jack and Eric. They saunter their way in as she’s explaining the new rules, discussing heatedly as they make their way up to the stage. It’s clear Jack isn’t exactly pleased to be there, although he grows more somber when he gets a good look at the set piece for the first time.
The class, on the other hand, isn’t impressed.
Nigel: Them? They’re supposed to be our grand detectives?
Jack: Believe me, Mister Chey, there are dozens of ways I’d rather be spending my Saturday.
Harper: Principal Hunter and Mister Matthews have narrowed down problematic students before, and I am sure they’ll be able to do it again.
Jade: Yeah, because they did such a good job with the Confessions page.
The rest of the class agrees, lightly clowning the administrative duo. Like, sure. Let them try their best. No one seems particularly threatened by their involvement, and when Harper dismisses them to get into costume and make-up the three of them regroup.
Jack: How did I somehow end up dragged into yet another episode of Adams Unsolved? As opposed to, you know… running the school like a normal principal?
Eric points out never has his role been “normal.” But whatever, they’ll be able to figure it out. Which launches us into yet another classic Jack & Eric interrogation sequence…
INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY
Jack paces the office while Eric sits at his desk, both them tossing questions to each student that sits opposite them in the hot seat. The discussion tends to drift to what the class has deemed the most likely suspects, although no theory is exactly concrete.
Clarissa takes the seat first, offering her two cents. From there, it’s a game of popcorn. As each student takes the seat, it’s picking up from the last, but of course none are in conversation with one another.
Clarissa: I’m not going to act like I know anything for certain, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucas did it.
Eric: Why’s that?
Sarah: Uh, maybe because… he’s a criminal? You two should know, isn’t there like a mega folder dedicated to chronicling his misdeeds?
Jeff: There’s no way Lucas would do another techie like that. Dave worked so hard on that set piece. He’s sort of a dick, but he wouldn’t go that far.
Yindra: Oh, sure he would. Lucas hasn’t cared about anybody but himself since like, last April. If that. He’s a pissed off white boy, they’ll do anything.
Clarissa: Not to mention he’s already sort of sabotaged the show. He was a good stage manager last year, but it’s been a mess this year. He’s all over the place and angry all the time, and that’s when he elects to show up at all.
Still, there are alternative points to his seemingly obvious guilt. Asher and Dylan are the only two students to be interviewed together, seated next to one another.
Asher: We were finishing unloading set pieces when the prep would’ve occurred, and all at dinner together when the vandalism happened.
Dylan: Yeah, and we all saw each other. Therefore, it could not have been Asher. Or me. Or Lucas.
Jack: And you’re sure you had eyes on all of your fellow technicians? At all times?
Dylan: Sure. There was me and Ash --
Asher: And Jade.
Dylan: And Jeff.
Asher: Nate, Dave --
Dylan: And Lucas. That’s everyone.
Then, of course, Lucas has his own take.
Lucas: All this proves to me is that no one in the junior class has a collective brain cell. I was helping the techies with the supplies haul -- because we’re the only ones who ever do any real work. [ nodding to Eric taking notes ] That’s called an alibi, did you jot that down?
Jack: Okay, okay. Cool it, Lucas.
Lucas: The supply move took about a half an hour, and then we were all at dinner together. Did I watch my friends like a hawk, no, but maybe that’s because I trust them.
Throwback to Eric with Dylan and Asher.
Eric: And you’re sure you saw him. The whole time.
Asher: Beyond a reasonable doubt.
Dylan: We’re sure.
With that confirmation, the mystery grows more befuddling. And Lucas is still defensive, but it’s not clear whether that makes him seem more or less guilty.
Lucas: Besides, why the hell would I destroy the work of a fellow technician? Let alone my friends? I’m one of the only people who gives a shit about what we do. Oh, and then there’s the little detail of uh, I didn’t do it!
Convincing delivery. But Lucas has lied before, so it’s not a guaranteed innocence. There are other potential culprits to consider, however.
Yindra: Lucas’s lame attitude aside, I don’t think he did it. I don’t think he cares enough. Farkle, on the other hand --
Charlie: Farkle has been acting kind of weird lately. Not that I think he did it, but I don’t know, he’s seemed on edge since he came back for school. Which makes sense, you know, given how last year ended...
Darby: If he’s been waiting for a chance to get back at all of us or further his reign of terror, this would certainly be a good move.
Solid points. But then, it still doesn’t seem all that simple.
Farkle: This is ridiculous. I was at home because I was sent home, you can call my parents and confirm. Or ask Miss Burgess.
Eric: People said that the vandalism could’ve occurred before you were picked up. There is a window enough for something like that.
Farkle: Mister Matthews, you saw me yesterday. Did I look itching for a scrap? No. I was tired, so I went home as directed and got some sleep. That’s it.
Logically, there are other holes in his potential guilt as well. He’s not the only one who believes in his innocence.
Jade: I mean, I don’t like Farkle, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Why would he sabotage a show where he has the lead?
Nigel: He hasn’t been nearly as rabid this year as he was last year. I get why everyone is automatically pointing fingers at him, but I don’t know, I don’t think vicious destruction is his vibe. Now, if we all suddenly came down with hay fever and lost our voices before opening night, then I might consider he did some kind of witchcraft…
Nate: Minkus is a stone cold bitch, but he cares way too much about his time in the spotlight to throw it away over something so stupid.
Charlie: Also, I saw him when he collapsed. He didn’t look good. I don’t think he would be running off to cause trouble after a fall like that.
Sarah: Oh, come on, is that supposed to be a valid excuse? He’s an actor. He could’ve faked the whole thing for attention. I don’t buy that as an automatic pass.
Then, there’s the third oddball suspect to have been afforded potential blame. He comes back into the conversation after Dave’s choked up explanation, slouched deep in Eric’s chair.
Dave: I swear, I left and everything was fine. It was perfect. Asher and Dylan dragged me out to dinner, but I ate really fast so I could come back and do the final finishing touches. And when I got back, it was a mess. It was --
[ Dave can’t speak further. A bit theatrical, yes, but who are Jack and Eric to judge what’s important to a student. Eric slides his tissue box across the table. ]
Dave: Whoever did it, they were prepared. They knew what they were doing. [ blowing his nose ] So either they already have some experience messing things up, or they took the time to be ready.
This throws back to what was observed quite aptly yesterday, which is that Zay has been having some mysterious absences of his own.
Maya: I mean, yeah, I had to go grab him from the costume loft. Which was kind of weird, since people don’t really hang out in there alone, but I seriously doubt Zay did anything. I mean, come on, he’s Zay.
Zay: I’m Zay, okay? I’m not into petty stuff like this. I have no motive and you all know it. I’ve never been a monster diva. I’m just a talented bitch.
Sarah: His motive is exactly that. He’s never been on the same level as Maya and Farkle, and even though he was the summer camp darling, he’s still playing second fiddle to Minkus. That would drive anybody to action, especially since Farkle sucks.
Riley: There’s no way Zay would do something like this. He is the nicest person at AAA, he would never do something so needlessly cruel.
Eric: But you said so yourself that he didn’t go with you for dinner. That he wanted to take some time alone.
Riley: Yes, but… that’s not the point. When he said that, I doubt he meant he wanted to go vandalize the set.
Isadora: I highly doubt it was Zay. He’s just the third party suspect people throw in there so it’s more exciting. He has no motive, and definitely doesn’t fit the profile for potential insanity the way the other two do. The only thing he’s missing is --
Eric: An alibi. If you can give me concrete facts on where you were, then we can clear this and call your whole involvement moot.
Zay: I told you, I went to the dressing room to take a breather and was out to dinner within like, five minutes. That’s not enough time to cause carnage that great.
Jack: If you were prepared, it might be. People said you were difficult to find before you all were dismissed for dinner.
Zay, exasperated: This is inane! I was in the costume loft, Maya saw me.
Jack: But she didn’t see what you were doing. And the costume loft is the perfect place to hide some items if you’re planning to do damage, based on proximity alone.
Eric: Is there anything else you can give us to work with? Anything to prove that you were there when you said you were. Did anybody else see you? Anybody that can vouch for what you were doing?
Zay holds his tongue, obviously thinking. There sure is one option, but whether he’ll talk…
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY
Case in point, Jack and Eric are exhausted when they wrap up their initial round of conversations. Their takeaway is essentially the same as the class -- that there are two clear obvious suspects and then Zay, but without concrete evidence to his innocence it’s hard to give him a pass while they’re still investigating the other two.
At least, Jack states, they can effectively decide on a punishment. Regardless of who did it, the punishment should be the same, and it should be swift. Eric is a bit surprised by Jack’s rigid stance on this, but he doesn’t argue the point. There’s no point in stressing about punishment when they have no one to punish.
From their outsider perspective, this is going to be tough. It would be more effective to be on the front lines...
INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY
Which is exactly what Isadora is thinking as she goes to find Riley. She pulls her aside, checking that they’re in agreement that Zay being under investigation is insane. She proposes that the two of them work together to suss out the true culprit themselves -- or at least, clear Zay’s name, since he doesn’t seem too keen to do it for himself. Isadora also feels bad about all of Dave’s hard work being destroyed, and if she can bring the perpetrator to justice it might get her back in good graces with the techies.
Riley is desperate to help, and the possibility of reconnecting with Isadora through the mystery is a no-brainer. She declares she’s in, shaking hands with her to seal the partnership.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “He Did It” as performed by Curtains Original Broadway Cast || Performed by AAA Juniors
[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]
Although Harper specifically instructed the juniors not to speculate any further, they are hardly going to listen to such a directive. When the cast and crew break for lunch, a series of hushed discussions further deepen the suspicions against our prime suspects. Meanwhile, Dave snoozes in front of the set piece, so protective over it now that he can hardly leave it.
While their classmates share theories, Riley and Isadora eavesdrop and take notes for themselves. They exchange eyebrow raises and inquisitive looks as they creep around the set pieces, aiming not to be noticed by their gossiping peers. Following along with the slightly altered lyrics in this case is a must for the full effect.
As the round begins and the accusations build up, the number comes to an end with Lucas, Farkle, and Zay being backed into one another center stage, their classmates mocking their obvious guilt. But which one actually did it -- if any of them at all?
INT. AAA - JANITOR’S CLOSET - DAY
That’s for Riley and Isadora to attempt to deduce. They’ve taken inspiration from the likes of Buzzfeed Unsolved and American Vandal, using HARLEY KEINER’S office as a home base to set up their mystery board and compile evidence. He assures them he’ll help in whatever way he can, just to give him a holler if they need his assistance.
Thusly, the two amateur detectives start putting together a more comprehensive rundown of the timeline of the vandalism. This includes threading together texts, timestamps, in-person sightings, anything they’ve got. They’re mostly focused on clearing Zay, but if they can narrow down the actual culprit at the same time, then even better.
INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - DAY
Zay is less concerned about clearing his name, seeing as it seems fruitless anyway. He’s running through choreography with Charlie in their usual studio, the subject only coming up when the latter brings it up.
He comments on how harsh the accusations seem to be getting, wondering if Zay is feeling okay. He doesn’t deserve to be under the gun like this. Zay shrugs it off, claiming that people always talk. Still, it’s unfair, and Charlie clearly feels for him.
Charlie: It still sucks. Especially because you of all people deserve it the least. I wish there was something we could do, I wish I could help.
Zay hesitates, contemplating whether bringing the issue up is even worth it. But Charlie is looking at him, full of sincerity, so he decides it’s worth a shot. He starts to say that there is a way he could help… by saying that he saw him in the costume loft and he wasn’t doing anything nefarious. The only reason people are still on him is because he doesn’t have an “alibi,” so if he says something…
Charlie’s expression shifts in an instant, going from empathetic to wary.
Charlie: Are you kidding? No way.
Zay: Listen, you wouldn’t even have to say what you were doing there. Just that you happened to see me, maybe at a different time than Maya. Or even just that we crossed paths. Eric isn’t going to grill you --
Charlie: No. No, man, I can’t do that.
Zay: Why not? You said you wanted to help. It won’t matter why you were there, you won’t even have to say --
Charlie, sharply: Yeah? What is the only reason people go to the costume loft, Zay?
Zay makes a face, conceding this point. He figured this wasn’t going to go anywhere, but Charlie’s reaction is admittedly stronger than he anticipated. He’s pacing, breathing uneven as he continues to refute the possibility. He’s on the verge of full-blown panic, a wild look in his eyes as he repeats his refusal.
Charlie: I can’t. No. No, Zay. I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t --
Zay: Okay. Okay… okay! Charlie, hey --
Zay takes his arms, getting him to stop moving and look at him. He shifts his hands from his arms to his shoulders to his face, trying to get him to calm down.
Zay: It’s okay, alright? Charlie, look at me. You don’t have to do anything. It’s fine.
Charlie, breathless: Well -- well what are you gonna do?
Zay: I don’t know, I’ll figure something out. But it’s okay. It’s gonna be fine. Okay?
Charlie gulps, catching his breath and nodding. Trying to believe it’s true and come back from the edge. After a moment he pulls Zay into a hug, holding him tightly and tucking his head into his shoulder. Zay returns the embrace.
From the way he holds him, it’s so incredibly clear how important Zay is to Charlie. How much he cares about him, how much comfort he gives him and how safe he feels with him. He can’t fathom losing that just yet… even if the chances of problems are slim, it feels like too much to risk...
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Giants In The Sky” as performed by Into the Woods Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Charlie Gardner
A bold transition from the soft intensity of his moment with Zay, Charlie’s eyes are wide and shining in the stage lights as he launches into this energized soliloquy.
Jack’s fictional dilemma of straddling the worlds of giant and mundane somehow perfectly encapsulates Charlie’s own current conundrum -- the pull between being a good Catholic boy, the perfect son, the world of “the roof, the house, and your mother at the door,” versus… well, being himself. Unapologetically. Without hesitation.
A world dazzling and elusive enough to be compared to the fantasy world of giants.
Much like his rendition of “Empty Chairs” from last year’s musical, the solo is bursting with emotion. Despite how he’s handling things personally, there’s no doubt that Charlie knows how to deliver a performance -- even when he so often fades into the background.
INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT
The full Matthews clan is assembled for the first family dinner in a spell, TOPANGA LAWRENCE keeping up light conversation. Riley and AUGGIE MATTHEWS engage with her, but CORY MATTHEWS mostly keeps his eyes on his plate. Riley can tell that something is up, much in the same way she sensed the dread of the divorce before the blow actually landed.
Topanga doesn’t make her wait too long for the other shoe to drop. As they’re finishing up, she calmly explains that now that the divorce is nearly finalized, things are going to start changing a bit around here. Most imminently, Topanga is going to be moving out of the apartment and into her own place in Midtown.
Riley is totally floored by this development. The notion of her mother actually leaving makes it feel… real, like she is not going to be present in her life all the time any longer. She worriedly asks if Topanga is still going to be around -- is she coming to Into the Woods? -- but her mother brushes off her worries with easy confidence. She’s simply moving to Midtown, not evaporating.
Even still, the revelation is gobsmacking. Silence settles over the meal, Cory notably mute as Riley eyes him across the table. Topanga changes the subject nonchalantly, as if the impact of the moment has already passed.
INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Eric and Jack are still at school, working together to organize their testimonies and search for possible clues they might’ve missed. But there’s no clear trajectory, and both of them are well aware there’s a good chance half of the students are lying anyway.
Also, the fact that Jack is distracted doesn’t help. He’s constantly being pulled away from the brainstorm by text messages, his work-life balance equally present at school as at home. Although it’s not a crime to keep his girlfriend updated on their status, Eric isn’t taking to it well. He clears his throat to regain Jack’s attention.
Once they get back to discussing, Jack wonders why they’re still here anyway. Clearly they don’t have an answer, and what should matter is making the consequences of such behavior clear. If they can’t figure out who did it and give them the rightful punishment -- suspension, likely -- then they may as well do some sort of moderate penalization to all three prime suspects and call it a day.
Eric is confused by this perspective, especially coming from Jack. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? And furthermore, this is a far cry from the man who was so torn up over how to handle the removal of a student who was proven guilty only a few months ago.
Jack: Yeah, and how much good did that end up doing, huh? Everything is still in shambles.
Ah. So we’re not handling that as well as we thought. Eric starts to try and get him to talk about it, but Jack shrugs it off. The point is, when the time comes someone will have to face the music. Anne Marie is an attorney, and this is the kind of business she deals with all the time. If there’s no consequences, then no one will ever learn the status quo.
As the girlfriend comes up in conversation again, it’s Eric’s turn to react off the cuff. He points out that Anne Marie doesn’t work at AAA, and this isn't court. It’s high school, and their focus is on the kids and trying to figure out why they’re making the decisions they are rather than coldly punishing them for them. At least, that’s his approach...
Jack is offended at the insinuation, firing back that Eric knows damn well how much he cares about this school and the students. It’s not his fault someone has to be the authoritarian, because if he doesn’t, then chaos reigns as it has for the last six months.
The tension between them is palpable, and suddenly it’s as though they’re back in time. Arguing about the same old things, criticizing one another for things they thought they had moved past or come to appreciate. Jack backs off first, claiming this is going nowhere and they’ll just have to see where things go. They’re not doing anyone any good by snapping at each other.
As Jack departs, Eric settles into his desk chair. He watches where Jack left, shaking his head. Obviously not sure why he got so heated in the first place.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
As the last three days of rehearsal roll around, the mood is decidedly frantic. People have grown less concerned with who amongst them is a vandal and more so with being able to go on for opening night at all. The techies are running on overdrive to repair the set piece, which is no comparison to its former glory.
Amidst the chaos before another run through, Isadora gets a call. It’s from VALERIE DE LA CRUZ, who beats around the bush before regrettably letting her know that something unexpected came up and she won’t be able to make the show anymore. Promotion for a new project, or something, that she wishes she could blow off…
Isadora swallows her shock, playing it cool on the phone. She assures her it’s no big deal, and she nods along as Valerie apologizes and promises they’ll see each other soon. But as soon as she’s through with the conversation her demeanor shifts. Suddenly, all the chaos around her is too loud, too imposing. She has to get out of there.
She retreats and makes a dash for the dressing room hall. Lucas notices from across the stage at the stage manager’s podium, expression shifting from its recently adopted constant state of irritation. He passes off his binder to Asher offhandedly, going after her.
INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY
Lucas wanders at a jog through the halls, clueing in to where Isadora is once he hears her light cursing. He finds her a bit away down the hall, slouched against the lockers on the floor and hiding her head in her hands.
Instantly softer, Lucas approaches and settles down at a crouch next to her. She’s startled at first but seems relieved when it’s only him. Without even saying anything, Lucas reads her expression and gets a sense.
Lucas: It’s Valerie. Isn't it?
There’s no point in denying it. Isadora huffs, nodding and twisting a piece of her costume. Lucas drops down to lean back against the lockers with her, scoffing in distaste.
Lucas: I always knew she was full of shit.
Isadora: I know, I know. “I told you so.”
Lucas: No, I don’t mean it like… look, Dora, it’s fucked that she did that. And you have the right to be pissed about it. I get that you’re trying to, like, open a dialogue with her or whatever, but you don’t have to let her push you around. And you shouldn’t feel bad for being upset that she dropped you again.
Fair points. Tough to hear right now, but it is nice to have someone unquestionably in her corner. She nods, giving him a weak smile and taking a deep breath.
Lucas: … you know, it’s her loss. Her fucking loss if she’s willing to drop Isadora Samantha Miracle “Smackle” De La Cruz.
Isadora: [ with a small laugh ] Did you really have to use the full name?
Lucas: Yeah.
Isadora: Careful. If you don’t stop, people are going to think you give a shit.
Lucas’s turn to laugh. It’s a dry humor, flat delivery from both, but reflects something effortless between them that’s felt off-key lately. Lucas tilts his head and gives her a lazy smirk, causing her to roll her eyes. But when she looks away, she’s smiling too. Something might be clicking back into place…
Until it’s not. The peace is disrupted moments later as Maya flurries into the hall, heels of her boots clicking and voice almost louder than usual as she rushes over to them.
Maya: Hey, I got your text. What the hell happened?
Lucas tosses a puzzled look to Maya, wondering what she’s doing there. It takes him a second to realize her words indicate that Isadora beckoned her -- before she even thought of him. He immediately grows stiff again as Maya comes to crouch in front of Isadora.
The conversation takes an interesting turn as both of them attempt to occupy the space and comfort her, taking very different approaches. Whereas Lucas defends Isadora’s feelings and digs his heels in further about Valerie being reprehensible, Maya encourages her to take a more logical approach. They both know Valerie is busy, and there’s no way this is personal. It sucks, no doubt about that, but no use in getting so fired up about it.
It’s clear Lucas finds Maya’s level head in this situation ironic given her usual behavior. But more than that he feels extraneous, like he doesn’t even need to be there at all. And if he hears one more earnest defense of Valerie De La Cruz, he might projectile vomit. So he excuses himself, bitterly leaving Maya to take over the comforting.
Maya asks if there’s anything she can do, but Isadora claims she just needs a little bit of time to regroup. Maya gives her that, assuring her she’ll catch her up if anything happens in rehearsal before leaving her on her own.
As Isadora pulls herself up off the floor, she takes a long, deep breath. Then she adjusts her costume on her shoulders, the red cape on her shoulders reminding her that she has a major role. And she earned that on her own.
Jeff appears at the end of the hall, calling for her and stating that they’re getting ready for her solo. Eyes blazing with emotion, Isadora nods and marches back towards the auditorium.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I Know Things Now” as performed by Into the Woods Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Isadora De La Cruz
Isadora delivers a great rendition of her musical solo, the whole performance alight with a certain edge only she could bring to the role. She’s channeling all of the frustration over how this situation has panned out, reflecting how she was tricked by The Wolf (Valerie, in this case) rather than listening to the well-intentioned but rigid sense of her granny (Lucas).
Towards the end, we see Isa leave the stage, her performance over, and check her phone. She has a text from Valerie on the lock screen, but Isa locks her phone and puts it aside.
INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT
Zay is touching up a piece of his costume when Farkle enters, the two of them making eye contact in the mirror. Neither of them say anything at first as Farkle heads to his station at the counter, but Zay opts to break the silence.
Zay: It’s fine, you can speak. Given that we’re both suspects in this shitshow of a crime mockumentary, I guess I hardly have the right to act like I’m above your complaints.
Farkle shrugs, claiming he doesn’t have any complaints. The moment this happened he was a guaranteed target, which may very well be what the perpetrator wanted anyway. He finds it more odd that Zay doesn’t seem to be doing much to defend himself, if he’s so innocent. Especially given that from what he’s sussed out, if no one comes forward it’s more than likely all three of them are going to be punished.
This is news to Zay. He scowls and slams down his make-up bag on the counter, fed up.
Zay: This is such bullshit. What, my classmates all decide they’re the Supreme Court and put me on trial for no reason, and suddenly that’s as good as guilty? All because someone had to have another meltdown?
Farkle: Well, don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.
Zay glares at him, obviously disbelieving. But Farkle seems serious, his lack of theatricality lending a weird credibility to his statement. The two of them have their stare down, searching for the cracks in each other’s facade…
When commotion from the dressing room hall breaks them out of it. Yogi darts in, out of breath and somewhere between thrilled and panicked.
Yogi: It’s finally happened. It’s jungle madness.
Zay and Farkle exchange bewildered looks, running to follow Yogi out.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT
Tensions seem to be at a boiling point in more places than just the dressing room, and from unlikely culprits at that. The progression of a scene has been derailed by a section of the new set piece falling apart, causing the nearly decapitated Maya to throw some choice words at the technicians. Jade and Asher have stepped up to take defense against the performers, and voices are already at high volume when Zay and Farkle arrive.
Jade points out that all the performers ever do is criticize, when the whole thing could’ve been fixed far more efficiently if they chipped in like they were supposed to. Asher questions if they all magically forgot everything they learned about tech last year, to which Maya retorts that maybe if the set design wasn’t so damn complicated in the first place, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.
Dylan, loudly: Hey, fuck off, beauty queen.
[ The assembled cast and crew reacts accordingly, surprised and somewhat amused. ]
Asher: Dyl, it’s fine, I can handle myself. [ to Maya ] Fuck off, beauty queen!
It’s clear the negative mojo is spreading like wildfire. Riley attempts to get the arguing to stop as Lucas jogs down from the booth with Jeff, questioning what the hell is going on. The performers continue to rail on how everything has fallen apart because of this damn set piece and now the replacement looks like garbage, and Dave finally snaps.
Dave: Well tell that to whichever one of you bent muppets did this in the first place!
Once again the blame train is running, only this time it crashes. The shouting quickly escalates and suddenly the scuffle turns physical, people launching at one another in a frenzy. Dylan holds back Asher by the waist, keeping him from going full scrappy. Lucas leaps in and attempts to hold Dave back from charging half of the ensemble. Charlie yells for everyone to cut it out, getting yanked out of the way by Zay before Sarah can elbow him on accident.
As Harper and Shawn rush in and start pulling people apart, Riley and Isadora zero in on a couple of interesting features to the brawl. Isadora is focused on Lucas, who has allowed Shawn to handle Dave and is keeping Dylan and Asher from completely throwing down with Maya. Something about the moment seems to stand out to her, just slightly off…
Shawn effectively halts the fight, effectively getting them all to head in different directions. He spits out a criticism, obviously over the tension.
Shawn: Have you all gone feral? Absolutely ridiculous!
Harper angrily declares that they all need to cool off and separate. They need to be back in fifteen, and the next person who causes any trouble is out of the production. Doesn’t matter if they’re stage crew of the star of the show.
Riley has her eyes on the opposite end of the room, where a security camera has caught her attention. It’s not facing the stage where the fight is unfolding, but rather a more promising angle -- a perfect view of the costume loft doors.
INT. AAA - JANITOR’S CLOSET - NIGHT
Isadora and Riley eagerly regroup, the latter launching into a breathless explanation of what she noticed. There’s a camera that’s directly facing the costume loft, which is what Zay’s alibi hinges on. If they can get access to the footage and prove that he never returned to the loft within the time stamps of the crime, then they can clear him.
They ask Harley for help, considering he is the local secret tech guru and likely has access to the servers to look at that section of the tape.
Harley: Technically, it would go against the janitorial code to share security intel with students just based on a simple request…
Isadora: We’re not asking to goof around, Janitor Harley. This is a quest for justice.
Riley: All we need is that one section. Please, it’s for a friend. A really good friend.
It seems like Harley is considering it. He gives them both an eyebrow raise.
INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - NIGHT
Shawn comes to find Harper, commenting that whatever just happened was a major clusterfuck. How the hell does she plan to deal with this? Feeling cornered and overwhelmed, Harper finally lashes out at Shawn.
Harper: Oh, how am I going to deal with it? I’m amazed you don’t already have all the answers. I’m shocked you haven’t already written down every possible solution I could offer and have some snarky, neckbeard rebuttal to every single one!
Shawn is stunned by the dig, starting to defend himself. Only Harper isn’t finished -- she’s far from finished. She posits that part of the reason everything is such a mess is on him, and their inability to work together. That’s on him, because since the moment she arrived he has done nothing but belittle and sabotage her and offer not one shred of solidarity.
Harper: I don’t know what midlife crisis you’re working through, Hunter. I’m sorry I’m not your beautiful, powerhouse girlfriend, and that I’m not here to have sexually charged banter with you when our focus should be on the students. But all I’ve done since I got here is try, and I know for a fact the same cannot be said for you. So before you dish out all the responsibility onto me, I think perhaps you should take a quick look in the mirror you clearly hardly bother to look into on a daily basis.
She doesn’t give him the chance to respond, storming past him. Shawn blinks, trying to absorb what the hell just happened. He glances at his reflection in the mirror wall, tentatively touching at his scruffy beard.
Shawn, petulantly: It is not a neckbeard…
INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY
We’re close on a laptop, playing the security footage from the costume loft camera. The seconds are ticking by fast, the film on fast forward as Riley searches for the right time stamp. She and Isadora are leaning over either of Eric’s shoulders.
Eric: And how exactly did you get access to this again?
Riley: Don’t worry about it.
Isadora: A respectable investigator never outs their sources, Mister Matthews.
Well, hard to argue with that. Riley doesn’t give him the opportunity anyway, letting out an exhale as she claims she’s found the correct moment.
We’re looking at the doors outside the costume loft, the footage a little grainy due to the lighting and in classic conspiratorial black-and-white. As stated in his alibi, the three of them watch Zay duck into the costume loft. Riley jumps forward a bit, showing the moment Maya enters to retrieve him and he follows out a moment later.
For a second, the clip keeps running… potentially long enough to reveal another junior leaving the costume loft during that same sequence. But right before Charlie emerges from the doors, Riley pauses and jumps forward in the timeline.
The evidence as good as proves it as she lands on the time frame of the vandalism -- Zay never returned to the costume loft. If he was prepping something in there, they would’ve seen him retrieve it. Yet, there’s absolutely nothing to see.
Eric seems pleased to agree that the footage is pretty damning. He feels confident marking Zay off as a suspect. Riley and Isadora exchange relieved smiles, high-fiving behind their counselor. Then they rush back to rehearsal, Riley giving Eric a quick side hug before she goes.
Once they leave, Eric watches the clip back again to double check their findings. Everything checks out, so there’s nothing more to see… only this time he doesn’t hit pause so quickly. He jots down some notes instead, lifting his gaze just in time to see Charlie emerging from the costume loft a few minutes after Zay.
Eric frowns, reaching forward and rewinding to make sure he saw that correctly. He might’ve misseen it, or made it up -- it’s almost a blink-and-you-miss-it exit.
But no. That’s definitely Charlie Gardner, accounted for in the costume loft at the same time that Zay was supposedly in there alone.
He may not be a student, but Eric has been a beloved faculty member at AAA long enough to know the reputation the costume loft has. Suddenly, Zay’s reason for being there is crystal clear -- as well as why he couldn’t provide a compelling alibi considering the shock of seeing Charlie was strong enough to cause him to double take.
Eric absorbs this new bombshell, the frivolity of the vandalism now old news.
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY
Harper has reached her breaking point. She’s in tears as she occupies the chair opposite Jack’s, succumbing to the pressures of an admittedly rough transition. For all the effort she’s putting into it, the impact she wants to make, nothing seems to be working out. Everything is just friction, not forward momentum.
Jack allows her vent, listening intently. He apologizes again on behalf of the junior class, and commends her for taking the initiative to connect with this particularly challenging group of students so seriously. They’re lucky to have her, even if they don’t realize it yet.
After she’s calmed down a bit, Harper thanks him. She tells him sincerely that he’s a good administrator, a sentiment that clearly touches him given how out of balance he’s felt about his position as of late.
Jack: Yes, well, I’m sure some of them would disagree with you. I’m not exactly the most popular faculty member here at Triple A.
Harper: From what I can tell, you’re the only reason it’s still running. Your unique combination of compassion and authority is what is keeping it from burning itself to the ground.
Jack laughs, thanking her for the support. Pulling herself together, Harper gears up to go face the beast once again. Before she leaves, however, she requests that when Jack and Eric figure out who vandalized the set, they let her know. She wants the responsibility of bringing them down -- and if possible, she wants them expelled.
Clearly, Harper is not happy with how her first production has been so drastically derailed. Jack nods along, still on his authoritarian kick.
Jack: Believe me, Miss Burgess, justice will be dealt.
She nods appreciatively, stepping out.
INT. AAA - JANITOR’S CLOSET - DAY
Mission mostly accomplished, Riley and Isadora begin taking down their investigation materials. Although they work in content silence, Riley takes the initiative to state how nice it was to work with Isadora again. To be on the same page.
For what it’s worth, Isadora feels the same. They exchange tentative smiles.
Isadora: You know, given how much of a mess things seem to be no matter what we try to do… I don’t see why I should be willingly giving up a friend.
Riley’s smile widens. Finally, something falling back into place. Not the same as it was, but better than nothing.
As she finishes gathering her things, Riley claims it’s a shame they weren’t able to narrow down the actual culprit. Even though they were able to clear Zay’s name. Isadora agrees, giving her a nod as she heads out.
Only as soon as she’s gone, Isadora launches back into action. She doesn’t seem at all finished with the investigation, going through certain pieces of evidence one final time and putting pieces together. Perhaps she knows more than she’s letting on…
INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Katy is up late, doing research on her laptop and looking particularly drained. It’s hard to see what she’s looking up, but a couple of photos appear to be buildings of some kind. She changes the window as soon as Maya enters, having just finished her nightly routine and picking up her pre-sleep tea from the countertop.
While she has her attention, Maya enthusiastically reminds Katy to purchase her tickets for Into the Woods when they go on pre-sale tomorrow. Not that they’ll sell out, likely, but Maya wants to make sure she’s front and center for her grand performance as The Witch.
From the expression on her face, whatever Katy says next is not going to be pleasant. She gently informs Maya that she has to work a double shift that night, so she won’t be able to make it. Things are sort of tight right now financially, and she doesn’t know if she can spare the ticket.
Maya nearly drops her tea. She doesn’t understand what the big deal is. Money is always tight, and this is one of her dream roles. Katy knows how much this show means to her. She already told her she’d be there. Can’t there be an exception? Just for opening night?
It’s evident that she wants to make an exception more than anything… but for whatever reason, her hands seem to be more tied than usual. Katy apologizes profusely, but Maya merely swallows the disappointment and says she’s heading to bed. But the darkness of the news looms over them, and perfectly sets the tone for Maya’s launch into her lament…
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lament” as performed by Into the Woods Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Maya Hart
Maya spins to face the stage lights, in full costume and makeup for the glamorous version of The Witch. The only thing more stunning than her appearance are her vocals, cutting through the heartbreak of the solo like a knife. It’s haunting, setting the perfect backdrop…
INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY
For Isadora’s meeting with Principal Hunter. She thanks him for meeting her during the lunch hour, expressing that she thinks she has evidence that might help him solve the vandalism case. She explains that she observed some odd behavior during the fight that broke out at rehearsal, and it tipped her off. So she went back to look through the evidence... and things don’t add up.
Jack takes a look at the timeline she hands him, his expression difficult to read. He doesn’t look triumphant or pleased, that’s for sure. Isadora doesn’t either, simply stating that he should go back and look more closely into the student testimonials -- a couple in particular... but maybe not as a couple at all.
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY
This is how Jack ends up sitting down with Dylan and Asher, only separately this time around rather than as a given duo. As he discusses with each of them, under the casual guise of just double checking his sources, it becomes clear that there are holes in their story. The moment they’re not together to back one another up, their airtight delivery falls apart somewhat.
Asher claims that around the time of what would’ve been prep for the vandalism, Lucas was holding the door so that Nate and Jade could move a stack of wood; Dylan claims that he was with him unloading the Jeep. However, when Jack goes back to read the testimonies of Jade and Nate about their role in the supplies move, Lucas is never mentioned.
INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY
Isadora concludes her explanation, stating that the reason she got suspicious was because Lucas jumped in to stop the fight during rehearsal rather than join in or egg them on. Not that he revels in destruction, but if she knows anything about him, it’s that he never lets someone else take the fall for his actions. He wasn’t going to let the performers get roughed up for something they didn’t cause -- even one as aggravating as Maya.
She also begs Jack not to say anything about her involvement -- that she remain anonymous. He gives her a nod, looking back at the evidence solemnly.
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - NIGHT
We’re following Lucas and his snapback from behind as he makes his way through the halls of AAA, there early to help set up for opening night. He knocks on Jack’s door, claiming that he asked to see him. Jack nods, gesturing him inside and to shut the door behind him.
The conversation starts off with their usual rapport and comfort, Lucas slouching into his chair across the desk from where Jack is standing. He states cheekily that they should probably make this quick, as he’s got lots of stage managing to do and all that. Jack promises not to take too much of his time, beginning a subtle and targeted questioning of how Lucas recalls the day of the vandalism. It seems like they’re simply still beating a dead horse, but he plays along anyway, not even realizing he’s being interrogated until about halfway through.
And by that point, it’s too late. He’s slipped up, said a couple of things that don’t line up with his original alibi or conflict with the other techie testimonies. Then Jack pulls out all the stops, the discussion growing tenser and quicker with each piece of evidence he stacks against him. As he starts laying out the timeline of how things really happened --
INT. AAA - FLASHBACK - NIGHT
We see it unfold in real time. Lucas taking his longer look at the treasured set piece, then ducking out of supplies haul and techie dinner to make moves. Asher and Dylan notice him disappear at dinner, but merely exchange a look and don’t say anything about it.
The flashbacks unravel with Jack’s pointed narration -- and Lucas’s protests -- heightening in intensity right up to the moment flashback Lucas makes the first dent in the set piece and begins the vandalism. Just as the screen is shrouded in black by falling debris --
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Finally, finally, Lucas cracks.
Lucas: Alright, ALRIGHT! I did it, is that what you want to hear? It was me! I fucked up the set piece!
The office is cold with silence. Lucas tries to hold Jack’s gaze until he can’t take it any longer, falling back in the chair again and tearing his eyes away.
Jack doesn’t speak with anger when he addresses him again. It’s a gentle disappointment, and admittedly confused. He asks if the vandalism was worth it, why he thought any of it was a good idea in the first place.
Jack: And I don’t understand… to have Asher and Dylan lie for you?
Lucas: I didn’t ask them to --
Jack: And what about Dave? Did whatever you were trying to deal with feel better when one of your good friends had to see their own hard work destroyed?
Lucas: [ almost inaudible ] You don’t get it.
Jack: You’re right, I don’t! I don’t get it, Lucas! So look at me and tell me why the hell you did this --
Lucas: Because it doesn’t even matter!
Lucas’s outburst is fierce, his anger more volcanic than it’s been all semester. Jack found a way to light the fuse and now he’s explosive, ranting about how everything they’re all obsessing over all the time is so stupid and means absolutely nothing. Why should it matter if a set piece gets ruined, when no one cares about what the techies do anyway? Why should it matter if his friends lie, when no one is even going to remember they were here in five years because no one cares about them anyway? It’s a stupid high school show, at a stupid fucking school, where his only talent is messing everything up because he’s a nobody who was never meant to be here anyway.
Lucas: So yeah, I did it. Do whatever you’re going to do. Suspend me, kick me out for good, drop me off the catwalk! I don’t care. I don’t care, none of it fucking MATTERS!
The declaration hangs in the oppressive quiet. Because despite the words he’s saying, it’s pretty clear Lucas does care -- from the way his cheeks are flushed, the way his voice cracks, how it’s almost like he can’t breathe. And the only reason he’s able to look Jack in the eyes and basically dare him to do his worst is because that’s what he wants.
He’s searching for punishment, because he thinks he deserves it.
Eventually Lucas can’t take it anymore, shaking his head and hiding in his hands. Jack stares at him, obviously deep in thought. He’s been preaching about the swift soundness of consequences all investigation long, and finally, the time has come to deliver it...
INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT
Riley is gearing up to get ready to go, duffle bag ready on the couch. Before she grabs it, she gets a notification on her phone from Instagram. Yindra has tagged her in a series of photos, featuring throwback pictures from Les Mis and a caption encouraging people to come to opening night of Into the Woods to see the same crew pull off another insane performance.
Seeing the Les Mis photos is a true shock. It feels like a million years ago, and as she flips through them again she can’t help but ruminate on how much has changed for the worse. Maya’s tantrum aside, everyone was in much better spirits at the time. She had a tentative friendship with Charlie. She wasn’t on the rocks with the techies. In fact, there’s a particularly cute moment captured of Riley, Isadora, and Lucas in the background of one of Yindra’s photos, prompting Riley to go into her photos and take a look for herself.
It’s all too much. The pictures with Lucas, the photos taken with both her parents, when now one of them is stepping out of their home for good.
Before she knows it she’s in tears, wiping at them frantically without much success. Cory enters from the hall, asking if she’s ready to head out until he realizes what’s happening. He jogs over to join her on the couch, questioning what’s going on and trying to get her to talk to him.
Riley shakes her head wordlessly, trying to catch her breath and stop the tears. She hates crying enough in front of people, let alone her parents. But she’s hit a wall, and there’s no stopping them. She admits that this year is like freshman year all over again.
Riley: Yeah, I’m no longer the target, but no one is happy. People that should be supporting one another are at war. And now my mom is walking out of my life, and it’s like… everything is falling apart. When does it stop? [ tearfully ] I can’t do this alone.
Cory makes her look at him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He’s deeply serious as he assures her that just because Topanga is moving out of the apartment does not mean she’s disappearing. And that aside, she is not alone. She is going to get through this, and be stronger for it. But she’s not ever going to do it alone.
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “No One Is Alone” as performed by Into the Woods Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Cory Matthews & Jack Hunter (feat. Riley Matthews & Lucas James Friar)
Cory softly leads us into the first verse of the emotional heart of the musical, attempting to comfort his kind-hearted, empathetic daughter (“Mother cannot guide you, now you’re on your own / Only me beside you, still you’re not alone”). For once, Riley opts to accept the comfort, leaning into him and absorbing the sentiment for all that it’s worth.
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - NIGHT
As Jack continues to look at Lucas, something in his expression shifts. All plans and procedures go out the window as he takes on the second verse, vaguely insinuating that perhaps there isn’t such a simple solution (“Wrong things, right things / Who can say what’s true?”) It’s evident that he isn’t going to rat him out, and Lucas lifting his head to stare at him in surprise emphasizes how unprecedented it is.
It’s behind them now, but Jack’s continued words of advice serve as a warning to his wayward trouble-making technician (“You move just a finger / Say the slightest word / Something’s bound to linger, be heard / No one acts alone, careful, no one is alone”). He comes around the front of the desk and leans closer, Lucas hanging on his every word. It’s clear that he’ll protect him, but he can’t protect him against everything. He has to be careful...
Together, Jack and Cory go on with the themes about why people make mistakes, both of the moments between mentor and mentee feeling distinctly familial. And as the final chorus unfolds and Riley and Lucas quietly join in, a montage of small moments within other important bonds highlight the exact message that the song is attempting to convey.
Charlie accepts a hug from ELEANOR GARDNER as he heads out the door, wishing him the best of luck. AMBROSE GARDNER gives him a proud nod from his arm chair in the living room.
Haley, Nigel, Clarissa, Yindra, and Zay toast at Chubbie’s, enjoying a quick pre-show meal before showing up for call time.
Eric reunites with ANGELA MOORE as she shows up for opening night, giving him an enthusiastic hug in his office as Shawn watches fondly from the doorway.
The techie crew sans Lucas and Isadora is meeting for their pre-show hangout, laughing together and hyping one another up. They all give Dave a group hug, considering the production cycle he’s had.
INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT
The last of the montage moments belongs to Isadora, who gets a call from Valerie that she opts to answer. Although we don’t hear the conversation, it’s clear from the joy that takes over her features that it’s good news. She excitedly grabs Maya’s attention, sharing the news with her.
Although she’s putting on a happy face for Isadora, it’s clear something about the news stings. Maya chews her lip as Isadora gets back to the call, the believability of her enthusiasm fading.
INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT
And as the song comes to an end, we’re back with Farkle -- who is, in fact, quite alone. Behind him, Yogi and Nigel are doing a quick costume change and discussing how opening night is going so far, indicating that we’re already well into Act II. Neither of them acknowledge Farkle as they head out again, although it doesn’t seem to faze him.
INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - NIGHT
He lets out a sigh as he heads back into the dressing room hall, quiet save for the light sound from the stage leaking through the doors to the wings.
That is, until he thinks he hears something else. He listens carefully as the sound of crying becomes clearer, coming from the girls dressing room.
INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT
Maya is in there alone, attempting to stifle her tears. She keeps trying to take deep breaths and bring it back, but sometimes emotion demands to be felt.
Farkle pokes his head in, his suspicions confirmed. He debates entering for a moment, even almost turning away before he finds himself heading in anyway. Maya spots him in the mirror, letting out a huff and not bothering to reprimand him for being in the wrong dressing room. Her mind is far from that at the moment anyway.
Maya: How pathetic is it that a world famous starlet can show up on opening night for her bastard daughter, and mine can’t even skip one lousy shift at a run-down diner no one cares about? [ with a sniffle ] Maybe that’s karma.
Farkle approaches without comment, only speaking when he’s close enough that she could lash out at him and she chooses not to. Coast clear, he reaches into a pocket of his costume and retrieves a handkerchief, nodding to her.
Farkle: You’ll ruin your makeup.
Maya lets out a dry laugh, taking another deep breath. Farkle slowly reaches forward and touches up her mascara, dabbing at her tears and doing his best to fix them. It’s a surprisingly tender moment, a resounding echo of the way things used to be. And boy, does it ache.
Still, Farkle made his mistakes, and he has to live with them. Maya says as much, warning him in a murmur that this doesn’t change anything. She’s still pissed at him, and they’re not fine. He responds flatly, expressing that not once did he believe it would be any different. But he finishes helping her anyway.
Once she’s all cleaned up, her gaze lingers on him for a long beat. Then she warns him that he’s going to miss his cue, flurrying out and leaving Farkle in the dressing room. Alone once again.
He twists the handkerchief in his fingers, his starting vocals floating in…
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “No More” as performed by Into the Woods Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus (feat. Nigel Chey & Stuart Minkus)
Much like his rendition of “Javert’s Suicide” a year ago, there is a subdued melancholy that drives Farkle’s performances that cannot be understated. Wherever all his manic energy went, it’s been replaced by a powerhouse of emotion that hits at something raw.
While Nigel starts off the song with him in his role as the Narrator, about a minute in the visual shifts and suddenly it’s STUART MINKUS on stage with him. Another Farkle Minkus twist on reality, his busybody father suddenly sharing the song about exhaustion and abandonment. Truly ironic, considering the real Stuart isn’t even in the audience.
But clearly, he wishes he was. There are many things Farkle wishes were different than they are, but he’s powerless to change it. “Like father, like son.” As he gets to the final verse, Stuart is gone too, and all there is to focus on is him. Solitary, center stage, delivering one of the most wrought out and impassioned solos he’s delivered in ages.
INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - NIGHT
Jack and Eric bump into one another as they’re both searching for Harper, aiming to wish her congratulations before the show ends and they’re swarmed by everyone else. They have a somewhat awkward exchange, uncertain how to address the last time they conversed and it ended in flames.
Ultimately, Jack opts to take the high road. He states that he figures he owes Eric an apology, as he let his frustration get the best of him the other night. And, unsurprisingly, Eric’s take on the situation proved to be a little more apt than he credited him for. Eric hardly seems like he’s going to hold a grudge, giving him a bracing pat on the shoulder and warm smile as he assures him there’s no hard feelings. It hardly matters anyway, considering there’s no one to sentence.
Before Jack can confirm or deny this, Harper emerges from the hall. They both greet her in enthusiastic whispers, not aiming to disrupt the performance entering its final scenes. She really did manage to pull together an astounding show, in spite of everything that happened. A great first notch in her belt.
Harper is grateful. Eric excuses himself, allowing Jack to share his own early congratulations as well. She accepts it, then questions what ended up happening with the vandalism. Was he able to figure out the culprit (she hopes)? Although there’s a moment of hesitation, Jack informs her that unfortunately, no guilty party ever rose to the surface.
Jack: Suppose the kids were right to belittle our amateur detective agency.
Harper seems disappointed, but Jack redirects her attention and reminds her that she won’t want to miss the final number. She nods, giving him one last thanks before jogging back towards the hall. So Lucas is never outed as the vandal, leaving the crime to remain an AAA mystery for the history books… and the orchestration of our finale pulls us away...
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Finale / Children Will Listen” as performed by Into the Woods Original Broadway Cast || Performed by AAA Juniors (starting at 1:00)
We jump into the finale right as Yindra is giving her guidance from beyond, Farkle, Riley, Isadora, and Charlie gathered together at center stage and sharing their story with the new life that has entered their world. Farkle mentions each of them in his retelling to his son, the camera hanging on each moment between them.
As Maya takes over, more of the cast begins to filter onto the stage. As they reach the point of singing as a chorus, the message of the song takes on a stronger meaning as we hang on each of our main players. Focus on Charlie in the front row shifts to Zay behind him, halfway through the recitation of the lines “Careful the spell you cast, not just on children / Sometimes the spell may last past what you can see / And turn against you.”
INT. AAA - NIGHT
And the influence -- or lack thereof -- of family in their lives is paramount. Another post-show reunion with family highlights this well enough. Isadora accepts an overtly thrilled greeting from Valerie, although she remembers not to hug her and sticks to simply lauding her with congratulations. Asher and Dylan take a group selfie with their families in their all-black stage crew ensembles.
Farkle greets his siblings and mother, but the absence of Stuart looms large. Riley shares a tight hug with her mother, Cory watching bittersweetly with Auggie. Charlie chats with the full Gardner clan, Zay glancing over his shoulder towards him from where he’s standing with family across the room. Maya roams, uncertain what to do with herself.
INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - NIGHT
Lucas settles into the booth alone, sitting at the lighting booth and looking at the empty stage. He looks at the half-baked set piece, guilt more evident on his face than earlier.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT
In spite of all this, the show must go on. The episode wraps with the last minute or so of the musical, the entire ensemble coming together to repeat the final chorus until Riley whips back around to offer one more “I wish.”
Sometimes people leave you halfway through the wood,
Do not let it grieve you, no one leaves for good.
Well… we wish.
END OF EPISODE.
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VLD - Walk the Line
Notes: This is my entry for Day 1 of @keitor-universe‘s Keitor Week, the prompt for which is “Half-Galra.” Day 1 was actually two days ago. However, due to a combination of factors (which includes work, my perfectionism, and the length of this piece), I didn’t finish until just now. Hopefully this is still permissable for the event, but even if it’s not . . . well, here it is anyway.
This takes place post S4, under the headcanon (read: desperate wish) that Lotor will join the Blade of Marmora.
(AO3 link)
Idle bodies meant wandering minds, and the Blade of Marmora fortunately didn’t allow much time for either.
That wasn’t to say there was never any downtime. Everyone needed rest every now and again---everyone needed time to recover from a grueling mission, or even five minutes to find some breathing room in the midst of a ten-thousand-year war. But the Blade of Marmora had not led a resistance front against the Galra Empire for ten thousand years by idling. There was always work to be done. There were missions to go on, and intel to be collected and dissected. There were training rooms, too, that one could take advantage of if they weren’t in the middle of an assignment. There was plenty for Keith to do---plenty to keep him mind occupied, body and mind. As a new recruit who had every reason in the universe to want to prove himself to the agents who had been risking their lives for thousands of years to combat the Galra (and as someone who needed to be needed somewhere), Keith was more than willing to volunteer for any task he could get his hands on.
The primary base of the Blade of Marmora was split into several levels and wards. There were multiple observation decks that allowed the Blade of Marmora to view the expanse of space around their base to ensure that, in the event the black holes weren’t enough to keep away unwanted visitors, they could be prepared for any oncoming threats. There was the primary audience hall, as well as the Trial grounds, as well as training rooms. There were more “normal” areas as well, such as a mess hall, and of course the barracks. In addition to all of those areas, the base also had a large wing devoted to research and development, separated into different divisions. There was a division dedicated to decoding encrypted Empire transmissions (and translating other alien languages), a division dedicated to repairing and improving their ships, and a division dedicated to developing and manufacturing new weapons to ensure their armory remained well-stocked. It was to that division that Keith headed now, as a quick errand before he made his way to the tactical wing to discuss their next operation with Kolivan. The data drive in his hand contained information about a possible new source of luxite. It wasn’t guaranteed, and it was possible that what their sensors had detected as being luxite wasn’t actually the same exact metal as what their daggers and swords had been forged from. But with Daibazaal gone, any new potential source of luxite was worth investigating. Once the weapon development team had a look at the data, they would know for sure.
The weapon development division was the last room at the end of the corridor, just before the dock where their ships were worked on. Like most other rooms in the base, it locked automatically as soon as the door slid shut. Keith placed his hand against the lockpad to the right of the door; it took a prolonged second, but after a moment a white-purple glow surrounded the lockpad, and the door slid open. Keith smiled. He couldn’t say why, but it always felt a little good when the Marmorites’ technology responded to him.
The weapons development division had several rooms---workspaces---to its name. The door opened into a small little hallway, and the wall on the right cut away at the end to allow admittance to the first workspace. This room had always felt a little small to Keith. Two long workstations lined the walls to the left or right, with various tablets, monitors, and glowing keyboards spread over them. A door on the other side of the room led to a much larger workspace, but Keith had yet to venture into that room. Despite how badly his curiosity gnawed at him every time he visited, the most he’d been privy to were small glances the few times the door on the other side opened while he happened to be dropping something off. Weapons development was not his field, particularly given how new he was, but he wasn’t opposed to learning. Even if he never forged a knife or dagger himself, he’d love to have the chance to see how it was done.
If nothing else, it would be another way to keep himself occupied.
But that wasn’t important now. He had another task to concern himself with. The first workspace of the weapons development division was thankfully occupied when Keith rounded the corner at the end of the little entry hall, but although the room’s sole occupant looked up when he entered, it only took a tick for it to become apparent that he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see Keith.
The weapons development team was comprised of a small, core group of agents, led by an aged Marmorite named Pezak. Older than Kolivan by a good number of years, Pezak had what Keith always thought of as crow’s feet around his eyes, and splashes of grey in his hair. He got on well enough with the other members of his division, from what Keith knew, and Kolivan had never said anything bad about him. Yet every time Keith encountered him, he was met with a grizzly attitude that bordered on cold, and this time seemed no different. Pezak looked up when Keith entered, and though at first his eyebrows were raised and his expression looked open, the moment he saw that it was Keith who had come around the corner, his face fell in what looked like disinterest before he turned back to the tablet he had been studying. It was for all the universe like Keith wasn’t standing in the room at all.
Well, that was tough for a few reasons (not the least of which being that, since Pezak was in charge of the weapons development division, his apparent dislike of Keith meant that Keith really wasn’t going to get anywhere near the other workspaces any time soon), but it also wasn’t important. Whether Pezak wanted to ignore him or not, they both had jobs to do. Keith crossed the floor to join Pezak at the workstation, and when he was near enough, he held the data drive out for Pezak to take.
“Hey,” Keith said. “Garus asked me to bring this to you. He said they found a possible new source of luxite.”
Pezak hadn’t looked up, or even so much as twitched, when Keith crossed the room or held the data drive out to him. He didn’t turn even when Keith spoke, though the moment the words new source of luxite left Keith’s mouth, his brow pinched together in the middle, and his lips tugged down into a severe frown as he said, “That’s impossible.”
“He said they found it in an asteroid at the edge of the solar system,” Keith said. “They’re not entirely sure if it’s the exact same kind of luxite used to forge our blades, but---”
“It can’t be. Our blades were forged from luxite mined from the planet Daibazaal,” Pezak said. He still didn’t look at Keith, nor did he make any move to take the data drive. Sick of holding it (and feeling bothered in a way he couldn’t exactly name by the emphasis Pezak had placed on the word our), Keith set the drive on the workstation, next to the tablet Pezak was examining.
“I know,” Keith said, “but Garus thinks that maybe this asteroid was formed from the debris of Daibazaal. It’s not likely,” he added, as Pezak opened his mouth, “but he thinks there’s a possibility. If nothing else, maybe this metal is an offshoot of luxite that can still be used to make new weapons. It can’t hurt to look into it.”
A dark scowl crossed Pezak’s face, but it was gone before Keith could question it. Pezak sighed heavily, and though he still didn’t so much as glance in Keith’s direction, he picked up the data drive at last.
“Very well,” he said. “Tell Garus I’ll look into it.”
“I will,” Keith said. The door on the other side of the room opened, then, and another member of the weapons development team---Didrin---entered. Keith couldn’t resist standing on his tiptoes to try to steal another glance into the second workspace before the door slid shut again. “Thanks.”
“What’s going on?” Didrin asked.
Rather than answering Didrin, Pezak tilted his head toward Keith and said, “You can go.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was barely even a dismissal, and the worst part was that there was no reason for it. Keith did have somewhere to be---he had to report to Kolivan now that he had dropped off the data drive, whatever he said to Pezak about telling Garus that the luxite was being looked into---but that didn’t mean Pezak had to shoo him from the room before discussing the data drive with Didrin. It wasn’t as if Keith didn’t know what was on the drive. He was the one who had delivered it.
But there was no use in arguing it. In the short time Keith had known him, Pezak had always been like this. Even if he wasn’t, Keith did have somewhere to be. So he gave a short nod to Didrin as both a hello and goodbye, and then spun on the ball of his foot so he could head back around the corner and to the door. It was just after he placed his hand against the lockpad, and the door slid back with a faint hiss, that he heard Pezak speak to Didrin at last.
“The halfling brought this on behalf of Garus.”
Keith froze.
Didrin hissed through his teeth, as though burned by something. “Ooh, that’s not a good thing to say. What is this?”
“It’s a data drive supposedly containing intel on a new source of luxite,” Pezak said. “What’s not a good thing to say?”
Keith placed one foot on the threshold, just enough to trigger the sensor to stop the door from closing. He shouldn’t---he should leave, he didn’t need to hear this---but---
“What you said when you said who brought in this data drive,” Didrin said. “You better not let Kolivan hear you calling him that.”
“It’s what he is,” Pezak said, indignant, and Keith clenched his fists by his sides. His heart was racing; adrenaline was making every one of his nerves feel alive. “And are you telling me that ‘halfling’ is off the table now? We're not even allowed to say that anymore? What---it's not like I called him half-breed, or mongrel, or c---”
“Pezak,” Didrin hissed.
“What? I’m only speaking the truth. Anyone can tell just by looking at him---”
Didrin shushed Pezak loudly before he said, “All I’m saying is you know Kolivan has a fondness for the boy. It’s probably not the wisest idea to let these things be overheard.”
“Overheard by who? We’re the only ones here.”
“Still,” Didrin said. He sounded uncomfortable. “Just---keep it in mind, for future conversations. Don’t call him that so casually, just in case.”
Pezak heaved another suffering sigh. “Fine. Anyway, as I was saying, the hal---this data drive was delivered on behalf of Garus. Supposedly there’s an asteroid that might have metal resembling luxite, and he wants us to take a look to see . . .”
That was it. That was the end of it. Keith forced himself over the threshold, leaving the weapon development division before Pezak could finish speaking, the door sliding shut behind him. Whether Pezak or Didrin would hear the hiss of the door shutting, Keith didn’t know. He also didn’t care. He was clenching his jaw so tightly it hurt a little, and as he made his way to the tactical wing to go over their next strategy with Kolivan, he did so at a pace just under a run.
It wasn’t---at least it explained Pezak’s attitude. He knew now why Pezak was always so cold to him. It was more than he could say for the way Lance had always acted. They spent so much time together as members of the same team, and even now Keith couldn’t say why Lance had always had such a problem with him---why Lance had never seemed to like him. At least now he had a reason for Pezak. That was something. And it was better than nothing; it was better than not knowing. Even if the reason why Pezak hated him was because he was only half-Galra, something he couldn’t do anything about, at least he knew. At least now he knew.
He slammed his hand against the lockpad for the elevator. The white-purple glow was still soft and warm, but when Keith slid his hand off the pad as he waited for the elevator to descend, he curled his fingers into a fist by his side again.
There was no reason for him to be this upset. He knew that. It wasn't as if he had never experienced this before. Even before the rest of the team in the Castle learned that he was part-Galra and had reacted accordingly, it wasn't like things had always been perfect back on Earth. From the sheer number of people who pronounced his last name incorrectly (including one teacher in middle school who, no matter how many times Keith said, “It's ‘Koh-gah-nay,’” still insisted on calling him “Ko-gain” every time she wanted to get his attention), to the social workers and police officers who slowly and deliberately asked him if he spoke English, to the classmates who insisted on mockingly calling him Jackie Chan, Keith had faced his fair share of prejudice in his time. Sure, no one on Earth had known that he was part-Galra (though he imagined that their reactions probably would’ve been along the same lines as Hunk's jabs if they had), but that hadn't stopped them from looking at the fact that he was part-Japanese and ripping on that. If anything, Keith was used to the smaller aggressions, and knew well enough how to tune them out by now (or at least how to stop bothering to tell people how his last name was actually pronounced).
But he had thought it would be different here. The elevator arrived as that realization settled in his chest, and Keith swallowed hard as he boarded. When he learned that he was part-Galra, he started thinking of himself as Galra. He never really added the modifier. Allura certainly hadn't, when she had first found out, and neither had Hunk. That he was part-Galra hadn't mattered to them. In their eyes, he was as good as all Galra. He was, as Hunk had so kindly put it, “Galra Keith.” Since he was “Galra Keith” to them, Keith had figured he would be “Galra Keith” to others, too. He had figured that the Galra members of the Blade of Marmora wouldn't see him any differently, wouldn't look down on him. They would accept him, because he was one of them. He had passed the Trials, and he was Galra. That was good enough.
. . . But it wasn't.
Keith was used to it. He was more than used to it by now. He didn't fit in with the Paladins, even after they came to terms with his heritage, and as much as he might have thought otherwise, Pezak made it clear that he couldn't fit in here, either. His dad had once told him, “If you straddle a fence, you can’t say you’re in either yard.” His dad had said that to explain why a wishy-washy politician wasn’t actually supporting either of the groups he was claiming to want to help, but now Keith understand the phrase to have another meaning. He wasn't fully human, and he wasn't fully Galra. He wasn't either, so he didn't belong to either of them. Neither yard was his. Neither world was his, and it was something he had to accept---something he should have accepted, a long time ago.
The elevator came to a smooth stop, and the door slid back with a soft whoosh. This entire floor was the tactical wing, and the control room where Kolivan was waiting for him was situated dead center. Keith made his way to the door, yet though he raised his hand above the lockpad to let himself into the room, he hesitated, his hand frozen just before making contact.
No. He couldn’t go in there. Not like this.
Keith lowered his hand, balling his fingers into fists once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, and took a slow, deep breath through his nose. He was fine. He had to be fine. He couldn’t let this---any of this---get in the way. He had a job to do---a duty. They all did. And none of them---no one in the Blade of Marmora would let a personal matter like this interfere with that duty. The overall mission of winning the war was greater than any one of them, and that included him. What happened didn’t matter. How he felt about it didn’t matter. The best thing he could do was not think about it. Expressing his feelings had never helped when he was a Paladin of Voltron. There was no way it would be productive now. He had to focus on the mission. He had to get himself under control. He had to focus.
It took another few seconds (seconds wasted, seconds wasted because of something unimportant), but he finally managed to slow his heartrate, and ease the tension in his muscles. He pressed his lips in a thin line, and after taking another steadying breath, he placed his hand against the lockpad. The glow emanated from his touch, and the door slid back to allow him entry. Pezak might not have approved of him, but the technology in the base sure did.
Not that it was something he needed to think about.
The control room was large, at least in comparison to the weapons development workspaces. A massive, circular console was positioned dead center, and similarly gigantic monitors were fixed to the back wall. Kolivan, as expected, was already there. He was working with the computers in the back, his fingers skirting over the keys as he studied the Galran script splashed across the screen. Yet when the door slid open and Keith entered, Kolivan turned to look back at him. A smile flitted across his face.
“Right on time,” Kolivan said. There was a note of approval in his voice that made the knot in Keith's chest lessen just a little.
“I try to be,” Keith said.
Kolivan nodded, that same approving smile still on his lips, but his smile faded as Keith came to stand beside him. Before Keith could ask why Kolivan was suddenly frowning, his brow creased, Kolivan asked, “Is something amiss?”
For a moment, all Keith could do was gape at him. How, he wanted to ask. How had Kolivan---it hadn’t even been ten seconds. How had he---
“No,” Keith said, and he hated the way he stumbled over that word, that one, simple, easy word. He cleared his throat, and looked at the monitor Kolivan had been examining. He couldn’t read a word of what was on the screen, but that didn’t matter. It was easier to look at than Kolivan was right then. “Everything’s fine. What’ve we got?”
The silence that met his response told Keith that Kolivan didn't believe him. But that was fine; Kolivan didn't have to believe him, he just had to let the subject go. Keith wasn't going to let something as stupid as being called a name get in the way of the mission. He wasn't going to give Pezak even more of a reason to resent a halfling being among their ranks.
Thankfully, after what felt like several seconds (or maybe it was several ticks), Kolivan did as Keith wanted him to.
“There have been reports of increased Galra activity in the Alloran quadrant,” Kolivan said. He turned away from the monitors he had been examining to walk over to the circular console in the center of the room, and Keith followed. One touch to one of the diamond-shaped touchpads on the side of the console caused a hologram globe of a galaxy to flare to life atop the console, and with a gentle swipe of his finger, he turned the globe so they could examine a different side of the map, highlighted in red. “But we've noticed that the Galra ships stationed there aren't part of the main fleet.”
“Are they supply ships?” Keith asked, and his heart skipped unsteadily in his chest as he added, “Or Lotor’s?”
“They are not supply ships, and I don’t believe them to be connected to Prince Lotor, but at this point it is too early to tell,” Kolivan said. Keith’s heart sank. All this time, and there was still no lead--- “The agents we have stationed in the Alloran quadrant have reported unusual activity from the ships stationed there, however. Those reports are what I was reading when you walked in.”
Keith looked back at the screen. The Galra language, when spoken, was full of hard consonants and sharp sounds. There were vowels in there, but the words still clattered when spoken softly, and bludgeoned when shouted. When written the language was no less sharp, but something about it still looked pretty. The way the symbols sometimes curved around before ending in sharp points, like sickles, or struck out in sharp zags like lightning . . . it was the sort of thing tattoos were made of back on Earth. Sometimes Keith liked to trace the symbols with his finger, invisibly drawing them into the crook of his arm during mission briefings.
But as interesting and nice looking as the Galra script was, right now it presented a problem.
“I can’t read any of that,” he said. He hated the words the second they came out of his mouth. Though it was true, the fact that the Galra language was still alien to him was yet another thing that separated him from the rest of the Galra (the full Galra) in the base. They all had no problem reading, writing, and speaking the Galran language. Yet Keith, who was supposed to be Galra himself, couldn’t read a word, and was just left thinking that the script might make for a cool tattoo. It wasn’t like this was anything new, either---it wasn’t like his dad had ever taught him to speak, read, or write Japanese---but somehow it felt worse as he stood there, having admitted it to Kolivan, especially knowing that Didrin thought that Kolivan (unlike Pezak) actually liked him.
But if Kolivan thought less of him for not knowing the language, he didn’t show it. Instead, he hummed a little in a way that Keith, for a split second, thought sounded like a muted laugh before he said, “Then perhaps it’s time you learned.”
Keith’s head snapped up, and he stared at Kolivan with wide eyes. “What? Really?”
“Yes. Learning at least the basics of reading Galran will be crucial in the missions ahead. Learning to speak it will be even more useful in the event we need to infiltrate Empire ships again.” Kolivan strode forward to stand closer to the monitors fixed to the back wall, and looked back over his shoulder to motion for Keith to follow him. “The written script is not that difficult to learn. Come. I’ll show you.”
It wasn’t something they really had time for. They were supposed to be figuring out their next strategy. But the reports on the monitor that Kolivan wanted to assist Keith in translating were mission critical, and Kolivan had a point when he said that learning the Galran language would be beneficial for the missions ahead. Maybe Keith wasn’t Galra enough for some, but learning a language didn’t really have anything to do with that. This wasn’t about how much Galra blood he had in him. This was about learning a necessary skill for the success of the missions ahead.
Keith followed Kolivan over to the monitors along the back wall and said, “Okay. Show me.”
In the weeks that followed, the battle for Naxcela came and went, and the Blade of Marmora gained a new ally in the last person Keith would have ever dreamed of:
Lotor.
Even now, days later, he still couldn’t believe it. Part of his disbelief came from the fact that he was alive at all; he had thought he was going to die, and he had prepared himself for that. He wasn’t happy about it---who could be happy when they were about to die?---but he had accepted it. It was for the greater good. It was the right thing to do. No matter how much Matt yelled at him to stop, no matter how much Keith knew that Kolivan would have called for the mission to be aborted, Keith knew that the only right course of action was to use his ship to blast the Naxcela barrier apart so Voltron could escape. There was no logical guarantee that his plan would work, but Keith hadn’t been operating on facts and figures. In that moment, he allowed himself to run on intuition and instinct. His instinct had never steered him wrong before---his instinct had been part of what made him and Red such a good team, back when he was still her pilot. His ship would have broken through that barrier, at least enough so that Voltron could shatter it the rest of the way. It would have done the trick. He would have been atomized in the process, but the barrier would have broken and Voltron would have been saved. His life was opportunity cost. He could live (or die, he guessed) with that.
But it hadn’t come to that. At the last second, a blast from Lotor’s ship had sliced through the atmosphere and blasted a hole in the barrier. Keith, his instincts driving him before his mind had a chance to catch up, swerved his ship out of the way. The Naxcela mission was saved not because of Keith, but because of Lotor, who had arrived in the eleventh hour to request an audience with the coalition. If someone had told Keith a week ago that Lotor would seek the rebellion out, Keith wouldn’t have believed them. Even now, it still seemed too bewildering to be true.
But it was, and ever since the audience that ended with Lotor undergoing (and passing) the Trials of Marmora, Lotor seemed keen on spending time with him. This wasn’t something Keith really registered at first. He was as aware of Lotor as Lotor seemed to be of him, in that he paid rapt attention during the initial meeting Lotor had requested (and earned, with his saving throw), and was the one who had petitioned Kolivan to give Lotor a shot at the Trials in order to earn himself a place within the Blade of Marmora. Team Voltron hadn’t been willing to give him an alliance, a fact Keith felt was more frustrating than surprising, but Lotor had intel they needed. Lotor could be the key to defeating Zarkon. He was dangerous, and there was no doubt about that, but he was also intelligent and skilled. He could be a powerful ally, and Keith wasn’t about to let that possibility go to waste. If that meant Lotor had to join the Blade of Marmora, then so be it. Keith would fight to give them all that chance.
All the same, despite everything Lotor had done over the course of his presence in the war that made little to no sense (attacking Empire outposts, vanishing for a stretch of months---the list went on and on), the fact remained that he had been their enemy. As valuable an ally as he could be, Keith wasn’t about to forget that. However much others might have thought he was being too trusting, Keith wasn’t one to let his guard down. He wanted to know what Lotor knew, and he wanted to understand Lotor’s more bizarre actions, but that didn’t mean he felt Lotor was wholly trustworthy. Not yet. Lotor would have to earn that.
Yet although Keith was keenly aware of all of this, the one thing it took him a couple days to notice was the fact that Lotor wasn’t content with being the only one observed. Each morning, Lotor joined him for breakfast. Lotor joined him in the training rooms, and walked with him to meetings with Kolivan (which Lotor himself was not invited to). And each day, in the midst of all of this, Lotor would ask Keith to join him for a walk to the observation deck, or would ask him little questions about himself. The questions were always light---harmless. Things like how long he had been practicing swordsmanship for, how many different types of ships had he piloted, and if he had ever been out to the Ellium galaxy. Little, tiny, harmless questions that didn’t amount to very much in the end, but were still more than anyone had ever---or would ever---want to know about him. On the third day of this, Keith stopped dead in his tracks on the way to the ship dock to look over at Lotor, his brow furrowed.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“Doing what?” Lotor replied, his eyebrows raised.
“Following me.”
Lotor looked bemused. “We’re conversing, aren’t we? It’d be rather difficult to continue if I didn’t walk with you.”
“But why are you talking to me?” Keith asked. It struck him, then, that he had interrupted Lotor with his question, and that he couldn’t really remember what Lotor had been talking about. A bit of uncomfortable guilt settled in his shoulders, and with it a brush of confusion, because the fact that he felt guilty about potentially hurting Lotor’s feelings was . . . bizarre.
But then again, so were so many other things about Lotor. For two days and some change Lotor had been following him around, talking about all manner of things, and yet Keith still felt like there was so much he didn’t know or understand about him.
“I find you to be a compelling conversation partner,” Lotor said, without missing a beat. Keith gaped at him. “Do you not feel the same?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” Keith said, and he wanted to kick himself the moment he said it. It wasn’t that he didn’t know, per se, as much as it was that what Lotor said caught him off-guard. But far from feeling offended, Lotor’s lips curled in a wry smile. That . . . that was interesting, but not as much as--- “You like talking to me?”
“Absolutely,” Lotor answered. Once again, his answer was immediate. Keith stared at him. Lotor raised an eyebrow. “Why do you find that so difficult to believe?”
Keith blinked, then frowned, and turned to start toward the ship dock again. “I didn’t say I find it hard to believe,” he said. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Even if they’re words I’ve taken from your face?” Lotor asked. Keith clenched his fists by his sides and said nothing, and Lotor chuckled. “All right. I apologize for making assumptions. But I truly do find you to be a worthwhile conversation partner, Keith. I hope you feel the same way. I think we could be friends.”
Once again, this brought Keith to a standstill. He turned to look at Lotor, eyes wide. “Friends?”
Lotor raised his eyebrows. “Do you feel differently?”
“I . . . no. I don’t know. I---” Keith huffed a sharp sigh, and turned to start down the corridor again. “I have to go to the ship dock to help test the calibration on one of our pods.”
“I know,” Lotor said, and he sounded amused. Why did he sound amused? And why did he want to be friends? They had been enemies, and yeah, they weren’t now, but they had been. And that alone should have meant Lotor wanted nothing to do with him. Plenty of those who had been his teammates wanted nothing to do with him, so why did Lotor, after barely three days, want to be friends? “As I was saying before, I think it might be worthwhile to look into adjusting the throttle on a few of the pods. It’ll increase the noise the engines make, but by so little the increase in speed should still be worth it.”
“Yeah,” Keith said, because he didn’t know what else to say. Not right then, anyway.
But whether he said anything else or not, Lotor was unfazed. He continued to want to spend time with Keith, regardless of how many other missions, tasks, or lessons Keith had to do that separated them. The truly confusing thing was that, after about five days of spending time with Lotor, Keith himself began to feel disappointed when he had something that pulled him away from their conversations. So far Lotor hadn’t divulged anything to Keith that would be critical in ending the war against Zarkon, and to that end, a little voice in Keith’s mind whispered that he was wasting time, no better than the Paladins and their circus shows. But even if the things they talked about weren’t mission critical, Keith found that he . . . enjoyed them, nonetheless. Lotor told him little bits and pieces about places he had been in the universe, the things he had done and seen, and Keith shared some of his own stories in kind. Lotor told Keith about his generals, and Keith in turn shared his side of the story of what had happened when he had briefly teamed up with Acxa in the Weblum. Lotor gave him little bits and pieces of Galra history, and in turn, Keith sometimes shared little bits and pieces of Earth history. And on top of it all, Lotor was a good sparring partner. The other Marmorites didn’t like to spar with Keith very much (something he had a feeling had to do with how badly they had wrecked him during the Trials, especially after Nendak laughed awkwardly and said, “I don’t want to accidentally break any more of your ribs,” when Keith had asked her to train with him), leaving him with no one to train with but the base’s A.I. training programs (and that, at least, was much like life back at the Castle had been). But Lotor had no problem sparring with him. Credit where credit was due, Lotor was an excellent swordsman. Keith felt not only some satisfaction, but also a little pride the first time he knocked Lotor’s feet out from under him.
“Incredible,” Lotor said, as Keith helped him to his feet. “No one has ever been able to do that before.”
“Really?” Keith said.
“Well,” Lotor said, “Zethrid did check me across the chest once and sent me clear across the room, but considering it wasn’t a leg sweep, I’m going to go ahead and claim that it wasn’t the same thing.”
Keith couldn’t stop himself from laughing a little at that. Lotor smiled, too.
Two weeks after Lotor joined, Keith felt they had settled into a comfortable routine. Lotor had his own assignments and tasks now (mostly regarding the information he had, and how it could be utilized to better their infiltration and strike back against the Empire), but they still found time to meet up and hang out. As weird as it was to think that he was hanging out with anyone nowadays, and much less Lotor, it was enjoyable and comfortable, and so Keith didn’t want to question it. He just wanted to enjoy it.
But as much as he did like Lotor’s company, there were still times when it was difficult to find him both comfortable and enjoyable.
It wasn’t an issue with Lotor himself. If anything, Lotor carried himself with the air of one who wasn’t aware that there was anyone else in the universe other than him and the specific person (or people) he had decided to pay attention to. But as much as Lotor had so far proven himself to be a trustworthy ally, and as much as he had passed the Trials of Marmora just as fairly as Keith himself had (and, Keith had to admit, much faster and with less injury), the rest of the Marmorites didn’t seem so keen on accepting him. Keith couldn’t necessarily blame them; they had been fighting this war for thousands of years, and Lotor was Zarkon’s son. There was nothing saying that he wouldn’t turn on them at some point. He could understand why they were wary. If he was honest, even he still had some doubts.
The distrust the Blade of Marmora still harbored toward Lotor came at a price, however. When Lotor and Keith walked into the mess hall one day for a snack (Keith himself wasn’t very hungry, but he had become hooked on pechaya juice and wanted to see if there were any bottles of it available), all eyes turned on them. The mess hall was one of the larger rooms in the base; it was at least four times the size of the first weapons division workspace, and even a little bigger, Keith thought, than the control room in the tactical wing. Two rows of long tables not unlike those Keith remembered from school cafeterias back on earth occupied most of the room, and the kitchen and food areas were off to the right. When Lotor and Keith entered, everyone seated at the tables turned to look at them. Yet though Keith looked back, his eyes sweeping the tables for familiar faces (and his heart sinking unpleasantly when he saw Pezak and Didrin seated at one of the far tables, Pezak staring directly at him with narrowed eyes), Lotor didn’t notice. Instead, he headed immediately toward the right side of the room so he could peruse the produce stand, and after giving himself a mental nudge as a reminder that what others thought really didn’t matter, Keith followed.
“Hmm, this should do,” Lotor mused. He plucked a small fruit---an appomeg, Keith thought it was called---from the produce stand, turning it this way and that as he examined it. After a second, he tossed it lightly in the air before he caught it on the back of his hand, rolling it smoothly along his fingers before he turned his hand beneath it to palm it again. He looked over at Keith with a smile. “Are you going to get anything?”
“Uh, yeah,” Keith said. The way Lotor had turned his hand around the fruit had made the fruit look like it hardly moved at all. It reminded Keith a little of a trick he had seen performed in a movie a long time ago. “One sec.”
Keith jogged to the glass drink cooler on the other side of the room to retrieve his bottle of pechaya juice, and Lotor met him halfway on his way back. With nothing more than another little smile, Lotor started to lead the way through the mess hall. It wasn’t necessary; all they had was one fruit and a glass bottle of juice. They could take that anywhere, including back to Keith’s own room. They had no reason to stay there in the mess hall, especially when everyone was once again staring at them as Lotor made his way down the rows of tables.
But though Keith was keenly aware of every set of eyes on them, Lotor still didn’t seem to notice. His head was high, his shoulders back, as he strode right down the center of the rows of tables, and when he finally chose the one next to the table where Pezak and Didrin were seated, he dropped into his seat like it was a throne instead of a cafeteria chair. Without sparing one glance to all of the piercing eyes around him, Lotor tossed his appomeg up in the air once before he caught it again.
Despite how he grimaced at the table Lotor had chosen, Keith had to hand it to him. He knew how to appear cool enough to keep milk fresh.
Keith didn’t want to sit by Pezak, but he also didn’t want anyone in the room (Lotor included) to know that he didn’t want to sit by Pezak. So instead of asking Lotor to pick any one of the other empty seats around the mess hall, Keith followed him to the table and looped around to sit on the other side, right across from Lotor. By this point, most everyone in the mess hall had gone back to ignoring them; the din was rising to a comfortable volume again as everyone resumed either their conversations or their lunches. But although Keith focused on unscrewing the lid off his pechaya juice bottle, he could still feel Pezak’s eyes on them.
“You don’t eat very much, do you?” Lotor asked him. He reclined in his chair, poised in such a way that it really did look like he was sitting in an audience chamber instead of a mess hall.
Keith shrugged. “I eat enough. I had a good breakfast.”
Lotor studied him for a moment. “Hmm. I suppose.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Keith asked, and before Lotor could answer, he said, “And don’t you need anything to drink with that?”
“Appomegs are quite juicy. I find that getting a beverage with them is superfluous,” Lotor said. He held the appomeg across the table, and grinned. “Would you like a taste?”
Keith raised his eyebrow. He could feel himself smiling a little, but he felt more bemused than anything. “No thanks,” he said.
Lotor shrugged, and pulled his appomeg back to his side of the table, though he didn’t yet take a bite. “As you wish.”
Keith took a drink of his pechaya juice (and really, for all that he told himself he was bound to be sick of it soon enough, it was just so good), and as he did, he heard Pezak say in a low voice, “Can you believe that? It’s disgusting.”
“Just let it go,” Didrin said quietly.
“I’m not doing anything,” Pezak said. Keith lowered his juice back down to the table. His heart was suddenly racing, and his fingers constricted around the glass. “I’m just saying---well, it’s not really surprising. Of course their kind would stick together---”
“Just---the rosselac was really good today. You should go get some---try some. It’s really good,” Didrin said. “Here, you can have some of mine if you want it.”
“I’ve had enough to eat, thank you,” Pezak said, ignoring the tray that Didrin pushed his way. “And why are you acting like that? You can’t tell me you’re okay with---”
For all that he had made it apparent that he wasn't paying attention to anyone else in the mess hall, Lotor turned and looked directly at them, his eyebrows raised and a little smirk on his lips as he asked, “Is something the matter, gentlemen?”
“Lotor,” Keith said under his breath. Lotor ignored him, and of course he did. At the moment, his attention was focused on Pezak and Didrin. Even if he did hear Keith---and Keith was sure that he did---he wasn’t about to pry his attention away from his newest target. That just wasn’t how he worked.
Didrin’s expression went blank, even as he tried to pretend he was very interested in the rosselac on his plate, but Pezak smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“Of course not,” he said. His tone was sweet as spoiled milk. “We’re thrilled to have you here with us, Prince Lotor.”
Lotor's smile didn't fade. He placed his elbow on the table and braced his cheek against curled fingers before he asked, “Is that so?”
“Quite,” Pezak replied. “It does all our hearts good to have Zarkon’s halfling among our ranks. I’m sure you have so much to bring to the table.”
Keith bristled as the word halfling left Pezak’s lips, but as much as it bothered him, it wasn’t meant for him. Not this time. He looked to Lotor, only to find that Lotor looked unaffected, save for the way that although his lips were still curled, his eyes weren’t smiling. There was something shrewd about his expression now---something sharp. Calculating.
Didrin stuck his fork down into his rosselac. “Think that’s probably enough,” he said quietly.
“He asked,” Pezak said, and he flailed one hand in Lotor’s direction. “I’m only answering His Highness’ question.”
“Strange that you would address me by a formality, given your lack of loyalty to the Empire, your seniority over me in this organization, and your disdain for my birth,” Lotor said. His voice held the same conversational tone as before. “But it’s a curiosity I'm willing to let slide for now, in light of more interesting prospects.”
“How gracious of you,” Pezak said sarcastically.
Lotor smiled despite the sarcasm. “I’ve been told it's one of my finer qualities.”
Pezak snorted a laugh and turned back to Didrin, who muttered something Keith couldn't catch. Lotor ignored this in favor of continuing.
“The prospect I'm more interested in pursuing is whatever issue you seem to take with my presence here. It’s plain to everyone in this room that you have a problem with me, Pezak. That's a fact I’m willing to accept, but one I’d still like the opportunity to do something about. Shall we settle this matter as Galra gentlemen would? As far as I’m aware, the training room should be free for another hour.”
Both Pezak and Didrin looked over now. Lotor had not removed his eyes from Pezak’s face; there was challenge in his gaze that almost made Keith want to volunteer for the match himself.
Pezak, on the other hand, didn’t seem so eager. He stared at Lotor, a spark akin to wariness in his eyes, before he snorted and turned away.
“No thanks,” he said acidly. “I’ve more important things to do today than exchange blades with a halfling.”
At long last, it was Lotor's turn to huff a little laugh beneath his breath as he turned once more in his seat to face Keith. “I thought as much,” he said, just loudly enough to carry over to the other table.
Pezak took the bait. “Excuse me?”
“You remind me of a commander---or former commander, I should say---in my father’s military,” Lotor said. He turned back to Pezak and smirked at the sight of the outrage on Pezak's face. “From your prejudice to your cowardice, you act exactly like him. The resemblance is uncanny. I imagine you’d even get along with the ice worms at that worthless outpost of his just as well as he did.”
Pezak’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat, mongrel?”
“Hey,” Keith growled, and he stood with enough force to cause his chair to skid back across the floor. “Halfling” was bad enough, but to use the word mongrel---
But though Pezak turned to Keith at his outburst, Lotor was unfazed. “It’s an observation,” he said. “Surely a great, pure Galra such as yourself can make the distinction?”
“What I can make,” Pezak said, as he rose from his seat (and it was only now that Lotor stood as well, his hand poised to draw his blade from his belt), “is scrap after I take you---!”
“What is going on here?”
While Didrin put his face in his hands, Pezak, Lotor, and Keith all turned as Kolivan approached their tables. He hadn’t spoken very loudly, but he also didn’t need to. Once again, everyone in the mess hall was staring at them, even as a few of them pretended to be looking at their plates or tablets instead.
“Why don’t you ask your little halfling?” Pezak spat, as he waved one hand in Keith’s direction.
The reaction was immediate. Didrin took his face out of his hands only so that he could lace his fingers over the back of his neck instead, his head bowed. The mess hall had been quiet before, but it was dead silent now, and no one was pretending to read any longer. Kolivan narrowed his eyes, and it was in that moment that Pezak seemed to recognize his mistake. For the first time since the confrontation started, his eyes widened a little in what looked like alarm.
“What did you just say?” Kolivan demanded, his voice lethally quiet.
“I . . .” Pezak said, faltering, before he gathered what courage he had and sputtered, “Well, he is.”
“Pezak!” Didrin cried, and he sat back in his chair at last to throw his hands up.
“He is!” Pezak insisted, and he turned back to throw a glance Didrin’s way before he turned back to Kolivan, whose gaze (to Keith’s eyes) looked even harder. “And you know it as well as I do. I’m not saying anything wrong here, Kolivan, it’s exactly what he is, and he’s more than willing to rub elbows with those exactly like him, so who knows what other sorts of riffraff he’ll be spreading our secrets to---”
Sudden fire flashed through Keith’s veins. “I would never do that,” he snapped. The slights against his heritage, the slurs---those he could handle, however they made his stomach twist. But he wouldn’t stand for being called traitor. That was crossing a line he wasn’t willing to let Pezak walk away from.
Pezak scoffed. “Yeah,” he said, as he gestured in Lotor’s direction. “That’s very believable.”
“That’s enough,” Kolivan said coldly. Pezak shut his mouth immediately, and drew back to stand against his table. Now that he was quiet, Kolivan turned to Keith. “Keith. Please explain what happened here.”
Weeks ago, when he had first overheard Pezak calling him halfling, Keith had decided not to tell Kolivan or anyone else. It wasn’t important. Whatever names he was called, they had no bearing on the mission at hand. And if it meant that he wasn’t truly accepted---that he didn’t really belong---that was something he could accept. It was something he had to accept. In any case, it had never been in his nature to run to someone else with his problems. He wasn’t in the business of tattling on someone who hurt his feelings. He never had been, even as a child, and he wasn’t about to start now.
But this was different. He wasn’t the only one affected now. Lotor was, too. And even setting that aside, Kolivan might have used the word please, but Keith knew common courtesy when he heard it. Kolivan wasn’t making a request. Kolivan was telling Keith to report on what happened. No matter how much Keith might have wanted to keep the incident to himself, he didn’t have very much choice in the matter.
So he said, “We---Lotor and I---were having lunch.” Kolivan glanced at Lotor, who smiled benignly back as Keith continued, “Pezak had a problem with our being here, and he said so to Didrin. Lotor overheard them, so he called Pezak on it. Pezak said he was happy Lotor was here, but he was obviously lying, and he called Lotor a---halfling, so Lotor challenged him to a duel. Pezak refused, Lotor called him a coward and compared him to one of Zarkon’s commanders---”
“Former commander,” Lotor said, and there was a note of proud amusement in his voice. “I banished him to an outpost in the Ulippa system, and then my generals and I stole a teludav from said outpost. I don’t believe he holds his rank any longer.”
Keith huffed, but otherwise ignored him. “And then Pezak decided to pick a fight here in the mess hall instead of in the training room as Lotor had previously suggested, calling Lotor a . . .” Keith swallowed, and waved one hand in the air as he tried to force the word off his tongue. It took another couple of ticks, but finally he bit out, “. . . mongrel, while he was at it.”
“I see.” Kolivan stared at Keith for a second longer before he turned to Pezak. “Pezak, apologize. Now. To both of them.”
“What?” Pezak said, aghast. “Kolivan, you can’t be---”
“Did I stutter?” Kolivan said, his voice hard.
Pezak closed his mouth, his jaw clenched, and when he turned his eyes on Keith and Lotor, he did so with an expression that suggested he had just shoved an extremely sour fruit down his throat. “I’m sorry for calling you . . .” He stole another glance at Kolivan, whose expression was as glacial as it was before, before he finished, “. . . names.”
“It’s fine,” Keith said, even though it wasn’t.
“No harm done,” Lotor said, smirking, “so long as you’ve learned your lesson.”
The look Pezak gave him was as disparaging as they came, but he had no chance to say anything before Kolivan interrupted him.
“I will see to it that he has,” Kolivan said, and he turned toward the rest of the mess hall and raised his voice as he said, “The Blade of Marmora does not approve of, nor tolerate, this sort of bigotry. Those who choose to fight alongside us are valuable allies regardless of their birth. Those who have proven their worth by passing their Trials and have joined our ranks are one of us, regardless of their birth. Prejudice and discrimination are hallmarks of Zarkon’s empire. The belief that others are inferior because of their race is a belief that has allowed the Empire to oppress, subjugate, and slaughter countless millions for thousands of years. It is a belief that is not welcome here. If that is something that anyone within our organization cannot accept, then those individuals need to take it up with me. I am more than ready to explain to them exactly why their bigotry will not be tolerated here. I hope this is clear.”
A murmured assent rippled through the mess hall. Most people returned to pretending to eat, though some continued to stare avidly at the scene that had unfolded.
Kolivan turned back to Pezak. “Pezak, come with me. We are going to discuss this further.”
Pezak looked as though he wished to argue. His face was contorted in a grimace, and for a moment he opened his mouth as if to say something. A second later he closed it again, as if thinking better of it, and nodded.
“Yes, sir,” he ground out, his eyes on the floor.
“After you,” Kolivan said. He gestured for Pezak to take the exit nearest their side of the mess hall, and without lifting his eyes from the floor, Pezak spun on the ball of his foot and headed off in the direction he indicated. As Kolivan started past their table to follow after, Didrin looked up at last, his eyes wide and an anxious smile on his face.
“I---you know, I’m sorry, too, Kolivan,” Didrin said. Kolivan raised his eyebrows, and Didrin seemed to take this as a prompt to go on. “I told him not to say all that stuff out loud, out here where you and everyone else could hear, but he just---he didn’t listen---”
“You told him not to say those things in public?” Kolivan asked, and though Didrin hesitated, as though realizing his mistake, he nodded slowly. “Good to know. You can come with me as well, Didrin. It seems as if you and I also have matters to discuss.”
Didrin’s shoulders slumped, but unlike Pezak, he didn’t seem to remotely want to refuse Kolivan’s command. He pushed himself up from his seat and walked after Pezak, his head bowed. Kolivan watched him for only a moment before he turned back to Keith at last. On instinct, Keith stood a little straighter, but Kolivan’s eyes softened as he looked back to Keith.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Kolivan said quietly.
“It’s fine,” Keith said again, because the last thing he wanted was for Kolivan to have to worry about him. Kolivan had enough on his plate; they all had more than enough to focus on. This wasn’t worth Kolivan’s attention. “It’s nothing---”
“It isn’t,” Kolivan said, and Keith shut his mouth. Kolivan put his hand on Keith’s shoulder, and squeezed it gently. “If that ever happens again, please tell me.”
Keith’s throat felt suddenly choked, as if he had taken Lotor up on his earlier offer to share the appomeg, but had swallowed it whole instead of just taking a bite instead. He nodded in lieu of speaking, and Kolivan---taking that answer for what it was---gave his shoulder another bracing squeeze before he exited the mess hall after Pezak and Didrin.
Once Kolivan left, the other occupants of the mess hall slowly and clumsily began to return to whatever they had been doing before. The din---voices and clattering silverware---steadily rose, even though the sounds were clumsy and unnatural. Keith turned back to Lotor, and felt his heart jolt when he saw that Lotor was watching him. That was weird---there was no reason for him to feel so startled. They had come here together, so it was only natural that Lotor would have looked to him now that the incident had ended.
“As exciting as that was,” Lotor said, showing that he, at the very least, saw nothing startling or unnatural about their present situation at all, “I’m afraid it’s rather killed my desire to stay here. Shall we relocate? What we have here is easy enough to take on the road.”
Keith cleared his throat, and reached for the cap to his juice bottle. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Let’s go.”
They took their lunch, light as it was, to one of the unoccupied observation decks. Lotor went straight for the window when they arrived, and sat with his back in one corner, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Keith, too, sat against the window, but in the opposite corner. He stretched one leg out, but kept his other leg drawn up, his arm draped across it. They had been quiet on their way to the observation deck, Lotor for once not asking probing questions or making observations about the war or organization, and Keith similarly at a loss for what to say. But after another moment of prolonged silence, Lotor’s eyes on the stars outside of the window, Keith finally asked, “How did you manage to look so calm back there?”
Lotor didn’t look away from the window, and though his lips twitched, he didn’t smile. “I looked calm because I was calm,” he said. “Nothing Pezak said was bothersome.”
“How?” Keith asked, and when Lotor looked over with slightly raised eyebrows, he clarified, “How did that not bother you? He called you a---a---”
“Mongrel,” Lotor said, and though Keith felt something lash through him---something akin to fire and ice all at once---Lotor let the word roll of his tongue like it was nothing more than 'apple' or 'basket.' “Mongrel, cur, half-breed---I’ve heard them all before. It isn’t anything new.”
Keith turned his glare to his knees. “Still.”
“After a while, Keith, you grow desensitized. This attitude is not new, nor is it exclusive to Galra. Many Galra don’t appreciate those of us who aren’t ‘pure,’ but many non-Galra don’t appreciate those of us who are mixed with this particular race. This experience must be new for you, but given time---”
“It’s not,” Keith said, before he could help himself. He looked up to see Lotor staring at him, curiosity like fire in his eyes, and Keith looked away again. “Not totally.”
“How long have you known about your heritage?”
“Not very. I only learned recently. But . . .” He took a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say that there were some people on Earth that---they didn't know that I’m Galra, but it didn't matter. What they did know about me was enough.”
The weight of a thousand questions hung in Lotor’s silence before he finally said, “Part-Galra.”
Keith frowned, and looked back. “What?”
“You’re part-Galra, Keith,” Lotor repeated. “You and I---we're part-Galra. The universe may look down on us for it, but it isn’t something either of us should shy away from. We are part-Galra---that is an important part of the foundation of who we are as people. Rather than accept the unjust shame others try to foist upon our shoulders for it, we should instead embrace it. We are part-Galra, but that makes us no less capable of achieving our potential. It makes us no less extraordinary.” Lotor grinned, and something about his sudden smile was fierce. “I’d say it makes us more.”
If you straddle a fence, you can’t say you’re in either yard. That was what Keith’s father had said to him so many years ago. Those words had taken on a new meaning for Keith, but as Keith locked eyes with Lotor and felt his heart lift along with Lotor’s smile, he realized that there was another way to look at the situation. They were both part-Galra. Both of them had ties to either side of the fence they were placed on. But Lotor wasn’t straddling the fence. Rather than remain seated, passively accepting the stares of those in the yards on either side of him, Lotor had chosen to stand. He stood atop the fence, walked along it, and now he was offering a hand to help Keith do the same.
Keith smiled.
“Yeah,” he said, as Lotor’s smile grew. “I agree.”
(Ko-Fi)
#keitor#keitorweek2017#voltron#keith kogane#prince lotor#kolivan#marmora fam#fic fix#rosselac is an anigram of casserole (albeit missing one letter) for those curious#i literally just imagine it to be like a casserole dish#anyway kolivan's going to take pezak and didrin to task and i'm sure it'll be glorious#didrin really didn't want to be there for all that and then he went and shot himself in the foot anyway rip#but anyway i'm sorry this is late#here it is nonetheless#hopefully it's at least halfway decent orz
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Okay, so I am still hesitant about writing/posting this, but I find that it is important based on my breakdown the other day and my desire for something like that to not happen so suddenly again. Basically I am going to go through some of my viewpoints on fandom and this website and all that.
If you would like to unfollow or block me after reading this, then that is your choice (if you read it at all…it’s quite long). I ask that you do not debate me or argue with me on anything I’m about to say, simply because I am exhausted and am not in the mood to do it. (Also I tend to not trust most ‘debates’ on this website because they quickly devolve into nastiness.)
My philosophy on fandom is very “Old Fandom,” if I had to describe it using a short phrase. In other words, I am very much against policing or censoring fictional content, because in the end, it is fictional. While “fiction affects reality” is a popular gotcha phrase here, it usually does not affect reality in the way that people claim it does. It is not really a “monkey see, monkey do” situation. If that was the case, people who play violent video games, for example, would almost always be violent people. That argument was brought up when I was a child and a lot of people considered it ludicrous.
That’s not my saying that fiction can’t affect reality or doesn’t; usually it involves affecting our emotions more than anything. While things like Hollywood movies and series can have a larger impact, fandom is…small. It seems large, but it really isn’t in the grand scheme of things. The impact one person’s fanfiction can have on the world at large, whether for good or for bad, is limited at best.
Essentially what I am saying is that things are grey. Middle grounds exist that many on this website refuse to acknowledge; living in such a black-and-white world is, in my opinion, very dangerous. It makes it so that people – who are convinced they are morally pure and therefore superior – are able to justify doing things like suicide baiting and harassment. If you’re convinced that your crusade is completely morally just, then anyone standing in its way is a dirty sinner and must be punished.
The need to be morally pure might stem from self-hatred. It is a form of perfectionism, honestly. Perhaps people are convinced that they’ll be more of a “perfect” person if they only consume things that have been deemed righteous by a mob of random internet users on this or other websites. I don’t know. I’m not a psychologist, so perhaps I am guessing.
People are shades of grey. (Most people, anyway. I would never argue that there is no such thing as evil in this world, but most people we will interact with on a daily basis are grey.) We try overall to be better, but we as human beings are not perfect and never will be perfect. We might say the wrong thing or get angry with someone for something that was inconsequential or might even have a belief that is grounded in incorrect facts or upsets others. The point of humanity is to grow, however. Maybe you will learn from your mistakes; maybe that opinion you held that was upsetting to others transforms into something else because of things you learned over time.
We all have people we like and dislike. We all have personalities and opinions we are drawn to and stay away from. But the declaration of someone as evil based on what essentially amounts to very little is…troublesome. (Note: ‘Very little’ does not include political views like nazism or the like. Those are not ‘very little,’ as they affect the real political world and therefore affect policy. That is not what I am referring to right now.)
What a person likes in fiction is oftentimes unattached to their real moral code, and declaring someone as evil or scum based on the themes they like is a highly dangerous way of thinking. It doesn’t allow people to explore the darkness in their own minds through writing or drawing. It doesn’t give them outlets that might be needed to help them escape their own world, which can be dark and depressing, really.
Personally, I am a fan of very dark themes in fiction (when people ask me what my favorite anime is, for example, I immediately say Hellsing Ultimate). Psychological torture, gore, dub-con/non-con, emotional manipulation and mental abuse, self-harm through physical acts or thoughts, etc. These things, while terrible in reality (and some of which I have suffered in reality) are just things I like to explore in fiction because I find them interesting or fascinating. Whenever I think about writing self-insert/reader fics (I have never done it, but I have thought about it), they are never…nice. They are rough and fucked up because that’s what I enjoy. I know that these types of themes are triggering to many people, which is why putting warnings on your work is important, and I believe wholeheartedly in doing that as a responsibility to your fellow fandom members.
The whole black-and-white mentality can also cause weird slippery slopes which end up with people claiming things as “problematic” and therefore “evil” that actually are not a huge problem. (I hate using this argument because most of the time I find that it isn’t entirely true, but in this case I’ve seen it happening more and more.)
I’ve seen people called pedophiles for shipping an 18 year old with a 16 year old (Otabek and Yuri P.), which is essentially the equivalent of a senior and a sophomore in high school dating. Not only does this cheapen the term pedophilia – making it oftentimes hard to recognize when someone is an actual child molester versus when someone just ships something “problematic” – but it also is just so far removed from what happens in real life, where teenagers date.
I’ve seen people called Nazis because they ship two villains and enjoy their dynamic and their individual characters (Kylo Ren and General Hux). Ignoring the fact that Nazism is not even a thing in the SW fictional universe, it also is saying that if you like these types of characters for whatever reason, then you are a bad person.
It is difficult for me to process that, since I always liked villains and anti-heroes the best. Saying that enjoying villains and their dynamics is basically condoning their actions in real life is infantilizing, in a way. It is basically assuming that I cannot differentiate between what is real and what is not.
Was I so evil and trash when I was around 10 or so? When I gravitated towards characters like Vegeta and Sephiroth? Yami Bakura and Darth Vader? If I’m terrible for liking them now, was I terrible for liking them back then, too? Would people call me an abuse apologist at 12 because I shipped Yami Bakura with Ryou?
I already have problems with perfectionism and self-hatred. The idea of standing across from a young me and telling her that she is a disgusting human being and a piece of trash because of the characters she identified with and liked or the characters she wanted to see kiss…it upsets me. Because I internalize it and wonder if it is true. Because if that is the case then I was born a broken person.
I’ve always had issues with depression. It just took until adulthood to recognize it. When I was young people asked me why I was angry a lot. I never really could answer them…I just was. My perfectionism (which started in elementary school brought on by extreme competitiveness) got so bad that in high school I cried and told myself I was a stupid piece of shit because I got an 88 on an AP Calculus test. If I did not get all As all the time I was not a worthy person. Hell, I was in the top 1% of my graduating class, and I was still somewhat upset because I was not valedictorian or salutatorian. (This was all internalized; other people were allowed to fail or mess up, but I was not allowed to.) I can’t even say that my parents or my family life brought this on. It didn’t. My parents were always very supportive. They would sit me down and ask if I did my best, and if I say yes, that is all that mattered. As long as I tried, it was okay to fall down.
My brain never really accepted that lesson.
It is frustrating. I have no reason really to be depressed and anxious (I guess aside from graduate school right now) and think of myself as terrible, but that is just my brain and it has been like that for a long time.
So now to have people screaming at me that I actually am that terrible person because of the fiction I choose to consume? It is…demoralizing.
…This has ended up way longer than I originally intended it to.
(Thanks to those who actually read the whole thing. Sorry if I rambled or anything like that.)
I sort of said this, but I do have a writscrib beta access key, so I will be setting up shop over there as well. I am wondering about leaving this place altogether if that takes off (and I’m hoping it will), but I’ll keep you guys updated on that front.
My semi-hiatus might turn into more of an actual hiatus, but we’ll see. I say that a lot, and then it doesn’t seem to happen.
#allie makes posts#this is v long#once again please do not debate me on things#I'm too tired to do that#I figured I would just write this so there would be no more surprises so to say#now people know my whole stance on this#and you can do as you please with this knowledge#this got personal
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How it Started:
I sat down to write first novel without any intention of writing a novel. My head was plagued with suicidal thoughts and postpartum obsessions that made it hard to sleep at night. So I wrote. I wrote a fictional character dealing with the same shit show I was going through–being a mother to a newborn and having a brain that doesn’t work.
It turned into more than that. It turned into a fantasy-like book, unsurprisingly (because I read mostly fantasy books and have since I was six). It turned into a tale about body image, love, marriage, lust and motherhood meshed with the dark magic of a place that was a physical representation of a pain that would not stop.
When I read it back, it made me cry because it was powerful even to my own critical eyes. I knew, then, it was a book. It was a book I was ashamed of. Not because it wasn’t good. I’m actually still quite proud of how good my first novel turned out being, but because it was uncomfortably honest. It was honest in a way I was not being with those around me when I said I was fine. It was honest in a way I hadn’t been for a long time.
It was what I wanted people to know but was too ashamed to say, and it was also a little more than that-sexy, funny, strange and dark. It was a book about something important that was also kinda fun to read. For the first time in a long time I was proud of myself. I didn’t feel like a failure.
I felt like an author.
Writing a Book Does Not an Author Make:
But I wasn’t an author. No one had read the book but me. I was terrified that someone would; at the same time, I was terrified that someone wouldn’t. Again, it was pretty freaking honest, which is scary. At the same time, I thought it was something other mothers might actually like to read, might relate to. I was attending MOPS at the time and saw women, every week, struggling with the same stuff I was going through. Most of them hid it or tried to.
I decided to try to publish the book. I queried 70 agents and 50 publishers in between caring for an infant and toddler and talking myself out of suicide. I did not know, at the time, that I was bipolar, but I knew I was not normal. I never felt normal. Putting myself out there was hard. Being rejected was harder. Don’t listen to people who say you’ll get used to being rejected. You don’t. It always sucks. You just pretend it doesn’t as you go along. It hurt every time I got back a rejection. Silence hurt just as much.
Here’s a thing you should know about me, though. Rejection has never stopped me. I started watching youtube videos, reading ebook manuals, playing with designs for a cover, reading about how to format pictures and play with free editing software. I became a student of publishing. I self-published Monochrome in 2013, two years after writing it and querying it.
It was met with a thunderous silence so loud it broke my heart and my will to do much besides feel sorry for myself. I put so much into writing it, editing it, learning to format, and setting it up to be available and even some of my best friends have still not read it. It was isolating, infuriating, and, yes, made the sanity I’d stored up, the hope I’d attached to it, dissipate like a deflating balloon.
I wrote a book, but no one would read it. I didn’t feel like an author. I felt like a fraud. And I felt betrayed for a reason I couldn’t put my finger on-like I created something for the world and no one wanted it. A bit grandiose and big-headed, I’ll admit, but my feelings were what they were and I won’t be ashamed of them now, or I’ll pretend not to be.
The Beautiful and Terrifying Reader:
Gradually, people picked it up-my sisters, my mother, my friends, at first. I particularly remember my older sister saying, “It’s so good, Hannah. And I’m so glad I liked it because I was really worried about reading your book and not liking it. But I LOVE it, so I don’t have to lie to you.”
That was both funny and the exact thing I needed to hear to get past the terrifying silence. I slowly crept out from under my embarrassment shell. I started putting the book up for awards. It won the Book Readers Appreciation Medallion in 2013. In 2015, Gravity by Booktrope (a then large Indie who has since gone out of publishing) picked it up. It became a National Indie Excellence Award Finalist in 2015, and started gaining a better readership, thanks, in large part, to the community of my Gravity imprint following. I met the wonderful Rachel Thompson, who is an inspiring author herself, helped me learn how to reach more readers. I felt competent, and, yes, I felt like an author, for the first time.
I’m still pretty bad at doing the things I need to do to reach readers-blogs, newsletters, ads, utilizing social media, etc. And you really should be good at these things to reach out, if you’re indie or self or even traditionally published. Books don’t just hop into reader’s hands, they are marketed there. And I still suck at it. But I sort of do it and I sort of have a following, six years after I started.
After Gravity by Booktrope closed its doors, the amazing Julie Anderson from Feminine Collective took Monochrome on because she loved the book and believed in it. I’d like to take a minute to thank Julie for all the effort she puts into it, into me. She and Feminine Collective support me in a way I’m still not comfortable doing myself. I continually downplay my work, my efforts (which are tiring and literally keep me up at night).
Still Crazy After All These Years
I’ve now published and self-published over 10 books in the last 6 years, and it still drives me crazy. I just finished #nanowrimo for the 5th year in a row and won with a book I’m actually sort of proud of, which, by the way, is terrifying. It means I’ll hope to be read, again, and I might not be.
I am still sitting on three novels that are mostly done that I just don’t like for this or that reason. They could be put out there to read, but they won’t be because I dislike inane things about them. I am still not brave enough to let everything go. And I’m a Gryffindor to the extreme, so that’s saying something. It still scares me to let a book go because I’m afraid it will be met with silence. And silence, indifference, is scarier, to me, than a bad review, a negative comment. I say negative stuff about my own work all the time. You can’t break my heart by not liking what I wrote. But I’m driven nuts by apathy, and I’m already a bipolar, so the drive is fairly short.
I recently wrote and published the prequel to Monochrome, Fade to Blue, because my handful of fans wanted more from Ishmael, one of the main characters, and from me. It has been met with the silence that deafens me, and, yes, that breaks my heart. Some of the fans who were gunning for it, loved it, read it and made my day. I specifically let go of Fade not because I thought it was ready but because I thought people wanted it. But maybe that is not the right approach.
Gryffindors Don’t Quit
Here’s the thing: I love writing. I like creating stories and I do it whether I write them down or not. I have no shortage of ideas for my next book. I do not suffer from writer’s block (stop throwing things at me).
I DO want people to read the things I create, but I equally enjoy the process of making them. And readership was not, when I began, my goal. I have many friends who’ve given up trying to get their work out there, and I get it. It’s a very embarrassing and somewhat disappointing process.
I’ve recently been gearing myself up to release two books this year. I’ve been trying to be better about not sitting on my work and tearing it apart. To do so, I know I need to let some of my perfectionism go.
The other thing I’m going to try, in the coming years, is writing and writing some more, without the end result being readership. I know that’s backwards. Why spend months perfecting a single novel/story only to not be upset if it gets no readers? Because I DO love writing them. I will do my best to make sure people know of them, but I will not obsess. I will be happy when people get to experience my worlds, but I will not fret if my reviews don’t pour in. I will write for the love of writing because that’s where I started.
And I was happy when I started. I was happy just to write and create, and release some of my crazy in a fun to read format.
I hope readers eventually find me, but, in terms of a career, this has been a short one, a blip compared to the lives of other authors. Gryffindors don’t quit. They keep trying no matter how risky and stupid. And I am Gryffindor to the extreme.
H.M. Jones is the author of many only slightly read books. She has a facebook, a twitter and an author page. She sometimes checks them and writes about geeky things. She’s a college instructor, a mother, and, yes, an author. Her website needs to be updated. She has a newsletter that she sucks at updating.
Some of H.M.’s Books:
One Writer’s Journey: Gryffindors Don’t Quit How it Started: I sat down to write first novel without any intention of writing a novel.
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a personal confession//TW: self harm, anxiety, depression, self hatred, perfectionism, suicide//
for an outlet where i am mostly anonymous, i am still somehow terrified of what posting this here means for me. i don't know many people on this forum, yet i still feel the permanence of posting something so personal on the internet. /
i think it's time that i do. /
these images resonate with me on a personal level that i tend to keep hidden from most people. something that has become increasingly important to me over the past few years is my social media presence. this is something i really dislike about myself; i hate the focus i put on coming across as a put together, well rounded, young woman. i am afraid to post my mistakes and my fears because they make me vulnerable. i am afraid that one day new friends or new bosses will look me up online and judge me on my past (and present) flaws. this fear is something that keeps me focused on creating an image for myself on social media that is through a rose colored lens. showing my vulnerabilities is terrifying. this post is my first step toward overcoming those insecurities. /
something i am incredibly vocal and passionate about online is being true to yourself and recognizing that it is okay to have flaws. this, combined with my desire for a glossy online image, has driven me to feel like a hypocrite. i preach self love, self care, and self acceptance, but i do not practice what i preach. i am incredibly sorry that it has taken me so long to say this to all of you. /
i have always struggled with perfectionism. growing up as a gymnast, my life was always under intense scrutiny. i remember being in 8th grade when i finally began to feel the intense pressure i had grown up placing on myself. i hated going to the gym because looking at my less than perfect body in a leotard disgusted me. my friends, i thought, were all so much prettier than i was. they were thinner, stronger, more flexible, and more powerful. i had fat on my stomach, and no longer had the 6 pack i had worked so hard on for so many years. if you were to look at pictures of me from this time, you'd think i was crazy to hate my body. i was 100 pounds and worse size 00 jeans. i was the strongest girl in my grade, and could out work anyone in gym class. there was nobody that could beat me in a push-up contest, but that didn't matter to me. i still spent more time sucking in my belly at practice than i did pointing my toes. 8th grade was the first time i felt fear that was so palpable that the physical sensation of dread took over my entire body. i cried every day that year, for hours. there wasn't a practice that didn't end with me in tears. i hated failure. not preforming to my fullest potential every time i attempted a skill was devastating. i hated disappointing my coaches and my parents, but more than anyone else, i hated disappointing myself. gymnastics was my entire life, and without gymnastics, i had no purpose. when things went south in the gym, i didn't know what to do. i didn't know how to cope with such significant failure and suffocating anxiety at such a young age. /
i was in 8th grade the first time i took apart a razor and dug the blade into my skin. i was 13 the first time i cried so hard i couldn't breathe and didn't think it was ever going to stop. i was 13 the first time i felt like there was not a place for me. i was isolated by my peers at school for not being feminine enough - i was a tom boy, through and through. i didn't care about boys, makeup, or impressing anyone. i just felt like a complete and utter failure. /
my freshman year of high school, every day i had practice i would feel sick to my stomach. i could barely eat by lunchtime. i couldn’t focus in lectures because the pre practice anxiety i felt was so strong. i joined the high school gymnastics team to relieve some of the pressures of club, and i ended up feeling more alone than i ever had in my life. my so called friends at school stopped talking to me, the popular boys made fun of me, and i had no place in the gymnastics world anymore. /
by the time i was 14, i became the “strong” one. nobody knew about my devastating insecurities, and my faux happiness led everyone to believe i was doing alright. this is when i had to set aside my own thoughts and hold everyone else up. i had to be strong for everyone else. this is when i started telling myself i was stupid for feeling so sad. i didn’t have it so bad. i made things worse for myself. i told myself to just “be happy”, but there was something stirring inside of me and slowly pulling me further and further under. /
sophomore and junior year came with a whirlwind of emotions. i was forced to grow up very fast, faced with my first few real life crises that i will not be going into here. i had quit gymnastics and had been learning to exist outside of a world that had been my solace for 12 years. i had no idea where to go from there. my head got scarier and scarier, until i finally succumbed to the demons that had lived inside of me for so long. /
i was 16 when i started cutting every day. i kept this buried inside and was terrified that someone would find out my biggest secret. i was still everyone else's rock, i was still not allowed to break. i would pick up my phone to send a text talking someone off the ledge, telling someone that they deserved to be happy. telling another that they didn't deserve to slit their wrists wide open. then, i would walk into the bathroom and pull out my own razor. i felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world. i didn't think i deserved to hear the same things i told everyone else. i read suicide notes while i cut myself open, preached self love and happiness while i told myself i was stupid, lazy, ugly, and that i would never make it. i cried so hard i shook. i couldn't control the things that happened to me. /
i was also 16 when i realized i was romantically and sexually attracted to the same sex as my own. i had never been more embarrassed of myself. growing up in the catholic school system instilled a strong sense of guilt and shame in me for these thoughts i had stifled for many years prior. i had never felt like such a failure. i hit an all time low. i was in the deepest depression of my life. i stopped talking to nearly everyone, i stopped studying, stopped going to off season workouts. i stopped sleeping at night and started sleeping in class, instead. i stopped going to the cafeteria because i was afraid to face my peers. i had dreams of my own suicide, and the deaths of the few friends i had. i woke up crying more days than i could count. i felt like a black hole; i was filled with negative energy. i didn't believe i was worth anything and i never saw it getting better. but like every night, the sun rose. and things got better. i pulled myself out of the pit, kicking and screaming. but i did it. /
things were okay for awhile, until they weren’t. in college, my 8th grade anxieties resurfaced. my depression ebbed, but the pit in my stomach grew and grew. i had physiological responses to anxiety unlike anything i had ever experienced. i had anxiety about having anxiety. i was afraid to go to practice because i was afraid i would have a panic attack on the field and not be able to leave, regardless of the fact that i had never actually had a panic attack. i had anxiety about my depression coming back. i couldn't do anything without feeling like there were hands grabbing my neck, slowly suffocating me to death. /
things continued to get worse, and my sophomore year i started cutting again. i was so embarrassed. i didn't know what was wrong with me. i was never actively suicidal, but i laid in bed every day and wondered how i would tell my team i had attempted suicide. i wondered what they would say when i texted the groupme that i couldn’t make practice because i checked myself into a mental hospital. i thought about who would find me and how i would do it. i never would have, but these thoughts intruded my psyche constantly. the only way to get them out of my mind was to cut. so i did. i cut until the thoughts of suicide left. i cut to stop the anxiety from swallowing me whole. /
i tried to fix myself pill by pill. i tried to get better, but i was alone. i didn't want anyone to know about my struggles. i didn't want anyone to know that i wasn't okay, that i was so weak i needed medication. i was, and still am, so incredibly embarrassed to admit that i rely on medication every day to keep myself going. but it helped. it helped so much, in fact, that i convinced myself i didn't really need it. i decided i must be crazy. that i had made it all up. that all those thoughts in my head were nothing but attempts at getting attention, regardless of the fact that i suffered alone. rationally, i know something i keep hidden can’t be something i do for attention, but i didn’t believe that. i told myself that i must've gone on meds, deep down, to make myself look cool. so i stopped taking them. i felt so good these days that there was no way i needed them in the first place. but, like clockwork, i crashed. i stopped taking my meds and i broke down. /
i thought about cutting all the time. i had obsessive, intrusive thoughts of suicide. anytime i had obsessive thoughts or felt slightly out of the ordinary, i was convinced i was developing another mental illness. i was sure i was going crazy. i was terrified that this was it for me. that i could never be okay again. that this time it would never get better. i couldn't handle it anymore. i was so shaky with anxiety at work that i couldn't look at the knives on the tables without envisioning myself bleeding out on the floor. i started counting the ways i could steal a knife without anybody noticing. i went through the motions. then the panic settled in; i couldn't shake the thoughts they way i usually could. i spent most of my shift in the bathroom fighting off a panic attack. i knew once the tears started flowing they wouldn’t be able to stop. i tried so hard to make the thoughts go away, but nothing helped. so i cut, over and over again. i walked out of the bathroom with a smile on my face; i had finally gotten the release from the racing, horrible thoughts that i had been craving all night. nobody knew, it was my secret. again. /
every day, i post on social media about self love, self care, and the freedom to not be okay. i'm ashamed to admit that i have not lived that way for some time. i'm ashamed that i'm losing it. i don't know how to be okay. when the depression ebbs, the anxiety tells me that it will never stay away for long. when the depression swells, i go so deep under that i can't feel my blood pulse under my skin. it feels like my body is completely hollow, and i feel like i'm falling into a pit i could never climb out of. that's what brings the anxiety back. the fear that i will never come back out. that this spell is different. that this spell is the final one. that this is the spell i don't come out of. /
anxiety and depression have been with me as long as i can remember. i'm terrified of what that means for the rest of my life. i don't think i know what it's like to feel okay. i know that i don't want to be a hypocrite anymore. i want to let my flaws be visible. i want to let my walls down and show everyone that it's brave to suffer, it's brave to not give up. i want to be real. and some day, i want to get better. i don't remember a day when i felt like i could escape my mind. sometimes, i feel like my insanity is home. i don’t want to live that way anymore. /
thanks for taking the time to read this / i know it was long, but it took everything in me to say this.
#self hate#self harm#trigger warning#cutting#suicidal thoughts#fear#anxious#depressed#i want to be okay but i don't know how#confession#reflection
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September 28th-October 4th, 2019 Creator Babble Archive
The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from September 28th, 2019 to October 4th, 2019. The chat focused on the following question:
What is a part of your comic you don’t particular like right now, and how are you trying to improve it?
Kay Rose
Something in my current comic that I dont like is how my characters look inconsistent, to fix it, when im back drawing hopefully next week, I'd like to change my webtoon release time to every other week So i can spend more time making sure theyre on model, and not hurt myself again trying to get 15-20 panels done in a week like a scrub
Ash🦀
I came from a novel-writing background. Although I wanted to write for comics, of course I had to learn about the fundamentals of writing at all, but that made me too dependent on words, so... I think in the beginning, there was simply too much dialogue. I didn’t let the characters breathe because I felt I had to give people at least a rundown of the world, foreshadow future events, all the things. I wish I’d taken more time to let the characters breathe and let the art speak for itself. As I edit the second chapter, I’m taking out whatever isn’t necessary, and focusing more on the marriage of art and words, letting them work with each other. I also dislike that it took me this long to get from the “it’s almost finished” stage to the “it’s finished” stage, solely my fault. I guess I can’t say much more since it technically isn’t out yet, but the pages are all there and everything’s finished, and I’m sure I’ll learn way more about the process as I keep going.
LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)
1) Fast pacing. People have told me it’s not a problem at all, and it’s actually good to have a webcomic that doesn’t drag - but I do feel somewhat restrained by my self-inflicted chapter page count. Sometimes I have to squish some things together in (what I feel is) an awkward way. But maybe it’s just me wanting to show more??
2) Lettering! Lettering is not my forte. Typography itself was always a problem for me to get right in graphic design classes. One of the few critical messages I’ve gotten on Phantomarine is about the wide-set lettering, and it’s stuck with me. I kinda want to fix it up in the future, or hire a proper letterer. Or... hand-letter! I dunno, it’s just bothered me ever since it was pointed out...
Urbanjawdust
@Ash🦀 that is AWESOME. more power to ya!!!
DaemonDan (The Demon Archives)
Heh, the main thing I don't like right now is that I'm on hiatus XD But the biggest artistic issue I'd been having recently was my previous artist wasn't very consistent with character appearances, especially the women/girl characters. Now that I've hired a new artist, the first thing I paid him to do was to make character sheets of them, with the hope that this will let us be consistent going forward.
Deo101 (Millennium)
I think for me it's also gonna have to be fast pacing. I get so excited about moving on, and so afraid of dragging things out, that I tend to forget to linger where it's needed. Since it's been pointed out to me, I've been working on adding an extra page or 2 to really wrap up my scenes... but it's definitely a problem in my past pages.
Urbanjawdust
Does anyone struggle deciding how many pages to post per update?
I'm debuting a new series and am struggling to decide how many pages the first episode should be
Deo101 (Millennium)
Hmmm...... Personally, if I'm uploading more than one, I like to get it to a point of "kind of a little bit of a cliffhanger" every time
instead of a particular amount of pages
Kay Rose
I upload on webtoon, so I count by panels.
snuffysam
depends what kind of comic it is, how much you get onto a page, etc. like if a page doesn't have anything interesting on it, it should probably have more on it or the update should include a second page. or like if you have a comedy comic, you shouldn't cut off the page in the middle of a joke.
DaemonDan (The Demon Archives)
Also where you post it. On my own site, i post 1 page at a time. On Tapastic, I'll post a few pages per update.
AntiBunny
Probably the slow meandering pace at which the story is told. 13 years and I still haven't gotten to the point I planned. Mostly because I want fully realized characters, and they need to go through a lot to get there.
Erin/Leif & Thorn on Kickstarter
Tapas & Webtoon seem to be optimized for taller updates, but with a regular site I'd post one page/strip at a time. People who want to read in batches can still bookmark it (or add it to ComicRocket, etc) and only check in every few update.
Most of my CR bookmarks, I wait until the comic has at least 10 unread updates before catching up.
(exceptions are mostly things like xkcd where there's not continuity to keep track of)
...also, seconding the "my least favorite thing is that it's on hiatus" for But I'm A Cat Person. Combined with "my least favorite thing is that it's not finished". (One more chapter! Just the one!)
sssfrs
I honestly really like the direction "Joe Is Dead" is going right now but there are areas I could definitely improve. I need to figure out how to strike a balance between perfectionism and speed, so that I don't take too long to put out pages but so that I can still put out high quality work.
I'm also trying to work harder on characterizing characters, making their responses more individual to who they are and the kind of things they think about. When I first started writing I was putting in a lot of lines that were helpful to move the scenes along but the characters didn't have so much personal motivation to say them. I've been editing my writing over several times in an effort to really streamline the dialogue.
You can read Joe Is Dead on Tapas: https://tapas.io/series/JoeIsDead(edited)
DaeofthePast
While I'm not too fond of the colors I used in the first episode of Dating Not-So Simulation, I have to remind myself that the duller colors serve a purpose. It works for symbolizing Morgan's emotional state at the beginning of the story and it'll get more colorful as the comic goes on.
Desnik
What I don't like about http://ask-a-warlock.tumblr.com/ is that it's been a couple of years working on it and it's STILL not done!!(edited)
The Q - working on WAYFINDERS
Pacing is my biggest issue right now. The story is so huge, so I can't linger. But also a comic needs time and space to breathe. I'm trying to let the scripts flow in a natural way, but I'm nervous to see how it's going to work once we get to thumbnails!
Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS
it is going to work GREAT!
The Q - working on WAYFINDERS
Haha, well in that case... I'm excited!
#ctparchive#comics#webcomics#indie comics#comic tea party#ctp#comic chat#comic discussion#creator interview#comic creator interview#creator babble
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INTJ-A
So this morning, in an attempt to become more self aware of my strengths and weaknesses I took a few personality tests.. generally they all asked about the same things but the result was always the same. If anyone I've ever dated ran across this blog I think they'd agree this sums me up pretty well. --- As an INTJ, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you take things in primarily via your intuition. Your secondary mode is external, where you deal with things rationally and logically. INTJs live in the world of ideas and strategic planning. They value intelligence, knowledge, and competence, and typically have high standards in these regards, which they continuously strive to fulfill. To a somewhat lesser extent, they have similar expectations of others. With Introverted Intuition dominating their personality, INTJs focus their energy on observing the world, and generating ideas and possibilities. Their mind constantly gathers information and makes associations about it. They are tremendously insightful and usually are very quick to understand new ideas. However, their primary interest is not understanding a concept, but rather applying that concept in a useful way. Unlike the INTP, they do not follow an idea as far as they possibly can, seeking only to understand it fully. INTJs are driven to come to conclusions about ideas. Their need for closure and organization usually requires that they take some action. INTJ's tremendous value and need for systems and organization, combined with their natural insightfulness, makes them excellent scientists. An INTJ scientist gives a gift to society by putting their ideas into a useful form for others to follow. It is not easy for the INTJ to express their internal images, insights, and abstractions. The internal form of the INTJ's thoughts and concepts is highly individualized, and is not readily translatable into a form that others will understand. However, the INTJ is driven to translate their ideas into a plan or system that is usually readily explainable, rather than to do a direct translation of their thoughts. They usually don't see the value of a direct transaction, and will also have difficulty expressing their ideas, which are non-linear. However, their extreme respect of knowledge and intelligence will motivate them to explain themselves to another person who they feel is deserving of the effort. INTJs are natural leaders, although they usually choose to remain in the background until they see a real need to take over the lead. When they are in leadership roles, they are quite effective, because they are able to objectively see the reality of a situation, and are adaptable enough to change things which aren't working well. They are the supreme strategists - always scanning available ideas and concepts and weighing them against their current strategy, to plan for every conceivable contingency. INTJs spend a lot of time inside their own minds, and may have little interest in the other people's thoughts or feelings. Unless their Feeling side is developed, they may have problems giving other people the level of intimacy that is needed. Unless their Sensing side is developed, they may have a tendency to ignore details which are necessary for implementing their ideas. The INTJ's interest in dealing with the world is to make decisions, express judgments, and put everything that they encounter into an understandable and rational system. Consequently, they are quick to express judgments. Often they have very evolved intuitions, and are convinced that they are right about things. Unless they complement their intuitive understanding with a well-developed ability to express their insights, they may find themselves frequently misunderstood. In these cases, INTJs tend to blame misunderstandings on the limitations of the other party, rather than on their own difficulty in expressing themselves. This tendency may cause the INTJ to dismiss others input too quickly, and to become generally arrogant and elitist. INTJs are ambitious, self-confident, deliberate, long-range thinkers. Many INTJs end up in engineering or scientific pursuits, although some find enough challenge within the business world in areas which involve organizing and strategic planning. They dislike messiness and inefficiency, and anything that is muddled or unclear. They value clarity and efficiency, and will put enormous amounts of energy and time into consolidating their insights into structured patterns. Other people may have a difficult time understanding an INTJ. They may see them as aloof and reserved. Indeed, the INTJ is not overly demonstrative of their affections, and is likely to not give as much praise or positive support as others may need or desire. That doesn't mean that he or she doesn't truly have affection or regard for others, they simply do not typically feel the need to express it. Others may falsely perceive the INTJ as being rigid and set in their ways. Nothing could be further from the truth, because the INTJ is committed to always finding the objective best strategy to implement their ideas. The INTJ is usually quite open to hearing an alternative way of doing something. When under a great deal of stress, the INTJ may become obsessed with mindless repetitive, Sensate activities, such as over-drinking. They may also tend to become absorbed with minutia and details that they would not normally consider important to their overall goal. INTJs need to remember to express themselves sufficiently, so as to avoid difficulties with people misunderstandings. In the absence of properly developing their communication abilities, they may become abrupt and short with people, and isolationists. INTJs have a tremendous amount of ability to accomplish great things. They have insight into the Big Picture, and are driven to synthesize their concepts into solid plans of action. Their reasoning skills gives them the means to accomplish that. INTJs are most always highly competent people, and will not have a problem meeting their career or education goals. They have the capability to make great strides in these arenas. On a personal level, the INTJ who practices tolerances and puts effort into effectively communicating their insights to others has everything in his or her power to lead a rich and rewarding life. -- INTJ Introverted iNtuitive Thinking Judging To outsiders, INTJs may appear to project an aura of "definiteness", of self-confidence. This self-confidence, sometimes mistaken for simple arrogance by the less decisive, is actually of a very specific rather than a general nature; its source lies in the specialized knowledge systems that most INTJs start building at an early age. When it comes to their own areas of expertise -- and INTJs can have several -- they will be able to tell you almost immediately whether or not they can help you, and if so, how. INTJs know what they know, and perhaps still more importantly, they know what they don't know. INTJs are perfectionists, with a seemingly endless capacity for improving upon anything that takes their interest. What prevents them from becoming chronically bogged down in this pursuit of perfection is the pragmatism so characteristic of the type: INTJs apply (often ruthlessly) the criterion "Does it work?" to everything from their own research efforts to the prevailing social norms. This in turn produces an unusual independence of mind, freeing the INTJ from the constraints of authority, convention, or sentiment for its own sake. INTJs are known as the "Systems Builders" of the types, perhaps in part because they possess the unusual trait combination of imagination and reliability. Whatever system an INTJ happens to be working on is for them the equivalent of a moral cause to an INFJ; both perfectionism and disregard for authority may come into play, as INTJs can be unsparing of both themselves and the others on the project. Anyone considered to be "slacking," including superiors, will lose their respect -- and will generally be made aware of this; INTJs have also been known to take it upon themselves to implement critical decisions without consulting their supervisors or co-workers. On the other hand, they do tend to be scrupulous and even-handed about recognizing the individual contributions that have gone into a project, and have a gift for seizing opportunities which others might not even notice. In the broadest terms, what INTJs "do" tends to be what they "know". Typical INTJ career choices are in the sciences and engineering, but they can be found wherever a combination of intellect and incisiveness are required (e.g., law, some areas of academia). INTJs can rise to management positions when they are willing to invest time in marketing their abilities as well as enhancing them, and (whether for the sake of ambition or the desire for privacy) many also find it useful to learn to simulate some degree of surface conformism in order to mask their inherent unconventionality. Personal relationships, particularly romantic ones, can be the INTJ's Achilles heel. While they are capable of caring deeply for others (usually a select few), and are willing to spend a great deal of time and effort on a relationship, the knowledge and self-confidence that make them so successful in other areas can suddenly abandon or mislead them in interpersonal situations. This happens in part because many INTJs do not readily grasp the social rituals; for instance, they tend to have little patience and less understanding of such things as small talk and flirtation (which most types consider half the fun of a relationship). To complicate matters, INTJs are usually extremely private people, and can often be naturally impassive as well, which makes them easy to misread and misunderstand. Perhaps the most fundamental problem, however, is that INTJs really want people to make sense. :-) This sometimes results in a peculiar naivete', paralleling that of many Fs -- only instead of expecting inexhaustible affection and empathy from a romantic relationship, the INTJ will expect inexhaustible reasonability and directness. Probably the strongest INTJ assets in the interpersonal area are their intuitive abilities and their willingness to "work at" a relationship. Although as Ts they do not always have the kind of natural empathy that many Fs do, the Intuitive function can often act as a good substitute by synthesizing the probable meanings behind such things as tone of voice, turn of phrase, and facial expression. This ability can then be honed and directed by consistent, repeated efforts to understand and support those they care about, and those relationships which ultimately do become established with an INTJ tend to be characterized by their robustness, stability, and good communications. (INTJ stands for Introvert, iNtuitive, Thinking, Judging and represents individual's preferences in four dimensions characterising personality type, according to Jung's and Briggs Myers' theories of personality type.)
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