Synopsis:
In a world where heroism and villainy are 9-to-5 gigs, Arthur Lovelass’s life has reached critical mass. Every attempt he’s made to humiliate his popular and heroic father has failed, his girlfriend has left him, his sister won’t talk to him, and he’s jobless. As if that weren’t bad enough, his roommate is threatening to kick him out of the apartment after he causes an embarrassing accident which leaves her just as unemployed. Things get worse when Arthur guilts his best friend Tim into accompanying him on a prank at the Heroes’ Guild. Instead of petty vandalism, the two stumble on a conspiracy which leaves four dead and the ‘Lord of Justice’ Arbiter on a campaign of revenge which threatens the very world Arthur longs to be a part of.
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Excerpt:
“Alright, people!” Talia yelled, cutting him off. Everyone stopped and gave her their full attention. “If this chump doesn’t show up in five, we’re striking. I have to get back to the station at some point today.” Murmurs of understanding broke out.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” James interjected.
“And if you were paid to think, that would mean something.” He shuffled backward before clearing his throat.
“I’m just… coffee… find the coffee.” He offered a tight smile before disappearing amidst his muttering peers.
Talia, free of her escort, walked toward where the interview was supposed to take place. A cardboard set up, propped up behind her guest’s seat, showed the Golden Age Arbiter standing atop a pile of rubble as the city of New York stretched behind him. Standing just past his shoulder, the simpering actress hired to play One Shot gaped forward with dull eyes and a jaw just slack enough to reveal her teeth. Further in the background, an actor with a passable resemblance to the former president of the United States stood, apparently lost in thought. At the base of the display, the title of the piece blazed a shiny yellow: The Dawn of the Silver Age. Talia snorted derisively, in an excellent imitation of the first time she had seen the poster for the film.
“I didn’t like the title myself,” came a slick-as-oil voice from behind her. She turned to face the owner, Weston Marsh, the aggressively unshaven star of the film. He removed his shades, brown eyes flickering over his two-dimensional cut out. Placing one of the stems in his mouth, he frowned contemplatively. “Wanted something a little ballsier. You know. Like… Death to Desecrator or something like that.” He stuck his hand out and, grinning, gave her a wink. “Weston Marsh, Miss Illyanovich.”
She looked at his winsome smile, then his hand. With slight hesitation, she took it and shook it once. “Delighted.” His hand free, he opened his blazer pocket and deposited his shades inside. “You were supposed to be here three and a half hours ago.” She raised her hand to get the attention of the crew.
“Sorry. Had breakfast with a friend of mine. Just got kind of carried away.” The smell of alcohol on his breath betrayed that his meal came entirely from a bottle. Talia immediately suspected that the only friend involved with Marsh was a smiling pirate captain. He gestured to his seat and Talia nodded. In a smooth motion, he took a step toward it and plopped down, ending up in a forced-relaxed position. “You… sound different in person.”
Quickly, Talia closed her eyes to conceal the fact that she was rolling them. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“No disappointment here, T.” He looked approvingly at her, as though she had no choice but to accept his term of endearment. “It could be me, anyway. I’ve had a rough couple of weeks.”
“So I’ve heard.” Talia gestured to someone out of his eyeshot.
“Of course you have. I mean, with my sister and all…” he trailed off. His sister had been in and out of mental institutions for years, and her recent suicide had dominated the entertainment headlines. That is, until a recent string of intoxicated public displays by Mr. Marsh took over. Weston shook his head as a production assistant walked by. He grabbed the PA’s arm. “You got any coffee here, sugar?”
“Three hours ago, Mr. Marsh,” Talia half-said, half-scolded.
He looked at her, then at the PA. “Water. And aspirin.” He smiled and winked, a habit which was quickly getting old to his interviewer. “Thanks.” He released her, and the rapidly blushing assistant ran off. Weston returned his gaze to Talia. “You know, my agent warned me about this.” A makeup artist walked up to Marsh and leaned down to apply dashes of powder to his face.
“You don’t say?” Talia asked as she took her seat. With an audible pop, the lights near them turned on, bathing them in a sufficient amount of luminescence.
“Well, you aren’t exactly the friendliest interviewer.” After a few applications of powder, he shooed away the makeup man. “He told me you’d probably end the interview with a slap.”
A sound technician approached and placed a tiny wireless microphone on Talia’s lapel. “You should be so lucky. That only happens if it goes well.”
The house lights were dimmed silently as the tech turned to Marsh and fitted him with a mic. As the darkness spread in the theater, side conversations grew dim before dying completely.
“Oh, flirty,” Marsh cooed as the tech walked away. Talia stared, unfazed. “It’s a calculated risk, really,” he continued as he pointed approvingly at a production assistant who had politely waved from inside the lights’ perimeter.
Talia turned to look at the object of his interest. Under her gaze, the PA turned a bright shade of crimson before slinking into the darkness. “And what kind of risk are we talking about here?” she asked, turning back toward him.
The director of photography approached and took light meter readings near their faces. Marsh flashed a wide smile when it was his turn, apparently anticipating that the whiteness of his teeth would upset the reading. “Well, the film hasn’t tested so well with villain audiences.”
Talia didn’t seem surprised. “You don’t say.”
Marsh smiled. “No, really.” He waited until the director of photography had walked away and engaged one of the grip crew in conversation. “Who would have thought a bunch of degens would have hated Arbiter?” Talia cocked an eyebrow. The reaction seemed to mildly upset Marsh. “Sorry. Some people are a bad influence. Sorry.”
“Your charm has gotten you far, hasn’t it?” Talia asked coolly.
The PA from earlier returned with the water and set it beside his chair. She handed Weston a pill bottle and vanished from the circle of light. “It’s worked until now.” He unscrewed the cap on the bottle of painkillers and downed a considerable portion of the contents. “Just between you and me, I do love your show,” he said with a mouthful of pills. “It’s the best. I love watching people squirm on here.” He opened the water bottle and took a long pull from it.
Talia didn’t offer any reaction to this statement. “And you just decided that it would be your turn today?”
Marsh bobbed his head and blinked dreamily. “You could say that.”
“Talia? We’re ready at this end,” one of the three camera men announced.
Talia nodded. “Are you ready?”
Marsh smiled ingratiatingly. “Of course.” He turned to the assembled crew. “Make sure to get my good side.” Appreciative laughter gently rolled forward. He turned back toward Talia. “Just kidding. They’re all good sides.” He winked at her.
Talia smiled wide and, through gritted teeth, uttered, “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?”
He made a face which he, no doubt, thought was alluring. “You want to find out?”
“Camera speeding!” shouted the director of photography.
“Don’t you want to do a sound check?” Marsh asked.
“Oh, we’re good,” Talia reassured him before looking over her note cards.
The director verbally counted down to four and silently gestured the remaining numbers. Instinctively, Talia looked up from the cards and smiled. Unlike the others she offered before, this one had a peerless charm to it. “Good evening, this is Talia Gregor Illyanovich from Villain World News, the premier news network for villainous voices and issues.” Her accent was gone, replaced with a spot-on non-regional American dialect. Marsh looked taken aback, but quickly regained his composure as Talia continued. “Tonight, I am interviewing Weston Marsh, the lead actor in the upcoming ‘historical’ epic, The Dawn of the Silver Age.” She turned to Weston and smiled with a clear sense of affection which, up to now, had been absent in their conversation. “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Marsh.”
“Pleasure to be here.” Before Talia could say anything else, he stared directly into the camera trained on him. “And a pleasure to all my villainous fans out there.” He winked. “Stay bad, baby.”
Talia looked at him for a long second. “Funny you should say that.”
Weston cocked an eyebrow. “Is this a part of the interview?”
“No, of course not. This is: some critics in the villain community have questioned the film’s portrayal of historical events. How do you respond to this?” She looked up from the cards and stared at him, a flicker of mirth in her eyes.
“A film has to take some liberties with any history. Some figures are compressed into single characters, some threads of reality’s plot have to be, uh,” he made a scissoring motion with his hands, “clipped.”
She didn’t even look at the cards. “So you’re perfectly alright with letting heroes get all the credit for the defeat of Desecrator?”
Weston laughed. “As I said…”
Talia’s face hardened. The smile didn’t disappear, but there was something other than polite interest behind her features. “We heard what you said. We have it on tape. Care to answer the question?”
Marsh chewed his lower lip, mulling over his response. Finally, he looked up. “The screenwriter, Preston Wallace, a dear friend of mine, went over something like fifty eyewitness testimonies of the day Arbiter saved New York City, and came up with the most profound script I’ve ever read which, unfortunately, had to cut corners to provide for an adequate running time…”
Talia stopped his unbroken response. “Of two hundred and thirty minutes?”
He laughed nervously. “Yes, the present cut of it is quite long.” He threw his hands up in an exaggerated ‘what are you gonna do?’ gesture. “But what do you expect? It’s a historical epic.”
“A historical epic apparently devoid of history.” The sweet look Talia was giving him was made all the more unsettling by the venom in her eyes. It was like eating a chocolate covered brick of salt.
“You haven’t even watched the damn film.” He laughed, the pause in the conversation giving him enough time to think. “I think you should withhold judgment until the director and producers are ready to bring their vision to the world.” He snapped and pointed at the camera again. “July fourth, kids.”
“What good timing.” Talia looked at her note cards. “Why did your good friend leave out the contributions of villains in his script?”
“Oh, come on…”
“No, seriously. The heroes are well represented. But notably absent are the hundreds of villains who gave their lives in defense of New York…”
“There wasn’t time…”
“… The thousands more who were injured…”
“Seriously, Talia…”
She leaned forward. “… Or even those who helped rebuild the damaged sections of the city.”
“Some things had to be sacrificed!” Marsh was losing his patience. Talia smirked at the hint of weakness. “It’s just a movie! There’s no conspiracy to make anyone look bad!”
“I never mentioned a conspiracy,” she said innocently. “The movie just seems to have an unnecessary and inaccurate love story thrown in for little reason other than to appeal to teenagers.”
Marsh seemed confused for a moment. “So, the love story is superfluous…”
“Glad you agree.”
Marsh leaned forward. “I didn’t say…” He stopped completely, acknowledging that arguing would be pointless. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that your profound screen play dedicates no less than thirty pages to an imaginary relationship between One Shot and Arbiter. But…” She squinted and pretended to count on her fingers. “… Not a single page mentions a villain in a positive light.”
Weston shook his head and scratched absently at his chin. “Ladies like romance, guys like hot chicks.” He looked earnestly at her.
Talia laughed, hollow and eerie. “Sounds like it should be the tagline of the film.” The air between them thickened with silence.
“So, are you…” Marsh started.
She cut him off. “Rumor has it…”
“Oh, good. There’s more,” he muttered as he shifted his weight.
“… That you and Arbiter became very close on the set of the film.”
Marsh’s eyes betrayed the fact that he knew his hand had been caught in the cookie jar. “I wouldn’t say close…”
Talia cocked her head. “And how would you characterize your relationship with the man who has routinely said, quote, ‘Villain-kind cannot be trusted to coexist with sane human beings. Their minds are polluted, their histories corrupt, and their actions violent. To accept them as a part of humanity is to accept a gangrenous limb.’”
Marsh looked partially impressed. “You memorized all that?”
Talia bared her teeth, less a display to set someone at ease and more to warn them to cover their throat. “Do you wish to respond?”
Marsh thought for a moment. “Is there a way to answer this without getting you even angrier with me?”
“Is Arbiter a friend of yours?”
He shook his head, “Well, not exactly…”
“Is Arbiter one of your consultants?” Talia cocked an eyebrow. “A personal consultant?”
“I’m playing the guy in a movie. So, yes, Arbiter is a good, personal consultant of mine.” His eyes went wide for a moment when he realized a way the statement could be construed. “He was for the entire movie, not just me.” Marsh nodded, approving his own story. “He was an eye witness, wasn’t he? He is the guy we owe for actually stopping the Nazi invading our country.”
“The same guy who is also running for High Consul in the Super Heroes’ Guild elections, the same guy who is committed to rolling back the protective clauses, and the same guy who could use a little friendly PR, right?” They made eye contact and held it for long, unbroken seconds. Marsh was the first to look away, making a show of removing something from his teeth.
“Arbiter was a great help in terms of accuracy on how a great deal of the event went down. That’s all. His influence on this fictional,” the emphasis on the word stopped the flow of the sentence, “story is minimal.” The actor leaned back in the chair. “Outside of that, there was a bit of fear regarding his… divisive nature, especially so close to an election.”
“Alright,” Talia offered, although her tone wasn’t indicating she wanted to let the argument rest. “I’m sure your villain fans will appreciate your attention to detail regarding a violent sociopath.”
Weston half-laughed. “I know that it’s kind of the in thing to think that neutrals don’t care about villains, but we do.” He leaned forward. “You guys are the underdogs. I get it, I really do. But there’s the very real fact that history isn’t written by villains because villains… well…” The pause hung in the air for an uncomfortable moment.
“Get their asses handed to them?”
Marsh watched a self-satisfied smirk spread across Talia’s face. He returned the expression. “You could say that.”
Talia shuffled through her cards, then dropped them to the floor. “What exactly do you think the villain community’s reaction will be when you and your director endorse Arbiter for High Consul?”
Weston rose to his feet immediately. “This is over.”
“So it is true!” Talia stood up, the words stopping Weston in his tracks. “This entire movie is propaganda for some washed up hero…”
“Hey!” Weston shouted and turned toward her. “That man is responsible…”
“My viewers know what he is responsible for and what he stands for!”
“Who cares? He’s not going to win, your whole balance won’t be upset, and you’ll still remain the spoiled daughter of a commie super villain…”
It happened so quickly that Marsh barely had time to register that he was falling. His vision went white before going black as his head cracked against the carpeted floor. The ceiling hazily came into view through the tears which were now pumping into his eyes. He felt something hot streaming down his face and knew, mostly from experience, that she had punched him square in the nose. Talia appeared in his line of sight, pointing at him threateningly with her index and middle fingers. “Do. Not. Talk. About. My. Father.” Her accent had returned.
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About the Author:
Jonathan Charles Bruce has a Master’s in History and thinks that you are a mighty fine person for giving this book a shot. It is based off of a play he once wrote, which is a bit of trivia you can use to wow your friends at parties. He makes no guarantee about that, though.
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Connect with the Author:
Twitter: @JonathanCBruce
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