Re: Plot Twist


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Posted by Mavra on January 15, 2001 at 01:07:39:

Poster's IP was: 207.69.120.74
In Reply to: Plot Twist posted by Drake on January 14, 2001 at 06:59:38:

: (Un)Justice System

: *******************************************************

: But there was one I'll remember for a long time, as it was the one that showed me how unpleasant Hollywood can be at times.

: In the episode in question I had a guest part as a rather outspoken attorney from another law firm, one that specialized in issues affecting so-called minorities. Said character - I forget his name - is called upon by a man accused of murder to replace the attorney he originally had to defend him, because - and here's the part I had issue with - the 'taur lawyer is a rabid anti-human. And his approach is to defend this fellow under the basis that humans… aren't worthy of living. That their inferiority, contrasted with their domination but mismanagement of the world, lead one to the conclusion that one less human was a good thing. And the end of the show had the accused declared guilty, and the centaur attorney making some sort of rabid, nihilist anti-human diatribe to the press.

: Needless to say, I just about threw a shoe when I read the script. Now, let's get a few things straight here. First, I know, it's acting. Lots of actors undertake roles that don't necessarily represent their attitudes and opinions. But this gave me some heart(s)burn - one point was, being to the best of my knowledge the only (real) centaur on TV, I felt like I had some soft of standard to live up to. Another was that the dialog was so over the top and extreme that it made me acutely uncomfortable.

: I'll freely admit, even before I made the Big Change to the hoofed mammal, I was never a big supporter of the human race. I'd always rather found them a bit disappointing. And I will also come clean about the simple fact that since being centaurized, that attitude and the feeling of separation from the two-legs had increased somewhat.

: But this was about 10 miles too far then I'd ever been willing to gallop in expressing that dismay. And somehow, in that regard this whole thing seemed to hit real close to home.

: I tried to be reasonable about the whole matter. I 'did lunch' with Butler about it, heading over to the elegant restaurant that the studio maintained in the large executive building on the lot. A nice place, and they were more than happy to accommodate me and my special space requirements.

: Yes, the service was good, the food was wonderful, and things with my nominal boss were fine for about fifteen minutes. I carefully laid out my concerns, and told him how implausible I though the role was; how volatile I found the dialogue; and my objections to the entire matter. He was very accommodating, jocular, until I got to my conclusion of '…and I'm not going to do the part'. THAT's when things got ugly.

: His flippant and gregarious manner was instantly replaced with one of sheer hostility. "OK, hooves, let's get one thing straight! I'm the executive genius here and you are the talent. I tell you what you will and won't do here, and so help me if I want a death scene where you really die, then you'll damn well do it. Your contract stipulates all that - well, not the dying part - and you'd better damn well do what you're told, or you will NEVER work in this town again!"

: Yes, he actually said that. I started to protest and he produced a copy of a contract - strange that he had it on him, awfully convenient, really - and waived it at me. "It's all right here. You have a 5 year contract where, basically, play the roles I want when I want you to play them."

: I felt a certain rising anger at this point - and snapped "Bull. Since WHEN did I sign anything like that? And look, you little bastard…." I didn't get too much farther than that; as he then threw the dense packet of legal sized papers at me. "Contract by consent, loser. The moment you started working for my production outfit you consented to all terms…"

: That was the straw that broke the centaur's back, if you will. That, and a certain growing resemblance between Butler and a certain elusive personal nemesis of mine, caused me to angrily get to my hooves and throw the table aside, causing it to crash into the wall. I grabbed him by his shoulders and jerked him into the air, lifting him over my head. Good thing the place had a high ceiling; in any normal room, I'd have cracked his head.

: I glared up at him, and lifted a hoof, then brought it down hard, and lifted it again. "I could drop you and trample you to paste, you little creep. Don't you dare call me names or insult me again, got it?" He looked at me in fear as I snorted and pawed and just generally played the part of the wild stallion. Then he smiled knowingly.

: "You'd never. You can't, Drake old horse. You're just a big softy, and you know it." I glared more, then set him down, well… dropped him on his rear, really, and stomped out.

: I did the part. I didn't have a choice, really. In my excitement to get into the business I'd overlooked the simple matter of protecting my own interests.

: The explanation was simple, really; to play the role, everytime I talked to anyone, I just saw Butler. Method acting.

********************************************************************************************

: Pastoral Sequence

: *Sigh*. I am _not_ pastel. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.
: - Drake

: Towards the end of the summer, a new project got tossed my way, one that was pretty much tailor made for me. The Studio was going to re-re-re-release the concert feature we'd done near 50 years earlier, the one that had a segment involving centaurs and other mythical (but I wasn't mythical!) creatures. Idea being, I could do some promotional appearances and such like. I was less than thrilled with the idea as it seemed to involve me being painted a pastel color, and previous experiences with this sort of thing meant endless work on combing and washing the dye out of my horsehair, mane and tail. But, other than that it wasn't too offensive so I figured, what the hay. Er, hey.

: It was in early October - not long before the one-year anniversary of Centaur Day, for me - that I found myself at the Studio for a set of test photos. I was just standing about at the pavilion in front of the Corporate building, just waiting around for the next photo set when it happened.

: Edd Allen was supervising the whole shoot. I have to admit I was a bit less than cooperative as I found the whole thing a bit boring. "I still don't understand what this is supposed to accomplish. We've already done color tests."

: "We must see how you'll look in an appropriate setting, Mr. Drach…" Ed fawned.

: "Drake," I muttered.

: "…as the whole mise en scene calls for the proper placement of you satyrs…."

: "*Centaurs*" I grumbled.

: "…in a proper, shall we say, context as it were. And we need to learn as much as we can in the terms of working with you; after all; the only other real experience anyone has in the business is with those two that showed up last year in Florida, and they never could reach those satyr's for callbacks."

: "CENTAURS" I growled, as the groom from the Equestrian Center combed at my right horse shoulder and muttered something about 'never dye a horse.' Edd went on for about 2 more minutes when the light bulb went on for ol' Drake.

: My apologies, I was a bit distracted.

: "OTHER two?" I said, and stamped a rear hoof. Then with no thought at all I galloped the short few feet up to Edd and grabbed his arm, knocking down the makeup artist and her cart, the groom chasing after me and trying to stop me as she would a horse.

: I spun him to face me. He yelped in pain, as I kind of pulled a bit hard. "WHAT other two? Two centaurs? In Orlando?"

: He shook his arm loose indignantly, and brushed off an imaginary piece of dirt off of his shirt. "Yes. Er, I think. My goodness, Mr. Drach, I was _just_ about to tell you. You are so excitable. Yes, two of your sort of... Person… showed up for a stage show based on the film, at the park in Florida. I'd have them here, except, they made a nasty mess of the show and are quite unusable for acting. In fact, the executive in charge of the project was so traumatized he was moved to hotel reservations - something not related to… ah, talent."

: *******************************************************

: And yet another new chapter...

: Hmmm... Mavra and Argon drop in at Disney World, and not a few months later, I find myself on four hooves.

: Coincidence?

: Probably. My life is full of them. :)

: --Drake

: *******************************************************

: Plot Twist
: Or: You're not going to believe this, *but*…

: The whole cast of quadrupeds, faux and bonafide alike, went to some stage that was set up like one of the scenes from *that* movie.
: - Mavra

: Let's go over this *one* more time. Centaurs are NOT pastel colored. At least, none of those *I* know. Got it?
: - Drake

: So into the newest of our studio buildings I trotted. I clip-clopped into the building, hooves clacking against the tile flooring. Into the Archives offices; they had a large area, rather like a library, what with the glass doored bookcases, oak tables, and glass cases with studio and film memorabilia.

: ******************************************************************************************************

: One: Persistence of Vision

: I'LL tell you what it means, Norm.
: - Gary Larson

: I hung up and thought about this. Basically, without Dan and his staff, I couldn't get into the Archives vault and search for any records of these Florida centaurs.

: Or could I? I supported Studio Security, as an information services centaur….

: … and the various keycard systems were tied in to the systems they had in their office…

: … and about 10 minutes later, and a quick login from Dan's assistant's PC, and a certain social security number - yes, those 'not for use as a means of identification' numbers, my card still said that - was added to the list of authorized personnel for the Archives vault. Loqu would, not long afterwards, tell me that I have a larcenous streak. I guess he's right.

: Was it right? Was I justified in doing that? Probably not. But I was so obsessed with the idea of finally finding a contemporary centaur that I felt the end justified the means, and that old Machiavelli had a pretty damn good idea there.

: So, into Dan's office I went. It's nice, but not large, and I did a lot of back up/turn/shift/forward type maneuvers to get behind his desk and at his Macintosh. I did notice as I shifted my hooves and bumped my flanks and hindquarters into things that Dan has a 1965 RCA color television. I wondered if it worked. I also wondered if crashing my hocks and thigh into it might mean that it didn't work anymore.

: While waiting I looked about. He's got a huge bookcase, crammed to the bilge with books about the company, the founder, the Studio, the theme parks.... And noticed that a new china cabinet had been installed in his office, in the corner. And, it was filled with ceramic figurines.

: Of centaurs and other equines no less.

: I looked at that cabinet for quite a bit. The figures were from that self-same 'concert film'. In fact, the figures were probably vintage 1940's, and interestingly, were not very similar to the models used in the film. Hmph. What they needed, back then, was a good live model. Hm, perhaps yours truly could fill that role. But I didn't recall a need, currently, for a remake or a sequel that had 'taurs in it.

: With his workstation ready, I fired up the database client, and searched for 'Orlando', and 'Pastoral', and 'Centaur'. But one hit in the database, catalog number 48-00908. I took note of that number, scribbling it on a scrap of notepaper. As I backed out of the office (neatly knocking over Dan's 10 year anniversary statue with a tailswish - good thing I didn't break it!), I took another look at his 'Pastoral' centaur figurine collection.

: This was getting weird. First I get put on the 'concert picture' project; then I find out about some herdmates (we _were_ herdmates in a sense, I think) that were involved with it; then Dan's on the project, and now I find out he's a centaur aficionado (maybe).

: ******************************************************************************************************

: Two: Indiana Drake and the Archives of Mystery

: What plan? I'm making this up as I go along.
: - Indiana Jones

: She's actual size, but she sure looks bigger to me.
: - They Might Be Giants

: The stair was in a reinforced - concrete stairwell; just a straight run down 1 story into the basement, no landings, twists or turns, thank goodness. It was so narrow that I could have gotten stuck.

: I then started to search for that catalogue number. I had to move slowly through the vault - it was setup with ceiling-high flat files, and metal racks, narrow walkways between them, and I could barely fit between the racks and had to slowly back out from each aisle, there was no room to turn around. At one point I got stuck, and swishing my tail in agitation, got _it_ caught in the metal frame of one of the racks. It hurt when I pulled it free and lost a few horsehairs to the rack.

: So, it took a while - it was 5:40pm or so before I found what I was looking for. Index number 48-00908, a small box.

: I stood there, in that narrow aisle, some ways back from the stairs up to the first floor. I was struck by how it was indeed like being in a pharaoh's tomb, like being Indiana Jones, searching for some long-lost secret of the ages. I opened the box, then sorted through the photos and slides inside. Within we a few color photographs and slides, and drawings.

: I looked. At first I snorted at what I saw - there were several centaurs, a stage full of them, as a matter of fact, and were _clearly_ humans in bad costumes.

: But - then I looked, and then, I saw - in the foreground on the left, side to the camera, just slightly facing away, was a centaur stallion. _Clearly_ a real stallion, white horse coat, and tall! Based on a Clydesdale, unless I missed my guess.

: And on the right, there was a centaur mare, with chestnut coat and dark hair. Again, real, not some human in a silly pastel colored costume. This centauress seemed to be of native american origins, and was dressed in a top that was inspired by the Pastoral sequence, something involving green ribbons.

: And - well, it was hard to say what was going on in this photo. Seemed as if in this shot, something had just a moment before happened with the actress standing between stallion and mare, and that the centauress was about to show her why coming between her and her stallion wasn't a very good idea. The look on her face as she watched them - it kind of showed that she was just a bit upset (OK, very upset) with whatever was going on. I wondered what happened, exactly. Oh well.....

: I glanced through the other materials in the box, as I trotted back slowly between the racks, headed for the color photocopier. I couldn't just take this picture obviously, but surely no one would deny me a copy. I got so engrossed in the contents that I walked too close to one of the racks and got a minor scrape on my flank and then my hip, leaving some horsehair caught in the rack frames there, too. I winced but was so engrossed, I kept reading and glancing at the contents. The drawings were designs for the 'taur costumes - perhaps I was too harsh in my assessments; the design was actually ingenious.

: There was, of course, no trace of the names of either of the centaurs, or for that matter of any of the humans - that isn't what these records were for, of course. But that wasn't important; and it wasn't what I came for.

: What I needed was _proof_. And now I had it. I knew of one 'taur from the war, and the 1940's; I'd found that there had been one in the jazz scene in the '50's and '60's… and now I knew, for certain, that they weren't' extinct and that I had contemporaries, and that I wasn't a freak.

: I felt excited, as I'd finally found evidence that I had peers.

: Now, of course, if I'd been aware then that I would one day actually speak these two centaurs, and come to know these two as friends, well! The sheer irony of it all probably would have caused me to have a heart - ah, hearts? - attack.

: As it was, I didn't look at the dates on the photo or the slides. If I'd seen then that two centaurs had been at our Orlando park a matter of a few months before I'd turned centaur, I think I would have fainted dead away right there in the vault, and that wouldn't have been good. I'd have gotten stuck in those narrow aisles for certain.

: ********************************************************************************************

: Three: Dark Ride

: *E-Ticket* attraction, kiddies!
: - 'Night of the Comet'

: Up out of the graveyard. On the way out, I remembered that I had left Dan's Mac running. I realized that I'd better shut it down.

: I trotted back into his office, once again wedging myself behind his desk. As I did I backed my rump into a bookcase and knocked over two Emmy's that were on the top shelf, ouch, oops again and darn it!

: It was a bit late by then, so I cantered over to the parking structure on the south side of the Studio. The van garage was there and I had taken to going there and catching a ride home; I may have mentioned that at this stage I had my own van that was modified slightly to accommodate a big, near 1 ton centaur.

: I opened the door, and trotted in, ducking under the low (for a centaur) doorway. As usual, the fluorescents down here weren't working so well - this was a habitually neglected part of the Studio - and it was a bit dark.

: I didn't see the driver, so I thought he'd gone off for a coffee - I was pretty late - so I shrugged and trotted around to the back of the van, where the modified door was -

: And found I was anything but alone. Behind the van were six people. And what was remarkable about them was that, except for the strange and eerie manner in which they stood about the van and did nothing, they weren't remarkable at all. They were six completely forgettable, normal looking humans.

: As I rounded the van, every one in the group turned to face me, rather like a dinner party turns in unison to look when the guest of honor arrives. Or when the main dish is served.

: Cheerful thought.

: I came to a dead stop, sudden silence descending as my clattering hoofsteps halted. I just stood there, staring at these intruders, only the twitching hide on my horse hindquarters betraying how I felt.

: Looking at them I noticed some interesting details. One man had his hand on and gripping tight at the base of the neck of one of the two women. She looked rather like my father's cat did, when you grabbed him by the scruff of the neck - froze up, but somehow, didn't look distressed in the least.

: I started to speak. I must admit, I don't remember to well what it was that I was going to say; I hardly made a sound when something sharp and painful stabbed into my flank, just ahead of my hip. I was so startled that what _did_ come out was a sort of whinny.

: The next few moments are a bit indistinct. I kicked hard with both rear hooves at one of the men, and missed; I took a wide swing and struck another with my fist, knocking him to the ground senseless. I think. After a few more wild kicks and bucks, my imitation of a rodeo bronco, I just sort of crashed and fell to the ground.

: My four legs just sort of folded up and I rolled onto my side, and felt sick, and disoriented, and dizzy; and began to wonder if the whole of the last few months had been but a fevered dream. That I was still lying paralyzed across the front seats of my car at the side of a California interstate on an unseasonably hot October afternoon, and had merely engaged in a wild gallop of the imagination, a flight of fancy in which I'd been a centaur.

: I just sort of lay on the cold concrete for a few moments, mind in a fog as whatever it was I'd been shot full of worked its way lazily through my system. I was dimly aware of five figures looking down at me expectantly, and a sixth walking up to stand in front of my face. A rifle butt was just in the field of view. Was it the man I struck? Shoot, I hope I hadn't hurt him. I mean he was just standing there.

: I managed to roll over a bit and look up, forehooves flailing as I did. The man that stood before me looked down from a height of 5 foot 11 inches, or perhaps it was five thousand feet, or not - it was kind of hard to tell. The ceiling of the garage seemed to be about ten light-years away, in my drugged state.

: "I told you this day was coming, Drake, old carousel horse." The Agent said. "So. Do you feel like Jerry Garcia, or Kurt Cobain? I hear you younger guys might relate better to a grunge guy like Cobain."

: Hell and damnation, I thought, as I passed out. I guess I'd spoke a bit too soon when I thought he wasn't going to show up.

*********************************
*********************************

Don't you just hate it when that happens?

In all honesty, Drake, this has been a very interesting couple of chapters that you've related to us thus far. I had no idea that Argon and I caused the fellow so much personal distress...

Heh-heh-heh...yowp.
Ahem.

Any way, I've always wondered what it would've looked like from a different perspective, and I can see that it's... different.

Argon's had the same trouble, Drake, in getting between some of the more narrow spots at the library early on until they've been doing a remodeling lately to 'update services', not to mention widening certain spots.

Now,if only there would be some place, some film company that would make a *decent* show involving some *decent* centaurs! Not any of this 'pasting-a-hindquarters-on-a-biped', or casting centaurs as being either a villian or a laughable lackey.

Ah well. Keep up the good work, Drake, and I'll be a-reading.

Sincerely,
Mavra
CAL



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