Prologue II
Somewhere in the sky, another blimp resembling the one that held Chef, Hailee, and sixteen contestants flew in the storm. It had a huge risk, considering the unpredictable weather around in this area, but for the pilot of this blimp, it was another Friday for him. If one were to take a guess, this aircraft also held around sixteen competitors, more-or-less. But the impending, ultimate question remained: who was flying this cheap thing?
Upon closer inspection in the cockpit area, said "him" happened to be none other than Colton McShaw. Despite being a designated pilot, his outfit told a different story; he wore the same cowboy getup. This time, if it even mattered, his cowboy hat happened to be purple. A rather crazed grin could be spotted on his face. His back laid against the leather seat, and his legs were propped up on the dashboard, near the control panel. For someone obviously not qualified to fly a blimp, he didn't seem to be trying at all.
"You gonna fly that thang'?" A more feminine voice could be heard, right near him in fact. It did catch Colton's attention though, as he turned to face Madison McShaw herself. "This thang' ain't a horse, far's as I can tell." Her tone suggested one of coldness, almost uncaring. But her appearance and beauty made up for it; she wore the same attire from the western-themed bar on the day she met Topher. She too, seemed unqualified to be working in the cockpit area, let alone as a pilot.
"Ha! This here thang' ain't different from one of them horses we ride on!" Colton let out a hearty laugh. He lifted up his cowboy hat a little bit. "Ya' gotta treat 'em like a darn human being, get nice and comfy, and give 'em a light tap if they start actin' up." The cowboy 'pilot' gestured to the control panel in front of him, along with the system and all of them buttons and switches. "Far's as I can tell, this fella's doin' mighty fine thus far!"
Madison leaned back against her leather chair as well. "If you say so." She wasn't in that energetic mood to argue against her dad, but her own two eyes can tell the blimp was in a storm, probably about to enter severe levels. "But in case ya' forgot, our thang's in the middle of the storm. Don't know 'bout 'chu, Dad, but I ain't leavin' this world like this." It didn't help that the whole aircraft was made out of steel and metal.
Colton took a quick peek at the grey clouds near the blimp, and if one listened closely, they'd hear the sound of thunder and rain, which were overshadowed by the sound of the blimp's engine. A normal person would be concerned and do whatever it took to get out of the situation, for the sake of preserving their lives.
But Colton McShaw wasn't normal. Although he did seem to be a bit more alert than before. "Ah, shucks. I ain't scared of lightnin' or rain, but dealin' with angry folks is the last thang' I want happenin'." He referred to the potential lawsuits and threats, all because of his carelessness that led to the disaster occurring. So, he made sure to prevent that disaster from actually happening. "Now if I was a pilot, what'd be the first thang' I do…"
Even the relaxed and uncaring Madison became alarmed at that statement. "Say what now?" She sat upright in her chair and turned to face her dad. "I thought you'd knew how to fly this thang'. I'm not an expert, but this don't start up on its own. Someone had to fly it off the ground." The bar owner's daughter tried to recall if anyone else entered the cockpit with Colton while boarding the blimp. Not a person came to her mind.
"Ya' askin' about Phillip?" Colton confirmed. It all started to make sense now. "That fella helped me start up this darn thang'!" He laughed, even in the face of danger. "He's as swell as my wife's pecan pie! Too bad I can't have a beer or two with him. Said somethin' 'bout a 'personal meeting'." Long story short, he barely knew how to fly this blimp.
Madison looked unamused, to say the least. "You've gotta be kidding me." She remarked, doing her very best to bite her tongue and not be too rude to her dad. "But he still showed ya' some of tha' basics, right?" The moment she asked that, thunder could be heard from close by. Preceding thunder was lightning, but still. Not a good sign at all.
"Of course! I sure wouldn't let him ride a horse by his darn self without showin' him the basics!" Colton grinned, now looking more determined than a little bit earlier. "Trust me, Madi, I ain't dumb to use this thang' without knowin' a gosh darn thang'! If I can run a whole bar, then flyin' this thang' ain't gonna be a problem!" After all, it was like a horse to him, and at the moment, he's gotta calm the horse down and get it out of danger.
For a brief moment, Madison contemplated on further arguing with her dad because she doubted him. No way in hell would this end well. But alas, she said nothing more, other than a, "Whatever you say". She felt too lazy to keep countering him, opting to rest against her seat and accept the current matter. Still doubted him though.
Meanwhile, Colton indeed struggled to figure out what to do. He had his hands on the handle, but his eyes kept darting around, searching for the right button to press. It added to Madison's doubts, but he didn't give up; he had no intentions of giving up anytime soon. Especially since there were passengers on the blimp, including himself, Madison, and Phillip.
Speaking of passengers though…
Amongst the boarded passengers were four people, all presumed to be contestants. Two men sat on one metal bench, a man and woman on the one across from them. The cargo room they were situated in seemed to have a very similar set-up to the ones from the previous blimp. Same metal benches that touched from one end to another, the smell of iron flooding the room's atmosphere, and one bathroom door that led to an unclean toilet. It didn't help that their method of transportation had entered a danger zone, so it would be an understatement to say everyone was feeling tense.
Focusing on the two men, both appeared to be leaning against the wall, not caring about the potential dirtiness. To differentiate between them, one wore a red basketball jersey with the number one, in white lettering, on the front and back; the other wore a traditional, white chef's jacket, which seemed to be coated with some grease stains.
"Sucks we can't leave this room, man." The one wearing the basketball jersey remarked, breaking the silence between the two. He spared a glance at the man sitting next to him, forming a small smile. A quick chat wouldn't hurt; better than sitting in silence, he thought. His hands rested behind his short, well-kept, black hair, which had a nice taper fade on the sides and in the back. Make no mistake, he was chilling.
His attention now caught from the man sitting next to him, the presumed cook turned his head and gave a quick shrug. "Not much we can do." He kept his response short and simple. A hand ran through his short, black hair - the front part of it spiked upward. One simple look at his black pants and worn-down brown shoes further proved he was a chef.
More minor details included his light tan skin tone, his blue eyes, and a physique that resembled more of an athlete's than a bodybuilder's - firm and toned. To put it in simple words, he had muscles on his arms and legs. If a team needed some brawn and muscle, he would be a good candidate for the role.
"Can't deny that." The man in the basketball jersey replied. "Heard one of the workers talk about keepin' us separated into packs. Somethin' 'bout a bodyguard too." His dark brown eyes observed the environment; nothing concerning or suspicious so far. He then rested his chin on his left arm, the other hand snapping his fingers.
Taller than the presumed cook by a couple of inches or so, he had a relatively lean and athletic physique. Some muscle, but nothing too defined. As he leaned forward, the number 1 on his jersey could also be seen on the back, accompanied by tight-fitting, ripped jeans with holes around the knees and thighs, and red Air Force One's.
"I've overheard the first part, but not the second. Sounds intriguing though." The cook cracked his knuckles before giving him his full undivided attention. "So what's up?"
"Just thinkin' about this… competition." The man with chestnut brown skin answered. "Feels different to get away from home and stay on an island for the summer." He seemed to be getting along with the man sitting next to him; he could vibe with him for now. No biggie. "Name's Jacque, by the way. Should be easy to remember."
"Preston." He simply gave his name and provided nothing more; no handshake, no fist-bump, none of that. But he did keep talking. "I gotta admit, competing on a show you watched as a kid feels cool. Being on TV, competing for money, it kinda feels like a dream." A very small smile crept onto his face; he couldn't wait for the game to begin.
"Fo-sho, fo-sho. Absolutely." Jacque nodded his head, snapping his fingers in agreement. "This that kinda kick I was feelin' right after I left this damn restroom. I was like, 'oh shit! I really am in the TV business now!' Like dawg, I feel ya. That feeling is crazy," he leaned his back onto the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets, glaring at the cook with a touch of calculation.
"Reality TV business must be crazy." Preston remarked, almost imagining himself in the entertainment industry and being on television often. "But then again, you can say the same about cooking." If the room was dead silent, they could've heard a tiny chuckle escape from his mouth. "People get wild when they're hungry."
"Man, you tell me," he remarked, arms crossed as he puffed his chest in a braggadocious posture. "I crossed paths with hunger way, way back in Orleans, and trust, wildin' I was."
"Haven't heard much of Orleans, but they got good food." Preston felt more open when it came to talking about food and cooking. "Only thing I've ever cooked was red beans and rice; gumbo is on my list though." Some extra confidence started to build in his system. "I'd let you get a taste of it, if I can get the ingredients and make it here."
"That… would be dope." Jacque dropped the intimidation act and instead, matched up with Preston's chill mood, slouched and hands in his jean pockets. "Ayo, I'm tryin' to bulk up, know-what-I'm-sayin'? We better be on the same team, 'cause man, I saw what kinda dumpster fire they be servin' at Total Drama. Ya seen that shit too? Nasty. That kinda trash will unravel my meat, and I ain't wanna be lookin' like a dirty broom by the time this season is over. Or, ya know… when I win, of course."
At first, Preston nodded along in understanding. But then once Jacque mentioned the last part… the part about winning, he had to raise an eyebrow at that. "When you win?" While he didn't suddenly become antagonistic and flip his mood 180 degrees, he couldn't let that comment slide. "That's pretty bold, man."
Jacque stood upright again, flashing an eyebrow raise back. "I'm just playin'." He playfully fist-bumped Preston's stiff, stone-cold shoulder, laughing. "But man, sometimes, it's all 'bout havin' a winnin' attitude in the game. Like the whole sayin' goes; if you can't take the heat, then get the hell out and never come back. I ain't ever leavin' the kitchen, no matter how hot it gets. This will be my breakthrough—"
"Your balls will be your breakthrough…" And suddenly, a third passenger joined in on the fun, walking slowly and seductively towards the bros with as much hip sway as possible as she sat right beside Jacque. Upon provoking an eyebrow raise from her new companion, she raised one leg high up in the air, then laid it resting on Jacque's right thigh. "Is this hot enough for you to come out the kitchen?" Very hard to resist such temptations, especially from someone wearing such a licentious outfit: small, tight, white crop top with a 'Las Vegas' logo on the front-center, denim short-shorts, and red heels. The boys couldn't help but gawk at her outfit and her tall, hourglass body. An irresistible temptation indeed…
"Hey girl, wassup." Jacque wrapped one arm around her shoulder, drifting through her long, black ponytail as it swayed to the side. "You've come to the right man. Let's just say; I'm a great cook. You ain't have to cook me meals. I got-chu girl! What's your name?"
"Mmmmmmm, name's Uma," she bit her lower lip, rubbing her caramel legs against his thighs. "Hmm… good cook? Nah, I don't think so—" she stood up slowly, walking away with a teasing smile on her face, approaching the other boy sitting right beside the wannabe cook. It appeared that she wanted the real deal. The best fine dining had to offer. "Hey sexy…" she scooched right next to Preston, planting her right leg on top of his thighs. "I love your big blue eyes," she teased with a seductive tone. "You must be packing a nice, exquisite, juicy, scrumptious, cream-of-the-crop sausage on your oily frying pan. You must like your meat medium-rare too, I bet." She winked, caressing his knee.
While caught off-guard by Uma's sudden appearance and attempt at seduction, Preston kept it cool as best as he could. "Oh? Do you happen to be a cook as well?" A simple question.
"Mmmmmm-maybe?" She nibbled her index finger in between her lips, gazing into his eyes at such a short distance. "Let's talk food. Tell me a favorite meal of yours. Include all the intimate details. You sound like you'd be a master at fine dining…" she played with his short hair as she waited and listened. Meanwhile, Jacque observed quietly from behind, glaring at their unexpected conversation while rolling his eyes.
"You are asking an actual cook here." Preston had a lot of answers in mind, but he opted for the first meal that came to mind. "Hmm. A nice cheeseburger, consisting of ground beef to form a patty, swiss-cheese, crisp and cut fresh lettuce, a slice of a tomato, and two whole wheat buns. I can create one for you at the island." He gave her a charming smile.
"Mmmmmm, sounds delicious. Oh, I'd love that." She muttered, nearing her lips closer to his left ear. "I'd love to keep in touch. You're very cute." She whispered before slowly standing back up, clanking the floor with her heels as she walked away, blowing a kiss at both the boys. And now, she only had one more boy to flirt for the day. The other passenger who sat furthest away from the other competitors, right near the restroom door.
Upon approaching the final passenger in the room, she scooched right by him, bumping her bottom against his while gently squeezing the boy's biceps. "Hey sexy. I loooove your throbbing muscles. What's your name?"
"My name is Frederick." He introduced himself once Uma approached him. The scratching of the back of his neck and how calm he sounded - it contrasted with people's expectations of him, considering his body and all. "It's nice to meet you." Frederick continued, wanting to make sure he came off as a nice person.
It's no secret that Frederick had a massive physique, being the tallest and heaviest in the group, and possibly the cast. To put it in simple words, he was built like an American linebacker, a football player. In addition, he had rose-beige skin, big round brown eyes, and black hair that had a buzz cut style.
As for his choice of clothing, he kept it simple; it was a blue tank-top with black-and-blue shorts and red-and-white sneakers. Definitely something an athlete would wear.
"Hi Frederick," she delicately touched Frederick's thigh with one hand. "Nice to meet you too. And my-oh-my, your brown eyes are so hot. Bet your big squishy is hot too…" she winked, then chuckled as she rested her head onto his large, comforting shoulders.
Frederick had a look of concern instead of anything else. "Did you say my eyes are hot? Are they burning and you can see fire in them?" He misinterpreted her definition of 'hot'. "I hope I can see a doctor soon if my eyes and big squishy are hot." Never mind the fact that Uma was flirting and touching him.
"Mmmmmm, not even a doctor could save you from your oily hotness," she chuckled again; this time, hopping right onto Frederick's lap and sat there teasingly, patiently waiting for his response while gazing into his eyes.
If Uma's words were trustworthy, Frederick knew a doctor wouldn't be helpful. "Hmm. I should go to the hospital then. My hotness will not be enough for a doctor. You cannot let me spread the hotness to you." Then he looked at her eyes, but minus the flirting. "I'll be by your side if you get the hotness."
"Mmmm, well, in that case…" she rubbed the top of his head like petting a puppy. "I'll keep in touch, cutie-pie," she whispered in his ear, nibbled her lower lip while gazing into his eyes one last time, then glanced back at the two other passengers sitting on the opposite side. "Hey boys! Mmm, boys!" She waved, catching their attention while still remaining seated on Frederick's massive lap. "Let's all be on the same team. Wouldn't that be fun?"
Preston shrugged. "Sure. I don't see a problem with that." He gazed at Jacque before at Uma and Frederick in front of him. "I'll be sure to provide the gourmet meals."
"Har-har-har!" Frederick's mood suddenly became loud and upbeat, as he laughed in agreement. "I'll be stuffed as a fridge every day!"
Jacque had his hands stuffed in his pockets, relaxed and casual, eyes glancing at each passenger before shrugging with the smuggest smirk on his face. "Hell-yeah! Count me in…"
But as all reality shows went, it would only be a matter of time…
The high-cold wind blew swiftly into the blimp, almost playing flute-like ambience through the tiny inches of narrow cracks within one of the rooms. Like a high-pitched whistling train escaping out of gritted teeth. Screeching irritation busted through the crevices. Sharply ear-piercing, in fact.
Most, if not, all the passengers inside the following room tightly closed their ears shut, grimacing over the utter exasperation that the screeching whistle caused. Like needles poking their eardrums.
Not to mention, the size of the cargo room; much larger than the previous hollow metallic hunk, there was an obvious additional room protruding out of the other end like a sore thumb. The four aloof passengers briefly glanced at the compact, rectangular walls, almost like a featureless cube lazily glued to one corner of the cargo room, right on the opposite end of the restroom door.
"I got that!"
One exhilarated passenger expressed gleefully, flinging a butterfly knife into the whistling crevice across the room, attempting to block out the screech. Unbeknownst to her, the knife flew inches away from another passenger sitting across from her.
Startled would be the habitual response, but not for this passenger; from first impressions, one could easily assess a description: unstimulated. Even by glancing at his outfit alone, a nightly aura surrounded him; a gray hoodie with a fluffy hood and a dark-blue t-shirt underneath. Curious blue eyes complete with a brown side fringe haircut. Underneath the nocturnal ensemble is the flip side: regular jeans and white trainers. Quite a day-and-night cycle.
"Hey! You mind?" He grunted, leaning the back of his head onto the cold wall, attempting to shutter his eyes, but to no avail. "At least keep me alive before the magnificent meteor shower, will ya?"
"Yo! My bad, uh, dude-bro… wolf?" She leaned her upper body forward, still sitting tight while resting her slim arms on her knees, squinting while attempting to analyze the stiff competitor sitting across from her, tilting her head sideways. By comparison, both appeared as contrasting as night and day; a splash of colorful swagger engulfed her outfit. Her gray t-shirt with a green wings-and-clouds symbol, almost appearing neon-esque underneath a denim ripped long jacket. Black fishnet top underneath both her shirt and long jacket. Light-green and pink-plaid joggers with dangling chains on both sides. Her pink plaid Heelys matched her thrillful essence, accompanied by her black collar with Malay inscriptions and numerous wristbands with a wide assortment of neon colors—specifically, light green and pink—on her right wrist. A blunt dash of tints and a Tokyo aesthetic, no doubt.
"W… wolf?" He also tilted his head, mimicking her confusion. "No, I'm not a wolf," he rested his chin on his knuckle, yawning. "Although, wouldn't that be great…"
"Homie's got a taste for fur skin, huh?" She playfully jabbed, raspily chuckling. "Kiddin'-but yo, dude, I've heard Canada's got a… pack full of wolves, which is a plus. Never seen a single wolf in my life, yo. Well, 'side from a few animes I've binged, which-like, not my sca-doosh. I'm more of a sports-action anime kinda gal, but keep me thoroughly entertained, and I wouldn't care what genre you toss me, ya feel?"
"I, uh… what?" His mind was not able to keep up with her tangent-like expression, already wanting to fall asleep as soon as he witnessed a beam of golden light slashing through dark puffy clouds outside the compact, shelter-like window. "Sorry, the sight of sunlight has been… depleting my will to stay away from dreamland," he yawned, sternly stretching his arms out. "I heard wolves, and… anime? I like wolves. One of nature's greatest gifts," he yawned again. "Anime? Anime… I-um… yeah! My friend likes anime too. Wait, what did you ask me?"
"Psh, don't worry 'bout it, dude. Just rollin' my tongue," she winked, resting her chin on her honey-tan hand with her elbow leaning against the wall, understanding his rather sleepy state. "I get it. One minute, you're workin' at a low-paying part-time job while takin' long tiring shifts helping your family out with personal stuff, and then the next, you're on some like reality TV show, almost like you've been teleported out of your own bunk bed! Crazy to think about, right? Like, it was just… whooooosh! Poof! You're now competing against a barrage of starstruck dudes and dudettes for a million dollars! Could you imagine how much I could help my family with that silver suitcase alone? Now…" she chuckled. "Don't think I'll go easy on ya! It is a competition, after all. Gonna be winnin' for the Tokyo Rakshasa! WOOOOO! YEAH-BABY!" As soon as she finished pumping her fist in the air with the most jovial look on her face, she awkwardly noticed her newfound friend almost falling asleep. "Yo, before you hop onto dreamland, mind tellin' me your name? We should be friends! Or rivals. Or… friendly rivals! Or, enemies-turned-rivals-turned-friends! Or…"
"Benjamin. But you can call me Ben," he yawned one last time, already growing frustrated as he flipped his hoodie over his head, lying down sideways with his right ear over his pale hands. "Now, don't wake me until the moon rises…" He muttered.
"Cool! Name's Shun!" And before she shouted out her name, Ben had already fallen asleep, snoring. "Bummer." She muttered, sighing, repeatedly kicking the bench underneath with her heel by each passing second. One, and-two, and-three, and-four…
"Could you please, in the nicest way possible, shut… it!" Another passenger scolded, arms crossed while leaning her back on the wall, sitting on the opposite corner of Shun, sharing the same bench but far apart from each other.
"Oh. Okay. Geez…" Shun retorted, arms crossed, pouting her lips while glaring at the floor. After briefly glancing at her heckler, one thought popped into her mind; from first impressions alone, her heckler appeared like one of those 'I'm not here to make friends' personified. Her intimidating-like appearance. Her athletic body. Her defined legs, able to crush her enemies at a moment's notice, with few touches of scars. A punk-esque asymmetric layered bob. Not to mention her outfit: black jeans with rips in her left knee and right thigh, white trainers with red stripes, dark-blue jacket zipped up, and a sky-blue cropped t-shirt underneath her jacket.
Shun stuffed both hands in her pockets, looking back at the floor, lightly chuckling. Already, she was a huge fan of her aesthetics. And already, she connected the dots: the other passenger was an athlete. Perhaps even a superstar. She recognized that white-outline star insignia barely peeking out from the front-center of her t-shirt. But still, something clearly evident was missing: a spark. Looking deep into her dark-brown eyes, one could only find empty frustrations, and yet, no spark. Only a fading glimmer. Her whole aesthetic almost represented former glory, like what it once was, and what it was once capable of.
"Sorry…" the athlete lightly burped, raising both legs onto the bench while pushing her back towards the wall, sitting sideways to face Shun. "Just… I'm just tired, dude. Rather be globblin' up my cheetos than stayin' in this hellhole of a room. Uh… no offense."
Shun chuckled, suddenly kicking her bench with both ankles. "None taken. No harsh feelin', I get it. And ya know what? I could use some cheetos too! Big fan of the puffies. Mmm, crunchy goodness."
The other passenger shared her amusement, but then quickly morphed her slight smile into a stern, arm-crossed yawner, stiff like a statue. "I should probably change my name from Cora to Cheeto Queen. I mean, not to brag, but…" she lifted up her shirt, revealing a beer-belly-like stomach with a fading six-pack. It had seen better days, for sure. "See my gut? Yeah, works like wonders." She bragged, patting her stomach before sliding back down her shirt.
"Hey, uh…" Another passenger interrupted, sitting right across from Cora. Voice obviously did not belong to the sleeping Ben, given the new voice sounded more feminine. "You got a tiny smudge of cheeto dust right underneath your jacket." She pointed out. Cora, not caring over her stainy appearance, licked two of her fingers and rubbed vigorously over the orange stain. The fourth passenger flashed a gritting shrug over to Shun as Cora faced down her shirt as unbothered as possible. "Hi! Sorry…" She waved to Shun. "Name's Dylan. Sorry that I've been quietly mindin' my own business far away from the action," she chuckled, stretching out her thin legs across the floor.
Shun winked, playfully sticking her tongue out while flashing a peace sign. "Sup, dude! You a basketball player? Got that jersey on, I see ya!"
"Yup! Err, well… only casually." Indeed, Dylan proudly wore her red basketball jersey with the number '08' on the front center and 'CHUI' right above her number in white print. But Shun was rather more interested in her overall appearance, gazing at her black curly hair. Quite poofy, reaching her lower back. And also, quite tall physique, sharing the same height as Shun. A few cuts and bruises here and there on her tan arms and legs. Plus, casually dressed in a homie-like outfit, with loose-fitting light-blue jeans, beat-up white sneakers, and a red baseball cap turned backwards.
"Awesome! Yo, I'm an athlete too! Err, kinda. But ayo! I'm a roller skater though! Check it!" She raised her left shoe up in the air, showing off her neon-colored wheel on her Heely. "Bought these bad boys at the thrift! Going out of fashion nowadays, but I don't care. The best alternative to roller skates! They're so much fun!" She happily slammed her foot onto the metal floor, playing around with her wheel while leaning her back onto the wall with her hands behind her head, grinning. "Also, sorry if too personal, but you Chinese? I'd love to visit China one day, yo!"
"Taiwanese," Dylan nodded, smiling chillfully with her right ear resting on her palm. "Well, born in Canada, but yeah, Taiwanese parents. And you?"
"Half-Japanese, half-Malaysian, and a very captivatin' backstory that I might share with you sometime…" She winked, chuckling.
"Oh, cool!"
Cora yawned stridently, scratching her back, finally cleaning off her cheeto stain, but still unable to erase the fading tint of orange now stretched across a larger portion of her shirt. "Cool story gals, but how 'bout we keep the room nice and quiet, huh? Gonna take a nap," she faced the wall, laying on her right shoulder, using her black backpack to tightly cover her left ear. Shun and Dylan both glanced at Cora's rather abrupt interruption, then looked back up at each other in a shrug.
"Psst." Shun leaned her face forward, cupping one hand to the left side of her mouth, facing Dylan. "What's up with that weird security dude silently guardin' the door?" She whispered, pointing to a tall, overly muscular, bald bodyguard walking out the mysterious room wearing an all-black outfit with 'SECURITY' written across his shirt, if it could not be more obvious. Plus, an earpiece headset, almost hidden in plain sight…
"I… don't know." Dylan stood up and leaned forward, peeking one eye out to the corridor, then startledly sitting right back down upon noticing the menacing security standing right behind the wall. "I heard they're keepin' a contestant in secret," she whispered back. "Like, a superstar of some kind who once competed in the Ridonculous Race a long while ago. I read the leak somewhere, like on Lily-licious Expose, I think it was? I-don't-know, some knock-off of a TMZ knock-off."
"Ayo, wait, so like, you talkin' about… the Ridonculous Race?" Shun murmured, eyes slightly wider opened.
"Yeah." She nodded, rubbing her chin. "I, uh… don't ask me who it could be because I have absolutely no clue. I hardly watch TV."
"Same here!" Shun accidentally raised her voice, almost waking up Cora, causing her body to twitch. Meanwhile, Ben remained frozen in place. Completely in the zone with whatever he was dreaming about. If it was not night outside the unstable blimp, he does not care; he would not wake up until the moon visibly rose to the sky.
Aside from Shun's and Dylan's back-and-forth whispering and the ominous bodyguard standing in the sidelines, the room remained calm. Peace and quiet was the motto flowing through the cargo room.
Nothing but peace, and quiet…
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
Compared to the calmer, more relaxed passengers situated in the previous room, the following room surrounded by the same old echoey metallic walls radiated chaos and tension through and through. Rather obvious already, given the rumbling ruckus that Cora kept shaking her head over in utter annoyance.
Separating the two benches attached at each end of the wall was an empty spacious gap and large chunks of techy gadgets and gears scattered across the floor. A scuffle was imminent, bearing no restraint between a mischievous trickster and a protective scrapper defending a tall, watery-eyed inventor sitting on the left side of the scrapper. While both of them, minus the inventor, continued leering into their fiery eyes, the fourth competitor just sat rather drowsily on the opposite end of the inventor, sleeping with droplets of drool running down her chin.
Rewinding the clock a couple minutes ago, the four competitors sat rather hushly, marking an astonishing dichotomy minutes before the rowdy showdown. Nevertheless, the tense atmosphere oozing out of the cargo room was nothing more than blatantly obvious; one competitor glared straight ahead continuously, arms crossed with the most rigid posture imaginable.
Quite evident, in fact; he did not trust the other contestant sitting across from him; his moustache-twirling, overly cocky grin rubbed him all the wrong ways. Not to mention his subtle, yet still-audible "wa-ha-ha-ha" muttering under his breath as he rubbed his palms underneath his oversized chin.
For now, he kept an eye on him. Turning his head to the left, he immediately noticed a peculiar detail; her yawning and stretching of her elbows over her calming blonde hair. Strange, given her rather alert and energetic smile just moments ago. Seemed like she was prone to falling asleep at any moment, even by just ignoring the visible cues.
Still, her eyeshadow and pizza delivery uniform clearly gave it away; not to mention, the touch of fading grease spots were somewhat visible all over her green uniform shirt. After noticing the rest of her intentionally insipid outfit—like her black trousers and black tennis shoes—it was almost like she woke up from bed, leaped into her work uniform, and called it a day. And yet—without even trying—she still retained a sense of natural beauty.
"Falling asleep so soon?" He raised an eyebrow, finding it odd how swiftly she transitioned from a wide-awake posture to a dozy slouch.
The seemingly exhausted sloucher gazed up into his peculiar eyes; she rubbed her eyes vigorously and gazed right back up again, still perceiving the same color on the competitor's iris: the color red.
Perhaps her tired eyes were playing tricks on her, and she was distorting dark brown with blood red. Either way, she let it slide and smiled it away. But that was not the only enigma he possessed, and her senses were indeed flashing a few warning signs in her head.
"Trust me," she remarked, gesturing with open palms while attempting to keep her eyelids at least half-open. "When you work at a dead-end job with these… killer flaming robots, you'd develop a fresh paint of restless darkness underneath your eyeballs. Like so…" she pointed at her pair of eyeshadows, roughly massaging them.
"Interesting…" He rubbed his chin. Compared to her dry choice of outfit, his outfit displayed a more-pleasing eye for streetwear; a white, unzipped jacket partially enveloped over his black undershirt. Easy to spot letterings on the undershirt but the full phrase was obscured by the jacket. Regardless, one could figure out what it read: 'Armed and Ready'. A mirror to his personality, if one were to guess. "Very interesting…"
"Are you in some kind of boy-band or something?" She interrupted, pointing at his black hair bangs in between his eyes. Rather than focusing on the overall hairstyle—with his short chin-length hair plus added spikes at each end—her round blue eyes were caught gazing at his bangs that reached down his nose. "Your front hair is… yeah, 'cause your hair kinda gave me that boy-band intuition."
"No… but I do have an itch for rock bands," he kept his crossed-arms rather firm, slightly puzzled by her comparing him to a boy band, out of all things. "Wh-why you ask?"
She swiftly noted his tense, confused look on his face as she smiled tiredly. "S-sorry, didn't mean to stir the pot, or rather… stir the bangs," she giggled, coming off more like breaths rather than laughter. Most likely due to her exhausted face. "I just… I find it kinda cute."
His posture remained stiff, raising an eyebrow. "Thanks…"
"I'm Eliza, by the way," she reached her peach-white palm over to the pale questioner, who still kept his hands tucked underneath his armpits.
"Emiya…" He finally let one arm loose, reaching over for a gentle handshake. Of course, Eliza reciprocated, but she could read a touch of hesitance; almost like he greeted himself with an alternative name.
"Ooo, fan-cy, dan-cy…" Eliza yawned while stretching her slender arms in the air, already wanting to fall asleep. "Looks like the…" she yawned again. "Looks like the tired delivery girl is delivering herself to the dream realm. Goodnight, Emiya…" And just like that, her eyes were shut closed, already snoring like a train.
"Wow… that's mighty impressive." Emiya, while unfazed, was still astounded by her nifty ability to nap on the most uncomfortable metallic benches imaginable. Her head leaned backwards, stretching out her neck. No adjustments necessary for the sleepy part-time worker.
"H-h-he-hey…" A new voice was picked up from Emiya's right ear, swiftly turning his head to his other side with a calming smile. Immediately, upon glancing at the other passenger, he spotted a hint of social anxiety from her awkward posture alone; her hands were tucked firmly in between her slender legs, eyeing the floor underneath Emiya's sneakers. Constantly readjusted her long, messy dark-brown hair. "Oh-um… never mind."
"No need to be afraid," Emiya reassured, smoothing his voice with a bright smile. "I won't bite. Well… unless you're into that sort of stuff… or, if you wind up in my train tracks." He winked, signaling a harmless, teasing joke, widening his smile. "Kidding. But seriously, I'm all ears."
"W-well…" She pointed at a peculiar nametag dangling out of Emiya's right pocket, seemingly secured to some sort of keychain. "Is your n-name also Rival?" She mumbled, fidgeting her fingers.
"What?" Emiya stood up, glaring down his pocket, instantly detecting his other name flashing out of secrecy. "Oh, that…" he vigorously slid his fist down in his pocket, tucking down his name into the dark pit. "It's just…" he sighed. "Rival was the name of my father. Long story short, I aspire to be just like him. Maybe one day continue onwards with his legacy. Work-in-progress." He winced, stuffing both hands into his pockets; this time, he also eyed down the floor. Of course, a sprinkle of truths and lies were tossed into the mix with regards to his 'Rival' name, but the stuttering girl across from him remained oblivious over his personal tergiversation.
"Oh…" she glanced around her surroundings, twirling her hair while keeping her eyes locked to the ceiling.
"Speaking of names," he sat back down, hands now stuffed in his jacket. "Your name must be wildly cool and exotic. Lemme guess… Fantasia?" His speculation stemmed from observing her rather brightly-colored outfit: dark-purple shirt, 'Parasite' written in light-purple lettering on the center of the shirt mixed with a diverse assortment of neon animatronic characters, all mostly obscured by a dark-gray jacket. Almost like a cover blanketing over her inner personality, further shying away with the conventional blue jeans and blue single-red-striped sneakers. But still, it would be difficult to divert attention from her insanely tall and thin physique. Could easily be the tallest girl in the blimp, no doubt about it.
"It's… it's M-Melissa." She murmured, lightly scratching her forehead with her pale fingers fidgeting over her face.
"Simple and straight to the point. I like it." Emiya winked again, while showcasing his jacket to a potential new friend. "It appears we're almost matching."
Melissa lowered her voice. "Well, um… t-technically n-not the same color."
"It's figurative." Emiya chuckled.
"It's figurative." Both their foreheads furrowed in confusion, glancing across to the other bench to pinpoint the rude-like heckle; only one person sat there alone: the culprit that mimicked Emiya's voice in a mocking tone. Judging by his demeanor, it appeared like he was not there to make friends. Short and stout, yet also shabby and stingy. Same height as Emiya, but other than that, vastly divergent in almost every way imaginable; unlike Emiya's small nose, the unfriendly scorner had a large, conspicuous nose. Small, curly-brown hair and a mustache growing in a mischievous direction. Still, in Emiya's eyes, it proved difficult to take him seriously as a threat, just by glancing at his outfit alone: a full-body, skin-tight, yellow jumpsuit that reached down to his feet. No shoes, mind you. Complete with a purple trucker hat. Could sneak a couple cash underneath his hat if he wanted to…
"Oh, if it isn't… Mr. Mario…" Emiya kept a tense stare, now facing him straight ahead.
"It's Wane, you baby-face!" He crossed his arms, but then instantly stood up, stomping towards Melissa while shaking the blimp with his footsteps and mighty hip swings. "As a matter of fact, I'm takin' this!" He noticed one of Melissa's gadgets hidden behind her back. Snatching what appeared to be a mini robot the size of a doll, he smashed it to the ground in a harsh sudden fashion. Tiny gear parts flew across the floor, with metal pieces clanking everywhere. Nothing but a huge mechanical mess and a shocked, teary-eyed Melissa as Wane bounced right back to the other bench.
"Hey! That was uncalled for! Why d'you do that?" Emiya stood up, fists clenched, ready for action.
"WA-HAHAHAHAHA!" Wane also stood up from his bench, ready to roll. "You think I'm afraid of chicken legs lollipop K-pop incarnate? WAAAA!" He rubbed his massive belly like he just finished breakfast. "Don't be fooled by my sexy jumpsuit. I can get down and dirty if necessary. Think your skinny arms could crack my fat-ass? Looks like you could use a spankin' lesson, so take notes; no one's here to make friends. It's all about money, money, oh-and gold, but also, more money…" he cracked his knuckles, ready to squish Emiya into oblivion.
Unbeknownst to Wane, Emiya was not a pushover; he made his first move, stepping forward in a martial arts stance, swiftly, but slowly circling around Wane on his toes. "Looks like you don't know a single-little-dime about me—"
"WAAAA!" Wane blurted out, jumping onto the bench behind him, almost causing an earthquake inside the blimp. Once he caught Emiya's eyebrow raise, he leaped out the seat like a ballerina, attempting to belly-flop onto his face.
Of course, his critical attack was a swing and a miss. Emiya swiftly dodged his massive belly, observing Wane bouncing across to the other side of the room like a rubber ball. "Might as well roundabout your way out the blimp!" He hopped onto Wane's seat in a ninja-like stance, standing firm and frozen like a statue, waiting…
"Wa-ha-ha…" Wane muttered, facing his back against Emiya and the rest of the passengers as he crouched and bent over, ready to drop a colossal fart bomb. "Have a falukorv dish! Ahhhh… oh-haah, AAAH-YE!" He moaned, gripping tight onto the restroom door handle with one hand while blasting foul, green gas onto his victims. Even Wane was feeling the deadly effects of his detonation, lightly choking by his own fart.
"MELISSA! TAKE COVER!" Emiya leaped across to the other bench, shielding her crying face with his own jacket as he took the fall, breathing the vile fart filling up the entire room while attempting to shut his nose extremely tight, but to no avail; Wane might have won that round, but Emiya already sketched out his vengeful vision.
Miraculously, the only passenger unaffected by the fart bomb was Eliza, sleeping through the entire circus act without a visible wince or twitch.
Well, almost…
"Hey… HEY!" Eliza's eyes widened open, frantically sitting up straight while waving her arms around like if she just woke up from a nightmare. "So, I was screaming the word 'fight, fight' repeatedly, and then a robot freak sneaked up behind me, and then, I—" Her rambling was cut short, suddenly gagging by the fart as she held her breath in utter disgust. "Wha… what the hell is that? Sewage sausage?"
"It's an acquired taste, honey!" Wane fired back, attempting to savor the falukorv fart as he breathed the gas into his large nostrils, hands on his hips. Of course, his path to disgustingness had its limits. "Uh-oh, diarrhea time…" he rushed to the restroom, not willing to blast his dam through his skinsuit.
Meanwhile, everyone had to suffer through Wane's dish inside the room with coughing and gagging, not to mention the already-existing iron odor.
Luckily for the remaining four that were situated in the fourth cargo room, the aroma of Wane's disgusting dish never reached them. Only the third group had to deal with the smell. The noise and commotion did reach over to them, however. As for the room itself, same as always. No need to explain in further detail.
Long, tiring day. Blimps, especially low-quality ones, were not meant for speed, no matter the long duration spent waiting inside each metallic room before the ultimate arrival to Pahkitew Island.
In fact, the last four passengers situated in the tail-end section of the blimp had no energy to match the chaotic, fart-bombing nature of the previous room. More so, the room was dimly lit, with literal curtains of ripped, green cloth covering the window. A torn camo-pattern shirt, presumably belonging to one of the contestants within the same room.
"Sorry, but the constant lightning flashes were detrimental to my sleep." One passenger remarked, after being shoulder-nudged by another. "I just don't need… more thunder in my life." His overall stiff and emotionless posture was rather intimidating to the other passenger. Wore a tight-fitted t-shirt, as light blue as a vigilant pond. Camo pants and dark-green boots, almost resembling an off-duty soldier ready for war at a moment's notice. Tall, blonde buzzed-cut hair—cut with precision at about one inch in length—with broad, well-built shoulders. From first glance, safe to not mess with a leering statue.
"That's okay. I wouldn't want you to feel tired and out of it before we start the trial." The person sitting next to him - who nudged him on the shoulder - assured him. Then he shook his head at his own mistake before correcting himself. "No wait, it's a competition. Whoops, I need to avoid mixing law terminology with Total Drama."
When compared to the soldier-looking man, he looked physically fragile - a rather terribly skinny person. He would probably die in the military from the physical strain. Besides that, he had tanned skin, hazel-colored eyes, and short blond hair. The getup had a sense of formality: a white shirt with a beige vest on top, khaki pants, and brown shoes.
"Law terminology, huh?" Compared to the thin passenger, while not much taller than him, he was visibly more muscular and heavier, easily able to lift him up with one hand if he wanted. "You, uh… you some kind of lawyer?"
"Yeah, but only as a trainee at the moment. I do plan on entering law school once I finish college." The aspiring lawyer smiled at him, having passion about the field. "It might be a completely different experience for me to join something like Total Drama, but it's a good opportunity for me to try to right people's wrongs." He adjusted his brown newsboy cap.
"An aspiring lawyer attempting to right people's wrongs. Huh. How compelling…" Aside from his calm, teasing jab, a sense of uncertainty flickered behind his squinting, dark-blue eyes. Focused by the other competitor's brief story, but maybe a little too focused, not breaking eye contact for even a second. "Oh, uh… sorry…" After a few seconds of awkward silence staring at each other's souls, he extended his right hand forward in an attempt at formality. "Name's Carter. Think we'd get along just fine if we, uh… don't trip each other's shoes. Figuratively speaking…"
"Walter Lawson." He said his full name as he shook Carter's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I promise to not trip your shoes, and even if you're not wearing shoes, I won't trip you. Both figuratively and literally speaking." Then he opted to keep the conversation going. "So do you have a career you'd like to pursue in the future?"
"That's… to be determined." Instead of being more open and relaxed as compared to Walter, Carter squinted just a touch more, arms crossed but still remained sitting upright. "Like right now, at this point in time, I only have one goal and one goal only: the million bucks. If there's one show where I could showcase my leadership capabilities, it's this one. If I secure the victory, self-development comes first. Career second."
Walter nodded his head in respect and understanding. "That's reasonable. I do hope no one is willing to resort to cheating or sabotaging for the sake of money." For a brief moment, he grew serious when he said that, but then returned to his chill, friendly self. "But you do have a lot of potential to be a good leader and a role model for other people."
"Huh…" Walter's muttering of the words 'cheating' and 'sabotaging' only grew Carter's vigilance further. His crossed arms grew stiffer and sterner, feet frozenly planted on the floor. "You think we have people here, in this very room, willing to resort to cheating? Suspicious much? Or you brought that up because…?"
"I don't suspect anyone in this room." Walter gave a simple answer, not picking up Carter's own suspicion of him. "It would be very dishonorable of me if I cheated myself." His smile remained on display for Carter. "You don't have to worry about me ever stooping that low, amongst other obvious crimes."
"Just so we're as clear as a crystal pool…" Carter remarked. "Right now, at this point in time, I'm taking that with a grain of salt. Maybe once the game starts, we'll see eye-to-eye, but right now? At this point in time? Yeah. Grain of salt."
At that comment, Walter's smile faltered a little bit. "Oh, was it something I said? I don't want you to think I'm a liar or a distrustful person."
Instead of wanting to drive the situation hostile, Carter rubbed his chin, briefly thinking what to say. But his cautiousness still persisted, like braking at a yellow light. "Sorry, force of habit. Just my typical high-alert protocol running on autopilot. You never know what a fox is capable of hiding…"
"No worries, Carter." Walter's smile grew again, but then he became curious at the same time. "Actually, am I the fox or did you potentially see a fox hiding here?"
"Pardon me if I interrupted either or both of you." A feminine voice could be heard, like right next to the men. Indeed, Carter and Walter could see a woman approach them. "I wanted to take the time to converse with you both and get acquainted. My name is Keesha." She introduced herself with a kind smile on her face.
Her appearance could be best described as beautiful; she had a tall and lean build, chocolate brown skin, and short black hair that complimented her brown eyes. Onto her choice of outfit, she wore a flowy, yellow blouse with long, flowy sleeves and a drawstring belt around her midsection. Accompanying this was her teal caprese, her yellow slip-ons, and for accessories: a daisy choker and hoop earrings.
Walter waved at Keesha and gestured for her to join the duo. "There's always room for more at the table. Or metal bench, in this particular case." Carter himself said nothing for now.
Keesha let out a faint, soft chuckle before sitting next to Walter. "Thank you. So how do you guys feel about this competition?" She figured a simple question would break the ice.
"Oh, I've thoroughly studied the game before hopping onto the show," Carter had casually let loose of his arms, feeling the sudden warmth shining from Keesha's presence. "As long as I keep my senses in check, think I got this in the bag. Like, at this point in time? Right now? Yeah, that's just how I'm feeling." He glanced back at Walter, dropping his slight touch of smile, almost like telling him it was 'his turn to speak' with his pointing eyes just to observe and analyze further.
Walter didn't need Carter to use non-verbal language to answer. "I am excited to be a competitor, even if I have little knowledge of this show or reality television as a whole."
Keesha nodded at both of their answers. "That's good to hear. I am feeling the same way. I'm hoping no one gets harmed or causes trouble for themselves or others." Then right at that moment, she could hear the bathroom door open. Once another woman came out, that's when she turned her attention towards her. "You're just in time, Viola."
"Oh-uh, hi there! Greetings! A little impromptu, but that's okay!" Viola smiled awkwardly, softly waving hello before walking towards the rest of the group sitting as far from the restroom as possible. The smell of iron bouncing across the room was unpleasant enough. "My name's Viola, but Keesha shouted my name out, so you already knew that." Sophistication and attention to detail was easily one of her mottos by just a simple glance at her outfit: a long-sleeve white shirt underneath a yellow V-neck ruffle blouse. Plus, neat dark-green pants accompanied by brown boots. Complementary to her top hourglass figure. Serene and attentive, like a neatly tied gift ribbon.
"Hi there. I'm Carter." He waved back, still carrying a blank expression. "Just your friendly neighborhood paranoiac." He remarked, stifling a single breath of laughter.
"Coolio." Viola flashed two thumbs up, casually grinning before flicking back a single strand of black hair out of her face. "In case you guys ever need some soothing music flowing through your ears, let me know. I can be your friendly neighborhood violinist." She chuckled softly, one hand hovering near her mouth as she stood upright, nicely postured and well-mannered.
"Apologies for the sudden impromptu." Keesha said to Viola before getting to the topic of music. "That is very impressive you're able to play the violin well. I'm more of a soul singer myself, but music is music." She smiled a bit. "I also heard some commotion and noise from the other room, but unfortunately we're not allowed to visit." A quick gaze to her left.
"Noise, you say?" Viola briefly peeked at the door before looking back at her peers, rubbing her chin. "Perhaps we have another musician behind those very doors?"
"Pfft, tell me about it." Carter leaned his back behind. "More like… an entire band. I might've even heard a fart machine tossed in there somewhere."
Viola lightly chuckled before slowly sitting right beside Keesha. Her neck-length hair briefly captured Keesha's attention, with Viola's blue highlight streak dashing on the left side of her black hair. "Oh, how riveting." She remarked with a smile. "Very glad I was assigned this room with your guys' company. That room over there seems too… tumultuous for my personal taste."
"Something tells me a court case would be required to handle the dilemma over there." Walter added, in a joking manner to keep the atmosphere lighthearted. "Probably two."
"You can feel comfortable in this group, that I can assure." Keesha told Viola, wanting to make her feel at ease… at least with her. "We could be put on different teams, so we should enjoy our time together for the rest of the trip." She suggested it to all three, even though no one really knew what was going to happen soon. "But for now, I'll be using the bathroom, so do avoid causing trouble while I'm gone."
"Aye-aye, captain." Carter gave a quick, playful salute.
"So…" Viola continued off from her previous train of thought. "Besides Keesha's singing and my love and enjoyment for playing the violin, are any of you two musicians and-or singers as well?" She remained seated upright, well-mannered posture, hands between her thighs, calmly smiling as she first turned towards Walter.
"I'm more of an aspiring lawyer that seeks justice for all." Walter answered. "But I did take a chorus class as an elective and I can get very familiar with the history of music in a short time." He added. "I do like -" The collision of his hand against the metal wall behind him - on accident - caused him to wince in pain. "Shit! Not this again!"
"Oh, you, um… you okay there?" Viola glanced at his hand while giggling. "So, a justice-seeking lawyer? Fascinating." She grinned happily. "Sounds fun. A neat little dichotomy to balance, but you seem very organized. A huge plus in my books!" She then turned her head slightly, facing Carter. "And you?" She asked softly.
"Pfft, if I'm a musician or singer?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah!" She nodded calmly before receiving a sudden—
"No."
"Oh." She nodded awkwardly. "Well, regardless, you two seem like great pals to have! I do hope we end up on the same team…"
Carter and Walter glanced and nodded at each other, without muttering a single word. Then, both looked back at Viola as they all nodded in agreement yet again, as a few awkward seconds of pure nodding pursued.
"So… not awkward at all…" Carter murmured as everyone chuckled along, breaking tensions altogether, with Carter finally smiling longer than before. Wholesome was definitely the room's motto. A shining example compared to the chaotic room prior. Peace and quiet filled the air within their dark sleeping quarters.
Peace, and quiet…
Suddenly, in a sharp turn of events, the entire blimp experienced major turbulence. The cockpit swayed back and forth, almost as if it were detached from the main body of the blimp itself. Colton held onto the steering wheel for dear life, glaring forward into the storm. Meanwhile, Madison was startled, eyes wide open, gripping tight onto one of the roof grab-handles, attempting not to trip herself with her own boots.
"Dad! Dad-DAD!" She screamed, holding her hat tight from flying across the compact cockpit. "STOP PRETENDIN' LIKE THIS IS BECKY THE HORSE! WE AIN'T RIDIN' THROUGH TOWN LIKE ONE OF YOUR THANGS BACK HOME!" Her yelling was muffled by the violent winds whooshing the blimp back and forth.
"WOOOOO! HOLY-HELL, IT'S HIGH NOON, MADI! QUICK, TOSS ME MY POWER DRINK!" Colton remained focused, staring down the storm, not letting the dark clouds intimidate him.
"WHAT? OH-YOU MEAN YOUR FRISKY WHISKY? ARE YOU INSANE?" She yelled back, still heavily muffled by the loud noises.
"WHAT? YES, OF COURSE I'M INSANE!" Colton grunted like a horse. "ALSO, HER NAME'S NOT BECKY! IT'S BELLADONNASTESIA! GET IT RIGHT!"
"I AM NOT CALLIN' HER THAT!" Madison angrily shouted back. "GET THAT DANG LAZY PHILLIP BUM IN HERE, NOW!"
"I CAN'T! PHILLIP SKYDIVED OUT THE BLIMP HOURS AGO! IT'S ONLY ME, MADI! I'M THE PILOT NOW!" Colton viciously steered the wheel to the left, as everything tilted and swayed to the side.
"WHAT-ARE YOU KIDDIN' ME?" Madison sighed in disbelief, almost tripping herself. "YA KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE FLYIN'! WHY DIDN'T YOU DRAG MARCUS INSTEAD?"
"BECAUSE MARCUS IS MAGIC MAN!" Colton shouted back, now swaying to the other side.
"WHAT? SO?" She raised an eyebrow.
"WOOOOOO!" Colton interrupted, celebrating with rapid-fire fist bumps in the air. After flying through an entire army of storm clouds, the blimp drifted peacefully through clear skies, no longer shaking violently. A ray of evening sunlight beamed an orange tint, coloring the sky. To the left, Phil could finally spot the other blimp. From his perspective, the identical blimp carrying the other contestants appeared like a speck of dust, much farther away from him but still drifted alongside him. He waved vigorously, of course, not caring whether or not either Chef Hatchet or Hailee could spot him.
"Dad, why are you wavin'?" Letting go of the grab handle, Madison held her arms crossed, rolling her eyes. "Unless they're carryin' those dang binoculars, they ain't see us."
"Madi," Colton spun his chair around, facing his daughter with puppy eyes, almost appearing watery. "It's all about livin' the moment. Look at the beautiful sunset straight ahead. Don't you see? Life isn't always about ridin' horses to reach the finish line. It's all about the journey…"
"Have… you had too many Frisky Whiskies before pilotin' this dang blimp today?" She remarked, raising an eyebrow.
"That's beside the point," he tried covertly bumping his empty bottles underneath the dashboard to the side with his left foot, while gritting over the clanks as the bottles tipped over to the metal floor. "Anyways, I know how much you and Marcus were at first disapprovin' of my Pahkitew transformation. But Mark has turned around, and I'd like you to at least pretend like we're one big happy family. You're my only daughter. My youngest kid…"
"I'm in my early twenties, dad." She kept her arms crossed. "Stop treatin' me like I'm still in middle school, and maybe I'll pretend like there's no obvious glarin' issue with this dang family."
"Look, Madi, understand this: you're the final reflection of your mother, and it just breaks my dang heart to see you so unhappy sometimes…" he attempted to keep his composure, flicking droplets of tears off his face.
"Sorry…" Madison looked down in guilt. "But whatcha want me to do? Work with Marcus in his little magic bar?"
"All I ask is for you guys to be in your best behaviors. Don't be involvin' yourselves with the Total Drama game, none of that hay. We all gotta stay in the dang background. Let the Chris host fella do his thang," he readjusted his sleeves, glaring at his wrists. "You and Marcus are very special to me. You two welcome me with open arms to normality. We could use some normal in the family. And because of that, I have an additional task: I'd like you two to keep your older brothers in check. Make sure they don't… bite off more than they can chew."
"And what about Maddox? He couldn't come?" She sat down on the other seat.
"Maddox… wants nothin' to do with me anymore," he spun on his seat slightly, his left shoulder facing Madison. "I tried reachin' out to join our Pahkitew venture, no dang response. And I get it. I'm okay with that. He's got a family now."
"Aww, my older brother Madi Jr. all grown up," she chuckled.
He faced right back towards her, adjusting his hat. "And you called my horse names nonsense. Madi Jr. made no sense. He's older than you."
"It's called irony, dad," she stood up, rolling up her sleeves. "Far's I can tell, I may be the youngest, but I was a dang harder worker than Maddox, ya gotta admit."
"True that." Colton laughed, then also stood up, ready to fly the blimp to their destination. This time, no storm blocked the way. For now…
"So, what now?" She gazed out the windshield as the sun slowly fell down the horizon, shining its final sunset light, illuminating the sky with an orange tint growing darker and redder by the second. A few flocks of birds flew across the sky. The ocean below flowed soothingly. Colton faced the sky, awestruck by the natural beauty, patting Madison's back like a proud father.
"Now… we get ready for the showdown…"
Hoo boy! It took us quite a while, but after spending some time reading every single application over and over to make sure we understand each character, this is our final product! A big apology ahead of time if we somehow got anything wrong with your character's portrayal, small or big. We are doing our best and we'll continue to do our best until the very end. Other than that, hope you got a nice first impression of each character, including more development for Colton and Madison McShaw.
So, just a few questions:
Overall thoughts for the second prologue? Any immediate standouts or favorites? And did we write your character well? Any guesses on who the mysterious contestant protected by the bodyguard could be?
We look forward to reading your reviews! Also, feel free to PM us any particular spoilery specifics pertaining to your OC that we should fix, in case we didn't portray them properly.
Thank you once again for sticking by! We are now currently working on the main episodes, so stay tuned for further updates!