“Thanks, Jane. I wrote Awakenings for a number of reasons. The biggest one is that ever since Battlestar Galactica went off the air, there hasn’t been another show, for me, that tackled social issues in the way I wanted to see. So I had to write it myself.
“I grew up reading Ursula LeGuin, Frank Herbert, Octavia Butler, and New Wave SF. It’s hard to do social science fiction on TV, because many viewers are expecting the eyeball kicks, explosions, and constant jokes. But I wanted to take a risk, trust that an audience would go with me on something that took the time to dig into issues between fight scenes.”
Another reporter took up the mike, a thirtysomething white guy with a shaved head and big plastic glasses. He was dressed in the traditional garb of his people, the black turtleneck, as well as a finely-crafted air of self-importance.
“Alex Walters, WTF. Given the crash-and-burn failure of shows like The Event, Rubicon, Alcatraz, Flash-Forward, and others, what makes you think that a show that seems to boil down to a mashup of No Ordinary Family and The 4400 can succeed in today’s television market, especially with a washed-out flight risk as the star?”
Ree knew this guy. He was hipster royalty online, and prided himself on eviscerating everything in the world as soon as it started to smell of success, predicting failure everywhere he went. And since he had a million Twitter followers and headed one of the biggest gossip sites this side of TMZ, when he did his doomsaying, a whole lot of people listened.
Yancy looked to Ree, and she nodded, trying to indicate, I got this. Though she had to restrain her first instinct, which was to pull the lightsaber out of her purse and take a Dark Side point.
Ree adjusted the mike and said, “The fact that companies keep putting on shows like the ones you mentioned means that the execs and others believe that there’s something to it. And concept isn’t destiny. You can walk into a bookstore and find a hundred YA novels on the shelves.” Look at me being diplomatic, she thought, when all she wanted to do was drop-kick the smarmy bastard out of the zip code.
“Only a handful of them have hit it big, but does that mean the others are doomed to fail, or that just because a couple of them aren’t great means the others are crap? Of course not. Each show deserves to be judged on its own merits, don’t you think?”
Do not engage, she told herself. That way lies madness.
Alex shifted his weight, eyes narrowed. “That’s easy to say, but if we’re supposed to judge your show on its merits, will Awakenings actually have any?”
Because you’re the God-given arbiter of taste, right? Ree thought, restraining the growing urge to jump the table and strangle the bastard.
No one will care if I clobber him, right? The media ecosystem will survive with one less parasite.
Yancy leaned in to answer. “Ree has a wry, crisp voice, and she’s given us a great world to bring to life for audiences. Our special-effects team is going to deliver amazing visuals, and Jane is putting in some of the best performances I’ve seen in the fifteen years I’ve worked with her.”
Ree gave Yancy a smile, waited for him to continue or Jane to hop in. After a beat, Ree spoke again. “I can give you the basic concept, just to put everything on the table.
“In the might-as-well-be-now future, magic returns to the earth, and people around the world awaken with magic powers. People freak out, and all of a sudden, there’s a brand-new way to be stigmatized. Awakenings takes the one-family lens approach to tackling social issues, while always staying personal.”
Ree stopped there, remembering Jane’s suggestion to keep it brief, or at least brief-ish. Plus, she felt the Castle energy starting to run low, and wanted to keep some mojo back for other questions.
Her hands were shaking, and she took a long swig from her glass as she calmed herself down, mentally grasping onto the magical energy.
She looked to Alex, bracing for another gotcha or snide remark. But either he was satisfied or he was going to save the rest of the bile for his article. A half-dozen other hands stood in the air, and Ree looked to Yancy, who nodded.
The next reporter was a shorter, curvy woman with tightly curled black hair. “Vlada Janczuk, StraightDope.com. One Tough Mama has had a difficult few years. How important is it that this pilot succeed, and why shoot a pilot on spec instead of pitching to studios right away?”
Yancy’s response was a guarded grin. “Every project is important, and right now money is tight for everyone.”
Ree had asked this question when the production company made their offer to buy the pilot. So she knew that Yancy’s answer read as This is the last of Jane’s money, and if the pilot bombs, the production company will go belly-up.
Announcing, Hey, we’re screwed if this fails, so please watch us! wasn’t exactly a way to get people to tune in, not for a brand-new show. Some shows needed “Save Show X” campaigns before they hit the air, but no one wanted to be that show. And the show would have to be picked up to series first.
Yancy continued, “As for why to dive right into shooting a pilot, Jane has always tried to innovate with our efforts at One Tough Mama. After the success of independent productions like Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, The Guild, and Husbands, Jane wanted to get the pilot in the can before making presentations, which will give us more flexibility. If the networks pass for whatever reason, we still have a product, and we can go direct to the fans and use Kickstarter to raise funds for a full season.”
Yancy’d said part of why they were doing the press conference this early was to help drum up interest, as well as to dispel the myths that Jane was too far gone to get through a production. From where Ree sat, they were doing all of that and more, thanks to Jane’s charm and Yancy’s tact, and maybe even her own fu.
The press worked through a few more questions, getting into details about the production schedule and their hopes for the series’ home (any major network, plus Syfy, TNT, AMC, HBO, etc.). Ree let Yancy take the lead, and Jane answered the softball personal questions with grace and waved off the inflammatory ones from Alex and others. Eventually, the PAs got the message and stopped giving the mike to the muckraker. After the third time he was ignored, he got up and made a big production of storming off.
Good riddance.
“That’s all the time we have for today,” Yancy said finally, an hour into the press conference. “Thank you for your time, and I hope you’ll continue following our progress with Awakenings!”
They stood to another round of applause. Jane played to the crowd on the way out, and Ree heard the roar continue even through the door and down the hall as they left.
“We’ve got a car in back,” Yancy said.
Jane shook her head, grinning wide. “No, we’re going out the front. Give them a minute to gather.” She looked like the cat who’d caught the canary.
A shadow passed over Yancy’s face. “Careful, Jane.”
Jane stretched, cracking her back. “I’ll be fine. And we need every bit of press we can get.”
Yancy took a halting step toward Jane, a worried, paternal look on his face. Jane raised a hand, and he stopped.
“It’s going to be a hit, Yanc. And then we’ll be back on top.”
They waited for a minute.
Why am I getting a foreboding vibe off of this? It isn’t just the worry of maybe people will throw fruit instead of cheering—it was something bigger.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Ree said without getting the chance to censor herself.
Jane looked to Ree and smiled big.
Why worry? Ree asked herself. It’ll be fine.
“Follow me and stay close. This is going to be a great ride.” Jane nodded to her bodyguard Danny, who had appeared from nowhere to take the lead, engaging his not-to-be-fucked-with look.
Danny Park (Strength 15, Dexterity 16, Stamina 14, Will 15, IQ 13, Charisma 10—Laborer 2 / Security 3 / Martial
Artist 5 / Bodyguard 4) stood only five feet and change, but he was ripped, the muscle shirt he wore under his jacket showing enough skin to make that fact abundantly clear. He wore a short ponytail tied back, and his jeans were well worn without being patchy.
Ree followed, and as they walked through the hotel, Ree couldn’t help but envision the group in their very own Badass Walk: the last or next-to-last shot of a TV credits sequence or film trailer where the main characters stride with purpose down a hallway, alley, or battlefield. Bonus points if something explodes in the background.
Her mind played a made-up theme song in the style of Nerf Herder as they walked. Danny reached the front of the hotel, and two men in suits opened the doors for them.
The crowd outside was even bigger than it had been in the ballroom by at least 50 percent. Where are all these people coming from? Ree wondered.
Jane sauntered through the crowd wearing a modest smile. The air was tight with excitement and the flow of energy as the star held court, soaking it all in like an emotional vampire. I sure hope Dresden’s White Court doesn’t really exist. If they do, we’re all fucked. According to the model that Eastwood gave Ree during her brief stint as a snarky apprentice, there might be individual vampires that followed the model from Butcher’s novels, feeding on emotion instead of blood, but probably not enough to be their own society. If they did, Ree had no doubt that they’d have Hollywood wrapped around their sexy alabaster fingers.
Some heroines got simple universes, with monsters and magic that followed consistent rules. As far as she could tell, magic in her world was as inconsistent and dynamic as real life, so just when she thought she understood what was going on, something would change for no discernible reason, like fashion, pop music, or Facebook.
Ree headed straight for the waiting town car, sliding in beside Yancy. Jane took several minutes to sign, schmooze, and soak up the love.
Yancy kept an eye on his star, and Ree watched out of the corner of her eye.
Jane waved goodbye to the crowd and slinked into the car with deliberate grace, proving Ree’s point. She beckoned Ree in next, and Yancy took shotgun as Danny closed the door to the car, interposing himself to keep the crowds away.
Jane leaned in to speak to both of them.
“See, wasn’t that fun?” Her eyes were wide, like she’d just taken a hit of something high-grade.
Yancy harrumphed. “Back to the set, please.” The driver, an older Middle Eastern man in an aviator cap, nodded, and the car pulled out into the street.
“Actually, can you drop me somewhere?” Ree asked. “I’ve got a lunch.”
Yancy nodded. Jane frowned. “I thought you were going to be on-set this afternoon?”
“I will,” Ree said. “When I say ‘I have a lunch,’ what I really mean is ‘I have work.’ My boss has been good about being flexible and giving my work here priority, but I do have to help out for a few hours this afternoon.” That and take a meeting that could really go well, or really really not.
“Just tell the driver,” Yancy said, the car already in motion.
Ree gave directions to an office building across town.
Of course, that wasn’t where she was actually going.
Chapter Two
Like Cheers, but with Dice
You can’t find Grognard’s Games and Grog unless you’re meant to, or with someone who has been. Proprietor Grognard (First or last name? Don’t ask) is a veteran of the world of Geekomancy and an expert brewer.
Find rare memorabilia, play in tournaments with bizarre prizes, but just don’t get on Grognard’s bad side.
Be sure to chat with new employee Ree Reyes, a novice Geekomancer who has made a splash with her signature snark.
—Not For Mundanes: Pearson, 2012
Grognard’s Games and Grog was a full block underground, and the front door was disguised as a maintenance door inside the sewer.
As far as Ree could tell, it was mostly because Grognard didn’t like being bothered.
The shop was split into two sections: the bar, and the great sea of merchandise.
It’d only been six months since she started at Grognard’s, but she’d taken to the job like a tomcat in an aviary. And until the show took off, the checks for Awakenings were enough for her to catch a breather on her bills, but not to quit her job. It had all the hustle and bustle of her old job at Café Xombi, plus it kept her right in the middle of Pearson’s magical underground.
Other than the Midnight Market, Grognard’s was the #1 meet-up destination for the city’s magical Geekomantic community, with practitioners prowling the aisles for just the right back issue or action figure for their rituals or just whiling away an evening over pitchers arguing about which Star Wars was the best and why.
That afternoon, the shop was empty, except for Grognard, who stood at the bar with a stack of paperwork.
Grognard—Just Grognard. Like Logan.—(Strength 14, Dexterity 10, Stamina 15, Will 18, IQ 15, Charisma 10—Geek 7 / Collector 4 / Geekomancer 3 / Brewmaster 5) was tall, bald, and thick-set. He looked somewhere between thirty and fifty and wore black, black, and more black.
Grognard topped off his look with the kind of beard that took constant cultivation: full, long, but perfectly groomed and easily stroked with one hand while haggling over a rare back issue, action figure, or game supplement.
“Hey,” Ree said as she approached.
Grognard chuffed. “You just missed Eastwood.”
“Pudu,” Ree said, frustrated and relieved all at once. They’d made plans to plot over beer.
For all of two days, Eastwood had been her mentor in the weird world of Geekomancy, until she discovered that he was aiding and abetting a demon that pushed teenagers to suicide. He had been doing it to try and rescue her mom (aka his girlfriend) from hell, a geeky Faustian bargain, but in Ree’s book, no level of good intentions could really justify sacrificing kids—not even for her mom, who had left a planet-sized hole in her and her dad’s life when she’d disappeared.
These days, the only time she saw Eastwood was when they were trying to figure out how to spring her mom from hell. This generally involved a lot of mutual frustration and tense stares across a table at Grognard’s, ending with one or the other of them storming off.
Eastwood was stubborn, grating, and probably unhinged, but he was as committed to Ree’s mom as she was. Probably more. The enemy of my mom’s enemy is my grudging ally. Working with him meant taking a trip through guilt, anger, betrayal, shame, and usually landing back at anger.
They’d pushed back this meeting twice already. What the fuck was he up to?
Ree massaged her temples, the pent-up anxiety about the meeting clustering in her head. “He leave a message?”
“Not as such. He complained about your lack of dedication and said something about ‘If she’s too busy playing Hollywood to do the work, then I can do it on my own.’ ”
“Sounds like he was in a great mood.”
Grognard chuckled in his grunting, huffing kind of way. “Right in one. Hope you two kids kiss and make up” was all he said, showing just how much he didn’t care about Ree’s drama. “While you’re here, can you reorganize the card singles? Uncle Joe sorted them by artist again last night while I was doing liquor inventory.”
Oh, Joe. Uncle Joe was one of the regulars, a Geekomancer with an inner Order Muppet that would make Ernie look like a Jack Black character.
“As long as you put on some Lacuna Coil to help me stay sane,” Ree said, making her way to the collectible card game binders.
First she reminded herself which folders were which, presorting the piles so she could start sorting them in earnest.
After spending a couple of minutes’ prep work and shaking off the Eastwood/Mom grump, she hopped on her phone and used the store wireless to send Drake a text.
Swing by Grognard’s. We have
n’t gotten to hang in a while.
She got a little spike of happy when she thought of Drake, but the taste finished sour.
Things with Drake were . . . weird. They hung out, patrolled together, went out to movies as Ree tried to catch him up on pop culture, and she hung out in his apartment while he tried and failed to blow himself up with one or another Steampunked experiment.
But nothing had happened. And she could not buy a gorram clue as to what was going on with their relationship. Last Halloween, there’d been all this . . . something, but after that, when the weird magic world became her new normal, they hadn’t taken that next step, the smooching one, where things stopped being awkward and got awesome.
But she had no idea if he really liked her like that, given the weirdness of his background. And she was pretty sure that if she just planted a big smooch on him, Roger Rabbit style, he might self-implode from the catastrophic impropriety of it all.
So instead, they were stuck in a frustrating purgatorial almost-maybe.
She pulled a three-inch binder out of a huge stack and set it atop the row of comic longboxes with a thud.
This at least makes sense.
The binder probably contained $3000 worth of cards from Magic: The Gathering. For a pro tour player, it might contain just the right card to take their deck to the next level. And for a Geekomancer, it might have the final ingredient for a ritual, an enchantment, or the panic button to save their ass from a hungry troll. Ree had picked up more than a few choice singles for her own magical sideboard.
Ree opened the binder and sighed. All of the cards on the first page had art by Miao Aili. She flipped several pages, where they changed to Rob Alexander.
This was a crap detail, but it had to be done or customers would complain. Geeks were marvelous, creative, and fun, but were also often picky bastards who loved to pick nits.
Not that Ree had ever been guilty of nitpicking. Nope, not once. Certainly not when discussing obscure Expanded Universe Star Wars continuity or back-talking to a guard at a secret magical market. Nope.
Celebromancy Page 2
