Avoiding eye contact, Flora froze in place, clutching her notebook in trembling hands, staring off
toward the welcoming gates where the rest of the crew had already disappeared.
She'd told them she'd be along shortly, not because she had business, but because she saw her friends approaching with serious faces and didn't want to get scolded in front of everyone. She was
terrified of raised voices and human rage. And if all those emotions were aimed at her — publicly
she'd just break down. Hard. Ugly. And that was unacceptable for a
Life had become too complicated. Maybe she shouldn't have started this whole damn film. Maybe she should've just kept wandering through her fantasies where she accepted every award in existence, flashing a triumphant smile to the roaring crowd.
But that nagging whisper in her ears — which she chalked up to her inner voice — kept repeating:
Oscar, Oscar! You'll get it, just hang on! Just a little Don't cry. Or cry... but make sure nobody sees.-
And now they were here. Flora stared nervously at her two loyal companions — who had never, in her memory, looked so serious. Well, okay — Camillo always looked like that. But sunny Lorenzo didn't frown. He avoided wrinkles at all costs. So what the hell was going on?
Not even the finest vintage could capture the bouquet you emit, oh Galatea! Sandalwood, musk, and — forgive me, mia ragazza — even celery pale in comparison to the scent of your palpable panic. — Lorenzo dropped to one knee and raised his hand like Hamlet on a perfume ad. — Were you impressed by our tragic little act? Did we fool you with our sudden darkness?
A — Flora admitted reluctantly. — I'm not used to seeing you like that.
Pleased with the response, the actor (still technically background talent) clapped his hands on the sand and beamed at his husband:
See, darling? We are worth something! And if you now tell her about the scene you wrote just for our blooming hydrangea named Flora — she'll officially add us to the payroll!
Camillo stared silently at his friend- now- boss. Words weren't his thing. Usually, Lorenzo did the talking. But now, it was on him. And he looked... uncertain.
Flora felt a sudden wave of affection for him. She wanted to walk up and pat him on the shoulder. Or better — hug him tight. She took a step forward — but Copy's arm shot out like a boom gate, blocking her.
Don't. They pranked you. They mocked you. And now you're going toward them like a puppy, basically admitting you're weak. Just wait. Let them be the ones to feel bad. Oh, shut up… — Flora grumbled and went in for the hug anyway. First Camillo. Then And then they all melted into a glorious tangle of limbs — a spontaneous group therapy cuddle. Not even a blacksmith's hammer (which Flora had only read about, never seen) could break that bond.
Finally peeling themselves apart, Lorenzo discreetly wiped a tear while looking expectantly at his beloved. Camillo, for his part, began performing a full- on pantomime, aided by clipped phrases:
Big Or more like an old manor. Like this big! — He gestured dramatically, and Flora smiled to herself — Camillo preferred visuals over words, always. Green Solid foundation. Even has a tower! Right here!
Once, it was home to teacups. A whole family. A porcelain set. — He mimed the tiny cups drinking tea so vividly that everyone's mouth went dry. Flora grabbed a water bottle (thanks to their stash), while Camillo pressed on, finally getting into the zone:
The house is Always quiet. And there lives a good wizard.
Let me guess: some bastard child of Merlin and Gandalf in a pointy- ass hat? — Copy rolled her It was a living teacup. — Camillo continued. — A magical, giggling cup. — He placed his hands on his hips and forced out a janky laugh, his stone face barely twitching. Flora shivered. But the mistress of the .. she was sad. Her family had vanished. No one left to laugh with.
This is sounding suspiciously like Beauty and the .. — Copy started, and then shut up fast. Because Camillo suddenly ROARED, throwing his hands toward the sky: But what then?!
Lorenzo jumped back, nearly tripping over Flora, who — quite honestly — was squinting upward too, expecting anything: a meteor shower, aliens, apocalypse.
But no. The drama wasn't for them. It was for the character.
The cursed cup! — Even Copy paled at the contempt and passion in his voice. She
And that's what all this yelling was for?! — She
A missile was headed for her house! A high- speed ballistic Whoosh! — Camillo dashed across the sand, arms out, mimicking its flight.
The cup Her time had come. She had just enough magic left for one final spell.
And where did the rest go, caro mio? — Lorenzo played along, clearly familiar with the Didn't our great enchantress stash away a few extra spells in a magical safe deposit box?
— Camillo said gravely.
Oh là là. — Lorenzo clucked his — That's bad. That's tragedy!
The magic had been .. just keeping the cup alive.
Ah Animating non- living objects is always a drain, even for a signora that skilled. Camillo nodded solemnly: So she gave life... to the missile. She saved her last spell. She hoped to find someone worthy. Someone she could bring to life. Someone to end her loneliness.
Lorenzo sniffled, dramatically blew his nose into one tissue, then pulled out another to wipe his tears.
The missile became aware. It saw where it was headed. Toward an innocent house. In the window — the teacup, sitting on her saucer, The missile... accepted the invitation. They became friends. And thus, a formal tea party defeated war — Lorenzo declared, clapping with pride, eyes on the speechless director. Bravo! Bravissimo!
Yeah, they really had something to be proud of. Flora, without a trace of envy—just stating the obvious—thought to herself:
I could never write something like These guys are geniuses! How the hell did they pull that off so smoothly? Avant- garde trash, — Copy brushed it off. — Who'd care about such randomly- generated nonsense? Good thing it didn't drag Come on, get in frame. And quit hanging out with these dimwits, maybe then you'll become at least somewhat useful. Maybe.
Just as they reached the cave's gate, Copy froze at the entrance and glared back at Flora, who hadn't budged. Cursing under her breath (Flora didn't catch the exact words), she vanished into the natural pavilion. Flora stayed back to explain herself to an impatiently toe- tapping Lorenzo and the ever- calm Camillo:
Guys, it's a great bit! Seriously. I just haven't figured out how to work it into the film yet. And what roles you two would even play? I mean, I guess you're eyeing those two existing characters— but they don't have any lines! Or do you want a full- on silent film scene?
I'm a — Camillo signed, — and he's a cup. Words exist for both. I can show you…