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The Perk, Wednesday Afternoon

So in contrast to her normal efforts to go outside as rarely as possible, April had actually had plans to leave the house yesterday. Trouble was, she had spent almost the entirety of yesterday asleep, and the time that she was awake, she'd been very wrapped up in the violent video games she was playing. So no, she hadn't quite managed to leave the house.

Today, though! Today she had. And she was pretty proud of herself for it, even if she'd maybe showed up a few hours earlier than she'd intended. But that was fine. With her laptop open to a violent video game on the table in front of her, she sipped her coffee and occasionally antagonized the baristas to pass the time.

It was shaping up to be a good day. Not as good as yesterday, with all the sleeping and gaming, but pretty good.

[[expecting one, but open!]]

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Jono wasn't all that good at the sleeping thing, no. But he did have a notebook with him, with a couple of notes in point-form scrawled down on the first page already. Mostly, they were just an outline, nonsensical tidbits about Toddlers and Tiaras, and his recipe for fake blood.

Because what Jono and April were planning was in horrible taste, and Jono wouldn't deny as much for an instant.

He ordered a coffee for himself, iced because he still had some measure of sanity left, and then pulled up a seat across from April.

"Afternoon, luv."

Really, he'd been okay with missing their coffee date yesterday, if only because he'd gone back to the Boards after the radio broadcast and spent a few hours playing with the cat, himself.

Aww, that meant bye-bye, violent video game. But it was soon to be replaced with fun brainstorming for a truly terrible movie, so that was okay. April was willing to make the sacrifice.

After, you know, decapitating another civilian or two. Whatever.

"Hey," she greeted him, shutting down the game and opening a program she could take notes in. "Ready to figure out how we're going to scar all of humanity?"

"Mostly I've been thinking about how to scar the portion of humanity insane enough to sit down and watch this," Jono mused, peering down at his notebook. "The starting point, either way, is going to be the script."

"Right. That thing we have to come up with." God, that sounded like actual work. "So... there'll be a little kid with a stupid name. Like... Chrysanthemum."

No, that wasn't nearly ridiculous enough, April. Try again.

"Or Liberty," Jonothon suggested, smirking faintly. "Names that are things are generally the most absurd. Chastity. Peaches. Chlamydia."

... That last one was in extra terrible taste, wasn't it?

Jono was writing it down, just in case.

"Chlamydia," April repeated firmly. "No question. Chlamydia... Peacock. Her middle name definitely needs to be Peacock. Or last name. One of those. And she's... like, five?"

Edited 2012-07-11 19:54 (UTC)

"Chlamydia Peacock Summerday it is, then," Jono replied, scrawling that down in his notebook and putting a star beside it. Because if you were going to write a horror script involving a murderous Toddlers and Tiaras contestant, a name like that was pretty much mandatory. "And five should be adequate."

It wasn't like they were going to look for some amazing talent in order to play this role. All that really mattered was finding a little girl who liked dressing pretty and getting stabby.

"Niiiice." April was never going to stop snickering when they were filming this. Never. "And she's from Texas," she decided, because where else would she be from? "And... when she grows up she wants to be a pony."

Oh dear.

"I'm fairly certain that every little girl wants to be a pony when she grows up," Jonothon mused. "This particular little girl should push that a little more. A pony princess, perhaps?"

Because that was original too, Jono.

"Or a pony ballerina princess."

...

Why did they give you your mouth back, Jonothon? Why?

Edited 2012-07-11 20:09 (UTC)

"I didn't," April informed him. "I wanted to be a dental hygenist who was also a medium."

Of course she did.

"How about a pony ballerina princess who marries a shark?" she suggested. "Since she's from Texas, maybe she won't get the whole sharks-have-to-live-underwater thing."

APRIL. April, that was not very nice.

Jonothon was inclined to go with that logic. Nothing against Texans in particular, really.

... Just Americans.

"A shark fireman?"

Because this was extremely important to the plot. Certainly.

Edited 2012-07-11 20:25 (UTC)

"Totally. Then she can go to work with him and play on the poles."

April...

"So, okay. We open with, like, all the girls lined up and answering questions for the judges, right? And there's this poppy music going on in the background the whole time, except after a while it starts getting a little darker and more horror movie-y, and then finally you get to Chlamydia -- which actually we should spell with a 'Qu,' I think -- and she says all that, all chipper and cheerful and shit, and the music gets darker and darker and it zooms in on her sparkly shoes -- and then you get the intro credits."

That was, without question, the most April had ever said at one time in her life.

"Which reminds me, we need a title."

"Or a working title, at least," Jono allowed. "Some films don't get a proper name until they're halfway through filming, you know."

This was not just his way of saying that he couldn't come up with something that witty on the fly, shut up.

"But your intro... I think I like that. Give me a moment to write that down?"

His pen was doing some pretty fierce scribbling already.

April peered over to watch him write, because she was a creeper. "Q-u-l-a-m-y-d-i-a," she spelled out, just in case he needed the help. "Maybe an umlaut over the a."

"Qulamydia." Jono stared at the page for a moment. And then added the requisite umlaut, squinting at the result. "Qulämydia? Christ, we should almost be tossing a few silent letters in for good measure, but at the rate we're going, I'm liable to run out of ink before we're finished settling on a spelling for her name."

Her horrible, horrible name.

"It's how it should be," April decided. "Swear to god, if you watch an episode of that show and take a shot for every accent mark that shouldn't be there, or, like, silent 'h' or apostrophe, you would get extremely drunk."

...

"We should do that as research."

"I'm game," Jonothon decided, without hesitation.

And then he hesitated.

"There's probably something terribly the matter with making a drinking game out of a show that features five-year-olds who show off more cleavage than my old school's headmistress used to."

His old school's headmistress used to run around in lingerie, so.

"Stuffy headmistress or, like, a HBIC MILF kind of deal?"

It was an important distinction.

Somewhere on the island, Jonothon suspected that Emma Frost was just raising an eyebrow at him.

"Decidedly not stuffy, and too young to be a MILF," he reported. It seemed like the safest response, really. "Actually, a version of her from an alternate timeline lives on the island. She works in the sex shop, I believe."

Which pretty much answered that.

April snapped her fingers. "Got it."

Yeah, she knew who he meant. What, she wasn't allowed to admire the displays while walking by? Please.

"Well, I'm pretty sure the parents on this show can actually get away with dressing their kids exclusively in lingerie and say it's just lacy dresses, so..."

...That was gross.

Edited 2012-07-12 01:45 (UTC)

That was so, so gross. Jonothon's wrinkled nose and slightly curled lip suggested about as much, too.

"There won't be any lingerie in this film," he informed her.

"I know," April said with a dramatic little eyeroll. "I mean I'm pretty sure it's been done on the show. I wouldn't put it past those moms."

"There is something really, truly, horribly the matter with these people."

Well. There was. It would be kind of therapeutic to kill them off one by one, even if it was only in effigy, through actors, on film.

April felt that this went without saying.

"Duh."

"We might actually need to watch the show with a drinking game in mind," Jonothon mused, "in order to be able to write parents who are psychotic enough to be convincing."

Research was better with booze.

"Good plan." April shot a little finger-gun in his direction. "I'd volunteer my parents for research, but they're in Pawnee and only moderately crazy. TV's easier."

And Jono wasn't even going to mention his parents. Rotten people that they were, they didn't warrant the ranting.

"And unless your parents entered you in a beauty competition at the age of three, it's really the most accurate representation of what we're looking for."

"They might've tried," April said, shrugging. "But I'd've bit them. I was a biter."

She was... still kind of a biter (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ts93fop6Fl8).

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

No, really. Jonothon? Not terribly surprised.

"I've always been more the sort to beat people senseless with inanimate objects, myself."

With lamps, Jono. Beat them senseless with lamps.

"To get out of pageants?" April teased, deliberately misunderstanding and tilting her head in mock-thought. "You know, I can see it."

Oh, April. Jono was in just barely a good enough mood to smirk and tilt his head back, modelling that handsome jawline he'd inherited.

"I look best in profile," he decided, leaning himself just so. "Really, people can't get enough of me."

... That was true in its own way. Just generally not for the reason at hand.

"You sure you don't want to play one of the handsome chiseled pageant dads?" April suggested sweetly, because she was cruel. "Or a judge, maybe?"

"As much as I know I would be perfect in any role that starts with the words 'handsome' and 'chiselled,' I think I'm going to have to regretfully decline the cameo," Jono replied, smirking just a little. "My place is in the director's chair, luv. My adoring public will just have to find a way to go on without me."

... Probably for the best, unless he could get in touch with Miley and see if he could borrow her make-up artist for the occasion.

He could! He maybe could!

"You'll have to tweet something about scheduling difficulties," April said thoughtfully. "Prior obligation you couldn't get away from."

Wow, they were totally not getting any brainstorming done at all.

Their little nightmare child had a name. With an umlaut. If that was all they accomplished today, it would be worth it.

... It could be a while before they'd get to the point of filming.

"That shouldn't be all that difficult," Jonothon mused. "And if anybody refuses to believe me, I suppose I'll have to resort to my childhood tactics and crack their skulls open with whatever happens to be handy."

Still lamps.

"As co-producer and chief fake blood designer, I'll have to back you up," April promised. "With biting."

"And together, we'll be a force to be reckoned with."

Fear them, Fandom Island. Fear their combined might.

"The unfaithful really don't stand a chance."

[Bedtime! SP?]

"Damn right," April confirmed. "Plus we have a secret weapon." She paused for the requisite dramatic effect, then clarified, "Qulämydia."

[[sure! or we could just ftb there, even. whichever. night!]]

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The Perk, Wednesday Afternoon

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