AD-1 Rehearsal Day

......

We've concluded that Dalton's death was an accident.

The medical team is taking his body back to central Wrankwood by short-haul transport. There they'll report the incident to the police.

Shelly has double-checked all the props just in case. So let's take a little break to pull ourselves together, and we'll resume shooting in the afternoon.

That soon?

Is there a problem?

Cameras and film can be replaced, but we're talking about a dead man here. We've only just wiped up the blood...

How the hell did he go looking for a prop and end up with a real knife?

Did someone trick that washed-up drunk of an actor into looking for a lost prop himself? Or did someone put it in his hands on purpose?

H-Hey now, let's not get carried away here.

Sure, the old man was a drunk and late to the set all the time, but it's not like he had any enemies in the crew. Why would anyone go that far?

Besides, it's just an ordinary knife. There are plenty of them lying around in the crew kitchen, in the convenience stores, even our own rooms...

Maybe someone just mentioned it in passing to Dalton, and then he...

All I'm saying is that it's suspicious, okay?

Then why don't you ask Dalton yourself, Miss Detective?

......

Look, I know you're all shocked at losing a coworker. I feel the same way. But there's something even more important we should be worrying about—

We don't have much time left for the shoot.

I'm sure you haven't forgotten that this studio plate is kept separate from the nomadic city.

While it's still controlled by the central command tower, the film crew gets direct authority over certain functions, allowing us to drive it outside of central Wrankwood.

And once the lease ends, the studio closes down, and the plate returns on its own.

But more space means more costs. According to the contract, extending the lease will result in an expensive penalty—

Which will be reflected in all of your paychecks.

As the producer, it's my job to act in everyone's best interests and ensure the film crew can function.

I agree.

So do I, as both the lead actress and investor.

Miss Detective here did remind me, though, that someone must indeed answer for this.

Prop Master?

Y-Yes, ma'am?

It was your responsibility to manage the props, and you've clearly neglected it. Even your intern was on set before you.

I-I'm sorry, ma'am.

Apologies won't cut it, darling.

You're fired. I suggest looking for a new job before our plate gets too far from the city... And whatever you're about to say, save it. You're getting off easy and you know it.

You're in charge of the prop team now, Moira.

M-Me?

Or you could leave with your former boss, but I trust you're smarter than that.

......

As for you, Steven, it's time to get your act together.

We both agree that The Death of Lady Dupont lacks a strong ending.

You were supposed to submit the final script for those scenes last week. The shooting is almost caught up with what's written.

I have my hands full directing, okay? This crew doesn't exactly inspire confidence, you know...

So you still haven't found the inspiration?

...Yeah.

It's your own original script, darling. Your baby. It deserves the very best ending.

That's my biggest concern as well.

In the end, which of the Rockefeller boys kills Lady Dupont? Where? How? What are her last words?

The ending will determine the quality of the whole film.

She needs a good, proper death to kickstart the revival of my career in Wrankwood.

That's the only reason I've poured my entire fortune into this project.

...God will come find me.

What?

Oh, in literary criticism we often say that inspiration is like a god descending upon the author, using him as a vessel to write about death and rebirth, destruction and hope...

Anyway, don't worry, I'll finish the story.

Good. Then you're dismissed, so get to work.

Miss Stone! Miss Stone!

I need to talk to you about something! It's important—

I know what you want to say, Shelly, but now's not the time.

I have to go check on Lucian. This is his first film, and his first day on set, and something this serious happens...

I can't have him running away on us, now can I?

As for whatever you're thinking... you're overthinking it.

......

I... I'm in charge of the whole prop team?

Omigosh, congrats, Molly!

I mean, it's a shame about Dalton—may he rest in peace—but still, I'm happy for you.

I've been working here in Wrankwood for way longer than you, but I'm still stuck doing backgrounds, while you just got the chance of a lifetime! Life really is like a box of chocolates, huh!

That's because you always put so much of yourself into your work. The art director isn't comfortable letting you handle more.

But I'm just a girl from the pioneer zone who's good with her hands and came here looking for a job. Can I really do this...?

If the producer says you can, you can! She's never wrong about people.

Your sister will be happy, won't she? You came to Wrankwood because of her, right? You gotta tell her you've been promoted to prop master!

I'll call her after we clock out. Miss Stone put her trust in me, so I have to do this right.

That's my girl! You're already sounding the part. I bet in just a few days, you won't even have time to watch horror flicks with me anymore.

Tippi!

Stop walking in front of me, Shelly!

You already checked the storyboard three times and the equipment five times. I swore to the producer that I wouldn't lose another set of cameras. Now can you stop glaring at me like that?

(Whispers) Do you think... it was really...?

What was that? Speak up.

Do you think Dalton's death was really just an accident? Doesn't it seem strange to you?

Don't know, don't care.

I've lost count of how many times I've had to work overtime because that has-been got lost in a beer keg. Good riddance.

He wasn't like that five years ago.

No shit, he was at the top of the world, starring in Greta and Steven's next big thing. How could I forget that when we were both there?

That's the weird part!

I saw a lot of familiar names on the staff list during the planning meetings. And when I saw your face, I got this eerie feeling, like—

Like we were back five years ago, witnessing that young actress's death again?

Doesn't it all seem a little... similar?

How so? One was a fall, the other was a prop mix-up.

You're overreacting, Shelly.

I'm telling you, I'm not crazy... Ah, now I remember! Dalton was the one most responsible for the accident!

Judgment has come... Someone came for him...

Just stop already! Stop scratching your arm, and stop coming up with this nonsense! I told you: if what happened still bothers you that much, get therapy and stay away from the set.

We're just ordinary joes shooting crappy movies for a living. Nobody gives a flip about us. Shelly? Do you hear me, Shelly?

I hear it... I hear it... Something's coming... coming for us...

Picture the position and angle of the stab in your mind.

Near the bottom-right of the abdomen is a gap between vital organs, rich in blood supply, but not immediately lethal. You can feed off the blood of others, and let it herald the climax that is to come.

Or, you can move the point of the knife up and penetrate the thorax.

The lungs are fragile and offer no resistance. Your target will drown in both his own blood and your animated monologue.

Raise your dagger, boy.

......

Think back to the segments we've rehearsed. You've done well. There's only one step to go.

Stab! Let the point of the knife know how it feels to stir the organs and sever blood vessels, and let it listen to the sound of the heart beating!

......

Are you afraid?

...How ordinary.

He's not afraid. He just doesn't understand.

He's still not willing to practice stabbing. He hasn't spoken a single word since he took up the dagger.

Go prepare for tomorrow's performance.

...I will instruct him myself.

I see... Understood.

Do you find the dagger heavy?

...Yes.

But its weight does not come from the metal, nor from the ornaments. It comes from your heart. Do you understand?

Whiteflower does not realize that you've learned so quickly. You're waiting for her to provide answers she cannot give you.

Listen to me, child...

Forget the techniques that Whiteflower's been trying to teach you. You have no need to imitate any form, or any method of stabbing.

There is no dagger without blood on it, no crossbow that is not fired. Just hold them.

They are not props. They will tell you what to desire.

Let them guide you. Do not doubt them, even if they point you towards someone you never expected—a friend, a lover, even yourself...

Perhaps even me, standing before you now.

You... you?

Have no hesitation. Stab.

Give it a try.

(Shakes head)

Try it.

(Shakes head)

Try it.

Then you, and I...

What roles are we playing?

If we're forgetting the techniques, then forget the characters and the script as well. They're simply the medium of theater, not theater itself.

But we're too close to each other...

Are you afraid you'll hurt me?

It's alright, child.

Forget even that feeling.

You will immerse yourself in theater, and touch upon its beauty.

......

......

Did you feel it?

This is your first lesson. All stories leave behind only certain emotions, or...

A bond so tight that it cannot be broken.

......

You're a natural actor. You should study with me.

Think about it, then come and find me... I will never be an obstacle to you, Lucian.

......

Come in.

Lucian.

Madam Stone.

You look pale... are you alright?

For our friends joining us for the first time, if you're here for exquisite Yanese calligraphy or rare Sargonian treasures, I suggest you save yourself some time and leave now.

This here is a Script Auction, unique to Wrankwood, where unfinished ideas, drafts, and their associated copyrights are up for sale.

As such, unlike traditional auctions where anything put up must have its authenticity verified, we offer no guarantees as to the value of the items—

Whether it has marketing potential or artistic value, whether it will become Wrankwood's next timeless classic or a forgotten flop...

That is for you, and you alone, to decide.

To protect the intellectual property of the items on auction, you are asked to put away your terminals and turn off any recording equipment. And without further ado, allow me to introduce the first item—

The Death of Lady Dupont, a story of love and hatred taking place in Columbia, involving two blue-blood families in changing times. Bidding starts at one hundred thousand gold certificates.

One hundred thousand. We have a bid for one hundred thousand from the gentleman in the back... One hundred and fifty thousand from the pretty young lady on my left! Anyone else?

One hundred and fifty thousand going once...

One hundred and fifty thousand going twice...

Six hundred thousand.

!

(Whispers) Miss Stone! Are you here to ruin my auction? Placing such a high bid for the first item will only make the rest of it seem like an afterthought!

I have no interest in slowly inching up the price. I simply bid what it's worth to me.

I understand that it's your style to gamble lavishly on scripts, but think of your finances... Didn't quite a few of your recent films flop? Are you sure it's wise to spend so much?

I can afford your fee. Smack that hammer of yours, old friend.

You have a rather talented young man here, and I'm eager to have a conversation with him.

Whiskey, please, no ice.

Would you like one too, my friend?

My doctor has advised me to refrain from drink.

That accent... are you from Sargon?

Interesting. That stern, sullen complexion of yours could not be more Victorian.

(Sargonian) I have tread the sands of Sargon.

(King's Victorian) But I was indeed born in Victoria.

You switch between languages at ease, and your accents are flawless. But from what I can see in your habits, those aren't the only two countries you're familiar with.

I've been to Bolívar, Siracusa, Leithanien, Rim Billiton... and now, Wrankwood.

—The entertainment capital of Terra. Pleasant weather and lots of sunshine—the perfect place to shoot movies. So what brings you here?

Research? Pleasure? Or perhaps you're like everyone else who came to seek fame and glory, most of whom end up at the extras market, fighting over bit roles to make ends meet?

I'm looking for someone.

I've tracked his shadows across many lands, over the span of many years.

Oh? Who? I know all the film crews, whether they work downtown or on the nomadic plates. Maybe I could be of help.

That won't be necessary.

I see, fair enough... What a shame though...

If there's nothing else—

My name is Greta Stone. I'm a producer here at Wrankwood... a rather well-known one in the industry, if I might add.

I took you for the son of some noble, or a film school student who came to try your luck, and was hoping to invite you to join my film crew.

Everyone who comes to the Wrankwood Script Auction tends to have a passion for artistry, and I must admit you have a rather unique aura about you.

I was once an actor for a small theater troupe in Victoria.

I knew I was right. You were born for the silver screen!

But I suppose that's all moot if you have other business to attend to. I guess I'll be going home empty-handed.

Can I see the script?

Of course!

......

This rough draft is just the starting line. I'll give it the time, manpower, and money it needs to become a masterpiece that will leave its mark on cinema history.

And I guarantee that you'll shine, even with just a minor role in a single scene.

I also wouldn't worry about your, um... little health issues. Wrankwood has special protections in place for Infected actors, so long as you pay for proper insurance—

You may call me Lucian, Madam Stone.

I will consider your proposal.

Let me apologize again, Lucian.

This is your first time working on a film, and you signed the contract after careful consideration. You deserved to experience the joy of cinema I'd promised you.

But who could have imagined such a terrible accident happening on your first film shoot in Wrankwood?

I'd understand if you need some time to process things. I'll have Shelly reschedule your next scene.

But I'm afraid there's no way to cancel your contract and leave the cast now. The plate has already moved beyond the range of short-haul transports, and won't return until the lease expires.

I'm not leaving.

And there's no need to reschedule.

Are you sure? Trauma like that could easily affect your performance, let alone your daily life.

I'm no stranger to surprises on the stage.

Performing on stage like you're used to definitely has more unpredictability than in front of a camera. Still, they're just plays.

'Plays'... perhaps.

Are you sure you don't need rest, Lucian? I wouldn't mind letting you enjoy Miss.Christine's company a while longer.

She's looking forward to the next part of the story. As am I.

Hm. You're much calmer about this than I expected... But I suppose it would be tactless of me to say anything more.

Then I'll see you on the set tomorrow.

......

Miss.Christine?

Stealth and silence are your ways of avoiding trouble. You rarely talk unless necessary.

Do my emotions taste that bad?

It's not a bad flavor. I like trying new things, even if they're not always to my taste.

What are you thinking about? That long-winded snake could not have incited such complex emotions.

One of many memories of my life in the Troupe.

The Troupe Leader saw that I was a fast learner and personally instructed me in the use of weapons.

When I held that knife in my hands, I felt exactly the same as I did that day.

Then I understand the spiciness, and the sweetness of the aftertaste.

The conflicts and struggles you experienced at the Troupe, those things humans call pain and tragedy, have been transformed into an alluring meal. I like it.

Even after killing him, I've continued to search for him.

The remaining Troupe cultists, the strange rumors in remote villages, and that ostentatious mark... Along the way, I've been trying to verify a hypothesis that has been floating in the back of my mind.

That perhaps he has come back to life.

The story that the snake is filming has quite the strange flavor, one that is most addictive.

Thank you for reminding me. While flipping through the script, I saw the twin-faced seal of the Troupe engraved in the gaps between pages.

What seems coincidence for the characters is always deliberate design of the author. Madam Stone, seemingly unrelated to the Troupe, has become our guide.

Yet I was still not certain. The riddles he left behind are mixed with lies and half-truths, as we know only too well from these past ten years.

That is, until Dalton died by my blade today, and my memories of the past were awakened by the familiar sensation...

This is an invitation from him.

I think... we've come to the right place, Miss.Christine.

Mrrow~