I frown, staring the masked figure over with something like disdain.
“Come now: don’t look at me like that,” they scold, “The distrust in your eyes is insulting. Aren’t we having fun?” I shake my head vehemently, tied to the chair as I was. There’s a pause as they consider me before shrugging.
“Ah, well: perhaps I’m the only one having fun?” they suggest. I nod emphatically, wanting to shout at them, to fight them, to do ANYTHING except be tied to this damnable chair. They smirk, leaning forward towards me. “Then I’ll just have to make sure I have enough fun for the both of us, won’t I?” I pale, leaning back, fear creeping into the edges of my mind.
“CUT!” calls the director, and the masked figure blinks, pulling off their mask and revealing their blonde hair and youthful face.
“Huh? Why?” they ask, unconsciously leaning down and undoing the gag around my mouth.
“Ack! Thanks,” I sigh. They nod.
“Because, your mic went out during the scene: we didn’t get your lines,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. I frown.
“What the Hell?! We’re doing the most uncomfortable scene, and you lot didn’t bother to make sure his mic wouldn’t snuff if?!” I demand, anger and annoyance coming through fast and hard. Another sigh.
“We DID check it: the battery was fine before we started. We’ll switch mics and see if that helps.” I sigh heavily as the movie crew comes over, fussing over the blonde, attaching a new mic and testing it. The blonde is blushing, rubbing the back of their neck in embarrassment.
“Sorry about this,” they apologize to me as they put the gag back on. I sigh, nodding. Soon, they’ve got their mask back on, and I can see the exact moment when they get back into character.
“Alright, and action!” calls the director. My look automatically reverts to a look of equal parts disdain and fear.
“Come now: don’t look at me like that,” coos the masked blonde, “The distrust in your eyes is insulting. Aren’t we having fun?” From somewhere behind me, I can hear someone muttering.
“Tied up with THIS scene? Not likely,” comes the grumble, and I blink at the blonde, whose face and body seem to have gone rigid. I slowly shake my head, fighting back my laughter: I would NOT do another take of this damned scene! There’s a lengthy pause as they consider me.
“Ah, well: perhaps I’m the only one having fun?” they suggest. Inspired, I nod very slowly, allowing tears to escape my eyes. They smirk, and kneel down in front of me, grabbing my chin and forcing me to make eye contact.
“Then I’ll just have to make sure I have enough fun for the both of us, won’t I?” they quietly whisper, face a hairs breadth from mine.
“Cut! That was great, you two! Really good! Everyone break for lunch!” The blonde blinks, then sighs, shaking their head, undoing the gag again.
“Well, at least THAT scene’s finally over,” they sigh, now untying my arms and legs. I snicker.
“You’re telling me,” I grin. They help me stand, then smile.
“The tears were a nice touch: it really sold the fear, I think,” they smile. I laugh.
“Thanks: forcing my character to look at yours really worked well, too. It was definitely a risk, but, judging by Harry, I’d say it worked.” They laugh lightly, nodding.
“Yeah, I guess so,” they agree. They sigh, running a hand through their hair. “Can I tell you something, though?” I nod.
“Yeah, sure. What’s it?” I reply, greeted with another, heavier sigh.
“I…I’m not…I don’t really like this role,” they admit. I glance at them, then smile sympathetically.
“You never took drama in high school, did you?” I question. They shake their head in the negative, and we both grab a sandwich, me gesturing over to our chairs. I sit on mine, pulling my legs up in a cross legged position as they sit in theirs, legs touching the ground and food in their lap. After taking a bite, I clear my throat, then smile at them. “So, what is it about the role that you don’t like?” I question. They seem to struggle for a minute, before sighing and nodding.
“It’s…I don’t know. It just…I feel like I’M actually the bad guy, like I’m actually hurting you.” Here, they shake their head mulishly. “Heh. Stupid, huh?” I shake my head firmly in the negative.
“Not at all: it’s nice to know that you’ve got a conscience. ESPECIALLY given that I spend so many scenes being tortured by you. But, let me try to help: look at my wrists and mouth.” I hold them out, and obediently, the blonde does as asked. They frown.
“What am I looking for?” they question, and I nod.
“Exactly. You were so worried, you barely tied the restraints tight enough. I wasn’t hurt at all. And I’m not afraid that you’ll hurt me, OK? You may be new, but you’re talented, and seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” They beam at me, smiling warmly.
“Ah, thanks so much!” they cry, and I laugh, nodding.
“No worries. And remember: sometimes, people want the hero to lose. Sometimes, it’s the villain’s job to be the most miserable asshole alive. BUT, if that’s what you’ve got to do, you make DAMN sure that you are the BEST miserable asshole. MAKE them love you, and they’ll sympathize with you. Got it?” The blonde nods eagerly.
“Yeah, thanks! I really appreciate you teaching me all of this!” I nod, smiling amiably.
“Not at all, deary.”
J.A.S Writings 