act43side

Why <i>wouldn't</i> the costume designer be on set for the run-through? I need to see if the costumes are in order.

Or what? Don't tell me you also believe that gossip the rest of the crew's been spreading?

Right, of course. There's no problem.

Moving on... Michael, your performance needs to fit the character better, or it won't come across as sincere.

The second Rockefeller's sincerity is the whole point. Without it, how can we possibly convince the audience that this is what pushes Lady Dupont to finally make her decision?

You two can take a break while we move on to the next one.

Abner?

I'm here.

We need an evocative transition into the next scene.

Gotcha. We'll go with the plan we talked about yesterday.

Also, can you stay away from that metal rack? I'm worried the screws will scratch the camera.

I can't tell if you're the winner of Wrankwood's Best Cinematography award, or the least professional cameraman in town.

Why not both?

What happened to you, man?

No need to make a fuss of it.

As Lady Dupont and the second Rockefeller's conversation fades out, the camera pans away from the balcony...

It moves down the steps, across a row of portraits and antique vases, to the front hall draped with red curtains.

The front door opens.

The sound of wind and rain trespasses into the quiet manor. The camera follows, and a black shadow enters the frame—

Mrrow~

What the hell's that black shadow?!

Is it a ghost? A prop? A hallucination? Somebody's Friedkin pet?

Do none of you idiots realize what kind of havoc an animal like this could wreak on a film set?!

Grab it, Abner! Don't let it mess with the camera rails on the ground!

With what hands? Or do you want me to smash the damned camera?

It went your way, Marion.

I don't have any free hands either! And are you prepared to take responsibility if the costumes get wrinkled? The producer would have a fit!

Someone stop it!

Mrow—

The mysterious and elegant creature darts through the set, weaving between the wires and delicate equipment laid out over the ground, its two tails moving this way and that as cries are heard up and down the crowd...

Stop painting that background and catch that thing, Tippi! And you there, the prop intern—

Her name is Moira. Moi-ra.

Forget it, Tippi.

You're, like, way too nice, Molly. You can't let people walk all over you.

Who cares? Just catch that thing!

I-It stopped.

Well, aren't you a cutie! You're even more mysterious than the monster in that horror flick I saw last night!

Mind if I use you as reference for the street scene?

Meow...

The mysterious and elegant creature settles onto the prop box, looking up at the two girls with what seems to be displeasure.

Moira cannot help but bend down and reach out to it, but as she looks into its clear blue eyes she feels her mind go blank...

The next moment, the creature has vanished from the set.

Finally...

How could you idiots let it get away from right under your noses?!

Now, now, Marion.

I'm the one you're mad at. No need to take it out on the newcomers.

You...

If you're going to argue, take it outside. Or better yet, off the plate.

After all, no one expects professionalism out there.

Greta.

Back to work, people.

I thought you'd be more upset about the shoot being delayed.

I'm not THAT harsh, Steven. Besides, her appearance on set means we're in for a wonderful surprise when it's time to shoot.

'Her'?

Wait, you mean that creature?

Who else?

She's the companion of a guest of mine... and her showing up means that he's finally made up his mind.

He'll play the Messenger who appears in the next scene.

Isn't that right...

Lucian?

...As you wish.

Miss.Christine is free. None may interfere with her intentions or actions.

I apologize on her behalf.

Hold up, we're making a last minute cast change, just for some pretty boy no one's heard of?

It's only a minor role. No need to feel threatened, my handsome leading man Michael.

And it's not out of nowhere. Greta gave me a heads-up earlier.

Fine, fine.

I'm glad you've made your decision, Lucian. Film is a very different beast from stage, so I understand why you needed to take your time thinking it over.

But that costume fits you so well. I was right to invite you. I guarantee you'll be the next big thing in Wrankwood.

I can only hope.

Well, we've delayed enough. If the actors are ready, let's get on with the run-through.

I take it you've got your lines down, Lucian?

I could recite them backwards.

Alright then... <i>The Death of Lady Dupont</i>, front hall, scene four, action.

As the second Rockefeller pours his heart out to Lady Dupont on the balcony, a young Messenger from afar pushes open the front door.

Hello.

He's welcomed by Lady Dupont's brother, who always seems to have a lot on his mind—

Oh, for God's sake—where's Sir Dupont?!

—Dalton!

Where the Hitchcock has he run off to this time? Drinking again?

Where's my coordinator? Shelly?

We're here, we're here.

Thank goodness... *pant*... I found him... I brought Dalton!

(Drunken eyes)

(Hiccups)

I realized he was missing when I took a head count at the waiting area.

I searched every food cart, self-service bar, and outdoor rest area—anywhere that might have booze... I finally found him in some bushes by the road.

Knife... I found the *hic* knife!

He said he was looking for the knife prop that the Messenger is supposed to 'kill' Sir Dupont with.

So which one of you sent a drunk to go hunt down a prop? Where's the prop master, Moira?

I-I don't know...

Fine, whatever, as long as we've got the prop.

Costume crew! Get his clothes in order!

You <i>do</i> remember what you're playing in this scene, right?

Of course... a corpse. Nobody does it better. Haha.

Pathetic.

*hic* What'd ya say?

I'm sorry, but I simply can't stand people like you.

You used to be the darling of Wrankwood when pioneer films were in their heyday. Producers were queuing up to book you.

And now you're just going to let yourself rot, like mud in a pit?