Once upon a time there lay a remote village perched upon the rocky precipice of the Newfoundland shoreline. Barely a smudge on the canvas of the vast coast, it had stood there since the Dominion of Canada was founded, when a boat of wayward Irish migrants had found this unforgiving shore at the end of their flight from famine. Since then, they, and every generation of their descendants, had been fishermen, eeking out a living by harvesting the bounty of the tumultuous Atlantic that lay out in front of them. It was unlikely anyone from here would ever make a name for themselves. In the seventieth decade of the twentieth century, however, tucked in that remote village, was the genesis of something very unlikely indeed.
Long before that great northern land had become a sovereign nation, and even before the notion of cable television, a dream was born in the mind of a young man. That young man, the Dreamer, as we shall call him, for his name was not yet an important one, was born upon the same shore as his fathers, and their fathers before them, and seemed destined for a lifetime of seamanship as they had been. But the Dreamer was not content with this, not at all. Starlight was his calling, more than anything else he wanted to stand in the limelight before millions of adoring fans. He wanted to be famous.
Like the Icarus of the old myths he wanted to soar into the sky and live close to the sun, and if he melted so be it. Better he thought, to fly high and fall hard, than to never get off the ground and live a life of drudgery. And what better way to be famous than music? Back then the notion of a television star was almost unheard of, though in his career the Dreamer would go on to practically define the term for an entire generation. In his day however, to be a sensation was to be in a band. He longed for his name to be as household as Ringo Starr, John Lennon or Elton John.
His family had little idea of what to make of this peculiar dream he had, since nobody from this village knew any performers and certainly none were performers themselves. Most were simply dismissive, assuming that the passage of time and the onset of reality would dull such fantasies. Others would encourage him to pursue the family trade, a good reliably living that he could count upon until the end of his days. Unbeknownst to them however, he'd packed his bags for the day he had his shot, and on his fifteenth birthday, he took it. With spare change he saved up he paid for a bus fare to Toronto, in the summer of 1984.
With nothing but the clothes on his back and a suitcase, he struck it out for fame and fortune. For weeks, and then months, he endured on the fringe of existence on the streets of the humming hub of the recently emergent nation of Canada. The Dreamer may have perished there, faded into obscurity and never been heard of again, but for a chance encounter. It would become such legend, retold and distorted so many thousands of times that innumerable variations exist on the story, disagreeing on everything from when it took place, to what establishment it took place in (there are many potential sites that are hotly debated to this day), and who the fateful soul it was that had that chance encounter.
Here we will recite the story as the author of this passage believes it to have happened, for it is they who have the final say in all that is told here. One night the dreamer was in a bar, somewhere in Toronto, bussing tables to make change to keep himself fed. In the midst of this meager existence, he chanced upon hearing that the band set to play that night had lost their lead singer. Seizing the moment, he told them that he had been a renowned singer in his school choir and performed for the local town pub as a child many a time. Neither statement was remotely true, but he sold the lie with a smile that would become famous, and a charm that made him seem disarming and trustworthy.
That he took to the stage that night would be fateful, as in the crowd was an executive of some variety for a record label, visiting one of his favorite establishments in his home neighborhood. Who that executive was exactly remains a mystery to this day, and the studio itself has refused comment. But when he saw the Dreamer up on stage, it was electrifying. He didn't just sing, he performed, he worked the crowd and hyped them up, making them believe he was a superstar. His actual singing was mediocre at best, but his charisma created the illusion it was incredible, and that was far more valuable in a sense.
The exchange they had afterwards, whatever it was precisely, was brief, but fortuitous for the Dreamer. Six weeks later, he was in a recording booth with four strangers, and there his legend truly began. Twenty-four-hour cable television gave him and his troupe a means to become known to millions around the country, and eventually around the world. Hit singles and chart topping albums soon followed, and beyond that, deals for commercials, movies and eventually his own show came to him, one after the other.
To repeat it all would be of no benefit to the reader, who is almost certainly familiar with the vast and extravagant resume of this famous man. Why, it'd be almost absurd for them not to know who his text has thus far referred to, even though his name has gone unsaid thus far, for the story that has just been repeated here is so well known you would have to be a complete troglodyte not to have heard it somewhere. A person with no human contact, no line of communication with the outside world, a hermit in all ways in which it is possible to apply the term.
It was a story that a young woman named Sierra would often reflect upon fondly, related to her by her mother countless times before bed. As a child it was an inspiring tale that filled her with awe and wonder, and reminiscing on it at sixteen gave her a profound sense of nostalgia. She had long since outgrown bedtime stories, yet her memory retention was truly incredible and even events from her preschool days were clear to her as they were the day they happened.
That far away idol from the television was now closer than ever, both figuratively and literally, and slowly her daydream faded into a reality more than dreamlike and beyond surreal. It was beyond her wildest expectations in her wildest dreams to be here, it was a weightless sensation and yet she felt as though a million tons rested upon her shoulders, with no ground beneath her on which to stand and bear it.
That clear sky February morning, in the distant past of 2008, was the day Sierra's story truly began. Her bus rolled down the runway at the Toronto international airport, and she was stunned by the blinding light of stardom in every direction. She was among titans of reality television, that is to say, the cast of the hit TV series Total Drama, there with her in the flesh and blood. And the mythical idol of which so much has thus far been said, and of whom Sierra heard so much during her childhood, would be hosting it all. Even long after the fact, she would never summon the right words to describe her excitement, as such strong language does not exist in English nor any tongue spoken by man.
Back then, Total Drama was nearing its apogee, and Sierra was a product of the huge wave of success the show had begotten. Dressed in a snug yellow hoodie and aquamarine jeans, the teen fangirl's hands were wringing so hard she was squeezing droplets from her sweaty palms. Her long purple braid down her back, over a meter of hair thicker than an arm swished back and forth as her head moved around, onyx eyes darting from one person to the next.
To be here was to follow in the footsteps of her matrilineal ancestors, for she was kin of Rita, who had in her teen years devoted her life to the hit boy band Fametown. She had learned her ways from Gloria, who toiled in her adolescence marching as one of many in the loyal legions of Elvis Prestley, daughter of Hannah, who spent many a day pining over the fictional persona of Sherlock Holmes as relayed to her over the crackling, low-fidelity broadcasts of the family radio. And she was the daughter of Sierra, for whom her modern descendent was named, and who had traveled across the Empire Upon Which the Sun Never Sets to see for herself on Arthur Roy Brown, flying ace and slayer of the Red Baron who had visited terror upon the allies so visceral and livid in the Great War.
It was a natural matter of heritage, therefore, that the young Sierra, carrying the name of a woman who had traveled far and wide to witness herself some far away idol, came here to Total Drama by her passion for the show and it's characters. Not human beings like you or I, nor like the mere mortal Sierra, but figures of myth and legend whose names were so great they were doubtless sang as far as in the halls of Valhalla, for there was certainly no corner of Earth which they had not been heard upon.
For most of the bus ride from the terminal to the runway she'd been too seized with wonder and awe to make so much as the slightest utterance, but the luster was beginning to wear off and the itch to actually speak to her new companions was growing. Even walking among Gods, she would eventually be overcome by the temptation to mingle with those so far above her.
"But who to talk to first?" she mumbled to herself, not one to let her thoughts go unheard, "Jeez, so many choices."
"How about you don't?" came the voice sitting next to her. "You'll have plenty of time to learn how awful these people are when we're on tour."
That immediately caught Sierra's attention, and she snapped her focus towards the scrawny nerd in the seat next to her. With a blue collared shirt and a red insulated vest, plus cargo pants, he was a fashion disaster, but a huge forehead and a disdainful scowl hinted at the vast intellectual prowess that was laying at rest beside her.
"Eeeee! On tour? You know something about the new season don't you Noah?" she squealed, leaning uncomfortably close to Noah and looming large over him. "Did you learn some sweet insider info working as Chris's assistant? You gotta tell me. "
He seemed to pause as if considering it, but in reality his mind was made up twenty minutes before the conversation began, and the pause only existed for the effect. "Hm, you know what? Forget I said anything. I don't want to get reamed by my contract."
"Ooooh, under NDA? Lol Noah that is so leet of you, getting in on production secrets like that."
"Hey do you take advice? Never talk like that again if you want another human being to acknowledge your existence."
Someone of a more sound state of mind might have caught that rather harsh indictment of her speech, and thus not continued speaking, but Sierra was too flattered by one of her deities acknowledging her existence to be bothered that he regarded her with mild disdain. Her eyes scanned left and right across the seats next to her, the fangirl not left wanting for superstars to chatter about. Her gaze settled on a wheat-blonde young woman with a very comely, girl-next-door appearance to her. Sierra had seen her so much in her iconic summer clothes on television that the baby blue parka and long cuffed jeans seemed to impart an entirely different sort of appearance on her. Or perhaps it was the look of brewing anxiety she wore on her face, so unlike her easygoing attitude she had on the first two seasons.
"Awww, poor Bridgette." Sierra shook her head. "She must be devastated, splitting up with her boyfriend for the first time!"
"I can hear you, you know that right?" came the Surfer's dry response. The anxiety drained from her face and was replaced with a thin-lipped smile, her brow tilted at the newcomer. "And uh…thanks?"
"Yeah, if that's what passes as a whisper for you, I'd hate to know what you call a shout," Noah snickered, and Sierra shifted in her seat, her hands wringing a little nervously.
"Oh. My. Gosh. Bridgette Hamilton from Total Drama is talking to me! The co-host of the Aftermaths! I just…I can't even!"
"Hey, calm down okay? I like it when people think of me as just Bridgette. Soaking up all that spotlight from being host of the show is more Geoff's thing. I just like to help my friends get closure after they're eliminated."
"L O L! Yeah, Geoff can be a total fame hog. Always has been, actually. Did you know that when he was 9 years old, he made local news by throwing the biggest party his neighborhood had ever seen? And then when he was 13 he made the news again, throwing an even bigger party. Haha how cool is that?"
Bridgette however, did not seem to think it was cool, crossing her arms across her chest and looking at Sierra warily. "Hey, how do you know that about my boyfriend?"
Oblivious to her faux pas, a confused Sierra tried to explain to the disgruntled surfer, "It's a funny story, actually—"
"One I could go all day without hearing," Noah interrupted unceremoniously. "How about you just drop this before it gets really weird and I have to bear witness to some unholy stalker creep-out."
"Hey guys, what are we talking about?!" As if summoned from the pits of a fiery inferno, a girl with wild, unkempt hair sat up over the seat in front of Sierra and Noah, looking down at the two as a vulture would look upon the dead and dying. Her magma-orange hair suited her volatile, explosive personality, and her choice of outfit was peculiar for the depths of winter. An asymmetric lime green shirt with her right arm in a sleeve, and her left arm totally sleeveless with only a strap over it, and a pair of white pants that were so thoroughly ragged and riddled with holes they could not possibly insulate against the biting winds of February. At least the lime colored beanie she wore might keep her head warm.
"Izzy!" Sierra greeted the familiar face, totally forgetting Bridgette and turning her attention to the interloper. Noah could only roll his eyes.
"Speak of the devil…" He muttered.
Ignoring him, Sierra continued, "What's up? And oh, btw, thanks sooooo much for getting me on the show, Liz. IOU."
"Haha oh yeah and I am so going to collect on that." The redhead laughed. "But if you use my full name on live television like you did with Bridgette, your body will be found in one-inch cubes spanning every dumpster in the city of Toronto."
The purplenette seemed unfazed by the blatant threat, shaking it off as one of her friend's quirky traits. "Classic Izzy, ROFL. So, where do you think we're going? We're at an airport, obviously, so we're going somewhere new. I hear they're going to take us to a nuclear bunker in the Rocky Mountains and watch us slowly go insane as we're trapped inside and forced to live in it for a whole month!"
"Oh we're totally going to America." Izzy nodded in agreement. "But not to an abandoned base in the rockies. They're taking us straight to area 51, where they'll torture and dissect us on live TV! Haha! Bzzt! Bzzzt!" She motioned with her hands as if plunging some invisible drill into Sierra's skull.
"Woah, that sounds just like Chris. Can you say, best host ever? Ecksdee."
"Even if that were remotely plausible," Noah said, "I don't consider detainment and torture to be the mark of a most excellent and beloved host."
"Noah, you have a lot to learn about television." Sierra wagged her finger at him. "That sort of slowburn psychological breakdown stuff is, like, the stuff reality TV greatness is made of! We'd be lucky to be a part of it."
"Why do I get the feeling you're only saying that because you've only ever had to watch? Let's see if you still think that after you've had to put your neck on the line for Chris's ratings," he said, adding finger quotes to the final pair of words for the extra sarcastic bite. "Hey, let's talk about something less ludicrous and potentially psychological—how's Owen holding up? Still pants-shitting scared of flying?"
"Nah, he's doing great, isn't that right Big-O?" Izzy slapped her sat-down seatmate on the back. While the redhead was a tiny twig of a girl who couldn't have weighed fifty kilos soaking wet, her partner in crime was a boy of truly tremendous girth who did most of the filling out of their seat. Wheat-blonde haired with a big blue maple leaf on his shirt, usually he'd be the life of the party, a ball of fun energy that acted as a center of gravity for the social scene of Total Drama. That he was sitting quietly and tensely in his seat was a little unsettling for Sierra, who was more than aware of the boy's usual demeanor.
"Doesn't he usually… talk more than this? I mean, he totally faced his fear of flying in season one, episode seven, right?"
"Uh, no. More like he took one for the team and then vowed to never fly again," Noah cut-in. "I guess the challenge criteria wasn't overcoming your fear, just facing it bravely? Ugh, that challenge was a mess. I hear they left a lot of it on the cutting room floor and from what everyone's actually said about being there, I believe it."
"OMG yeah, so true. Poor Tyler really got robbed by that challenge huh?" The Superfan's eyes looked over to the seat across and one in front of Izzy and Owen's. "Speaking of, look who's back this time."
Ah yes, Tyler Patton, the jock-of-all-trades whose run on the original season was short, marked by a great deal of accidents and clumsiness in an admirably persistent pursuit of athletic greatness, and punctuated only by one notable deed—catching the eye of the most gorgeous girl on the whole island, Lindsay Summers.
A leggy blonde bombshell with hair that flowed from her head to her back perfectly, beautiful clear skin free of blemishes, playful, big eyes that you could get lost in, and a figure that would show up in the dictionary when you looked up "hourglass", Lindsay had it all. And she wasn't shy about showing it either with her choice in clothing usually, but as it was winter even she had to make sacrifices in the name of practicality. Her usual tank top and short skirt were nowhere to be seen, instead exchanged for a fluffy mink fur coat and a matching pair of fuzzy leggings and ugg boots. White and silver were definitely a look she carried well.
It was worth remembering that Tyler, for his part, was no ugly sack of potatoes either. He was handsome and well built, an athlete in every sense of the word. What he lacked in coordination or grace, he at least made up for in raw strength, with broad shoulders and a robust build. And Lindsay seemed to be spending every minute of the bus ride soaking it all up, and the sort of looks he gave her indicated it was a mutual fixation. While neither were the sharpest tool in the shed intellectually, that common ground seemed to do their relationship a surprising amount of good. The cynical might view it as a vain, shallow relationship, two gorgeous people who only valued each other as eye candy to look at, but the perceptive would see two simple people who understood exactly what they wanted, and found it in each other.
"Ugh, what does he even need to be on the show for?" Noah huffed and rolled his eyes. "He's got more than a million bucks sitting with him, that's for sure."
"Don't be sour cause you're single Noah," Izzy laughed, reaching out and pinching his cheek, "You've got Team Escope—and Owen too!"
"Shame that only one of the psychos I'm friends with is here for this season," he lamented. "What can I say? Crazy's good company."
"Speaking of guys that didn't go very far"—Sierra thumbed at the seat behind Bridgette—"Look who came along."
It was no secret that Ezekiel's reputation on Total Drama was not a particularly positive one, but when you're the first to leave on the first season it doesn't leave room for many good impressions. That his last comments before leaving were of a variety that could be read as misogynistic did not help his case (though if one were to give him the benefit of the doubt or perhaps understand his background better, they might be able to correctly recognize his remarks as ignorance and not malice).
Rural and provincial in both appearance and mannerisms, Ezekiel was of a very average build for a young man his age, and some might describe his appearance as quite homely. He was one of the only contestants to not be wearing a different outfit than his usual fare- his long blue jeans and somewhere tattered old drab green sweater were hardly fashionable, but being from the prairies, his parents had the foresight to bless him with clothes that could endure all the harshness that region could bring to bear in winter.
Sitting towards nearly the back of the bus, he was alone in his seat and deep in prayer at the moment. For a Total Drama contestant, Sierra knew surprisingly little about him by her own standards- which still meant probably more personal information than most were comfortable knowing.
"Well he got along pretty well with Lindsay and Beth in the Island special," she said. "A lot of my fans think he'll go farther this season! You'd be surprised how many Zeke fan-blogs there are."
"Can't imagine why," Noah said indifferently. "Kinda hard to do worse in his shoes though."
"Tch, I still don't trust him. He probably thinks I can't mix napalm as good as a guy can or something like that." Izzy scowled.
"Oh Izzy, I bet your napalm is military grade," Sierra assured her friend, glancing back towards the resident homeschool, watching him with a Jane-Goodall sort of fascination. Like much of the show's cast, she was a suburban teen, and even though Ezekiel's rural upbringing did much to offend many metropolitan sensibilities, it also inspired a sense of curiosity at someone who lived a lifestyle so different it may as well have been from another time period or country.
"Wonder what he's praying about," she mused to herself.
It was at that moment he unfolded his hands and opened his eyes, looking up towards Sierra. "Just for a safe flight eh? Figure if the plane he booked for us sucks as much as the cabins on the island, it'll take an act of God to keep us flying right?"
That comment broke Owen out of his tense silence and brought on a fit of jolly laughter more befitting him. "No kidding right! Did you see the plane he made me and Izzy do that challenge in? Holy moly, I really thought I was gonna die!"
"For sure! It looked dangerous on the TV, must have been even worse getting in that thing eh?"
"You wouldn't believe how many holes that thing had! Hehe, you could even say it was hole-y?" The large lad snickered at his own wordplay, and Noah let out the sort of groan distinctly reserved for only the lamest, most painful sort of puns. Ezekiel actually got a genuine laugh or two out of it.
"Uhuh, I guess you could say that."
"So, you think your big buddy up there heard ya?" Owen pointed a finger upwards—immediately, he was pointing at the roof of the bus, but it was clear by the context he was referring to the heavens above that bus.
"Uh, I don't really think of God as a big buddy," Ezekiel admitted with an uncomfortable shift in his posture. "More of a very distant, aloof Dad, if I had to put words on it?"
"Oh! Sorry if that was insensitive," Owen immediately apologized. "It's just, my Mom took me to church and I never really got any of the holy or spiritual stuff about it? I just liked meeting new people and getting free food from the soup kitchen."
"No man, it's fine." The Homeschool put up his hands. "I guess I'm just not used to talking about this from anyone outside my own house eh? I guess everyone's touched by God in a different way you know? You seem like a friendly guy eh, I bet you could make anyone your buddy. Even Him."
The thought was enough for the big friendly blob to snort-laugh, and even Izzy cracked a smile, giving Owen a pat on the back and a peck on the cheek, "Heh, you bet your ass he could. Everyone loves him!"
"But not as much as you do." He grinned, returning the affection by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close up against him. Total Drama's entire premise of taking a bunch of teens and forcing them to spend time together isolated from the outside world made it a hotbed of odd hookups. There were the predictable classics, like the dumb blonde and dumb jock stereotype that was Lindsay and Tyler's relationship, but for every one of those there was something like what Owen and Izzy had.
It could be said that it made enough sense if you boiled it down far enough, as both were outgoing, energetic people who loved fun. But the way they expressed it couldn't be more different, with Izzy manifesting chaotic energy, unpredictable and frightening in many ways. Owen was easygoing, lovable and friendly, and certainly not the sort of person you'd expect to hook up with a girl who had a certified record.
"Awwww you guys are so cute!" Sierra clapped. "Wish I had my camera, I could get some super exclusive pics for the Nozzy bloggers."
"Really? That's what they call us?" Owen tilted his head. "I always thought it'd be Izowen."
"Shipping works in mysterious ways," Sierra shrugged. The rest gave her odd looks, but she paid them little mind, being as delighted as she was just to have them even look at her. Seeing as the others were wandering off into their own conversations, and Noah seemed to have totally zoned out into the contents of his book, Sierra perked up to glance over her seat and see if she could get a head-count on the rest of the cast for this season.
That's when she noticed he was here. Baby blue eyes locked with hers and she fell back into her seat stunned. It had only been a brief look, but it made her head dizzy. "OMG, did you see that?" She asked her seatmate who was desperately trying to ignore her, "Cody Emmett Jamieson Anderson looked at me! Did you see it, did you see it?"
"No."
"Well you should have! It was totally epic and dreamy and just as amazing as when I wrote about it in my fanfics!" Sierra was hyperventilating as she bounced in her seat, looking ready to spring straight to the moon. "Okay well he wasn't wearing a shirt in any of those, but I can deal with shirt Cody! Eeee, he's cute no matter what he's wearing!" She grabbed her cheeks in her hands and looked at Noah, who was still trying his very best to avoid interacting with her anymore.
The object of her affections was not exactly the type you'd think would inspire starry-eyed lust in girls. Cody Anderson, for that was indeed his name as she had said, was a scrawny weakling with a babyface that got him a lot of comments along the lines of "grade school's that way, buddy." Being small in stature certainly didn't help, but at least with winter his brown leather jacket with its broad shoulders gave the illusion of some bodily mass he desperately lacked, and the padded cargo pants underneath served the purpose well too. It seemed he was still unaware that not far behind him, someone was losing their proverbial shit over his existence.
"Don't tell him I said that alright? Ugh, what should I say? Do you have a paper bag I can breathe into? I think I'm hyperventilating."
"No, I don't." Noah glanced up as the brakes on the bus hissed and squealed, bringing the vehicle to a stop, in front of a truly gigantic hangar with a camera crew and the host waiting, "Better figure it out soon honey, looks like we're on."
As everyone began to stir in their seats, expecting their cue to exit and face the lights, cameras and action, a pair of watchful eyes took in everything happening before him to an immaculate degree. Sierra wasn't the only newcomer to the show, and as she tried to fight panic attack at the idea of talking to her TV crush in front of millions of viewers around the world, the other fresh arrival was calm and collected, casually making small talk with everyone around him as if he had been their friends for years back.
"A fascinating story, Harold." He laughed heartily. "You truly are a renaissance man, and a credit to your team. It's a shame you didn't make it to the finale in the second season."
"Psh, yeah I was ripped off. I think Chris had it out for me you know?"
"Ah, I'm sure things will be better this time around. Third time's the charm, isn't that what they say?"
The newcomer was one Alejandro Burromuerto. Tall, tanned, and impeccably handsome, he was the sort of face you could put in a movie, and a finely chiseled body you could put in a swimsuit magazine. Despite the freezing temperatures, he seemed fine and comfortable in just a red jacket with a T-shirt, and some plain black jeans with matching riding boots.
Unlike Sierra, he came from a much different sort of lineage than idol worshippers, but like her his family profession had been passed down through generations. He came from an esteemed line of diplomats, a profession to which fame came seldom, and for which was never a good omen. A diplomat who does well at their work is hardly ever noticed at all as they smoothly mediate the flow of regular exchanges between nations going about their daily affairs. As such his heritage was one of quiet achievements and invisible miracles, though one Juan Burromuerto had the misfortune of being besieged by the Boxers in the year of our lord 1900, and that was up until this moment, the most exciting and novel thing in which any Burromuerto was involved.
Across from him were two contestants who couldn't be more different if they'd be expressly chosen as opposites. Closest to the aisle, and thus to Alejandro, was Harold, a ginger stringbean with flat-topped red hair and thick, square framed glasses. His defense against the winter chill was a navy blue trench coat that came all the way down to the tops of his galoshes, making him look like a rejected extra from a Matrix movie. An apt comparison too, as the boy was a dork, a nerd, every manner in which a geek can be named, his knowledge of science, history and pop culture was as broad as it was specific. Yet for all of that, he still carried himself with an unwarranted swagger, as if he were the coolest thing yet to be bestowed upon the universe.
Beside him was an ebony beauty of bountiful proportions, a striking contrast that drew more than a few odd looks. A loud and proud sister with a long ash-black ponytail, Leshawna was as incredibly curvy as Harold was lanky, the sort of girl that Sir-Mixalot famously sang about. And she liked people to know it too, with a fluffy orange sweater dress to keep warm and show off her figure. Wool leggings included of course, because everyone knows that leggings with a dress is top shelf taste.
Nobody, not even Alejandro with his cunning perception, or Sierra with her encyclopedic knowledge, knew exactly what was going on between the two of them. They were friendly to a degree it was hard to believe they were just friends, with an especially strong fondness coming from Harold's side of their interactions.
"Yeah, she's basically a Goddess on the dance floor. Think we'll get to bust some moves this season?"
"Mmmh, you'd like to see that, wouldn't you?" Every last word of Leshawna's reply oozed confidence and sass. Alejandro wasn't sure if she was coyly flirting with him or politely rebuffing his advances. She always played off his compliments like this, never openly reciprocating his feelings, but always leaving open the door for him to come back with more. If they were a couple, they sure had an interesting dynamic. And if not, whatever their relationship was, was a certified oddity.
Not that it mattered anyways, to Alejandro. Neither would be an obstacle in his path to greatness, and he was supremely confident in that. And while they were rather difficult to parse out, other relationships were much more open and easy to read.
"Check it out babe, snatched this for you while going through customs."
"You did WHAT?!"
A short-legged punk with a bright green mohawk and enough piercings to indicate some seriously poor taste was dangling some jewelry he's stolen from the airport in front of his girlfriend. Said girlfriend was an auburn-haired, mocha-skinned ball of fury right now, clearly not enthused with the gift as much as he was enthused with stealing it for her.
"What? Don't you like it?"
"Ugh, Duncan it's really pretty and the thought is sweet, but do you even know how many years in prison that is if you get caught?"
"Listen princess," he said, throwing an arm over her shoulder and leaning in close, "Every last year of time would be worth it when it's for you."
At first she bristled at his touch, but his words took the sharp edge off her attitude, "Awww. Ugh, you're an insufferable bonehead, but you're my insufferable bonehead. Come here, you!"
The two threw their arms around each other and fell into a wild face-sucking makeout session. Courtney was a prim, proper and civilized young lady, studying to get into a prestigious business school and one day strike it big as a CEO and even potentially go into politics. She had ambitious plans for her life, but right now all that was on hold while she sought fame and fortune on reality's TV's hottest new show, Total Drama.
With auburn-hair that reached down to her shoulders trimmed and preened to frame her face perfectly, a long sleeved periwinkle blouse and a pair of high waisted white pants, she mixed business casual with cozy and warm. She was also the exact last person one would have expected to hook up with the local punk troublemaker, but that's exactly what had happened in the first season. And now on their third, their relationship was more tense and turbulent than ever.
For his part, Duncan was a square-jawed, low-browed, both figuratively and literally, street-fit sort of guy who had pocketed a lot more from the airport than just some jewelry for his girlfriend. Never one to wince at pain and always looking to make a statement to the tune of "back the hell off", he'd added a heavy leather biker jacket over his usual jeans and black skull design T-shirt. Not the warmest choice, but definitely pretty badass looking, at least according to Duncan.
Watching their turbulent vexations between romantic passion and open hostility had been the best source of entertainment Alejandro could ask for the whole ride. Their flirting gave way to fighting, and just as seamlessly, their fighting could swing back to raunchy flirtation and affection just as quickly. Those two would be fun to toy with when he had the chance.
Most of the cast had simply learned to tune their bickering out, or else enjoy the show they put on, but one contestant seemed put off by Duncan and Courtney's squabbling more than anyone else. A gentle Jamaican giant, Devon Joseph was every bit the biggest boy on the bus, towering over everyone else even while he was sitting down, and with a build that wouldn't look out of place in a wrestling ring. Preferring to go by his nickname of DJ, he couldn't help but wince at some of the more caustic comments the couple two seats in front of him made.
"What's the matter?" Alejandro asked, turning to speak to DJ as though he were a long time friend offering comforts.
"Ah it's nothing man. None of my business really." He shook his head. "Just, all that hate can't be good right? I don't wanna tell them how they should deal with their relationship and all that, but man, it just don't look good do it?"
"I understand your concerns, but don't judge them too harshly," Alejandro assured him. "Everyone deals with their troubles differently, even in love."
"For sure, but my Mama always said there's no reason to be hateful or mean when you're dealing with your feelings."
That so many of these contestants would spill personal information like that so readily baffled Alejandro. Did they not realize they were on a competition and not a paid-for spring vacation? Still, his pleasantries never wavered even as he puzzled over it internally.
"She sounds like a very wise woman. Do you miss her?"
"Every day, dude. Guess I've had her on my mind since I learned we'd be traveling for the season. Never been abroad since we came to Canada when I was very little, so it's really the furthest I've been from my family in… well, since I can remember, really?"
Alejandro shook his head, a pensive look over his face as if he was deeply empathetic. "Living in Canada has taken me very far from my Latin family, I know how it is. But every day I am here I know I'm making them proud. Don't you want to make your Mama proud, too?"
That seemed to do the trick, wiping away much of DJ's visible anxiety. Behind Alejandro's friendly demeanor was a hidden sly grin of satisfaction, buried deeply in his psyche and only visible to the mind's eye. If he wanted to win, and winning was all that he came for, then he would have to nurture connections and dependencies among the cast. This would be an excellent start.
"Alright everyone, it's showtime!" The unmistakable beckon of the show's host on the megaphone blared through the thin walls of the bus. "Come on out dudes and dudettes, let's get the cameras rolling on Season 3!"
The door to the bus rattled as it slid open, and it was really time to go now. Alejandro stood up, and for the first time he caught a glimpse of the last two contestants he hadn't yet had time to interact with. One was a moody alabaster-skinned goth, with shoulder-length hair dyed in shades of black and streaked with teal, swaddled in a heavy black and white sweater and tattered leggings. Much like Duncan, she too wasn't above suffering for her fashion statements.
Standing up, she collided with the girl in the seat across from her, and sparks of hostility flew as the two staggered back, glaring daggers at each other.
"Hey, watch it creep! I was here first," snapped the girl opposite the goth.
"Uh, that's not how it works, and besides, which one of us was in a finale?"
"At least I didn't dump my boyfriend on international TV. Even I'm not that cold."
"Cold enough to kiss another girl's boyfriend on the exact same show, bitch."
"Oho, that is it, I did not suffer a season of baldness just to get talked down by some Hot Topic emo wannabe who wears long sleeves because she doesn't want anyone to see the cut marks."
"And I didn't put up with Chris's bullshit to be bullied by some fake-tits bimbo that wears horse-hair extensions."
"Hah! You wish these were fake, washboard."
"Heather, enough!"
Leshawna's booming voice silenced them both, and she exchanged a glance with the raven-haired queen bee who'd been arguing with the goth. Heather was tall, leggy, and lithe, with a fair complexion and sharp, perceptive eyes. She wore a pink fluffy parka white a white fur lined hood, cuffs and hem, with matching color ugg boots and pants.
"You're right." She grinned slyly. "I'll have plenty of time to destroy Gwen during the game. Go on ahead." Heather stepped aside. "After all, it's only fitting that you go first."
Gwen, for that was the name of the goth who had fought against Heather in their verbal skirmish, scowled at her insulting offer, but took it up and marched out to be the first on camera for the season. Alejandro and Heather followed shortly behind her, the former delighted to see such a clearly useful and open rivalry already there for him to play to his advantage. These people had serious issues. That would suit him very nicely.
Outside waiting for them was their host, their seemingly eternal tormentor, Chris McClean. Oh Chris, oh Chris, what was there to say about Chris that hadn't been said? And there was a great deal to say, for if you had heard even a quarter of what was said of Chris McClean in those days, then you had already heard many, many things. The teen heartthrob of the decades since passed, who had lent his voice to a troupe of musicians that made the charts shake and tremble with their beats, that Chris McClean! The charismatic face on prime time commercials selling all varieties of household goods, that Chris McClean. The actor who had brought tales of horror and sports intertwined unto the silver screen, that Chris McClean.
Despite his almost mythical status however, Chris had a general manner of being that was somewhat unkempt and low-brow. His chin was covered in stubble and his choice of outfit was a simple white parka with grey fur liner and matching pants. His hair was combed over into a windswept style that seemed to stay that way no matter how many biting chilly breezes actually swept it.
The cameras were rolling, and Chris spread his arms with a dramatic flourish. "Season Three!" he announced to the cameras as they began rolling, "The world will be mine! Sadly, I have to share my world with this traveling teen freak show. Let's see who I'm taking along with me on the flight, shall we?"
As the cast filed out of the bus, each was called by name. "We've got Gwen, Heather, Duncan, Courtney, Leshawna, Harold, and DJ!"
Each was given a few minutes in front of the cameras after they stepped out to say hello and make an impression. The best parts of each of these would later be cut into a short, minute long montage to make it look as if everyone had stepped out more or less instantly, keeping the pace of the episode moving smoothly.
"Uh, can I get a seat not behind Heather's pony-hair ponytail?" Gwen asked the host.
"No promises," Chris shrugged.
"This is all human hair, thank you."
"You learn something new every day," Duncan quipped, much to Gwen's amusement and Heather's chagrin.
Continuing to roll off the season's contestants, Chris motioned dramatically to the arrival of, as he put it, "Back by popular demand, Owen, Izzy, Cody, Noah, Lindsay, Tyler, Ezekiel and Bridgette!"
Most of them kept their introductions short, but as Lindsay stepped out, her high heeled boots proved her undoing, denying her the traction she needed to stay upright on the ice. While Tyler had a lot of good things to say about her rear, it did little to soften the impact of falling onto the pavement. Tyler rushed past the others when he saw her go down, but in his haste to help he only ended up falling on top of her, and his pushing and shoving served to bring Ezekiel and Bridgette down with him. All this of course happened in seconds, far less time than it takes to describe it in.
Without even checking to see if they were alright, Chris kept rolling off the roster. They could always fix the take in post, probably, but they needed his charming narration to set the final cut to.
"And to keep things mixed up, we're adding two new contestants. He's an honor roll student with a diplomat dad, and an uncanny ability to charm the pants off most anybody—everyone give a warm welcome to Alejandro!"
"May I be of some assistance?" He offered a hand to the pile of klutzes struggling to right themselves on the ice. Starting with the first step onto the screen each move he made had calculated grace and swagger, his words rolling off the tongue smoothly and with a velvety, suave accent. He easily pulled Lindsay and Bridgette to their feet, much to their delight.
"Woah," the Surfer Girl stammered, clearing her throat and quickly adding, "Uh, thanks."
"And gentlemen, please, allow me," he said, not content to leave Tyler and Ezekiel to fend for themselves, helping them up as well.
"Thanks eh."
"Uh, I like girls," Tyler sputtered.
That particular cut would make it into the final version, almost entirely because the impression made by Alejandro's entrance outweighed any of the cons entailed by keeping the big four-way fumble on the ice that had led to it.
Not one to let the plight of his contestants bother him in the slightest, Chris continued, "And she's a sugar-addicted superfan with twenty-two total drama blogs. It's Sierra!"
Stepping out of the bus, Sierra was a blubbering mess of incoherent excited screams and squeals. "OhmygoshthisisthebestdayofmylifeandIloveyouguysand—" Her words blended into a fit of hyperventilation as she tried to suck in oxygen as fast as she spoke, her face losing color at an alarming rate until she managed to get it under control and speak coherently: "Anyone got a paper bag I can breath into?"
Any need to breath was instantly overridden however when she set eyes on the geeky runt known to all as Cody. She scrambled over to greet him, and it was only now standing up that one thing was apparent about Sierra—she was a giant. It was all in her legs so she looked ordinary enough while sat down; on her feet she was the tallest girl in the group by a country mile. She stood a few inches over all the guys except DJ.
This effect was only amplified when she stood next to the shortest guy in the cast, Cody, and looked down at him with wonderstruck eyes. "Eeee! Cody I'm so excited to meet you! I've been dreaming of this moment for so long and! Here it is! I'm Sierra—but lol, Chris said that already, you knew that right?"
"Uh… yeah?" He tilted his head. "Nice to… meet you too?"
"Oh my gosh I just can't believe I'm here with you on the show and—" She dropped to her knees and looked him right dead in the eyes. "This is going to be an amazing season for us!"
"Us?"
"Did I say us? I meant you! Haha why would there be an us? It's not like I'm crazy in looooo-ook Chris is doing a thing I GTG!" She immediately pumped the brakes on her mile a minute blubbering as she realized where it was going, darting off as quickly as she'd arrived, "This is your season Codykins, you're gonna do great!"
Stunned and confused, Cody decided to shrug the meeting off much like one would shrug off an alien abduction, if you were inclined to keep your sanity and good upstanding reputation among your peers. And hey, what did you know, the crazy purple-haired giant lady was right, Chris was doing something. Ushering the contestants to gather in front of the massive hangar and moving the cameras to capture his address to all of them.
"Contestants, today I stand before you on the verge of something great. Something historical, monumental even. Do you even know how big of a deal a third season is in this business? That's how you know you really made it. Or that I really made it, in this case. I did turn you into marketable icons, didn't I?"
"Oh but at what cost?" Noah muttered under his breath.
"Planning for this season's been under tight wraps, and you're about to see why. Those among you who are keen observers might have noticed we're at an airport—"
"No shit shirlock!" Duncan cut in, much to the host and Courtney's chagrin.
"Duncan! Pipe down!" she chided.
"Better listen to your girl Dunc, or I'll put you on the no-fly list if you keep that up," Chris warned him. "As I was saying, we are at an airport, and I'm sure many of you are wondering where we're headed." He paused for dramatic effect, watching the crowd for their reactions. "Today, you'll learn just that. But really, what you should be asking yourselves isn't where we're headed, but where we aren't? Because we're hitting up the whole wide world baby!"
Murmurs of surprise percolated through the crowd, punctuated by an over the top squeal from Sierra, "Oh my gosh! Chris I love you! That's an amazing twist!"
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" The host nodded, a smug look of self-satisfaction on his face. "And this will be our chariot." He clapped his hands together dramatically, "Billy, the door!"
A blond stood by to carry out the order. Among Total Drama's now infamous Intern Corps, he stood out for his blue shirt, which was normally red and went along with brown slacks. The color of their shirts had become something of a morbid meme, with an oft-made comparison being to that of Star Trek's similarly clothed and similarly disposable extras. It was said that if you lived long enough, you'd progress through the ranks of shirt colors indicating a longer life expectancy. Billy there was the only one who wore blue.
The hangar doors rumbled as they split apart, opening to reveal an awesome sight. An aircraft of truly titanic proportions, easily as tall as a three-story building and with a wingspan great enough to span a hockey rink length-wise once and half again. The six engines were so massive you could nearly stand two men on top of each other in the intakes. In every sense of the word, this was a titan of the skies. It was painted overall in a slick black paint scheme with chrome trim and the letters TD in red on the nose, and Chris's faced traced in orange outline on the tail fins.
"Woah." Harold gasped in awe. "That's gotta be that huge Antonov plane yeah? I read about it in Popular Mechanics a few years ago, it's the biggest thing to ever fly."
"Looks like it," Cody remarked to him quietly. "Isn't there like, only one of those things in the world? Does Chris have like, ties to the Russian mob or whatever to get that thing?"
"Actually it's Ukranian. You don't want to mix those up, they get really mad about it."
"Who, the Ukranians or the Russians?"
"Yeah."
The doors reached the end of their travel with a loud metallic thud, and Chris motioned them to the open cargo bay, "All aboard, on a voyage to one million dollars!" He turned dramatically to the cameras for the sign-off flourish, "We're saving you a front-row seat for all the action and all the drama, right here on—"
"Total!"
"Drama!"
"Woooooooorld Touuuuuuur!"
After the cameras cut for the commercial break to be put in during editing, Chris led the contestants into the open cargo bay of the aircraft. Inside, everything needed to film a reality TV show anywhere in the world. Trucks, camera dollies and their tracks, prefabricated, collapsible buildings that could be erected on set to provide sleeping quarters, makeup and costume trailers, enough food and water to feed a small army for weeks—it was all here.
The back of the cargo hold was left empty, and for a very specific reason. The walls of the hold had been lined with wooden planks that passed as seats, with straps to keep any prospective passengers firmly strapped in, and folding bunks just overhead.
"Here in the back of the cargo hold is where each week's losers will be staying," Chris explained, "Don't worry, it's pressurized so the altitude changes won't blow your eardrums out. Probably."
Most of the contestants winced visibly at the conditions, but Ezekiel shrugged and looked completely unfazed. "I've slept rougher eh."
"Same," Duncan agreed. "Looks like juvie but with better seating and no chance of being shanked."
"Uh, you're on the same plane as her." Noah thumbed towards Izzy, who was currently trying to sneak away from the tour group to rifle through the cargo hold. "Your chances of being shanked on this flight are definitely nonzero."
"Damn, man, you got that right," Duncan nodded, "Good thing I sleep with one eye open."
At the very back of the cargo hold was a ladder, and at the top of it, a small but well furnished galley compartment. Getting all eighteen contestants up into it, along with the host and the cameras, was a tight squeeze, but they all fit with some room to spare. There were four metal tables with bench seating, and a kitchenette with a hybrid microwave/oven and electric stovetop.
"This is the galley, where you'll enjoy in-flight meals," Chris explained, "You'll eat in shifts: the winners get first dibs on the grub, and the losers get to make-do with whatever is left."
"Hmph, looks like I'll be eating good this season baby," Leshawna remarked confidently. "Y'all got a ladies room in this thing?"
"See that door to the right? That's our unisex in-flight restroom."
"Good, cause I gotta use it."
Much to her chagrin, Leshawna discovered that, much like the first season, the show's restroom also served as it's confessional cam. A private little recording booth of inner thoughts and much needed vents in some cases, but also an obnoxious intrusion into one's bathroom goings. The second season had moved the confessional camera out of the restroom and into the makeup and costume trailers, so the reversion was extra unwelcome now that the contestants had once had a taste of some privacy.
"Ugh, the potty cam is back? Seriously?" she groaned, in what would later become the first confessional of the season. "Can't a sister get some privacy on this show?"
Noticing that the conditions they'd been shown so far were quite spartan, DJ was the first to speak after Leshawna. "Hey Chris, is there somewhere nicer we can stay? This all looks kinda rough man."
"I'm glad you asked, DJ," the host replied, pulling back the curtain in front of a small doorway and leading the contestants through, "If you manage to win the week's challenge, you'll be rewarded with a stay in here on the next flight."
The compartment in question was a lounge area with comfortable looking couches, a TV on the wall and a shelf full of movies to provide in-flight entertainment. There was even the world's smallest mini-bar in the back corner. These weren't the nicest accommodations they'd ever seen, but it was a world apart from being packed into the cargo hold like human freight.
"Not only will you have complimentary drinks and in-flight entertainment, your couches fold out into something like an actual bed," McClean pulled a lever on the side of one of the aforementioned couches to demonstrate, and indeed, it flattened into something that could be described as a serviceable bed.
"Now this is the sort of luxury ladies like you deserve," Alejandro remarked to Bridgette and Lindsay as they checked out the mini-bar.
"Psh, stop it, you," Bridgette giggled coyly, "I have a boyfriend, you know."
Across the compartment, Heather watched them, eyes rolling and a distrustful scowl forming. If there was a face she could put on the term 'transparent ass-kisser', his would be right there.
"So we'll be living on this plane for the whole season?" Cody asked.
"No, you'll be living on this plane the whole season," Chris corrected him. "I'll be riding in a swanky private jet that I had custom built for the express purpose of flying uber-long-distance flights in comfort and style."
The chorus of frustrated groans and murmurs that spread through the tightly packed contestants was music to the host's ears. "Oh, I know you guys are just gonna miss me so badly," he said with a smug grin stretching across his features. "Just so you don't get too lonely with Chef and the interns, I'll be keeping in touch with you guys through live video feed"—He tapped the big plasma TV screen on the wall—"this, and several others located throughout the airplane. There's one in the galley, and a couple in the cargo hold, so you can see my beautiful face any time I want you to during the flight."
"Not after I find a can of paint I won't," Gwen muttered to herself. Whether or not Chris heard her she couldn't tell, but his next words sounded eerily like a response.
"And I'd think twice before ignoring my video calls, because I'll be dropping important information about the upcoming challenges before we land. You definitely don't want to miss out on that stuff, dudes."
More grumbling and discontent spread among the crowd, again to the host's delight. Irritable contestants were more likely to be hostile and stir up ratings-worthy.
"Oh, and one more thing," he added, shepherding them out of the lounge and back through the galley, to a sparse storage compartment behind it that had a pair of exit doors at the back. "This is the luggage storage, and as it's the only exit door on your end of the plane, it's also your last stop before being eliminated." He gestured to the doors. "At the end of each challenge, once we're in the air, a vote will be held among the losing team deciding which one of you will take the Drop of Shame.
"If you do not receive a bag of peanuts at the ceremony, you grab a parachute, hop out the door, and hope the chute opens once you're clear of the plane. Since I'm not entirely without mercy, we'll make sure we drop you over a city where you can probably get a ride home. But if you really get under my skin, I might just dump you in the ocean without a life raft."
The sadistic bout of laughter after that remark was met with uncomfortable silence from the contestants. Satisfied he'd covered everything, Chris headed back to the ladder that took them up into the rear accommodations, "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a much nicer plane to catch. I'll see you losers in person at our next destination."
With that, the host slid down the ladder and left the contestants to their own devices. With the exception of Alejandro and Sierra, most of them were used to this by now, and so naturally dispersed into the lounge and galley in their own groups. Since there hadn't been any challenges yet, nobody could be considered a "loser" thus far. And, someone had to be the first to go home, which meant they might never experience the nicer conditions their ride had to offer. After two seasons of mutual suffering under Chris's twisted stewardship, the contestants all had a tacit agreement to enjoy anything good while it lasted.
Not long after, the thud of the cargo doors closing could be heard, and the plane lurched as it began rolling out of its hangar and taxiing onto the runway for takeoff. This was it. They were on their way, though nobody yet knew where to.
A few minutes after Chris left, a woman with bobbed red hair and a flight attendant's uniform came up into the quarters. She was visibly a bit older than the contestants, and most of them would have guessed, correctly, that she was a college graduate, yet to become middle age and at the same time, not quite young anymore.
"Greetings! I'm Rose Atkins, and I'll be your stewardess for the flight. Now, I'm sure McClean gave you a general overview of the layout and functions of these accommodations, but I'll help you get more familiar with the finer details, and in-flight procedures as well."
"Uh, I have a question." Heather flagged her down. "Is there a confessional camera that isn't in the toilet?"
Rose paused for a moment, before issuing a reply in a formal, professional tone, "I believe there is an auxiliary camera at the back of the cockpit. Proceed forward through the cargo bay to the ladder beneath the cockpit and flight crew accommodations. If you see another woman with this same uniform, that's Emily. She'll be able to help you. Right now she's probably going through the pre-flight checklist."
"Good." Heather headed back to the ladder. Navigating between the mountains of cargo stored in the bay was simple enough, and she found the ladder leading up to the cockpit and the associated accommodations for the flight crew. Through the windows she could now see they were on the runway, and she could hear the whine of jet engines warming up at idle outside. In the pilot's seat, she recognized the hulking silhouette of Chris's right hand man, known to the world only as Chef.
A dusky-skinned brute with the build of a lumberjack, his head nearly reached the top of the cockpit even when he was sitting down. The pilot's uniform provided for him was custom tailored for his gargantuan sizes, and yet somehow it still seemed too small for the man. Heather wondered if it actually was, and Chris had mis-sized him on purpose just to torture him. He was not above tormenting his underlings as well as his contestants after all.
In the co-pilot's seat was a curvy, long-haired brunette who wore a ponytail and a stewardess outfit. Looking about the same age as Rose, Heather assumed this was Emily, and addressed her as such.
"Uh, hey Emily?"
The lady looked up from the pre-flight checklist she had on her clipboard towards Heather, her smile pleasant and bubbly, "That's me. How may I help you?"
"Rose said there's a camera up here; mind showing me where it is?"
"Oh sure, it's in the back there in the corner," Emily pointed over her shoulder to a camera that was, sure enough, in the rear right corner of the cockpit, past a series of control panels where she saw Billy the intern showing the ropes to one of his red-shirted comrades. With them was some guy in a blue business suit who was interchangeably speaking English and… was that Russian she was hearing?
Once Heather got back to the confessional, she looked around for some indicator it was on. "So like, how does this turn on?"
"Just hit the red button right beside it," Emily called back.
"Uuuuuh."
It was at this point that Heather realized that basically every surface on the cockpit of this aircraft was covered in buttons, dials, gauges, switches, and lights. It seemed like there was a control of some kind for every little thing, and trying to figure out which red button was the one for the cameras was a little confusing. And the labels weren't even in English!
"Um, which one?"
Chef and Emily exchanged a knowing glance, and the brunette handed her clipboard over to the cook-turned-pilot. "You got this?" she asked.
"Sure."
The brunette got up from her co-pilot's seat and headed back to where Heather was fumbling over the camera controls, nudging her aside and pointing to a lone button installed right below the camera away from any other panels or switchboards. "Just flip it upwards and it'll start recording. Got it?"
"Yeah. Sure. Hey what the hell is this writing anyways, why's it all… foreign?"
At the question Emily seemed to perk up and her explanation was delivered with the sort of genuine enthusiasm you don't normally see from flight staff, whose happiness was notoriously often faked.
"Okay so like, we picked this thing up from a Ukranian company called Antonov right? This is one of only two planes like this in the world, and it was sitting around half-finished in a shed until the studio picked it up on the cheap. Well, as cheap as this sort of thing goes anyways haha. They say that Chris picked it because he has insane challenge plans for this season and this is the only plane that could carry enough supplies onboard for those challenges."
The information mostly rolled off Heather like water off a frog's back, but in time it would become more important than she could have realized. The origins of the aircraft and the deals made to secure it would have far reaching consequences, but that fact would not make itself known until far into the future.
"Great." She rolled her eyes. "Sounds like he's going to be more of an insufferable jerk, as always. Ugh."
"I know right?" Emily laughed. "But there are rumors saying that he's got ties with old Soviet KGB guys, and the real reason they loaned us the plane is so they could smuggle secret weapons to exotic buyers around the globe."
"You don't actually believe that do you?" Heather looked at the flight attendant with mild concern.
"Not really, but it's great gossip! Haha, besides, the other major rumor is that the whole season is a front for a coke smuggling op."
"Now that I can believe," Heather deadpanned. "Uh, hey, I got a confession to make so uh, you can go back to your plane stuff, okay?"
"Sure!"
Emily turned back towards the front of the plane and left Heather to her own devices, who was now fumbling over what it exactly was she came here to confess over. She'd been up in the galley before, and then she'd left because—oh, right. Alejandro. She flicked the switch for the camera, and let the world know a piece of her mind.
"Yeah, so that Alejandro guy? Thinks he's some kind of charmer or whatever, but he's so fake, and I can see right through it." She crossed her arms to emphasize her vindictive tone. "By the way, this extra confessional is way nicer than talking in the toilet."
"Says you," Chef grunted from up front, "I'm trying to prep for a flight and I don't appreciate you stealing my help."
"Uh, hello, venting? Shush!" Heather snapped back, then continued, "Anyways, that guy is so transparent it hurts. Who does he think he's fooling anyways? Not that it matters, he'll probably be gone first if he thinks all he needs is good looks and flattery to-"
The voice of Chris McClean rang over the public address system onboard without warning, cutting off Heather and anyone else who might have been conversing at the time as his face appeared live on the screens throughout the aircraft.
"Oh, and one more thing I forgot to mention. Since this is a musical season, we need music, and we're not going to be adding it in post. Instead, whenever you hear this musical cue," He snapped his fingers, and the speakers played the tone of a bell ringing, "You've gotta make me some music. Anyone who refuses to sing when I call on them may not be eliminated, but trust me, you'll wish you were when I'm done with you." He punctuated the threat with a friendly wink.
"But what are we supposed to sing?" Courtney asked, incredulous.
"That's up to you to decide. Singing reality TV shows always get higher ratings the worse the singing, which means I'm leaving it up to your poor taste to decide what the songs are about. Aside from that, I only care who sings and when, and since I want an awesome start to our third season, I want a crowd song. That means everyone, no exceptions. Now unless you want to be in a world of hurt when we get to our destination, I suggest you start chirping, little birdies."
"Well this is just ridiculous," Courtney began, "I love to sing, but right now? And about what, I don't know."
"Did you expect, anything less," Noah replied, trying to carry a tune to match, "After all we've been through on this show?"
"Aboard a plane," Lindsay chimed in, "We don't know where it will goooooooooo!"
"But don't we? There's one place we know, one place we know that planes will goooo," Bridgette jumped in to keep it going.
"We do? Where's that eh?" Ezekiel asked.
For his troubles he got an elbow in the chest from Courtney, who gathered everyone up for the chorus and led them thus:
"Planes go up up up up!"
"And away, away away!"
"We'll fly fly fly!"
"We're flying! And singing!"
"We're flying and we're singing!"
The contestants had found their flow to the song and the instrumentals began, a suitably epic
Orchestral with booming drums and a rousing brass section. Sierra was the first to pick up a verse, gleefully sliding down the aisle in the galley atop a food cart whilst singing.
"Come fly with us! Come fly with us!
It's a dream come true!
We're coming live to you, so
Come and fly with us! Come and fly with us!"
The metaphorical baton was passed to Izzy, who did a break-dance flourish and began throwing down sick beats,
"We got a lotta crazy tunes to bust.
If you can't hack it, you'll bite the dust,
This plane's ancient and full of rust, so"
She motioned to Lindsay and Bridgette, who sang together in unison,
"Come fly with us! Come fly with us!"
Without cue Alejandro smoothly stepped into frame and took each of their hands, pulling them close and adding in,
"It's a pleasure, an honor and a must."
At one of the galley tables, Duncan decided it was his turn to contribute, though he didn't sing so much as speak in time with the music.
"Dudes this is messed, you're singing in a plane
Like some sick puppet of McClean."
"What did you expect," Harold rapped, "Chris is freaking insane. For a whole year he's been our bane."
"It's worse than that," Gwen said, mimicking Duncan's flat delivery, "You're singing on TV!"
Leaping into the fray, Courtney brought graceful dance moves on top of a heavenly singing voice, "Haven't you always wanted to? It can't just be meeeeeeeeee."
The beat kicked up a notch and a playful jazz instrumental accompanied a dance number from DJ and Leshawna.
"Come fly with us!"
"Come fly with us!"
"Do you know how to steer this thing?" Heather sang to Chef in the cockpit as he and Emily lifted the plane off the runway, "I'd really hate to die."
All she got was a shrug and, "What can I say? I try."
The upbeat jazz tempo transitioned to a melodic piano piece, the lights dimming and a single spotlight centering on Ezekiel, alone in the corner of the galley.
"Once again I'm back, but for long, I don't know.
Last time I came, I was first to depart
But I'll give it my all, put on my very best show
Because this prairie kid's got winning in his heart!"
The music picked back up and the lights came on fully, and Noah and Owen were up for their part.
"Come fly with us, come die with us," Noah sang.
"I hate flying, let's stop the plane!
Get back on land, and take a train!" Owen finished.
Back in the galley the chorus had gathered around the only two yet to sing properly, Gwen and Duncan.
"Come fly with us!"
"Come sing with us!"
"I don't know what you expect dweebs," Duncan crossed his arms, "I rhymed, isn't that enough?"
"Nope!" Chris interjected from the screen, "You gotta sing, you can't just speak in rhyme. And if you don't like it, well, that's tough."
Cody pushed through the crowd to sing his plea to Gwen,
"You don't have to do this, I know.
But it'd really mean a lot, to all of us
If you'd just give it a go
I know things have been rocky for you lately
But we, really want to have you on this show."
And Bridgette stepped forth to add her piece as well,
"Good times or bad, we're here for you,
In love or in sadness, we've got your back,
So we'd really like to see, really like to hear
You singing with us too."
With all eyes on her, Gwen relented, and stood to play her piece.
"Come fly with us! Come fly with us! Come, and fly, with us!" She sang her heart out.
Now it was Duncan who was left, and not looking all that happy about it, "Whatever, I won't sing," He shrugged, "I'll take, whatever Chris can bring. Let him try to break me, I don't care. You won't see me sing and dance, like a clown at the fair."
A mocha hand rested on his shoulders, and serious eyes framed by brown locks met his. It was Courtney, his lover, and she was looking pissed. The melody became a moody violin piece, and she pulled him to his feet for a tango.
"Duncan, you big stupid meathead.
I don't doubt that you're tough.
But just taking whatever Chris dishes, will not be enough."
"You've got to stay in the game, and if you come in last
Because you had to be macho,
My heart will break like glass."
"Please, Duncan, you're the world to me,
I've been harsh, and maybe bossy
But it's all for you, don't you see?
I yell because I because I care, I scream because I love you
If you won't do it for the challenge, do it for me."
The bad boy's eyes watered up as he slow danced with his girlfriend, his rage and disgust with the show's rules and it's host abating. He leaned in, finishing the tango with a dip and a passionate kiss before standing to his feet, and taking the mantle of finishing the song, the music swelling for him.
"This suuuuuuuuuuucks!"
A/N: Writing song lyrics is actually pretty hard even when you're just expanding something that already exists. Not all the songs in TDBY will be extended version of World Tour songs however, since a lot of them don't make sense outside of context. For example, Before We Die requires the contestants be ejected out of a plane at cruising altitude without parachutes, and that just isn't going to happen in a realistic setting like this. It will require a new song.
On the topic of realism, no longer will the contestants be cartoon slapstick crash test dummies that are invincible to all danger. They are mortal, they can die in these challenges, and injuries will realistically hurt them. You have been warned.
The events of Total Drama Island and Total Drama Action can be presumed to happen more or less as they did in canon, but with a few key differences that will be outlined through dialog referencing past events and possibly flashbacks in the future. Keep an eye out, most of these changes don't really affect the plot but some will be important for the direction certain characters take.
As always, thank you for reading, leave a review if you liked it and follow to get more updates here, on Total Drama: Into the Great Blue Yonder!