A/N: I have written for Fanfiction, waaaay back in 2015 under a different account. (I was 15 then- and my writing was awful, so no you will not be getting that account.) However, I had also regretted not writing a SYOC story for total drama, and it seems like fun. I understand that these are somewhat of a controversial story type on here, but hey, you clicked xD. I figured with the Corona Virus running rampant, and online college being pretty mellow that it was now or never.
Disclaimer: Not sure if these are even necessary, but yes, much like everybody else on here, I do not own anything related to the Total Drama Series (or anything else I happen to reference)
Important Story Details: Takes place in the Year 2020, 6 Years after the last season of Total Drama, and 5 Years after the Ridonculous Race. (Not sure if those are the official time lines canonically, but it is what we are using for this story)
Without further adieu: Total Drama: Revival
*Somewhere in Canada*
A rather obtuse, bald, 60-something year old man sat at a desk in the middle of a lavish office, his head in his hands, wondering how it could have possibly come to this. Sighing, he collects himself, before looking with disdain to a clock positioned on the wall to his left. 2:52 PM… He imagined his three 'o-clock meeting would be arriving any minute now. Mr. Jefferson grabbed the coffee sitting on his desk and took a large swig. Dismayed, he shook his head once more. He promised himself it would never come to this.
Mr. Jefferson had enjoyed a long and successful career at the network. It started all the way back in the 80s when he was hired as a dashing, debonair weatherman. He smiled as he remembered simpler days gone by, a time where simply being the face of the weather program could earn a man fortune and fame. He remembered the late night parties, the funny drinks he never quite knew the name of, and the ladies… The ladies. Oh, how he longed to be young and single again.
Jefferson leaned back in his chair and groaned. But those days were gone, and in this position he couldn't afford to forget that. He removed his spectacles, removed a kerchief from his suit pocket, and cleaned them off before returning them to his face. Next, he reached into his desk drawer and grabbed a cigar which he lit and popped into his mouth. Curiously, he threw a glance to the side to examine the time again. 2:56 PM. He wished, more than he'd ever wished for anything, that he could reverse time. Maybe, just maybe, if he could make different decisions he wouldn't need to have this meeting- to resort to this.
Unfortunately, that was not the reality he found himself in. He had indeed made those decisions. And, they really had seemed like good ones at the time. Even with hindsight, who's to say he would do better with a second chance? You see, Mr. Jefferson now found himself as the chief content officer for the network. Once his newscasting career dried up in the late 90s he was moved to a position on the corporate side of the business. He assumed he should be grateful as the career has provided him stability and professional success. However, he truly found it to be a dull career. But it was a career.
He was tapped to take over as chief content officer after his predecessor, Erwin Thomas, was canned. Thomas was his first boss and a true visionary- back in the 80s. However in the internet age he proved to be just another out of touch old man, either unable or unwilling to adjust. Jefferson, after spending so many years with the network was next in line. The issue, as Jefferson was worried his bosses might soon find out, is that he had never had an original idea in his life. Over the last five years in this position he had been able to disguise that by maintaining the status quo and relying on the ideas of his younger executives. However, their shows have all run their natural course and Jefferson now found himself with hours of unprogrammed time. He had been stalling by running old reruns, but it may be time to face the music. Ratings were once again free falling, and when ratings fell… Jefferson almost choked on his cigar as he thought back to his old boss.
Which brought him back to his last ditch 3 o'clock meeting. He glanced at the clock once more 3:05 PM. Jefferson grumbled. That lowlife could wait another few minutes while he finished his cigar. Jefferson was never a fan of bold moves. Bold moves were for men of ambition, for men who longed to excel at their jobs. Not for a has-been weatherman who is simply waiting for the Grim Reaper to finally make good on his promise so he could see his wife again. But this is where he found himself.
He looked over to the well-built, African-American man standing by his office door. Dobbs was officially the head of security for the network, and unofficially Mr. Jefferson's personal doorman. The elder man smirked to himself. At least there are some perks of the job. He looks back to the clock: 3:22. He turns back to his 'doorman.' When the old man finally speaks his voice is raspy and unpleasant from years of chain smoking. "Dobbs, it's time." The security guard only nods before exiting the office to the waiting area.
When Jefferson hears him speak in the other room he stamps his cigar out in his ashtray. "Mr. McLean, the boss will see you now" Jefferson leans back in his chair and groans. He really has hit rock bottom.
*Earlier that week*
Chris McLean, twice disgraced celebrity, sat at the end of the bar sipping steadily on his third martini of the afternoon. The bartender almost felt bad for him. Almost. Perhaps he would have if he hadn't been on the man's television show. Alas, Trent was on that television show. A fact that he would never forget, and his friends would never let him live down. So, no, Trent didn't feel too bad for the man after all.
McLean was regular at the establishment, much to Trent's chagrin. Serving the man understandably rubbed him the wrong way. Trent shook his head as he wiped out a glass. If only that music career had panned out. "Um, Trey?"
Trent cast a blistering glare at the speaker. "McLean." You would think that after years of torturing him, and years after getting served by him, the man would at least have the decency not to forget his name. But, this was Chris McLean. Trent smirked. At least his life didn't seem to be going any better. McLean wore a tattered button down and a pair pair of gnarly looking khakis. He now sported a full, unruly beard and tired, troubled eyes. Last Trent heard he had taken up a cross-country trucking gig, and lived in the truck.
"Imma neeed an extra martini, Trey!" McLean shouted from across the room. Again, Trent fought the urge to pity him. What a sorry sack of shit Mclean had become.
"Comin' right up, boss" Trent spit in the glass he was cleaning before turning to fix the fallen TV host's drink. As he did he couldn't help let his mind wander. To his time on that show. To what he could have done to that money. To Gwen. Silly as it was, even if he was 17, even if he hadn't seen her in years, he really did still miss her.
After fixing the drink, Trent turned around to take his sorrow out on the man who had taken so much away from him. A real snappy one-liner would surely make him feel better. Trent expected to see the man, still at the end of the bar, waving his hand in the air to get his attention like the dick he was. Instead, Trent was shocked to find that the man was nowhere to be found. He shrugged before placing the drink down and spitting in it again for good measure
"Uh, should you really be doing that?" a thirty-something year old blonde, sitting a couple of seats down, questioned.
"Shut up Karen" Trent shot back, before turning to another patron waiting at the counter. He'd get some shit from the manager later, sure, but Harvey wouldn't fire him.
McLean had already made his way outside the bar to get away from the noise. He was a bit tipsy, but he knew he had to answer this call. It had been years since he heard from these corporate pricks. "Whaddya want?" he slurred belligerently into his phone.
"Good God, McLean are you drunk?" replied the man on the other end. McLean smirked, the man had a voice like gravel. It was nothing like the voice of his old boss, Erwin Thomas. McLean figured the old coot got fired, serves him right.
"I dunno, what's it to ya?" McLean shot back expertly, before stumbling over his feet. He caught himself, and started leaning on the side of the bar for support.
"Good Lord, help me. Listen McLean. I'm Mr. James Jefferson, I'm in charge of content at-"
McLean chuckled. "Sooooo, I guess cancelling my show didn't work out too well for NERD-win Thomas huh?" McLean pinned his phone down between his neck and shoulder before giving himself a very audible high five. "I told him-"
"Uh, yeah. Listen McLean, I wanna see you in my office on Thursday to-"
"Maybe I duwanna talk to you? Ever think of that?" McLean grinned. He was so winning this conversation.
"McLean… it's about Total Drama." That sobered McLean up instantly. His heart started beating faster in his chest. They said he would never be welcome back through those doors, not after that PR scandal that tanked his show. Surely, they couldn't be thinking about bringing it back now?
"Okay… I'm listening now. But if this was about allowing you to use the name so that hack Don ca-"
"We're thinking of bringing it back. McLean." the man sighed audibly through the phone and it felt like an eternity to McLean before he spoke again. "With… you as the host."
McLean burst into a smile and let out an audible cheer. "OK. You SOLD me! See ya Thursday, Jefferson!"
"McLean do NOT make me regret th-" McLean snapped the phone shut before strolling back into the bar victoriously.
"Hey Trent, my boy! Imma need that martini to go, I have a show to pitch." McLean revealed in the sight of the little punk dropping the wine glass he was holding.
The young man shook his head deliciously. "You can't mean?"
Chris laughed coldly. "You think the old island is available?"
*Back to Present*
McLean strut into the office cockily. He knew this pitch meeting was more of a formality than anything. They wouldn't have reached out unless they were desperate. He wore a fancy new Brooks Brother suit, and a Rolex he had purchased for the occasion. Sure, they were out of his price range, but who cared? He was about to be loaded again. His signature grin was affixed to his face for the first time in ages as he plopped down in the desk across from Jefferson. He kicked his feet up on the desk, knocking over the elder man's ashtray in the process. "So" he started unceremoniously "I'm gonna need a 10 Million dollar budget and Chef Hatchet's re-employment before we even start talking."
The grizzled executive sitting across from him frowned curiously. "You didn't hear?"
Chris's confidence faltered for a moment, before he smiled again? "Hear what?"
The man shook his head, before reaching into his desk drawer for another cigar. "Hatchet died last year, automobile accident."
Chris frowned, and felt for the first time in almost forever sorrow for somebody that wasn't him. He and Chef had fallen out of contact, but the man was the closest thing to a friend McLean had. "I don't understand… how am I supposed to do this show without him?"
The elder man grimaced before plopping his cigar in his mouth. "We hired ya a complete staff already. And, we are gonna do this, with or without you.
McLean allowed himself to feel bad for just a moment before returning the grin to his face. "I never said I was out. But why now?"
The man lit his cigar. His eyes gave away his desperation before he started to speak once more, "You ever hear of Fuller House?"
"Fuller House? What does that have to do wit-"
Jefferson groaned. When he started, he spoke as if explaining something to a child "all the major networks, we are out of ideas. But reboots, nostalgia, they are big right now. Those lazy, stupid, morons we call an audience? They eat it up, all of it. Now is the time."
Chris shot up out of his seat. "So where do I sign?"
Jefferson put a hand up, signalling Chris to slow down. "Down boy!" The ex-host reluctantly obliged. "We have some matters to discuss. Firstly, you are getting a 15 million dollar budget- and not a sent more." Chris nodded, he could've made half of that work. "Secondly, we pick your staff- all of it." Chris grimaced. He liked filling out his staff with beautiful, single ladies, but he figured it was a small price to pay to get his show back. "Included my grandson, Elliot." Jefferson shot a glance to the corner of the room to a young man sitting in a bean bag chair. The young adult was dressed in a blue beanie, black shirt, and ripped skinny jeans. He texted furiously on his phone before looking up at McLean with piercing green eyes.
Elliot shot the host a piece symbol "Suuup." He ran a hand through his curly brown hair before returning to typing.
McLean groaned, nepotism was always an annoying roadblock. "Really? Him? Kid's a dud."
Jefferson smirked. "He's smarter than he looks. Truth is he's looking for an internship this summer and his parents sent him to me. And he's honestly been a real pain in my ass. So if you want your show- he's gonna be a pain in yours."
"I can hear you, boomer." Elliot mumbled without even looking up from his phone. "Nobody wants to deal with your lazy a-"
"Enough, young man!" Jefferson looked over to see Chris unconvinced. "Listen, I don't care how you treat him, he just needs to be outta my hair."
Chris bit back a comment about how there wasn't much hair to get out of before swallowing his pride. "Yeah, okay, whatever. Is that all."
Jefferson clapped his hands together in celebration. "Almost McLean, almost. One final condition." McLean rolled his eyes, but said nothing. "We need you to get the old cast members to compete. Doesn't matter which one's. But we need to drum up that nostalgia to hit our ratings goals." Jefferson noticed as McLean once again dropped his smirk and looked nervously to the side. "Is that gonna be a problem?"
McLean avoided eye contact. "Yeahh so about that. It's been years since you guys fired me and well." McLean looked up to see the executive staring back at him, annoyed. "Let's just say contracts expire, and restraining orders… well they don't… so much." McLean looked back meagerly at the intimidating executive. Man if looks could kill. Was he that intimidating when he walked in here? McLean didn't think so.
Jefferson pounded his fists on the table. He was vaguely aware of how high in the air McLean jumped, and his brat of a grandson dropping his mobile phone in the corner of the room. He sighed. McLean was lucky he was desperate. "Fine then. Plan B, you get me a new 16 contestants, and you find ways to appeal to that younger audience we've been missing, okay?" McLean eagerly nodded, willing to do anything to land his show. "I mean it, you work with us to get that teeny bopper audience, or we will can you again so fast your head's gonna spin."
McLean gulped, before grinning. "Yeah, alright. So I'm back?"
Jefferson mulled it over in his head. "You got 17 episodes- McLean. Don't waste em." The executive reached his hand across the table.
McLean shot up out of his seat once more before eagerly shaking the man's hand "Deal!"
McLean turned to exit confidently before hearing the elder man cough. "Forgetting something?"
McLean stopped for a moment and sighed. "Fine" he muttered. "Let's go Elliot."
The young man sprung out of the beanie bag before following McLean out the door with a "Later Gramps."
Jefferson sighed, before picking his ashtray up off of the floor and stamping out his second guitar. He heard his slacker of a grandson say something to McLean about calling him 'Eli' before their conversation became inaudible. "Good Riddance. He glanced over at the clock, and read 3:55 PM. Were meetings supposed to be longer than that? He decided he didn't really care before looking at Dobbs smugly, "Go fetch me dinner."
A/N: So that is that! I wrote this prologue so you could get an idea of what my writing style is going to be like for this piece. If you are interested in submitting an OC (I need 16, preferably 8 guys and 8 girls) I really appreciate it. The Application is on my bio and I would ask that you PM that to me. No Applications sent through review will be considered. That being said please do review and let me know what you thought!
Oh, one last thing! I am thinking about writing a companion piece where Trent works in the bar and we see him just kind of living his life and potentially interacting with other members of the cast/reacting to the events of the new season. Let me know if you would be interested in reading that.
Alright that's all for now, the goal is to update when I have at least half of the OCs I need, then all of them, and then once or twice a week until the story is done.
UPDATE: Put the App here for easier access.
APPLICATION FOR TOTAL DRAMA: REVIVAL
Please PM to me. Good luck!
General Information
First name:
Last:
Nicknames:
Stereotype:
Age (16-20):
Birthday:
Gender:
Sexuality:
Physical Appearance
Height:
Build:
Hair Color/Style:
Eye Color:
Skin Color:
Other:
Clothing
Everyday:
Accessories and Piercings:
Pyjamas:
Swimwear:
Formal Wear:
Personality
Personality Description:
Positive Personality Traits (at least four):
Negative Personality Traits (at least four):
Likes (at least five):
Dislikes (at least five):
Hobbies:
Life goals and dreams:
Social
Types of people they would like:
Types of people they would dislike:
Types of people they would crush on:
What would their role in an alliance be:
Competition Information
Strengths (at least four):
Weaknesses (at least four):
Talents:
Fears:
Things they think will be easy:
Things they think they will struggle with:
Thoughts on camping:
Reason for competing:
Plans for the money:
Game plan:
How important is winning to them?:
Would they enter a relationship on this show if the chance arose?:
Audition Tape (optional but recommended):
Any Additional Information: