welcome to the war

Am I supposed to be upset with her for this? We were separated for two years before she died– I would have understood if she moved on. I was the one who fucked up here. 

Me. 

If she was happy before she died, good. She was better than me. 

An Aos Si Olc, 2009

music and book by Edan Graves

directed by Bette Sinclair

choreography by Heathcliff Graves & Annissa Zadani

claudia.

she’d grimaced when she first signed up for the event. dares. as if risking their lives wasn’t enough for the day to day operations of prometheus, the contracts were now being asked to dance for a live studio audience. she couldn’t have been more opposed to the idea, but she’d put her name down regardless, filled out the proper paper work. it had come down to the idea of her being in a given room, able to help whoever she had with her. better her than someone who would be against the contracts in the room.

she couldn’t help the relief on her chest that they would be eased into it at the very least. if someone wanted to shave their head willingly, she wasn’t going to step in. play a sympathetic card too quick and she could get pulled. “i’m all for a razor.” she let a flicker of a smile pass over her face, finally on the same page as those she was with, strangers though they were. let it be quick and easy, let them do what they wanted and get out. she looked around the little stage, waiting for one to magically appear. or whatever the hell they were going to do to get props in and out. “you don’t happen to see one do you?”

he knew that there were things hidden around the room, some of them likely to help with their dares ( at least, that’s how it had seemed to work on audrey’s stream ). letting out a heavy breath as if to say ‘here we go’, angel walked down the asiles of seats towards the one with the nearest body in it. he scooted in through the chairs, tilting his head as he realized what he was actually looking at. “it’s.. a dummy?” he got nearer, letting out a sound of displeasure at the creepy semi-realistic face it wore before reaching a hand into the pockets of its clothes. he pulled out a seemingly random items. “i found a taser? i guess we should hold onto that one..” though he really hopes they don’t end up having to use it. 

he finishes searching through the dummy’s clothes, not finding anything else that seems useful at the moment. “think there’s anything behind the screen?” as he asked, angel turned his gaze towards it, only to see that it was now showing the point value of the dare. “nissa you’re really gonna shave your head for 100 points?” didn’t seem worth it–but maybe she’d end up having the right idea. take on all the stupid shit so she could avoid anything that turned out to be.. a little too extreme. 

Annissa took another aisle, searching through the dummies. For a few, the pockets were empty, and Annissa tried not to frown. The more time they spent looked for this razor, the more time Prometheus had to get bored. And they couldn't let that happen; If Prometheus got bored, that's when the big guns came out.

Luckily, Angel took the lead, commenting on the dare. Annissa looked up at him with a grin. "Why not? You do it for free," she teased. "Besides, it doesn't really matter. I wasn't joking when I said I fried my hair bleaching it. The texture is gone. That's why I cut it. It's just hair, and I'm sure Prometheus can afford the good wigs."

“My solution?” For all of his theorizing about Prometheus’ power, Jerome never had a solution. He has read plenty, and Prometheus praised its own genius in capitalizing on Thomas Edison’s invention of the kinetograph. Even that raised some questions for Jerome Castillo. The only solution that popped up in response to that, really, was to invent a time machine and prevent that one event in history. 

“If you really want to consider this,” Jerome said. “It’s not enough to read Prometheus’ version of history. Do you think reading their PR take on how they had bought the patent from Thomas Edison is enough? Remember, cancellations didn’t come around until the 1940s, after movies came with sound. Ask yourself questions. Why, either near the end, or after World War II and all of that death, did the lives of enriched contracts take on an appeal? What process in history allowed for the legalization of televised murder? Consider all of the historical factors before you invent even one martyr for your cause. That is about as much as I can answer.”

"So your grand answer is that you don't have one at all." It could be judgement, in Annissa's voice, especially with those words, but it's not-- In fact, there's almost understanding. So many people who didn't approve of Prometheus didn't have any real answers for the problem. She had been one of those people once, raised in a family of the same. Annissa wasn't keen on being so self-righteous that she demanded that people have a solution to be upset about death, but she just wished they would listen. "There's a difference between activism and philosophy. You are interested in one, and I am interested in the other."

Annissa shook her head. "No, that is exactly the problem. Men like you think about history until you become one with it, and then nothing ever gets done. Would it be interesting to know why a post-war society does what it does? Yes. Would it be helpful? Probably. But it is not necessary. We don't demand the prosecution provide motive when they have witnesses and a smoking gun. Besides, the world has changed. We have parasocial relationships, we have TMZ, we have Twitter. Contracts are, at once, the most humanized and objectified they've ever been." Annisa's foot tapped against the hard floor underneath them, as if for emphasis. "That 'bond' needs to be broken. People need to wake up."

at the drop of her favorite director’s name, lu couldn’t help the question that practically spilled from her lips. “have you worked with julian before?” after a moment, she was quick to add, “i think he’s put out some really interesting projects.” though she tried to sound professional and not like a schoolgirl quizzing someone about her crush, lu wasn’t entirely sure she succeeded.

she shrugged slightly at the possible fate of amir hassan, the questions far above her own paygrade ( and probably angel’s too, despite his connection with cora ). though lu and angel each had… intimate relationships with cora, they were hardly granted special permission to knowing the inner workings of prometheus and the like. if anything, cora probably guarded those secrets even more tightly from the two people that lived right under her nose–least they think they were privileged to some sort of special treatment from her ( ha! ). 

“none taken. though i guess i’ll start walking on ice around anyone with an accent.” she joked. lu agreed that americans were probably some of the most obnoxious and irritating people on the planet–she’d been surrounded by them her entire life. 

the bartender walks by and drops off their jalapeno poppers and onion rings, the smell alone enough to make lu let out a ‘mmmm’ of pleasure. “god, i’d trade all the filet mignon and grilled chicken in the world for bar food.” so was the life of an actress, always watching what you ate, what you did, what you wore, what you said. it was exhausting. 

"No," Annissa said, blinking in surprise at Luda's sudden enthusiasm. She didn't know that she'd ever met anyone who liked Julian. There were people who liked his work, of course, and people like Eve, who hadn't seemed to mind him, but this... Was new. "I have a few friends working on Norah, though. His temper is legendary. ... But I have to admit, he does seem like he knows what he's doing." Annissa knocked her shoulder against Luda's, gently. "Who knows, kiddo, maybe you'll be in the next one."

Annissa took another long pull of her beer. She wished she could just outright say what she was thinking, that anyone who migrated to this country for the fucking film industry probably wasn't a good person, anyway, but-- Well. That would inspire questions. Besides, it wasn't completely true. There were a couple countries where the Cancellation process was even worse.

Only, like, two, but still.

"The French ones, at least," Annissa agreed with a smile.

It was clear that her question hadn’t been what the actress wanted to hear. And of course Freya knew of Annissa at the very least. “That I am. Is that a problem for you?” Maybe that was what was throwing off Annissa’s vibes. Freya knew she couldn’t actually see auras or whatever the hell else her god mom claimed there was but she was a damn good empath. Enough to fake it anyhow. 

“There’s something funny about you. Sad. You know that there are lots of people to help you with that here, right?” Prometheus had plenty of avenues. Doctors, drugs and anything in between. Not that Freya ever had any need for them. She was happy with her life just as it was. Maybe with a lot more points but in time that would come. 

Yes, dipshit, Annissa's brain said, but Annissa kept her bright smile plastered on. "Of course not," she chirped. "I always thought it rather a shame that none of the people Cora is closest to could really relate to her religion. I'm glad she has someone like you."

Of course, when the woman continues, talking about how sad Annissa seems, it becomes increasingly hard not to roll her eyes. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when someone you love dies. No amount of money just... washes that away." Annissa lets her smile drop but tries to stay polite, at least. "The work helps. I'm very grateful."

Jade’s eyes swept down Annissa without a drop of shame to her name, mainly down at her underwear to see that they looked nothing like her black lace. Her head tilted as her eyes slipped back up to the fellow actress’ eyes. “Too bad. I was looking forward to searching you, but you’ve done my job for me, apparently. So, appreciate this: I’m half-disappointed it wasn’t you. You would have done them justice.”

Annissa leaned against the doorway of the fitting room, letting Jade look her fill-- She knew she looked good. It took a lot of hard work to get that. "Thank you, Miss Bellamy. I think...?" Annissa shrugged. "Do you need help looking? Hold on."

She pulled on her shirt, an over-sized sweater with a hem that fell just past the lines of her underwear. She ignored her pants, still folded neatly in the corner. It was too late to preserve any kind of modesty. "Have you spoken to the saleslady?"

Fabian’s list of what vexes him sprawls out into an endless stream, but in this scenario, the vexation at the top of the list is being improperly greeted. Her eyes on her telephone, and it only instills a quiet hatred for the electronic devices that have tied up everything around them, but Fabian can rant about that another time, probably sooner than later. For now, his pursed lips choose to listen, and the names she list are only half-known. Ms. Alyce-Lane has already been met, and precisely on the matter of a Mr. Cardosa, who he failed to even see working upon his visitation. Mr. Santiago? He is on the list to be seen, but coffee? Fabian’s eyes squint at it. Mr. Bright, another unknown, but he sounds as though Fabian can officially dread it.

“Yes, Mr. Deluca,” his voice repeats her very words in confirmation, as it is the director he needs at the moment, and then it’s her that causes him to pause. Immediately, it’s her continuation that creates the stop. She enjoys another’s suffering? She might as well be a harpy. But that’s not what prolongs the momentary silence. It’s her eyes, her mouth, her tone finally smacking him in the face with realization.

“Éponine.” The name falls out, and immediately his mind jumps to catch it. His throat clears as if it was a mistaken cough, straightening himself. “Forgive me for changing the subject so rapidly,” he goes on, “but have you, by chance, had the pleasure of acting in theatre? If so, I believe I may have seen one of your performances.” Or two. Or three.

Annissa's smile turns positively lupine. "In that case, it would be my pleasure to assist you, Mr. Bishop." It's not that Annissa likes hurting the crew members-- In fact, she likes them far more than she likes most of the contracts in Hollywood. Deluca, though, that man was a real piece of work. Oh, he hid it better than most, but Annissa could tell from the way his eyes followed the women he worked with that he was no better than Cyrus. Deluca didn't have Cyrus's wicked cleverness to make up for it, either.

Hearing Eponine's name throws her off her vindictive streak, however. Annissa's eyes, large and shocked, fly to Fabian's. It takes a moment for her to realize that he's referring to her. Another smile curves across her face, this one softer. Sweeter.

"Yes," Annissa says, "I come from an old theatre family--" She offers her hand for a proper handshake. "My name is Annissa Zadani. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Did you also move from New York recently?"

Of all the people for Carrie to select as her Cuddle Victim – which usually meant she wouldn’t leave them alone until she’d at least got some belly scritches – Juno had hardly expected Annissa Zadani. He’d never formally met her; heard of her, certainly, and seen plenty of videos of her Broadway past (He totally didn’t fanboy over her performance as Eponine. Totally.), but coming face-to-face with her was a completely different matter. And apparently, she liked cats.

“She is, isn’t she?” He leant down and scratched Carrie’s head, trying to entice her back. It never worked until she’d had her fill of cuddles. “Uh– Juno,” he said, by way of introduction. Not a great first impression, but there could definitely be worse. At least Carrie was there to make him look slightly less of a mess. “Juno Benson. I’m guessing you like cats?”

Annissa wondered how odd they must look to outsiders, two figures crouched on the sidewalk over a cat. But then, who didn't stop to pet a cat when presented with the opportunity? Monsters, Annissa decided, people like Olivier and Samson.

"I do," Annissa replied with a small smile. "They are very dignified creatures. Don't you think so, Mr. Benson?" She scratched Carrie under the chin, grinning in triumphant when Carrie tilted her head to give Annissa more access. "I would very much like to live with one, someday. Have you lived with her for very long?"