Director B345T - The show must go on

[Taj'el]

((Living-room, House, USPS Showrunner))

 

B345T narrowed their eyes slightly. The middle-sized actor had been doing that thing again. Stabilizing. Smoothing edges. Stepping into gaps in the scene like they were never supposed to exist in the first place. That was the problem with competent performers, they made chaos look optional.

So B345T adjusted their approach. If subtle pressure wasn’t enough… Then direct exposure would be. They leaned forward in their seat, clipboard already primed like a trigger. If they wanted to use code they call them on their bluff! Let him sing his way out!

Naledi: Tick Twig Slip Slide… Let us hear the song Ral.  

Ral: 

We’re riding through the Tangle where the strange things grow, 

Chasing distant signals where no one else will go, 

Captain’s gone missing and he’s not the only one, 

But the Thor keeps flying with her loyal crew.

:: a small instrumental::

Oh. The Thor keeps flying through the stars tonight,

Morro in Engineering and Sevantha Standing tall,

. If trouble’s out there waiting we answer the call.

 

Caught off guard, Agent B345T actually smiled. Not the usual “this is going exactly according to my chaos plan” smile. Something smaller. More… surprised. The kind of expression that briefly forgot it was supposed to be in control. Because it didn’t sound bad. Not at all, actually.

The middle-sized performer’s voice carried through the studio, imperfect, a little unpolished, but steady in a way that didn’t rely on instructions or narrative nudging. It landed cleanly where it needed to, like it had found the rhythm on its own and decided to stay there.

Meris: That sounded great, Ral! And guess what! My crush says they're going to come to our performance tomorrow. Won't that be swell!

Agent B345T: Since little buddy is good at tests... maybe you could switch places?

 

Agent B345T: Oh! And maybe you can help them with their love confession!

Agent B345T leaned back like they had just delivered a universally accepted truth. Because in their mind, they had.

oOYou have to throw ideas out there or nothing changes!Oo

A satisfied nod followed, as if that explained everything from production choices to the emotional structure of teenage existence. They gestured broadly at the trio, at the studio, at the whole compressed weekend of obligations collapsing into one another.

B345T (behind the camera): Having a test and a gig on the same day, having to switch places without being caught. All of this is totally relatable and realistic to teens nowadays!

Behind the scenes, B345T paused slightly. Relatable. Realistic. Words that were supposed to mean stability, recognition, connection. In practice, they usually meant viewership justification.

Meris: S-sure... but for that I'll need to rely on a stronger instrument than just my trusty triangle.

Naledi: Slap Slop Crop Flop… There is no stronger instrument than the soul. Allow it to speak through your triangle, and you shall create art.

Ral: Oh this’ll be good.  Ding! Ding!.

The smallest one, meanwhile, remained firmly locked into their fate. The triangle. Still there. Still unavoidable. Still producing exactly the kind of simple, piercing ding that somehow demanded attention no matter how much chaos surrounded it.

The laugh track kicked in immediately, almost delighted by the contrast, grand emotional pressure on one side of the studio, and a single tiny ding cutting through it like a judgmental spoon tapping glass. 

 

Meris: This goes out to my crush... Trake Herrick Kreshkova. Or, THK as I call them for short.

 

Ral: THK? Please!

B345T: What a funny name.

 

Meris: I call this "When the Stars Leaned Close"...

Meris: Meris, still as the winter lake...

Meris: Shaka, the walls falling... my calm undone at your approach.

Meris: Darmok on the ocean, his heart open to the storm.

Meris: So am I, THK - your name, a comet’s tail across my sky.

Meris: Uzani, his army scattered - my doubts retreat when you smile.

Meris: Mirab, at the gates of dawn - you, the light I rise toward.

 

As the song ended, Meris gave the triangle a hard hit.

 

TING

 

Everything froze for a beat. Like the entire studio had taken a collective inhale. Then… The unseen crowd erupted.

A wave of applause and laughter crashed through the sound system, loud enough to rattle even the carefully controlled studio acoustics. The laugh track, already warmed up, joined in with suspicious enthusiasm like it had been waiting its whole life for this exact moment.

B345T behind the controls leaned back slowly. A rare expression crept across their face. Awe. It worked. Not just functionally, successfully. The awkward little band formation, the forced instruments, the pressure stacking, the accidental harmonies from two of the performers, it had all collided into something coherent.

oO…That’s actually good.Oo

Their fingers hovered over the console. Already thinking. Already upgrading. Musical expansion. Audience engagement spike. Full genre conversion…One tentacle drifted toward a large glowing button labeled in suspiciously optimistic font: MUSICAL OVERWRITE ENABLE

They stopped. Mid-thought. Mid-temptation. Because something else had lit up on a side monitor. Another stage. Another director. Another production.

Director PR3ST1G.

Already running a musical. Already stealing the format. Already using the same emotional timing curves. B345T’s eye twitched. Silence returned instantly. The applause faded into a distant hum as focus narrowed.

B345T (behind the camera):…That hack,

The awe disappeared. Replaced immediately with offense. Not artistic offense. Professional offense. The worst kind. Now the idea felt bad, pointless, lacking of creativity, beneath him.  

Meris: Nailed it.

 

Naledi: Tick Snap Pop Click… It is glad to see it’s own advice worded. The Meris is welcome.

Ral: Yeah it was… really cool!

Agent B345T: That was wonderful! Both of you. I’m so proud!

 

Agent B345T pulled the two performers into a side hug with theatrical enthusiasm—firm, warm, and just slightly too coordinated to feel natural. Like a parent praising children right before handing them a checklist of obligations. The gesture lingered a second too long, the kind of approval that already contained the next assignment inside it.

The studio lights glowed with satisfaction. The audience noise swelled again, applause, laughter, approval layered into one continuous wave of “this is working.”

Behind the scenes, B345T observed the moment carefully. Noting the emotional closure. Noting the audience reinforcement. Noting the structural satisfaction of a scene that had resolved just enough to feel complete, but not enough to stop continuing.

Then… The curtain dropped. Not slowly. Not dramatically. Just… decisively. A sudden vertical slice of “scene over.” A pause.

They looked up at the curtain like it had personally made a scheduling decision without approval. Silence. No response from the set. No explanation from the system. Just the faint hum of a production that was still technically running somewhere behind everything else. Agent B345T shrugged.

oOAh well. Probably a commercial break or something.Oo

Naledi: Chirp Snap Crick.. Is it the end of the first act?

Ral: Please say it is, I can’t take anymore!

Meris: Response

B345T: And now… another word from our sponsors. Shall we play the cola one again?

 

Naledi: Pop Snap Tick Crick… Ok, Director. Could you please let us renegotiate our contracts? It wishes for greater creative control.

Ral: Yeah, these lines are terrible.  It would be much more entertaining if we could do our own thing.

Oh no. An actor acting out. What a shocking development. Truly unforeseen. Absolutely no one in the history of performance-based entertainment could have predicted that giving performers instruments, emotional stakes, romantic subplots, time travel, competing gigs, academic pressure, and a live laugh track might eventually produce… behavior.

Agent B345T leaned forward immediately. Clipboard up. Eyes narrowing like this was the most personally offensive thing that had happened all day.

Meris: Response.

B345T: Nope! No way! Last time I let you and your kind have freedom…I lost my stage and actors!

Naledi: Crick Snap Tick… What would you be willing to consider?

Ral: We need editorial control too.  We’ll prove we can put a show together properly.

Meris: Response.

He laughed again. Not smaller this time. Not contained. It came out in that same exaggerated, almost theatrical burst, bending forward, one hand clutching his chest like the emotion of it all was physically too much to hold upright.

The sound bounced off the studio walls in clean, rehearsed timing. Too clean. Too intentional. Like it knew where the punchline was supposed to land… even if nobody had written one.

B345T: I may have been born at night…

Their head tilted slightly, eyes locked on the performer with surgical patience.

B345T: …but not last night. I am not giving control of my studio to simple actors.

The word simple landed heavier than intended. Not insulting. Not emotional. Just categorizing. Behind the scenes, the real B345T watched without blinking. This was the pivot point. Where entertainment either remained entertainment… or started negotiating for authorship.

B345T: Already you are causing issues…::beat:: Maybe we should go back to the previous episode.

A pause. Almost thoughtful. Almost merciful.

B345T: So you’ll be good little kids.

Ral: Previous episodes?

B345T didn’t blink. Not immediately. The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was structured. Like the studio itself was waiting to see whether this was a suggestion, a threat, or a production command that would overwrite the last ten minutes of reality.

Agent B345T finally tilted their head. Slowly. Measuring the weight behind the words.

B345T: You know the episode before this one. ::beat:: That way everything in this episode doesn’t come up…

The studio lighting dimmed just a fraction, like the system itself didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. Then the final line landed.

B345T: …like this conversation.

It wasn’t said loudly. It didn’t need to be. It attached itself to the air like a clause being inserted into reality after the fact. A correction disguised as a warning.

Meris/Naledi: Response.

The idea of the noir actors lingered in B345T mind like an old file being opened, gunfights, cigarette haze, obedient dialogue that never asked questions. No improvisation. No arguments about continuity. Just controlled chaos that stayed inside the frame. They missed that. A little. Enough to be annoyed by it.

With a casual flick of the hand, B345T dismissed the tension in the air as if it were just another lighting issue. The threatening weight of continuity talk, the fractured awareness in the scene, the actors pushing back against structure, it all got filed under manageable if ignored correctly.

They walked over and leaned against a prop like nothing important was happening. Like they hadn’t just been negotiating authorship of reality itself.

B345T: If you want to negotiate a script, that is the most I’ll give you.

Meris/Naledi/Ral: Response.

B345T: Don't like it? Too bad that’s show busyness. 

Meris/Naledi/Ral: Response.

[[TAGS/TBC]]

--

Director B345T

Amazing Best Producer,

USPS Astrachthoni Ship

T240211T14