Patriot smith, p.1
Patriot Smith, page 1
part #1 of Patriots Series
Patriot Smith
Phillip S. Power
Orange Cat Publishing
Copyright 2018
Dedication:
This book is yours, because every solution needs a place to begin. This is a starting place. Please don’t let go of it.
Thank you.
Chapter one
The ax that fell next to his head wasn’t sharp. Sebastian knew that with a certainty that few things in life truly ever held. The reason for his belief was simply down to the fact that he’d dulled the edge himself not three hours before, personally. Real metal had been gone over with a coarse rasp, back and forth, until the edge was round and smooth to the touch. Silver glinted along the surface anyway, from the tens of thousands of little lines that had been forced into the steel. Making it seem deadly and ready for use against the strongest piece of cord wood, evil movie villain or even tree. It was an illusion. Everything in the scene was. At least in theory.
Sebastian Rivera lived to create things like that. Images and ideas that seemed real but simply weren’t.
That Karen, his co-star of the moment, could still kill him if she missed the end point of her swing again was simply a fact, regardless. A dull ax edge to the head, face or chest was always deadly in its own way. At least it could be. That small bit of verisimilitude was needed at the moment, since they couldn’t really get decent looking props for their show, thanks to the impact the fuel rationing and new travel rules had created on the shipping industry. They could make things out of wood, or even stone, as well as metal, as long as they were clever but they couldn’t get silicone in anymore. They hadn’t been able to do that kind of thing for nearly a year and a half.
Nearly the whole time they’d been running their fake little studio. Vagabond Studios was nearly as big of a fiction as the shows they created. If they were counting money being made as the only real metric of success. Sebastian didn’t. Not most days.
Life was about more than money. It had to be.
Since his head wasn’t split in two, he had the privilege of rolling to the left, so that the cameras could capture a clear shot of his good side. Not that it was all that great at the moment, since the makeup he had on worked pretty well to hide his normal face. That was a bit long and his nose was too big to be honestly pretty. Then again, almost everyone that acted at Vagabond was in the ‘not ready for prime-time’ category, as far as appearance went. That was the true wonder of their shtick. They were all good actors and looked like real people.
It gave a good bit of reality to the roles they were playing. Just like using a real ax did. A lot of their stuff had an edge that the big studios were lacking, thanks to that. A sense of being just a bit more like what was being shown could, possibly, be happening. At the same time, they didn’t seem cheap or like they weren’t professional.
At least that was the hope he had for what they were doing on any given day. They traded a lot of hard work, sweat and effort to make that happen on the tiny budget they had for each program.
Karen totally missed her mark on her fourth swing, going too narrow, her low weight nor really allowing her to control the weapon in her hands. Striking him forcefully on the shoulder with the tan ax handle. It was oak but had been stained to a slightly darker color so that it would show better on video. There was a scent of Carnauba wax in the air from it. The acrid odor having faded just enough not to be an annoyance to him.
Naturally, the solid blow was hard enough that he grunted, which was totally real. He tried to remember it, what it sounded and felt like, to reproduce for the next time he had to fake that kind of thing. It hurt, being hit like that but no one had ever claimed that they would never have to suffer for their art. On the good side the ax head had slipped right past his soft and tender human flesh, so only light tan wood had smacked up against him rather than the metal splitting him open. It was going to leave a bruise.
That made standing up fast enough harder, since his cohort backed up, looking afraid, as if he were going to really beat her down now, instead of following the plan. It was annoying, being struck like that but it had been his idea that they give the tiny woman a weapon to fight with. One she could barely manage to use, even in the scene. Her body was just too small to control the momentum very well. That meant he couldn’t get mad at her for a set of bruises or even broken bones. Especially since it was going to leave the whole thing looking good, when they were done.
Not that he wanted that kind of thing. Being injured was a waste of time and could slow down getting to the next project, if he wasn’t careful. Sebastian knew that he was a bit tougher than the others, of course. That, or had a bigger ego around being manly, causing him not to let little discomforts or even pain, get to him too much. That was just how he’d lived his entire life. Facing what was in front of him and going on without showing much reaction. It didn’t mean he was less open minded than anyone else, just not as soft. Being honest about it all about himself but still choosing to live in a way that didn’t make him a total burden on everyone else in the world.
So, in that moment he needed to get up, fast, and keep the flow going without making a big deal of minor wounds. His character wouldn’t, after all, being more than strictly human. For it to look right, he had to be at least as tough, if only for a few minutes. That meant pulling it all off before the small, rather good looking, brunette could start crying about thwapping him on the arm. It just wasn’t that big of a deal.
Other than the nearly blinding pain, that was. Then, if you were afraid to get hit, fighting was a poor plan. Even fake combat was a risk, if you couldn’t handle the idea of minor discomfort.
“You will die.” It was an order, not just a proclamation. As if he were telling her what to do. An instruction as to how his character of the moment felt she should be behaving. The words had to be delivered in a near monotone, his voice made rough and deep.
He was the bad guy for the series, at least so far. The plucky heroine wasn’t in any real danger, wearing plot armor like she was but it had to be made to seem as if there was a real threat in the moment. Karen nearly panicked then, which seemed real and not like what she’d been doing the other times they’d done the scene, which had been cooler and more confident seeming on her part. Still, she moved to the right, and threw the ax at him. It was what they’d planned out, nearly. Except that she missed again. Probably due to being flustered. The deadly weapon was supposed to fly directly past him, on the left. It had on the last several takes. Instead it went directly toward his face this time.
It flew so perfectly, that had it been a real fight, the woman would have been winning about then. At least most of the time. The hunk of metal and wood arced through the air, spinning once around, almost as if Karen, or at least her character, Dee, was an expert at such things.
Without thinking, he grabbed it. Snagging the impending death it represented from the air. It fell into his hand perfectly, making a soft smacking sound as the wood touched the callused palm of his left hand. That ended up just about four inches below the metal head. Then he held it in place, nothing in his body moving at all. In fact, he even held his breath for a moment, by reflex, which gave him a few seconds to just stare at Karen. As if it had been the plan the whole time. That or like he was truly a psychotic killer with mental powers. Sebastian really doubted that he could have done it on purpose or manage it ever again. Hopefully it would look good on camera. If so, then at least one or two of the cams would have picked it up. He was fairly certain on that score.
Then he smiled. The makeup on his face would hide almost anything he did, expression wise, so Sebastian forced the move to the largest thing he could physically manage, opening his mouth wide to let his expression show, the tan and black makeup warping. Insanely, he hoped.
“You might want to run now.” He did it in his character’s voice, though it wasn’t anything they’d scripted. It did get Karen, or her character, Dee, to turn and sprint across the open field, seeming completely freaked, moving in the correct direction. That meant camera two was perfectly set up to catch it happening.
Hal, who was directing for the show, called out. His voice was oddly pleased sounding. The man truly did like it when things were working. They all did, when it was their own turn to direct. Hal just wasn’t a giant tool about it, when it was his turn. About half of them were good that way. The others were a little pricklier when in charge of a scene, including himself.
“Cut! That…” He waited for both Sebastian and Karen to walk back toward the rest of them before going on. “Was decent. Sebastian, how’s your arm?”
The words got Karen to actually seem worried as she jogged back. She swallowed hard and moved toward him almost like she was going to actually cry over it. He set the ax down and rubbed at his shoulder on the left, just a bit. His hands were rough, for an actor. Sebastian noticed that as the makeup on the back of his right contrasted against the black heavy shirt he was wearing. His fingers and palm rasped a bit on the coarse fabric. Like sandpaper. That had been earned through almost constant work, so he didn’t bother to complain about it.
“Nothing broke. Hopefully we got it all on cam?” That would be for the best. He didn’t really want to do the scene again. This had been the sixth time they’d done it and the third he’d been hit. It should look pretty real if they could use any of those takes at all but there had been a cost for it.
There always was, one way or another. This time it was just his turn to pay, that was all.
Several things happened at once then. Hal jo
Which meant that no one cared that he was the only person that didn’t have a roommate at the compound they all shared. At least they got why it had happened that way and didn’t discuss his situation over dinner each night. Then, for most of the others, having a roomie or two wasn’t really a problem. They just crashed with their boyfriend or girlfriend of the moment, so it didn’t feel all that forced. There were ten to twelve people living there at any given time, depending on what the different actors had going on in their lives. It allowed for fresh faces to come in for acting purposes, while having everyone on tap to actually do the needed work all the time. That had been the plan to start with, anyway.
Over the last few months it hadn’t worked that well. Over half a year, really. It wasn’t just them being whiny actors and bitchy actresses, for once, either. Normally, artistic groups that came together for any reason ended after the first few years. If they managed to last that long at all. A bunch of neurotic people that prized imagination over getting work done didn’t really function that well, most of the time. The big difference for this particular crew was that the new travel restrictions and fuel rationing actually meant that staying there and working was wildly better than flaking off to live with a friend in town.
After all, they had ten acres of fruit and nut tree orchards. Two large gardens and a working small greenhouse filled out the rest of the food production on the property. As long as they all worked and kept doing it, they could make it. Not perfectly but they had fruit and preserves to sell, as well as about half their food calories met each day off the land there. Most people didn’t have that kind of luxury any longer.
The studio brought in just enough money so far to keep them in flour and sugar, both things he’d started to stockpile over a year before, as well as keeping the lights on. If they needed more cameras or equipment, they were well and truly screwed but that was just how life went sometimes. Really, that part wasn’t even totally about money. He owned the property outright, having saved up for it first for over a decade and had bought cheap. That meant they didn’t have to pay rent or several other large bills each month. So, they had cash for what they needed. As long as they were careful about what they spent, day to day. It was just getting harder to have it shipped to them.
Due to the attacks that had been happening against trucks and even rail operations when goods were being moved around. It wasn’t a constant thing but a terror strike of note happened at least once every week or so, meant to keep things moving slowly. It was fear that was really stopping the drivers, instead of the terrorists being all that good at what they were doing. In the main, driving a truck was decently safe. As in, you could do it and not be killed, most of the time. No one wanted to die to make sure that the latest Nike running shoes were delivered in a timely fashion, naturally, which meant that most items were scarce on the shelves.
That was the power of terrorism. Fear stopped people from living like they wanted to. The physical attacks themselves were almost a small factor, any longer. The specter of death hanging over the drivers from a distance did most of the real damage.
Shaking his head, Sebastian waited. Now that it was done, he truly couldn’t tell how the shoot had gone in particular. At the time it had felt a lot like it was nearly real. As if it should have an almost immersive quality to it. What that looked like on video was going to vary. It almost always did.
Karen moved over to him and gave him a big hug. It was a thing there, being close and cuddly all the time like that. Really, with all of the acting groups that he’d ever been a part of so far in life. Everyone was always hugging everyone else. It was cozy but also meant that people got confused and ended up sleeping with individuals that they weren’t seeing. The big issue for them at the moment however was that, while people could break up, they couldn’t really get away from anyone else. Not even the jerk that they’d decided wasn’t worth being with, any longer. It was stressful for about half the people there at any given time. That was a big part of why he’d managed to avoid that kind of problem. It meant his love life was not really a thing but that lack had paid off in a great reduction of personal drama.
The tiny lady holding him at the moment was just trying to show that she hadn’t really been beating him with an ax on purpose, rather than attempting to get him into bed. Probably to prevent a real conflict between them, even if that would never be happening over something as trivial as a minor wound. Thankfully, he was used to that kind of thing, being hit, from his training, earlier in life.
“Sorry. You really aren’t hurt?”
He was truthful about it, since that was simply a large part of how he lived. Radical Honesty. It could make him seem like an asshole, being that people weren’t used to getting real answers to their questions most of the time but overall it worked pretty well in life. People could take him as being mean but those that knew Sebastian also understood where they stood with him at any given moment.
He didn’t follow the idea to the point where he felt bad for acting or making things up for fictional reasons, at least. Some, a few people that tried to live like he did, had to give up fiction of all sorts but it was wasted time to think that way. It wasn’t a lie to entertain people, as long as they knew it was all fake.
“Bruises, probably. In a few places. No broken bones and I wasn’t hit in the head at all. I’ll live. As long as we don’t have to do that too many more times? At least today. We’re going to lose the light…” Not that they got to stop working just because of that. There were indoor scenes that they could do for at least one of the other shows.
They had four of them going on at the moment, for the fall season. That was a monster schedule to pull off, work wise. The performances were just put up online but they were starting to do well enough that they made some money, somehow. How that actually worked, Sebastian didn’t know. Hal had been doing that kind of thing for them for the last six months. Really, for longer than that by a good bit. Almost since the day the red headed man had come in. For some reason, he was really good at that kind of thing and had volunteered to do the books and computer side of things early on. Somehow the man had managed to keep a slow but steady amount of cash coming in from their work. In a market where almost no one else was making it at all.
That took skill. In fact, Sebastian wasn’t totally certain that what was happening was all completely legal. Not that he could think of a way that their product could have been used illegally. It just didn’t make sense that they were making it at all, even if what they were doing was pretty sharp looking and well-acted.
A lot of things online had been demonetized, after the information crackdown about a year before. They had the Black Masks to thank for that.
The terrorists that had attacked the capital in their tens of thousands, going on a killing spree that had taken out over a hundred-innocent people’s lives on the streets of DC. It was really several groups but they’d used the internet to put their attack plans together. Naturally. It was simply how things had been done at the time. Social media had been used in particular but email and a few other tricks as well. Torrent streams with instruction manuals and things like that.
In response, the government had slapped the web down hard, shutting off most of the ways people had been using to communicate with each other. The big three socials were still up but that was down to the fact that they filtered everything so tightly you couldn’t really express most opinions without getting a warning.
What you could do, at least so far, was put up professional quality video programs that didn’t have much of a political leaning to them. There was a little bit of that creeping in, of course, since about half of the people there were kind of cheesed off at the Black Masks. That was why the paint on the bottom of his face was black and the top tan. Even his heavy shirt was reminiscent of the terrorists chosen garb.
