@junktrap // starter call
Almost a decade out from the Woodsboro murders and speaking engagements are still an easy way to make money. Sure, that's probably thanks to the Stab movies--not that he would thank them. He won't even watch them. They get so many things wrong, and the actor they got to play Billy? Fuck that guy. Not for any real reason except he doesn't sound or move or talk right and fuck that guy.
Anyway, even though the money's good, that's not really why he does the speaking engagements. He does them because he gets to be in front of a huge crowd of people and watch them eat up every lie out of his mouth like it's gospel. His favorite part is when he lets himself choke up a little to really tug at the heartstrings. He'll pick a different part each time--Casey or Tatum, that's expected, but he enjoys a wildcard like Principal Himbly. How immature he was, excited about days off from school when a good man lost his life, blah blah.
He'd like to think Billy would be impressed by how good he's gotten at seeming authentic, how he's kept every detail straight over the years. See? You should've had faith in me, Billy. Instead, you turned on me and didn't even manage to finish Sidney off. She shot you in the fucking head, Billy. I wouldn't have done that shit. Now, I get to be one of your victims, and you just get to be dead.
After he gives his speech--to a bunch of college kids this time--he signs a few books in the lobby. He signs the inside cover of the book someone ghostwrote for him My Friend, My Killer, and he signs next to his name in the dedication of Gale's book. He never likes this part much. It always feels weirdly vulnerable, these strangers standing right across from him, telling him how inspired they are by his survival or whatever, staring at the scar peeking out just above his collar--the one that cut a chunk out of his sternum.
The lies aren't as fun closeup.
"Who do you want me to make it out to?" he mutters numbly, fake smile, but not making eye contact.
