Lloyd smiled. It
would seem that I have returned.
He sat in the
director’s chair once more, albeit with a much more confident posture than last
time. He had no reason to worry or fear
this time around; even as the colorless world encased him, he felt as if he’d
entered his own personal command center rather than an altered plane. He slid his glasses up his face with one finger,
his smirk reaching critical levels of smugness; yes, this WAS his command
center, the launching point of his operations.
He would own it. Use it. Have it serve as the foundation to his empire
of breasts.
It’s finally that time. Now,
show yourself once more, Miss Walters!
Appear before me, and feel the power of my heart!
Lloyd held out a hand,
as if to invite Trixie onto the ballroom floor.
Sure enough, his lady of the evening stepped onto the stage, script in
hand. “Miss Walters! It’s a pleasure to see you once more,” he
practically sang. “Now then, I’m looking
forward to a good showing from you.
Let’s get to work, shall we?”
But Trixie merely stood
there, cocking her head like a puppy.
“Uh…sorry, but…have we met?”
“Sorry, but this is the
first time I’ve ever tried something like this -- and it’s definitely the first
time I’ve ever seen a guy with purple hair.”
She gasped, and held up a hand in apology. “S-sorry!
It ain’t like purple hair’s a bad thing!
It’s, uh, real manly!”
Lloyd didn’t need
anyone telling her that he looked good with purple. He slapped a palm against the table and
leaned forward. “Now hold on a minute!”
he yelled. “As much as I enjoy your company,
I refuse to believe that we haven’t done this dance before! Meeting in the real world, then this audition
room, then again in the real world -- are you saying that none of that
registers with you?”
“Nope. What, are ya mad?” Trixie scratched absentmindedly at her
head. “Oh man. I haven’t even auditioned yet, and things are
gettin’ outta hand. This is gonna
suck…maybe I should just get outta here.”
Lloyd shook his head
rapidly. Bad enough that he’d been
caught off guard; worse for him to lose what little advantage he had left. “I won’t allow it! You came here for a reason, and I’ll be
damned if I let you walk away without as much as a spoken word!” He nearly jumped out of his chair, and leaned
his whole upper half over the table just to point at Trixie (forgetting the
lesson that Rosco had taught him earlier).
“You want to be a star? Then you
know what you have to do! Move my heart
with your skill and power!”
Trixie held a hand over
her mouth and took a step back; for a moment, Lloyd -- just now realizing he’d
practically yelled at her through a megaphone -- thought his voice knocked her
backward. “Ya really think I can do it?”
she asked, her voice much softer than usual.
Lloyd slid back into
the chair and nodded, arms folded and fever dying down. “I do, indeed. But the one who decides who will become a
star and who will fade into obscurity isn’t some man judging you from behind a
table. It’s you. Now, stand tall and show me all your zeal!”
In spite of Lloyd’s
plea, Trixie looked less than inspired; in fact, she almost seemed ready to
hide behind one of the curtains. “I
dunno how ya can have so much faith in me.
Didn’t we just meet?”
Lloyd would have
brought up the threat of surfboard-bashing and repeated punches, but decided to
hold off.
Trixie shook her
head. “I dunno if this is gonna do any
good, but…” She looked back at Lloyd,
neither confident nor fretful. “If ya
want me to try, then I’ll give it my best shot.
Make me a star!”
Ka-WHOOSH!
Just like before, a
ball of blue gas shot out of Trixie’s chest, shrouded once more by that fishy
mask. The stars followed soon after; one
by one they appeared, and moved back into their destined orbit. But Lloyd could find no peace in seeing them
-- if anything, it was the opposite.
The stars that he’d
filled up last time had dimmed. As it
stood, Trixie only had a half-star left.
This…this does not bode well, Lloyd thought, his body chilling and
sweating at the same time. How could this be? How could I have gone back to step one? He bit his thumb. No,
it’s worse than that; she’s starting out at a lower level than before. And if she reaches that zero-star level,
then…
He shook his head and
forced a quivering smile. No need for such gloomy thoughts, Lloyd old
boy. You raised her level once
before. You can do it again. He stared fiercely at the fourth star in
line; it almost seemed to taunt him -- calling his name, and daring him to try
his best. Soon enough, I shall know victory.
As shall you, my dear.
Trixie’s eyes shifted
toward her shuffling feet. “Should I
leave now? I…I don’t think I can give ya
what yer lookin’ for.”
“Nonsense! A hot-blooded woman such as you would have no
problems impressing any given viewer!
You just need to relax. Take a
deep breath. And have faith in yourself
-- you don’t stand a chance if you think yourself a failure.”
Trixie hung her
head. “But I AM a failure.”
Lloyd clapped a hand
over his mouth. Last he checked, giving
Trixie a compliment boosted her star count; if that rule held true, then the
reverse did, too. She’s barely hanging on as is, he thought, watching as the fish
mask frowned -- it almost seemed to age twenty years in less than a
second. If I don’t watch my words, then we might have a real catastrophe to deal
with.
He stroked his chin,
watching pensively as his guest kept her eyes locked on the colorless
stage. Concentrate, Lloyd. She called
herself a “failure” just now. Use that
as a base of attack -- as evidence to boost her stars. You just need to find something a bit more
concrete, and…
Suddenly, Lloyd had a
thought. He whipped his head toward the
table, at the pages of gibberish laid before him. Sure enough, most of it remained as gibberish
-- but some of it had shifted to a pulsating red, begging for his eyes to ogle
them. Could this be the tool I need? he wondered as his eyes darted left
and right across the pages.
TRIXIE (furious): Yer
lucky yer already in the hospital -- if ya weren’t, I would’ve smacked ya over
the head with my surfboard!
TRIXIE (panicked): Oh
crap. I punched a minor! If word gets out, then I’m in some serious
trouble…that’s the last thing I need right now!
TRIXIE (despondent):
But I AM a failure.
So these pages are a record of her past dialogues with me. Fair enough.
But I doubt my mind is so weak that it can’t even remember a
conversation here and there. I wonder if
there’s something more to this… In
his pondering, he hardly noticed that he tapped a finger against one of the
lines. And just as he did…
“Oh crap. I punched a minor! If word gets out, then I’m in some serious
trouble…that’s the last thing I need right now!”
Lloyd bobbed his head
back to the stage. He remembered more
than that line; Trixie had repeated it just now with the exact same cadence as
before. Same pitch, same speed,
everything. He glanced quickly at the
page, and then tapped a finger against it once more.
“Oh crap. I punched a minor! If word gets out, then I’m in some serious
trouble…that’s the last thing I need right now!”
This time, Lloyd saw
her as well as heard her; she repeated every action, every motion she had made
back at the park’s underside. He nodded,
knowing that -- for better or worse -- he had his own personal repeat button. She’s certainly expressive when she needs to
be, I’ll give her that much, he thought.
Now then, how to proceed from
here. Maybe…yes, that could work…
“Uh, are ya doing okay
down there?” Trixie asked. “Uh…n-not
that I’m second guessin’ ya or anything.
Just, ya know, bein’ friendly.”
Lloyd nodded slowly and
offered a cool smile. “Trixie. From what I can gather, you’re at your best
when you’re not quite so nervous,” he explained. “When you’re acting at full blast without
fear of repercussions, you show off a side of yourself that’s quite
attractive.”
“Y-ya don’t mean that,
do ya?” Trixie asked, pulling back a bit.
“Yer just messin’ with me.”
“No, I’m quite
serious. I wouldn’t dream of slighting
you now.” He held a hand in the air, as
if hoping Trixie would lend him her own for a gentlemanly kiss. “It’s that passion that drives you -- the
same passion that gives you your power to move the heart, I’d wager. Given that, why be so fretful about consequences?”
“I…I don’t think I
follow ya.” She held up her script. “Should I just read my lines, or --”
Lloyd shook his head;
he could only act on instinct and theory for now, and hope for the best outcome
at the end of it all. “If you read your
lines now, I doubt it would be enough to impress me. I want you at your best, even if it means
facing you when you’re at your most violent.”
He tapped the back of his hand against the table. “Frankly, I’m used to women getting violent
with me,” he said with a weary grin.
“You could say that a part of me revels in it; seeing that passion in
action sets my heart aflutter.”
Trixie turned
aside. “Ya got some weird tastes, pal,”
she muttered. “U-uh, not that that makes
ya any less of a theater bigwig, ya know?”
“I take no
offense.” But as soon as he’d finished
speaking, Lloyd shook his head. “Or
rather, I’ll take no offense, IF you can answer a few simple questions.”
“Like what?”
“Why don’t we tackle
the question of your true identity first?”
He stroked his chin once more; crazy as he could get sometimes, he knew
how to put the pieces together -- and use them for his offense. “That accent paints you as someone from the
south -- quite firmly rooted, I suspect.
It’s no wonder you came to Porbeagle with the intention of
surfing.” He flashed a smile, letting
its glint signal his starting advance.
“Let me rephrase that. You came
to Porbeagle under the guise of surfing, not knowing any better; once you
arrived, you stuck to your claim to cover your true motive. Am I wrong?”
“Th-that’s not it at
all!” Trixie stammered, with her face flushing.
“I came here to surf, honest!”
Lloyd turned his head
upwards as he planned his next move.
“Fair enough. I’ll give you the
benefit of the doubt, based on the fact that you DO have a few aquatic traits
-- the fact that you’re still wearing that one piece of yours chief among
them. So you’ve some experience with
water, but I wonder if that has any bearing on your surfing.”
“It does.”
But Lloyd merely shook
his head. “If that’s the case, then what
sort of surfer would leave behind her surfboard -- an extension of her very
soul? And more to the point, what sort
of southern belle has ready access to waters that allow her to surf?”
“Agh -- w-well, ya see,
that’s…” Trixie’s eyes darted left and
right across the stage, searching for an answer -- maybe even that MIA
surfboard. “I-I had one, but…” She pressed her lips shut.
She says she had one. So what
happened to it? Did she lose it when she
tried to save me? No, that’s impossible;
the only way for her to have lost track of her board would be if she had been
under the Ferris wheel when it collapsed.
And beyond that, she could have used her board to ship me to safety --
in other words, she could never do something as reckless or foolish as losing
it after getting out of the water. That
can only mean one thing.
Prior to saving me, Trixie had no surfboard -- and, she was able to
save me because she was -- as the old saying goes -- “in the right place at the
right time.” If that’s the case… He peered down at the red lines.
I’ve got it!
I'm totally enjoying this. And I'm not 100% sure of certain things, but I bet it'll be a fun ride on finding out. I really like the way Lloyd talks.
ReplyDeleteGood to know, because that's the way I talk in real life...well, sometimes. It depends on whether or not I'm in a hammy mood. Which is more often than you'd expect.
ReplyDeleteAlso (obligatory desperate plea for attention incoming), feel free to tell your friends and family about the story. I'm looking to get as much input and feedback as I can to improve -- and the sooner I get more readers, the better off we'll all be. Well, the better off I'll be, at least; I imagine not many people will enjoy my impending reign of terror. Fortunately, they'll be too brainwashed to care.