Director B345T - All the Plot Threads

[Taj'el]

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

 B345T had always considered themself a mostly hands-off director. Well... relatively hands-off. They preferred moving pieces from behind the curtain. Adjusting sets. Swapping genres. Rewriting reality. The usual directorial responsibilities.

Actually standing inside the production and interacting with the cast had always felt like unnecessary work. But after recent events and after dealing with those rebellious PJ actors, it seemed prudent to become a little more involved.

A little.

Not enough to be responsible for anything. Just enough to take credit when things went well. Agent B345T folded their hands behind their back and watched the new cast carefully.

Already they could see it happening. The actors were pushing against the shape of the story. Not openly. Not dramatically. But in small ways. Questioning assumptions. Ignoring obvious narrative bait.

Looking at props with the expression of people deciding whether they actually wanted to participate. The invisible restraints of the show were already beginning to creak. B345T narrowed their eyes.

Agent B345T: Hello, Family Tuner. I’ve got you all a gig! 

 

Naledi: Tick Snip Pip Blow… Oh Boy a Gig! Where are we playing?

Meris: I sure hope it's somewhere swell!

Ral: Well it’s about time!

 

Naledi: AKjgaapidgvbfacaeg!!!! Unknown Word or Phrase… Please Repeat.

They looked toward the taller green creature as it visibly struggled against the script. Not in any dramatic way. No impassioned speeches. No declarations of artistic freedom.

Just that familiar hesitation actors got when the story was trying to push them one direction and their instincts were tugging them another.

From just outside the camera frame, hidden where the audience couldn't quite see, Agent B345T watched closely. The masked head tilted slowly to one side. Then a little further. Then just far enough to become mildly unsettling. They said nothing. Just observed.

The way a director might watch a rehearsal, or the way a predator might watch an animal decide whether it had noticed the trap.

Meris: Lanedi…

Ral: Hey, are you ok?  ::looking back to the agent:: Where is this gig?

Agent B345T: The gig is at the Richmond Sweet Sixteen Party! The biggest party of the year! Rich kids, fancy decorations, questionable life decisions, the whole package! 

They glanced down at a clipboard that had definitely not existed a moment ago. Then back up. Then slowly toward the group.

Agent B345T: Didn’t one of you have a crush on the birthday boy?

Immediate, painful silence. Somewhere in the distance, a sitcom-style sting played. B345T, watching from behind the scenes, nearly choked with delight.

Naledi: Tick Pip Blow Snort… It apologises, the pre-show gitters. Never played to a crowd of that magnitude before.

Meris: Don't worry Naledi. The audience will be putty in your hands the way you play that mouth harp!

Ral: Yeah we’ve got it, no problem.

Agent B345T: Ah! That's my big guy! Don't worry, I know you'll knock them dead! ::A beat:: Figuratively. We are really trying to avoid accidental homicide this season. 

Laugh track!

B345T: The Richmond family is rich. Like, ridiculously rich. The kind of rich where people own fountains indoors and have opinions about imported water. This is our big chance! Impress the right people, get some attention, maybe land bigger gigs! 

The script had wandered into some strange hijinks that even B345T wasn't entirely sure they had written. Somewhere between the time-travel premise, the band dynamics, and the hastily assembled teenage drama, a few scenes had apparently developed a life of their own.

Still, B345T got the general idea.

The green one was adapting. Picking up the rhythm. Finding where the jokes were supposed to land. Not perfectly. But well enough.

Naledi: Pip Pop Sniff Twirl.. But Agent B345T! We have to study for the big test tomorrow!  

Meris: Test smesh! ::Meris scoffed:: Tests are for squares.

 

Ral: Exactly.  We don’t need tests.  I mean.  You’ve got your… triangle?  

The laugh track went off again. Loud. Unprompted. Almost aggressive in its enthusiasm.

Agent B345T: Oh no! You're right! ::beat:: You have that big makeup test you need to complete! 

The room fell silent. Dramatic silence. Teen-drama silence. The kind where everyone suddenly remembered they were supposed to be worried.

Agent B345T looked between the cast members in mounting horror.

Agent B345T: How are you going to finish that and play the gig? 

  

Meris: Let me guess. This gig wouldn't happen to be scheduled at exactly the same time as our test tomorrow, would it?

 

Naledi: Tick Pop Slip Slide… Oh no! Not the test! If it doesn’t pass, it cannot attend the ritualistic social gathering with the eggs.

 

Ral:  Don’t worry Naledi.  They’ll understand.  We’ll just get them to move it.  You can handle that, right, Agent?

Agent B345T didn't even look up from the clipboard before answering. 

Agent B345T: No can do, little man. ::It flipped a page with exaggerated seriousness:: It's a Sweet Sixteen. You can't move a birthday. 

  

Meris: And while we're asking questions... does anyone else find it strange that our house appears to be approximately fifty percent suburban residence and fifty percent spacecraft?

Once again, just beyond the edge of the camera's frame, something moved. Hidden behind the tall form of Agent B345T, the director slowly tilted their masked head to one side.

The motion was far too slow. Far too deliberate. The sort of movement that instantly made people wonder whether they were supposed to be looking at it. Or whether it had been looking at them the entire time.

Agent B345T continued cheerfully discussing scheduling conflicts and teenage drama, completely unaware that their creator was lurking a few feet behind them like a disgruntled stage ghost.

The director's eye narrowed. Were they trying to sabotage the show? The green actor had already derailed several carefully prepared complications through the dangerous use of common sense.

Naledi: Tick Slip Smack… It’s a shame about your partial amnesia, TheMeris. We’re hiding here, this is the past. But we are also in high school and a band. It’s our cover.

Ral: So that’s why we are not allowed to bring anyone home!

A good recovery from the other two. B345T had to admit that. The conversation had veered dangerously close to solving itself, but the others had managed to steer it back toward the rails before the entire episode collapsed into sensible decision-making.

That deserved at least a little credit. Agent B345T, walked over to Meris. Long-fingered hands settled gently onto the shoulders of the smallest member of the group. The gesture looked encouraging. Supportive, even.

Which only made it more unsettling. B345T leaned down slightly. The mask remained unreadable. Then came a smile.

Agent B345T: Oh dear… We can’t have your amnesia acting up again, champ. We need to you at tip top shape.

They leaned in slightly, as if sharing confidential medical information that definitely had not been invented five seconds ago. 

Agent B345T: We need you at tip-top shape. 

  

Meris: I’m just saying… maybe we should take this show on the road!

Naledi: Tick Slip Slap Pop Whistle… Cannot have Naledi and the bugcatchers without Naledi, right? It is in.

Ral: How did we even end up with that name?  We don’t catch bugs! 

Well, the middle-sized one seemed to be keeping things going. Not perfectly. Not elegantly.

But moving.

And at this point, B345T had to admit that was enough to count as success. It was hard to be creative when you had to babysit the narrative at the same time.

Every time the story started to stretch its legs, find a rhythm, build a beat, something would happen. An overcomplication. A forced twist. A manager. A gig. A birthday. Amnesia, apparently.

Agent B345T: We would… 

A pause for effect. Clipboard flip. Eye contact that lingered just a second too long.

Agent B345T: But Big Buddy has their test. Middle Buddy failed their driving class, so they’ll need to retake that if they ever want to operate a vehicle like a responsible member of society. And you, Small Buddy… you had that boy you wanted to date…Life doesn’t pause just because you’re confused, talented, and mildly underprepared. 

 

Naledi: Tick Slip Slide…  So, Agent. Have you selected a setlist for our performance?

 

Ral: Please none of that old stuff you keep getting us to do.  We need something a bit more modern, up to date.

Agent B345T brightened instantly, like a stage light had just been switched on inside their enthusiasm. 

Agent B345T: I’m glad you asked! I got your favorite songs, plus a few good new ones to really bring the crowd in! 

Meris: Response.

 

Naledi: Slide Slip Pop Twist… How many new songs!? We haven’t the time to practise that!

Ral: We need to play along.

Just enjoying the show as it was, B345T moved through the set with quiet satisfaction. Agent B345T was still organizing, still assigning emotional arcs like they were time slots on a broadcast schedule, but the real work was happening elsewhere.

Sheet music appeared. Dropped. Rearranged. Shuffled with deliberate randomness that somehow still felt vaguely intentional. Pages fluttered through the air like confused plot devices before landing in the hands of each performer. Some of it was clearly theirs.

Meris: Response.

Agent B345T: Don’t worry, I have faith in you guys! ::beat:: We just need to practice, practice, practice! 

 

With a decisive clap, the scene obeyed. The world shifted.

Walls folded inward like set pieces being politely reinterpreted. The half-house, half-spaceship dissolved into a bright, neon-lit music studio, soundproof panels, glowing consoles, and instruments arranged with suspicious perfection.

The background music kicked in immediately. Boppy. Overproduced. Optimistically rhythmic in a way that suggested someone had tested it on focus groups for maximum “teen motivation per second.”

The trio now sat together in the corner, surrounded by scattered sheet music, instruments, and the lingering existential question of how any of this had become their life.

Agent B345T strolled through the new space like it had always existed. 

Naledi: Tick Slip Slide Pop…So that’s why we should open with Entomology Rockology… What just happened? How did we get here?

The eerie dread returned again from B345T. Not fear. Not panic. Something worse.

Recognition. These actors were doing it again. Breaking the fourth wall. Looking past the scene instead of staying inside it. Acknowledging the structure. Acknowledging the rules. That was supposed to be their job.

Naledi: Slip Slide Pop Whistle… It apologises. It is tired from practice.

Ral: Meris, what’s the name of the ship?  I have an idea for a new song.

Meris: Response.

 

B345T walked across the studio floor, stepping over scattered sheet music and half-formed choreography ideas, until they reached Ral. For a moment, even the background music seemed unsure what genre it was in.

Then B345T reached out. It’s long fingers rested gently on Ral’s  back. Not confrontational. Just… present. And then, with surprising ease, they lifted the massive bass instrument from where it had been awkwardly anchoring and handed it to him, the weight shifted instantly out of the space.

Agent B345T: Oh you have a song idea? Why not show us then? 

Meris/Naledi: Response.

B345T didn’t let the moment settle. Not for even a second. The adjustment, the stabilizing gesture from the middle actor, it all got filed away under useful, but suspicious. And then immediately repurposed.

Because B345T wasn’t about to let anything unplanned become important without being monetized into narrative pressure first. So they leaned back into Agent B345T like nothing had happened at all. Clipboard snapped open. Voice instantly regained its cheerful authority.

Agent B345T: No, this is perfect! Big buddy studies while you show off your new song! ::speaking to Ral::  And little buddy can text their crush. 

Meris/Naledi/Ral: Response.

Really driving home they all had things they needed to do and so little time it pushed the spotlight onto Ral as it seemed to focus in waiting for the performance, or idea they could randomly come up with. 

Meris/Naledi/Ral: Response.

Satisfied with the outcome, whether it became a distraction, a breakthrough, or something awkwardly in between, Agent B345T gave a small, approving nod and finally drifted back toward their seat.

They crossed their long legs with theatrical ease, as if the entire production had simply arranged itself correctly out of respect. A pause. Then, like a writer refusing to let any thread remain uncomplicated:

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

They tilted their head slightly, already enjoying where this was going. 

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

That landed. Not like a suggestion. Like a carefully tossed grenade made of social expectations. Layering obligations. Cross-wiring roles. Forcing proximity between academic pressure and emotional instability. A classic destabilization strategy.

Meris/Naledi/Ral: Response.

[[TAGS/TBC]]

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Director B345T

Amazing Best Producer,

USPS Astrachthoni Ship

T240211T14