2024-11-16 - This Ain't Disney

A coffee shop and book store are one of the quieter places a person can find in Spellbound, especially on a Saturday afternoon when most people are working or playing elsewhere in the park. But that might be why it's a draw for those few souls who find themselves here.

Mac is one such person, curled up on one of the second floor's sofas. A large coffee sits still steaming on the ground near by, tucked out of the way of her where her feet will land if she unfolds herself. She's reading a book -- it doesn't look like she's really previewing it though, given she's about halfway through it. Not in her work uniform (but with the weary look of someone who has already worked her shift for the day... or maybe she just always looks a little tired) jeans with shredded knees and a snug black Ramones t-shirt are her comfortable and casual uniform for her time off, it seems.

Saturday is a bit of an awkward day for people working at a theme park, but there are several reasons why people wouldn't be working. For Elijah Jones, it's because he hasn't finalized the details for the new pirate show in the Voyage to Adventure amphitheater yet with Angelo, the other pirate. He's taking shifts barking for other acts, to both familiarize himself with the park and get use to his over the top costume as the Dread Pirate Blackwood, but not today.

Instead, he's dressed in wranglers, boots, and a button up flannel shirt under a shearling lined jacket. No cowboy hat, but the way he walks screams 'Imma cowboy, baby!' even before he opens his mouth and speaks with that Texas drawl. "'Ello." He says as he orders himself a coffee. Surprisingly, it's an iced latte, with caramel swirl. Just because he's Texan doesn't mean he doesn't like sweet stuff, ok? He glances around the room with blue eyes, frowning at the lack of familiar faces before shrugging and settling down near Mac.

There's just a small look of amusement at the juxtaposition of the typical cowboy ordering an iced latte, but there's no real judgement in her dark eyes. When he sits near her, Mac nods in acknowledgement, recognition in the fact that they're both strangers. She leans down to pick up her own cup of coffee, as if maybe hearing his ordering has reminded her it exists.

It's still steaming through the little hole in the cup, so it wasn't forgotten long.

If his attire screams cowboy, hers screams punk, along with the full-length sleeve of tattoos on her left arm, mostly roses, chrysanthemums and decorated skulls. "Going to work or coming from work?" she asks.

"Lil' bit of both, ma'am." Elijah says as he sets down a folder that was tucked under his arm, spreading paper to reveal a diagram of a stage. "Did some barkin' for t' mermaid show, an' got t' rest of the day to work on choreo for my show." He frowns down at the paperwork, shaking his head ruefully before blinking and realizing he should introduce himself.

And he does so in typical Texas fashion, hand going up to dip a non-existent hat oh so politely. "Elijah, pleased t' meet you." He pauses and adds, "Or t' Dread Pirate Blackwood, when I'm workin'."

Mac's brows lift in some tacit surprise at the fact the rough and tumble man before her is in fact one of the performers. She tips her head to look at the paper, and then back up as he explains what he's been up to and what he still needs to do.

"A cowboy and a pirate -- that's quite the range. Anything you can't do?" she says a little playfully, before she reaches out to offer her hand to shake. "Mac. I don't have a performer name, so it's easy to remember. I just count people, check seatbelts, and push buttons."

"Well, I can't rub m' belly and pat my head." Elijah says consideringly, before grinning with a slow, amused expression, "Or hold down a real job if y' ask my grandpa." He shrugs one shoulder at that, though, and adds, "Plus, reckon I'd screw up pushin' a button and countin' people. Time fer every purpose, an' season under the stars and all that bullshit."

His own hand is callused, of course. Grip firm. Someone that makes a living with his hands, for sure. "Worked ren faires an' rodeos before this, pretty sweet gig, all told." Beat. "Especially with t' weirdness."

Her hands are what might be considered dainty, with short but neat nails polished in an iridescent black that shifts to purple or green depending on the light, but her grip is firm as well -- she's no shrinking violet.

"I didn't even know they still had rodeos. No offense. I've just never been," Mac says, mouth twisting into an apologetic grimace, in case she's offended him. "I haven't been to a Ren Faire, either, but that's because the one out where I'm from is out in BFE and hot as balls."

She doesn't offer much about where she worked before this, but adds, "I bet you too could push buttons and count people. It's pretty easy. I don't have any real marketable skills. Maybe tour guide but you have to smile and like people for that. My cheeks muscles can't handle it."

"Six one, half dozen t' other." Elijah says with a chuckle regarding ren faires and rodeos, "Aint much difference between them, 'cept the costumes." He rubs his jaw absently, "Truth be told? I prefer the ren fair people. They tend t' be less toxic, and more willin' t' play along." He shakes his head with a chuckle and waves off any attempt to apologize. "No offense, ma'am." He say, "Not many rodeos this far north."

"I'm also not usually this far north, but I haven't made my way back south yet. I didn't expect to be here this long," Mac says, with a glance to the window, like maybe the road that might take her out of these northern climes is just outside. It's not, given that they're on an island.

"I haven't been to many of the shows here, yet, either, so I'm afraid I don't know your act, but I'm sure it's good," she adds, diplomatically. "I mostly work, and then come back to relative normalcy. To think, I could have just stayed back in California and worked at Disneyland." Her smile tips a little wryly, and she lifts a shoulder. "But the weirdness here is definitely interesting enough to stay for."

"I heard Disney's a pretty strict employer." Elijah says dubiously, wrinkling his nose before taking a deep drink of his iced latte. If the chill bothers him, he doesn't show it with classic Texan stoicism, but does roll his shoulders as the caffeine hits. Regarding his show, he chuckles. "Well, ain't really done much with it yet. Still in the choreographin' stage. But the guy I'm workin' with, Angelo, is amazin'."

He glances down at his diagram with an almost boyish grin of anticipation. "F' now, I'm mostly barkin' and buskin', drawin' attention to other shows. When I'm not gettin' the details finalized."

"I have friends that worked there. They've lightened up a little, but I think I'd probably never make it out of the probationary period, if I even got hired," Mac says with a shrug, lifting her coffee for a sip -- the forgotten beverage is no longer steaming, but still plenty warm.

She looks at the diagram, lifting a brow and twirling a finger at it, to indicate it's what she's speaking about when she asks, "What all goes into doing the choreography? I've never been in a show, unless you count my third grade play where I was a disgruntled snowman. After that I got relegated to the art department."

"Yeah, stuff I heard just don't seem fun, y'know?" Elijah runs a hand through his mop of dirty blond hair, "Plus, I'm mighty fond of havin' creative control over m' persona an' what's goin' on."

When asked about the choreography, he helpfully spreads out the papers, tapping the first diagram. "Well, fight choreograph's mostly 'bout knowin' who's gunna be where, what our cues are with t' special effects an' shit." He moves his finger at one notation to another, "These're diagrams of where t' trampolines an' safe falls are, an' where the audience line o' sight are. Me an' Angelo, we're both flyers, but t' safe falls're rigged with stuff to make the falls more excitin'."

Another piece of paper is slid out. "This is t' rough script. We do a lot of improve, but knowin' the general flow o' what beats we gotta hit means I can plan how I'm gunna strike." He shrugs one shoulder, "There'll be improv with that too, but the skit I'm workin' on I'm t' aggressor so I'll be settin' up cues fer Cap'n Cashew to react t'."

"They seem like a pretty good employer, but you definitely have to stay in line with what their vision is, that's for sure," she says, before leaning to look at the diagram. Her dark eyes follow his fingers as he taps out each space and note, nodding once or twice to show she understands what he means, before she leans back again to take another sip of the hot coffee.

"Captain Cashew?" she asks, one brow lifting while the opposite corner of her mouth does the same. "That's very innocuous sounding compared to Dread Pirate Blackwood, was it? Does he also turn into a squirrel or something mid-flight?" she wonders, her smile blossoming into a fuller one at the thought.

"Not gonna lie, I'm a little jealous you can fly. No pixie dust required, even."

"Well, reckon Angelo wants t' be the good guy, an' I'll be t' heel." Elijah says with a stoic shrug of one shoulder, "I can play t' straight man an' he can be the charmin' one. Villains are always more interestin' anyways."

He chuckles, and when the flying is brought up grins broader. "Not gunna lie, it's the best. Not real fast or skilled at it, yet, but definitely benefit to keepin' a steady gig here, y'know? Even riding a horse ain't near as thrillin'. Makes all t' other shit that comes with it worth it, for sure."

"Never ridden a horse, either, but that one I'm not so jealous about," Mac admits. "City girl through and through, or I was, I guess. Now I'm ... what, magical island girl? Very weird."

She studies him for a moment, brow rising again, as if she's deciding if he has it in him to be "the heel." She nods then. "Surely you have a complex backstory that explains all the twists and turns and thorns that made him the way he is, even if the audience never knows... at least until they make a movie of it and turn it all upside down to make him the protagonist and explain why he's just been misunderstood all along. That sort of thing is very popular these days."

Her brows draw together, though, at the mention of other shit, and she nods slowly. "Maybe. I'm hoping I can get a more fun magical ability if I stay awhile. It's one way to get employee loyalty, yeah? Though I'm sure some people quit because they couldn't handle the weird."

"Still workin' on that bit." Elijah doesn't seem the most likely heel, that's for sure. Friendly and good-natured with a certain good ol' boy stoicism and that Texan drawl. "Sometimes too much back story gets in t' way. If they do pull a Pirates of the Caribbean on me, ain't like they're gunna consult me, y'know?" He shakes his head ruefully, "I got enough of a persona built t' help with t' reactions, but most of t' thrill's gunna come from t' fightin' and the flyin'. Like Peter Pan an' Captain Hook if they both snorted Tinkerbell's fairy dust."

"Wonder how many people don't realize the ride came first on that one," Mac says in a little tangent, but huffs a short laugh at the talk of Peter Pan and Hook snorting pixie dust like cocaine. "I'm sure you'll get it figured out. There's a lot more to that than pushing buttons and counting guests, for the record. Too much responsibility for my blood."

With that, she unfolds her curled up legs to rise from the sofa. "It was nice meeting you, Captain," she says, setting the book she was reading down -- apparently she has no plans to buy or reshelf it. "My bed is calling my name for a long nap before I figure out how I'm spending my evening. When's your show open? I'll try to remember to swing by."