Chris McLean fidgeted in his seat. He once again looked over the front page of the written copy of his pitch. He breathed in and out; he was very nervous, something that Chris wasn't exactly accustomed to being. Maybe it was his celebrity status that brought this about, but he preferred to be in control of every situation he was in. From commanding a set with his excellent acting capabilities to picking up awe-struck female fans at a club, Chris always let his patented charm and trademark smile breeze him through life.
As he continued to glance nervously around the receptionist's room, looking for something to focus on during the eternal wait, he heard a muffled snicker. He looked to the receptionist behind her desk, who was occasionally glancing at him, a cheeky smile across her face. Chris saw she was holding a magazine, which had his person splayed across the cover. He was wearing a ridiculous pure white costume, surrounded by other similarly aged men dressed in black suits. The very epitome of an early 2000's boy band.
Chris gritted his teeth. There was a time in the past when the receptionist would've swooned just being in the same room as the Chris McLean. The old adage said that hindsight was 20/20; Chris thought it was both that and an absolute bitch.
Chris, trying to keep in tune with the times as his own starlight began to fade, thought that 2000's era boy bands were coming back into vogue, or, at the very least, becoming a highly profitable nostalgic entity. To say he had been wrong about this shift in style and tastes, was charitable; to say that Chris' already somewhat dwindling celebrity status crashed and burned, was realistic. And Chris thought that signing up for that celebrity ice-skating competition was embarrassing enough...
The four members of his entourage who had suckered into being apart of the boy band had left him. Chris hadn't had offers for movie and television acting gigs for a year now. He got tons of roles for television commercials, though Chris had put his foot down on every advertisement that used his boy band career as a punchline. He also turned down any that might hurt his precious image, even when he desperately needed the money. He remembered the offer he had had to feature in an adult diaper commercial with those two tennis has-beens; Pete and Greg... was that his name? It didn't matter; Chris couldn't give much of a shit about two old farts constantly trying to one-up each other.
Hell, he couldn't even walk down the streets without people snickering and mocking him behind his back. At the point the boy band finally hung in the towel after sales of records reached a new gross low, Chris thought that it was the end. Forget his eventual plans for moving to Hollywood to become a world-wide celebrity; he would forever be stuck in Canada... until today.
Chris breathed in as he looked at his written pitch, a pitch for a television show that had never been attempted before. The idea had actually been stuck in Chris' head ever since his early college years, when he was first starting his acting career. As his fame grew, Chris eventually forgot about the idea, content with appearing in films and television as an actor. Now that his career was over, Chris had remembered his idea; his ace-in-the-hole idea that could potentially catapult him back to stardom.
As his mind buzzed with excitement just thinking of the lucrative potential (both in monetary gain and overall attention towards him), the door to the producers' office swung open. Chris started, looking up at the door in puzzlement. The room was pitch black, so he couldn't see who or what had opened the door.
"The producers will see you now.", said the receptionist, her tone now cold and business like, the dreaded magazine having disappeared.
Chris stood up, adjusted his tie, and walked into the dark room. The door closed, seemingly of its own accord, shutting him in absolute darkness. The only light came from the little cracks in between the window vane's, so it took a while for Chris' eyes to adjust. After a few seconds of total blindness, he could make out the shape of a large, conference table in the center of the room. Indistinct shapes of people sitting around the table became clearer. The heady aroma of smoke hung in the air; from tiny pinpoints of light near the faces of the people, he could tell that a lot of them were chain smokers.
Chris coughed. Not that he didn't indulge in the occasional vice of drinking alcohol, but Chris never smoke and had only taken recreational drugs only once. And that had been just been marijuana in high school. Smoking led to bad teeth; Chris considered his wide, almost permanent smile to be his moneymaker, so ergo...
"Are you just going to sit there coughing, or are we going to get on with this?", came a harsh voice from near the front of the table. Chris started, smiled apologetically (not that anyone of them could probably see it), and moved to the opposite end of the table.
"Ladies and gentlemen of this distinguished television studio.", said Chris as he put his papers on the table. Truthfully, Chris didn't know if there were ladies among the group, but at that point he didn't care. "I come before you today with a radical proposal..."
At the head of the table, a small match light snapped into existence. The lighted match moved towards a large pipe in the head producer's mouth. The producer puffed at it for a second, then looked in Chris' general direction. "You can save the spoken pitch for now, Mr. McLean. We've already been discussing your project at length, mainly through the use of the email copy you sent us.", the producer said, in a quiet, calm, and silky voice.
Chris ringed his hands in the darkness, hoping no one could see this nervous tic. The producer continued to stare at Chris, and the latter began to sweat. Finally, the producer broke the silence. "The idea of your pitch is not without merit."
Chris sighed in relief, but still felt a proverbial sword of Damocles still hanging over his potential project. "Something like this has never been attempted on television before, Mr. McLean. Putting teenagers up in a secret location, having them compete in games in front of camera, then voting them off one by one. It's quite a gamble."
Chris held his breath. "Too much of a gamble.", put in the gravelly voiced producer who had spoken before the lead producer. "I'm sure you want us to put these kids up in a fancy resort, don't you. That'll cost money."
"Actually, I had some ideas for that.", butted in Chris. "Instead of a resort facility or fancy hotel, we could always shack the kids up in a far cheaper location. Say, a summer camp?"
"Summer camp?", said another shadowy producer incredulously.
"There are hundreds of disused summer camps in Muskoka alone. Most of them are abandoned entirely, haven't been used in years." explained Chris, his fast-talking, exuberance creeping back into his speech and manner. "All we have to do is track down who currently owns the land and pay a small lease for the summer."
A pause among the suits, then... "Could work, could work...", said the grumpy suit, begrudgingly.
"There's another major problem.", said the lead suit. "You've asked for a million dollar prize for the last kid standing. That we cannot do."
Another suit cleared her throat. "We could decrease the prize money. Maybe to a hundred K; not as enticing as a million, but still substantial."
"A hundred thousand dollars, substantial in this day and age?", said the grumpy suit. "Teens may be stupid, but most won't be willing to shack up in an abandoned summer camp for a measly 100K."
"We could put a slight misdirection in the application forms and contracts.", said a new voice at the table. "Promise fantastic places, but with the added loophole that 'fantastic places' is an ultimately vague and objective promise."
The suits began talking amongst themselves about this new thought, mostly about the potential legal ramifications. Chris was quite forgotten at his place. He began to grow fidgety and a little annoyed. This his idea; he should be at the forefront of any discussions on changing the format.
Finally, the rest of the table seemed satisfied with their contractual loophole. The head suit observed Chris with a cool gaze. "All right, Mr. McLean, I think we've got ourselves a TV show."
Chris beamed at the group with his toothy smile, though none of the suits could see it. "Thank you, sir. I have a feeling that this show will be the start of something great in TV histo..."
He was interrupted by the door opening, seemingly of its own accord once again, spilling in light from the receptionist's office. "We'll keep in touch about the details, Mr. McLean."
Realizing he was no longer wanted, Chris hurried from the room. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light, he let the euphoria spill over him. He chuckled to himself as he left the office... though not without confidently asking the receptionist out for a drink. She rejected him, but Chris didn't care. It had been weeks since he had plucked up the courage to ask a girl out, and, besides, once the show was a success, women would be throwing themselves at the Chris McLean once again.
The conference room was still pitch black as the producers sat in silence. All of them knew this 'reality television' could pay off in bucketloads... but it was still an incredibly risky venture.
The head producer turned to the grouchy one. "Any news about the other fading star?, the former said, snidely. "What was he name?"
"Blaineley.", came the female suit. "Blaineley O'Halloran. She hosts that tabloid trash show, Celebrity Manhunt, with... what's his name."
"She's still trying to pitch to us that show that's almost exactly like McLean's, except with celebrities competing.", said grumpy suit. "She's already got several star's signed on, including that hotel heiress... something Milton, I think her name is."
The head suit thought for a few seconds, then said, "Tell Ms. O'Halloran that we are no longer interested in her pitch. We will be going with McLean's."
In the darkness, grumpy suit scowled. He wasn't the only one unhappy at the table.
"Going with the show pitched by a man, rather than a woman's.", said the female suit, half-bitterly, half-resignedly. "Same old story."
The head suit quirked a small smirk as he glanced down at his copy of the pitch, specifically observing the title of this new show. "I believe Mr. McLean could become a great asset to this... Total Drama Island."
"Or the heaviest millstone...", muttered grumpy suit.
Like I said in the short summary of this story up top, this will essentially function as a novelization of the first season of TD. It be like the canon season, only character interactions, personal histories, what each character was thinking in each challenge, what was happening at Playa des Losers during the competition, as well as the development of Total Drama itself in-universe, will be explored in full detail during this story.
Before we go, here are a few notes about this chapter:
1- Survivor didn't happen in this universe, and thus the reality TV era that dominated the early 2000's is absent. Instead, the reality TV era essentially rockets off with the introduction of TDI in the summer of 2007. More on this as it develops in universe.
2- I specifically based the head suit and the grumpy suit on Father/Benedict Uno and Mr. Boss respectively from Codename KND. Just a fun little easter egg; just imagine their character designs when trying to picture these characters when they eventually leave the dark confines of that conference room.