My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

952  Perfect Acting n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The Abandoned Realm, Scene 24B, Take 2. The clapper clapped with a click, and everything went off without a hitch.

At first anyway.

Leonardo was brooding, Remelda was bitching, and hollerin' at them both was an extremely annoyed Tressa. Simple lines and actions from a page brought to life through the magic of utter passion and skill.

Then, of course, came Terestra again, acting her part and saying her due… and it was as if she had sapped all sense of talent from everyone to ever befell her gaze like some sort of living, breathing debuff to all manner of sentient life. Leon tensed up again. He got one word out, a promising start—before he crumbled once more under the pressure. And it was three whole minutes of suffering under the director's tirade, threatening to fire the next person to slip up before we were allowed another take.

The Abandoned Realm, Scene 24B, Take 3, and Leonardo miraculously made it through his line, stammering just on the verge of barely passable. But then Terestra turned her gaze elsewhere; heavy, unreasonably chirpy eyes lingering just a little too long for comfort. There was a high, shrill squeal, and with a splash of leaves and a swirl of flowers hitting the ground, it was Amanda's turn to break character—her legs turning to jello and falling from under her. Alas, even while seething and fuming, the Director retained enough sense to know that he couldn't just sack the leading actress of the whole film. So he had to make do with hissing and muttering unintelligibly to himself on his own empty threat; lamenting the loss of another Oscar-winning take. Anyway, Take 4 had Leonardo fumbling his sword in the middle of his speech. Dropping your sword because of all the sweat that had accumulated in your palms while telling Evil Incarnated that you're unafraid of it, is a pretty weird way of telling them you're unafraid of it. Some might even call that pathetic. People like the Director for instance; the only decipherable word I could somewhat make out through garbled, rage-fueled meshes of insults. Again and again, take after take, one way or another, something and someone was bound to go wrong. Take 5, the DOP accidentally pushed a button on a camera and fuzzed up the whole image. Then take 8 had some audio issues which turned out to be a loose wire someone accidentally tugged too hard. Before the root of the problem was swiftly uncovered; Terestra was just simply too good at being Terestra… and it was really throwing everyone off their a-game. But what exactly could anyone do about that? Are we really gonna someone for doing their job to perfection? The rest of us just had to get on her level somehow—adapt—acclimatize to the Devil in black. By Take 26, everyone was standing on thin ice, transparent ice, where below we could see the enlarged, bared snarl of the Director just waiting to tear any unfortunate soul that fell through the inevitable cracks… and the camel's back finally utterly broke when Remelda accidentally referred to Tressa as Amanda instead. 16:37

By Take 26, everyone was standing on thin ice, transparent ice, where below we could see the enlarged, bared snarl of the Director just waiting to tear any unfortunate soul that fell through the inevitable cracks… and the camel's back finally utterly broke when Remelda accidentally referred to Tressa as Amanda instead. A sacrilegious act against the tenets of filmmaking, apparently. "Sorry! Sorry!" She said hastily, smiling the nervous smile of the guilty. "I forgot—I-I wasn't thinking. Um, can we go again?" But it was much too late for sorries. The Director didn't even shout, not a single word out of his violently trembling lips. He just got up from his chair, walked away and completely disappeared behind the loud slam of a metal door. Guess that means… we're taking five then? In any case, I decided to take my departure from the set for the time being, while Amanda and the rest of the staff attempted to coax the director out of an early retirement. I hadn't eaten a thing since we got here, and turned my pointy, fancy shoes towards the direction of Tyler's catering where the man himself was more than happy to provide a small mound of five-star delicacies atop a paper plate. "Things sucking shit on set sounds like," Tyler remarked, having watched the whole thing unfold behind his long satin-draped table. "All part of the process," I said, plucking up a fork and spoon. "We'll get there sooner or later. Eventually. Maybe." "Yeah, sure. You're onboard, so of course," He said with total faith. His eyes then got a little wider, a little livelier, and he hunched over closer. "By the way, dying to ask; but that lady in black over there, creepy-ass stare and smile? Been hearing people talking and like… she your mom or something?" I didn't have to look back to know who he was talking about. As if there were other creepy lady-in-blacks around, I nodded my head immediately; nothing to hide or have any reason to be in the first place. "No shit! You're shitting!" He exclaimed loudly, the table clattering as he landed both his palms on them like a pair of fleshy gavels. "You and your sis?! You're that lady's son and daughter?! Wait, no, hol' up a sec—big guy came by a little earlier too. Asked for steak. Tall, big, got muscles for days and shit. When I saw him… thought he looked kinda familiar. And now seeing you here… oh no bro, don't you even dare tell me… don't even go there…" "Big man's even bigger man, yeah," I said, nodding again. "Medium-rare steak, he requested? That's him." Tyler was laughing. It was a specific type of laugh. The one with his mouth wide open, face blushing red with fervor, but nevertheless remained completely silent. It was that kind of laughter. "Bro, you won," He said, his expression quickly morphing into one of absolute sobriety. Like, you just won life. Parents like that, you're aging like wine—you and your lil' sis. No wonder you already got chicks so down bad for you. It's… like… in your genetic code to be an absolute bombshell. For real." "You got a way with compliments, Tyler, seriously," I said. "Thanks anyway, I guess. No one's ever said that about me before."

"Oh, and, uh, one more thing," Tyler leaned even closer, nearly knocking a large platter of french fries. He lowered his voice, speaking in a whisper. "With all due respect, and I mean this with all my heart, coming from one loving son of a mother to another, I gotta tell ya… your mom's absolutely got it going on like goddamn—I'm not even kidding…" "Are you ever not attracted to every woman you see or are your hormones just forever broken?" I asked him. "Fine art is meant to be appreciated, my dude," he responded with a smile and wink. "Besides, your mom just gives off the vibe. That scary, stranger-danger vibe. Amelia's got the same thing. Know what I mean? Gonna blame me for liking my girls with a little bite?" "That's my mom you're talking about." "And I tip my hat to your dad, all the respect," He said, pumping his chest with his fist. "An absolute chad. Knows what's good. Clearly, a man of fine taste." Fine taste, huh? If it really was just because of looks alone that had my Dad abandoning his duty to save the world then I'm not sure 'Chad' would be the word I'd use. "Came all the way to see you, that right? Watch their little boy, all grown up, perform with a bunch of potential a-listers?" Tyler's eyes drifted back toward the set, the smile on his lips a little more genuine, a peculiar look in his eyes as if seeing more than what was there. "Bet they're real proud of their boy, aren't they? Hey, I'm happy for you, big man." I could tell what he was thinking about. It didn't need spelling out, it didn't need even saying. His expression conveyed everything. But no, there was no sadness, not even the smallest sliver of wistfulness. Just a guy that was simply happy for his friend.

And if there was anything truly worth respecting of a man, it was that.

"Food's getting cold," I said, taking my leave. "See you around, Tyler." He threw me a thumbs-up in return, watching me go. "You up for seconds, remember—I'm your guy." With the amount of food I got wobbling around even when taking small, careful steps, I don't think I'll make it through first let alone seconds. I certainly could try if I wanted to give the Director an aneurysm—watching his Chester waddling back on set with a hefty gut with the buttons on his shirt becoming unlicensed projectiles on top of everything else. There were a few collapsible tables scattered here and there, and I chose one close enough to the set just in case I'm ever needed for anything. But I highly doubt I would be. I also wasn't one to capitalize on this pause in schedule. Some of the crew were huddled around in their own separate groups looking absolutely demoralized and exhausted. I could catch a few of their mutters, bits and pieces, and unsurprisingly, the centerpiece of their discussion revolved around the brand-new hire. The girl in the middle thought she was nice when the cameras weren't rolling, yet the guy to her right couldn't disagree more; calling her terrifying in the most insidious way possible. And the other guy just on the right just simply said she was hot and found no need to elaborate further. All in all, seems that reception was quite a mixed bag. I thought about scooting a little closer to try and hear more, only to then notice they suddenly went completely silent. A moment later, I immediately realized why. "Mind if I join you?" Speak of the devil, and they shall appear. I don't think there would be a more fitting use of the phrase ever again than right then. Mom's kind, polite smile loomed over at me from above. In seams and streams of deep black, and especially at that angle—I almost didn't recognize her. For just a single instant, I felt my heart beat harder. Somehow, I get the feeling this won't be the last time something like that happens….