Real World TV RPG

WHO: Buffy and Spike
WHAT: An awkward, accidental encounter involving pig’s blood, tequila, and a punch to the face
WHEN: Backdated to Sept 11th (night of the pie competition)
WHERE: Kitchen

( Nice straw, by the way. Good to know you still suck, even with a soul. )

Lafayette is sitting in the confessional room chair, knife and fork in his hand, plate with a mouth-watering cut of steak sitting on his lap. He cuts into the meat with all the precision of a surgeon, his face a mask of concentration until he slices off just the perfect bite. Only then does he look at the camera -- he gestures widely, knife still in one hand, and beautifully-cooked cross-section of beef speared on his fork in the other.

Now this right here is some good ass eatin'. And I ain't even have to make it.

He makes a show of bringing the fork up to his face, eyes on the camera the whole time as he pops the piece of steak into into his mouth, and puts on a face of absolute, shuttered-eye bliss. He is, however, good enough not to talk with food in his mouth.

Mm mm mm. He opens his eyes, and smacks his lips one more time. Now this winning thing? It's delicious. Don't make me get used to it.

[When the clip starts, Spike is perched on the chair like it might spontaneously catch fire. One booted foot taps restlessly against the ground. If the audience looks closely, they can see his head bobbing slightly to an unknown rhythm and his foot moves in time with that internal beat.]

Not sure what I was thinking, coming here. [He glances away from the camera, smirks.] Don't suppose I was thinking much of anything, really. I just needed somewhere to hide. But they're all here...[Spike waves an arm towards the door, frustration evident in the tense muscles of his neck.] She's here. And that ponce. And all these freaks. Nowhere to bloody hide in a place like this. So fine, no more then. I'll just deal with it, like everything else.

[His foot taps faster now, like there's something inside trying to work its way out.]

The one thing I can't deal with is that Liz Lemon bird putting this bloody song in my bleeding head. [He leaps angrily to his feet, shoving the long flaps of his coat behind him. Figuring he'll get it out of his system, here in the relative solitude of the booth, Spike does a bit of fancy footwork, spins, and starts to sing as if holding a cordless microphone.]

♫ I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want,
So tell me what you want, what you really really want,
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really
really really wanna zigazig ah.

If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends,
Make it last forever, friendship never ends,
If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give,
Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is. ♫

[Abruptly, he stops and stares into the camera with dawning horror.] Right then. I think I'll go drive a stake through my chest now. [He frowns and frantically hurries from the room.]

[Horatio is in the chair, sunglasses on. He's facing the camera, a serious expression on his face. After a long moment, he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose so he can peer at the camera over the top of them. His eyes are narrowed; he appears to be scrutinizing the camera. He cocks his head to the right, still staring right at the camera, before moving left. He half-stands, and suddenly his chin is huge and in frame, then various parts of his face. Completely poker-faced, it's unclear if he's satisfied or not before he pushes his sunglasses back up and exits.]

Chuck Bass, cutting quite a dash with a Red Team bandana tied like an ascot inside his collar, winces slightly as he slides into the confessional chair. Something is bundled in the prize blanket he settles on his lap. After a few deft moves, it turns out that his cargo is a bottle of scotch and a lowball glass.

He says nothing at first. The only noise is the sound of Chuck unscrewing the cap and pouring the scotch into the glass, careful not to spill a drop. After a few sips, between which he stares hard at some fixed point beyond the confessional camera lens, he finally says something:

Fortifying myself before I travel into the Arctic. I need to give this thing to Waldorf.

Chuck stops to glare right into the camera, like it's offended him somehow, only breaking eye contact after he takes another sip. I know how she usually keeps herself busy after eating pie, so she'll need it. Even if she tells me she'd rather die than accept it, and she does love those histrionics.

He lapses back into silence for a few more minutes, sipping morosely at his glass until he's reached the very dregs. But, before he departs, one more nugget of wisdom: I may be Chuck Bass, and it may be over, but that doesn't mean I can't care.

Who: Jayne and Casey
What: FIIIIIIIGHT
When: Around midnight on Saturday night, post pie-eating contest
Where: Starts in the kitchen, moves elsewhere!
Why: The boys like fighting, and are drunk and full of pie!
Complete/Open: Not yet/Not yet

( Jayne ain't always a girl's name )

[Buster is grinning from ear to ear from his place perched on the edge of the chair.]

Go red team! That was off the hook!

[Buster glances at his hook-hand and frowns for a split second. But, he is too hyped from the pies to sit down for long and starts dancing, badly, around the room.]

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

[For the longest time, Lucille Bluth says nothing. She sits quietly on the chair, a drink in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. There is a towel spread out on the chair itself, and the expression on Lucille's face makes it clear that she is fully aware of how many other people (and worse) must have sat here before her. Her body language is practically inverted: she is trying to best not to touch anything for too long, lest it rub off or somehow leave a permanent stain on her. The effect is...unusual, and more than a little comical]

I don't know who any of these people are but my God, the smell is overpowering. From the amount of synthetic fibers in this house, I'd say some lucky little boys and girla in Asia are living like kings on the proceeds.

[She stops there, and takes a deep sip from her glass. Is she thinking about Annyong? Perhaps she's simply savouring the taste of the alcohol. Whatever the answer, it gives Lucille a small comfort, and for just a few seconds afterwards she seems to relax] I suppose not everybody here is beyond help. Wilhelmina seems lovely, and she has that startled-looking slave boy who might come in useful. Perhaps I should introduce him to Nellie...

[Lucille drains the glass, and smiles brightly] It's almost time for lunch! I should get back out there and make sure Lindsay leaves enough for everyone else.

[The camera reveals Kaylee holding up a banana in one hand and an apple in another, her face positively alight with joy.]

Fruit! They got a whole mess of 'em in the house, all you can eat, and you don't have to pay or nothin'! Last time I had me an apple, it was when Jayne bought 'em for the crew after we pulled that Hospital caper out on Aerial. [She pauses, her smile fading just a little bit.] Sure do miss Serenity, of course. I don't think I been docked this long since--well, before I left my folks to join the crew. [She looks down at the apple for a moment, before looking back at the camera, her smile back but perceptibly less ecstatic than at first.] But it's been excitin'--all these different people from different places! A little nervous about the competition part but I just hope I get along with my teammates for the rest of this thing is all.

[The door opens, and the first thing that viewers see entering the frame is the point of a sword, followed by bare thighs, a short leather skirt and a leather and metal clad torso. Xena stalks into the room slowly, cautiously, like she's sniffing out someone's trail or trying to be sneaky. Truthfully, she just doesn't trust or understand anything she sees. When she finally turns towards the camera, the viewers can only see from mid-thigh up to her chest. She walks towards the camera and bends over, squinting at what she sees. She continues to move closer until all the viewer can see is her eyes. She lifts a finger and taps at the camera.]

Hello? Who's there?

[Xena frowns, obviously confused by the lack of response. Always suspicious, she presses on.]

I don't know who's behind this or what is going on, but I will find out, and when I do, it won't be pretty.

[Parker sits down in front of the camera without any fanfare and leans forward slightly as she stares directly into the camera. Her arms are folded across her chest and she seems determined to appear nonchalant and failing somewhat.]

So. Um. Yeah, so I don't really do this in-front-of-the-camera thing or the acting thing so this is - this is ridiculous. Why do we have to do these things? This is entirely a waste of time - [she rises halfway as if to leave but changes her mind at the last second and sits back down.]

I have no idea why I agreed to this. Just so all of you know, this place can't be real. It's like the Twilight Zone - there are cartoons walking around like they're real people and there's cameras everywhere but I can't even figure out what kind of security system they have, which is ridiculous because I know all of them and this place doesn't even seem to have one but I still can't get out of here. [She pauses for a moment, brow furrowed as if in deep thought.]

Hey, maybe I'm like dreaming or something and I'm actually in a coma somewhere. Oh god, what if I'm in a coma? Nate, this had better not be one of your neuro-linguistic brainwashings, or I'll - [Still frowning, she cuts herself off and leaves the room abruptly.]

[As the picture appears, Annie is leaning in toward the camera and brushing her fingers through her hair, even though it's always the same. Some habits really do die hard. Once she is satisfied that her hair doesn't look a complete mess, she leans back and gives the camera a bit smile.]


Most of the people here seem really nice. The whole cartoon character thing is a bit bonkers, but then again I normally live with a vampire and a werewolf, so I guess it's not really that odd. There are other people here claiming to be vampires, but I think they are lying since they obvious aren't anything like vampires. After all, I would know. [She sighs.] I haven't told anyone here about my -- [She pauses for a moment as she tries to find the right words.] -- condition and so far no one has really said anything. I'm just average, boring, completely normal Annie Sawyer from Bristol. I like that.


[She then gives a little wave, stands up, and exists the confessional.]

[Buffy Summers is already sitting on the chair, barely taking up half of it. She looks shell-shocked and uncomfortable. Her hands are folded together, and occasionally, she wrings them together or fidgets with her rings or bracelet.]

So I get here to find that not only are there vampires in the house, but a pig puppet and cartoons wandering around. And people telling me not to do the job I was chosen for. [She turns even more unhappy and slightly despondent] All I keep thinking about is that I'm going to go back and in two years, I'm going to die. Again. I'm going to take a leap off a big tower into a dimensional portal and kill myself to save a sister I don't currently have.

My ex-boyfriend is here, the one who just left me last week, and it still... [Pause. Quieter] It still hurts. I know he was right to go away. I know that in the long run, things will work out the way they're supposed to work out. But I needed time to work through this before seeing him again. Now I'm not just seeing him, I'm in the same living quarters with him. On the same team. I didn't know that when I signed up for this. If I had...

And then Spike. With his big, stupid mouth. Keeps telling me that I'll get drunk with him in the future, and we'll work side-by-side - which I don't buy for a second... God, I hate him so much. I just wanna punch his stupid face in. But I know that - I know that most of that is just...

[Looking every bit her age and not at all the person that demons fear in the least, she finally looks into the camera] I don't wanna die.

[She glanced back down at her hands, opens her mouth as though she's going to say something else, then gets up and leaves the room abruptly.]

[OOC Note: Backdated to the early hours of Tuesday morning.]

[An empty bottle, held loosely by the neck, enters the frame first, followed by a slightly weaving Spike. In his other hand is a half full bottle of something dark and an already lit cigarette. It's taken a lot of liquor to get him here, to that point just beyond drunk where honesty is inevitable. He’s humming an Irish tune, because whiskey just belongs with Irish ballads full of love and loss and damn anyone that argues anything different. Spike slumps down into the seat, the empty bottle slipping from his fingertips. It doesn’t shatter, only clinks roughly against the ground and rolls away. When he starts to talk, his words are a little slurred and a lot rushed. It’s clear he’s not really talking to the camera, just venting a weeks worth of pent up frustration in a haze of drunken self-pity.]

It’s not like there’s anything to be done about it. I can’t change who I was, what I’ve done. [He takes a long pull from the bottle that still has some liquid courage left in it and nearly scorches an eyebrow with the cigarette clamped in the same grip.] I mean, she only sees the monster, which is probably for the best. If nothing changes and she goes back to her time, that me would gladly kill her if he got the chance. [He shudders, takes a drag from the cigarette, and continues.] Besides, I don’t deserve much better treatment. The screams in my head, they’re almost as loud as the guilt. Has to make me wonder, if I hadn't come when I did, would I be in some basement right now, driven mad and talking nonsense? Only thing keeping me sane is the plan. Gotta stick to the plan, right? Gotta make things right. Better. [He slumps further in the chair, legs stretched out like the awkward, reaching limbs of a tree.]

Stupid, really. If I told her that I loved her, she’d just laugh and Angel, well that would just make him preen his bloody feathers now, wouldn’t it? Or worse, she’d be disgusted, like before. No. Can’t be having that. Just gotta stick to the plan, yeah? And maybe find a way to knock out a few of Angel’s teeth without the chip in my head killing me in the process. Maybe that poetry know-it-all too. Show him some damn syllables, I will. [He takes a final drag of the cigarette and grinds it out against the side of the bottle.] Now, that’s a plan, right? Well worth the bleeding migraines.

[As he finishes grumbling, Spike pulls the bottle up into a loose, childlike embrace and drops off into some kind of sleep, only he’s not snoring, or even noticeably breathing for that matter, though his mouth is gaping wide. It’s an hour before his eyes blink open and he rubs a leather-sleeved arm across his face before stumbling out of the room.]

[Sam enters the room and sits down in front of the camera, looking nervous and unsure of himself. He opens his mouth to start talking, but then shuts it suddenly. He frowns at the camera for a moment as he tries to figure out what he wants to say.]

So I'm just supposed to talk? [Still frowning, as though he thought he might be prompted or given a suggestion of what to talk about. When it doesn't come, he shrugs and continues.] I'm not good at talking about myself, but here goes. I'm Sam. I own a bar in Louisiana in a small town no one's heard of. For a small town, we sure do have a lot of shit going on, though.

[He pauses and leans forward.] I guess I might as well just... come out with it, since I've already told my whole team and that vampire slayer girl or whatever she is. I mean, how bad can it be, right? Telling everyone? I'm here to win, so I gotta do whatever it takes... [He trails off, sounding like he's trying to convince himself of that as well as the audience.]

I'll just show you.

In an instant, Sam disappears and the camera focuses on a brown and white border collie sitting on the chair where Sam was just seconds before. The dog tilts its head, staring straight ahead, and then Sam is back -- but he's not wearing any clothes. The camera only shows him from the chest-up, but it's enough to make people wonder if he's wearing anything at all.]

There you have it.

[Sam shrugs, and then ducks out of view to put his clothes back on. A few minutes later, he walks out and the door shuts behind him.]

[Artie opens the door to the confessional, then opens the door wider and rolls into the small room before shutting the door behind him. He gets settled by adjusting his chair, setting the brakes, and folding his hands over a bunch of cookies neatly wrapped in a napkin in his lap.]

First off, Samantha makes the best cookies ever. I could live off of them. I could go off about how strange it is here. It's still really weird, what with the way we're all still meeting each other. Most reality shows have like, twenty people max. And they're from all different places and times and some of them are cartoons. And vampires, and vampire slayers, and witches. And some other people who offend people as easily as breathing. Besides Ms. Sylvester. And I mean really, this is kind of like an epic sanity check for Call of Cthulhu. Especially after the talk about us playing characters on television. That's weird. And when Rachel mentioned it, I wondered about it. And then I remembered I couldn't check the stuff online. So it was kind of pointless.

[He lifts a hand to adjust his glasses and then straightens his shirt.] It's like a comic book. Like X-Men, when they just throw in crazy stuff because they can. Worlds destroyed. But also lots of people coming from nowhere all to the same place. [He pauses.] Wow, it's weird to say that out loud. [He shrugs and releases his brakes, then looks at the camera and forces the smile off his face.] Or maybe we're all going mad. [His eyes widen dramatically, and he snorts and rolls out of the room.]

( First Confessional )

[Piz slips into the confessional room, looking around curiously and sits in the chair, he looks in the general direction of the camera but not quite making eye contact with it. One knee is bouncing like mad and he seems overly nervous.]

I'm Piz. Just Piz. Only Sheriff Mars is allowed to call me Stosh. I, uh, I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. Wallace spent his summer helping protect children in Uganda. Veronica spent hers doing bad ass thing for the FBI. Can I curse? [Piz looks around for a minute as if expecting an answer but then just shrugs.]

I'm not used to being on camera, well, not intentionally. [His face heats up and he unconsciously touches his right side with his left hand.] I'm more of a radio person. It's my calling, naturally so I don't mind talking a lot. I'm not quite sure about my house mates just yet. [Piz leans forward and drops his voice to a whisper.] Did you know there are vampires here? I've seen some crazy things in my time, but apparently not as much as some. It's just kind of...creepy. Vampires and Miss Piggy, I don't even...there's just no proper way to think about this all.

[Piz leans back and looks a little helpless. He shrugs with a heavy sigh before getting up and leaving the confessional quietly.]

[Liz has been talking at the camera for quite a long time when the clip actually begins. You can tell because her slouch is deeper than usual, her eyes are going just about everywhere other than toward the camera, and the clip begins as she is mid-sentence:]

--of my fourth grade play. I was up for the lead, but then I got cast as the tree because my teacher said I was the only one who could "pull off boring" well enough not to be noticed by the audience. And then there was the time at summer camp I--[she stops herself, takes a breath, and finally looks directly into the camera]--Is there a time limit on these things? [a small laugh] You don't...know, do you? Cameras don't...

I have been talking for a long time, haven't I? Well, I...am going to say something about my first few days in the house, because that's the point of these things, isn't it? Not to talk about why sleeping in a bunk bed makes me kind of nauseous, or about the recurring stress dreams I've had about eating ladybugs ever since I saw that episode of Fear Factor.

Right, so, my first few days. Okay. First of all, let me just say that there are a lot of TV characters here. I don't know how this is even happening, but Catwoman is on my team. Not the cartoon, but, like, Eartha Kitt, 1960s Catwoman. But don't even get me started on the cartoons. Even that baby from Family Guy is here. In my room! Which, I guess, is lucky for us, because he seems pretty determined. [Then she remembers and looks up with a sudden burst of life.] Devon Banks is here! But I think he was trying to hit on me, so I don't know what that was about. He keeps calling himself a magician. I think he's finally lost it. And then there's my ex-boyfriend, Drew, except he keeps smoking and acting like he just walked of the cast of Hairspray. And he has hands! Two of them!

[She goes on talking for several more minutes, about several different unrelated things. If this were edited into the show, the little gems of Liz Lemon wisdom would probably be intercut with clips of Liz making a sandwich or hitting her head off the bunk above her bed or having a staring contest with one of the cartoons. But as it is, the confessional video goes on and on and on...and...on...]

I hope this ends up being more like The Amazing Race than The Apprentice.

[Casey enters the room quietly, locks the door and takes a seat. His sits like a career military man, straight backed like there's a steel rod linking his waist to his neck. That solemn face frowns thoughtfully. He glances towards the door before standing up again and crossing to it. Astute viewers could probably decipher the clicking noises picked up by the rooms microphones as the lock mechanism being turned back and forth. Eventually, he reappears in frame and it's clear he is still suspicious that his privacy will be interrupted. He sits and leans slightly towards the camera as if reluctantly imparting a secret.]

So. [He blinks, frowns again.] I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do in this thing. I'm Protestant. Confession isn't really something I do. I guess, I'll just. Uh. Well. I never thought I'd say this but, I'm way out of my element here. I'd give my left nut for a cigar.

[Awkward silence ensues. Finally, he nods briskly, stands and vacates the room in stony silence.]