Chapter 25 – Not Ready to Make Nice

After the continuation of her morning Gen-Ed classes, Eppie arrived at her assigned slot in the Playhouse.

Today was the Final Callback, and she was here to meet the crew who would be her shipmates until the December Gala. The people she met today would be her inner “circle”, the chosen “elite” that has emerged victorious from their gruelling conservatory training.

Together with congratulations and well wishes, the very first thing Atkinsons gave her after a handshake and a hug was a printed copy of the first page of their new production bible, with their names officially stamped and inked into permanence:

Cooper and Costello allowed the kids to have their moment, then motioned for Atkinson to direct his staff into place. With a nervous voice and a slightly wavering arm, their Stage Manager ordered the cast and crew to their positions for the first scene, Antigone’s confrontation with Creon.

Eppie watched as the two retreated into the shadows, positioning themselves behind a long folding table mid-row, overseeing the theatre as though wardens of a panopticon prison.

On stage, the Chorus sat to the left and right on folded chairs, leaving James “Creon” Jules on an invisible podium, addressing invisible cameras. Min-jun jostles the lighting, casting everything but the action in shadow. The lights around the Chorus are soft and ambient, half in shadow, while James is taking the stagelight full-blast.

She stands on the stage right, ready to intrude upon the conference.

Atkinson gives the signal, and the scene goes live.

“Let me be clear,” Creon leans into the invisible mike, his body looming over the press corps. “There will be no extraction of Captain Polyneices. The decision has been made in accordance with the interests of the United States’ national security. The Law on this incident is clear and explicit. The Department of Defence will not be risking the lives of its men and women on…”

The Chorus moves and shifts, miming photography as Min-jun inserts the “flashes”. Hands are raised for questions. Answers are dodged and rebuked. The word “Treason” repeats itself multiple times.

On Atkinson’s cue, moving from neutral, Eppie felt her body shift into gear as she entered the stage, the lighting upon her body growing bright and hotter as she strode across the Chorus’ space into the centre stage.

“Treason, uncle?” her girlish voice cuts across the masculine overture of the military briefing. “Is that what we call sending your protégé to commit war crimes, and when he realises what he has done, disavow and discard him as a moral casualty?”

The Chorus turns.
Imaginary lens blinks as Eppie is bathed in flashes.

“Antigone? May I ask how you are here? This is federal property, and you are trespassing.”

“Is that what matters, uncle?” Eppie’s whole body shook with barely suppressed indignation. “Secretary, you have a service member who has been deliberately left behind. A trial without due process. You—”

“STOP,” came the voice of God that was Costello. “Creon, why are you drifting off? Antigone, you look great, but don’t block the audience’s line of sight to Creon. Lighting, pay attention. Why is Antigone more powerful than Creon? She isn’t. She’s the risk, not the power.”

“Eppie, don’t look so composed and cold,” Cooper appended to Costello’s remarks. “Creon is still more uncle than Secretary at this stage. Antigone hasn’t been judged yet. She’s literally your age, unworldly except for the rage and truth in her heart.”

The scene reset.

Each member of the team returned to their places and ran the simulation.
Once.

Twice.

Thrice upon a time… sanding out the tension and discovering new frustrations as their directors took notes and made overt remarks and took down secretive notes on each member of the cast.

Over the weekend, Eppie sacrificed half her day to theatre, then the other half split between Zara’s guitar practices and the Stray Cat Alliance, cleaning out poo, putting down fresh rice husks, and playing with kittens with her friends.

Lim came over a few times, sometimes with new cats, and other times with visitors who were potential adoptees. With Eppie’s [Charisma] and her [Persuasion], it was true to say that not a single cat went unadopted. As the self-proclaimed matron of the [Cat Distribution System], she would size up potential adoptees and methodically use her 42 Million USD a year CEO skills to sell them cats.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“There is nothing more desirable in a guy than kindness,” she would say to a single young man looking for a feline companion, her eyes switched to full Puss-in-Boots mode. “Will you take care of Sir-Killa for me?”

If a prospective couple came in, she would sigh and hold the hand of the young woman staring cautiously at her face and say, “You’re so lucky. There’s nothing that beats genuine kindness in a man,” then use her signature smile on the boyfriend, who would burst into cold sweat and hastily insist they adopt a cat.

Noting this trend, Lim brought in every adoptee on the Alliance’s MySpace, and by the afternoon, all the kittens who were ready to be homed were gone.

On Sunday night, to the applause of a party thrown by the Seniors, she was crowned the [Queen of the Cats].

She wanted to visit Armand as well, but her Senior denied her visit, asking for patience as he finished his work. Supposedly, according to his friend, the Met visit had changed his outlook yet again, and he now had significant modifications to make for his Fall Gala Showcase.

On Sunday evening, when she came home, Ava took her aside and gave her a strange, long look.