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October Interview: Reese Rudzite (Female Version)
🕑 Added 2021-10-31 16:29:39 +0000 UTCThe stage is empty but for two chairs, between which is drawn a chalk body outline upon the wooden boards. The light flickers on and off, and thunder rumbles over the speakers.
Nicholas Wiseman struts onstage. He’s wearing a green hoodie, unzipped to a low vee that shows off his pectorals, with the hood up. Two ping-pong balls, black dots drawn onto their centers to resemble frog eyes, are glued to the top of the hood. Instead of pants, he wears translucent green tights that leave little to the imagination, which just barely pass the standards of public broadcast decency due to the pair of green speedos he has worn over them.
Nick takes a seat, provocatively crosses his legs, and winks at the camera. Despite his cheeky body language, however, his voice is tense.
Nick: Welcome all to our special Halloween episode! I’m your host, Ker-Ment the Frog, here to say that while it may be difficult being green . . . I make sexy look easy.
Sally’s exasperated groan is audible from backstage.
Nick: In honor of the year’s spookiest holiday, today’s interview is with someone who doesn’t need a costume in order to be a monster. Let’s all give a loud boo for Reese Rudzite!
A boo-track plays over the speakers as Reese walks onstage. She wears orange coveralls which, from a distance could be mistaken as a Halloween costume (until one gets up close, and realizes that the outfit is standard issue).
Reese takes the remaining seat, smiling widely despite the boo-track still playing. The chalk body outline rests between her and Nick like a macabre rug.
Reese, still smiling: How are you faring this fine day, Justice?
She overenunciates Nick’s facename with sour sarcasm, and Nick glares pointedly at Reese’s shackled wrists.
Nick: I’m doing better than you.
Nick stretches his arms widely above his head, emphasizing his own lack of restraints. Reese’s smile becomes strained.
Nick withdraws a stack of index cards from his hoodie pocket, and smirks as he reads the first.
Nick: First question, River. How does it feel to have lost the interview poll to two dogs, your own minions, and to have almost lost to a cat?
Reese: It’s understandable that your audience wished to save the best for last.
Nick: But you’re not the last to be voted in, are you? That honor belongs to a yet unnamed Ment who’ll be interviewed in Nohvember. Nah, you’re second to last—on the low end of the middle. Completely unexceptional.
Reese, no longer smiling: You’re allowed to tell yourself whatever makes you feel better.
Nick, bitingly: Golly-gee, Ms. Convict, thanks so much for your permission.
Nick flips to the next index card.
Nick: Let’s see if you can convince the audience that you weren’t born Satan spawn. Where are you from?
Reese: I had something of a nomadic childhood. My father, you see, from Windsor, Ontario, while my mother was from Detroit. They met one evening during a meteor shower at Belle Isle, both of them being amateur astronomers, and—
Nick: It was there that the falling stars no doubt foretold your rise to greatness. Sure, fine. Can you just tell us where you grew up?
Reese: Chicago, for the most part. I spent the majority of my formative years being regaled with the fairy tales of your parents supposed “greatness.”
Nick: I’m guessing your parents weren’t Ments?
Reese: Of course not.
Nick: Any siblings?
Reese: I’m an only child.
Nick, muttering: Shocker.
Reese: What was that? Just because you’re dressed as frog doesn’t mean you should croak like one.
Nick: How would you describe your childhood? Happy? Horrific? Was there some crucial event that turned you into a terrorist, or were you born with the asshole gene?
Reese gives Nick a condescending smile.
Reese: My childhood was idyllic, but for the shadow of menace that loomed—that still looms—over Chicago. Aeon Tower was a daily reminder that, no matter how much effort I put in as a young boy, certain destinies would always be out of my reach.
Nick: Sounds to me like you grew up jealous of Ments.
Reese: Oh, I fully admit that as an ignorant child I oftentimes dreamed of a world where everyone had inhuman abilities. Even then, I longed for a society of equals.
Nick snorts. Reese ignores him.
Reese: Of course, I later came to realize that a truly egalitarian social order could never come to exist so long as psychic abilities were wrongfully upheld as desirable rather than genetic misfires.
Nick: Long story short, you were also a dick as a kid.
Reese laughs, but her eyes aren’t smiling.
Reese: That would be your take on things, of course. Never fear—it’s not as if I expected you to comprehend what life is like outside of your privileged little bubble. How can someone who’s been brainwashed since birth to believe in his own supremacy ever imagine the plight of the common man?
Nick, rolling his eyes: Are you always this insufferably dramatic? Let me guess: you were a theater kid.
Reese: I starred in some community productions during my youth, it’s true.
Nick: You also dabbled in performance arts during college, didn’t you? You changed your major from Musical Theater to—
Reese: I must object to the word “dabbled.” I was quite serious about my career at the time, and the student newspaper proclaimed my performance as Ariel in the university’s production of The Tempest as the play’s highlight.
Nick: What made you decide to become a real-life villain instead of just accepting villainous roles? Does it have anything to do with a certain audition for The Canadian Dream?
Reese’s expression darkens. Nick addresses the camera.
Nick: For those of you unaware, The Canadian Dream was a rip-off singing competition where the judges were all too nice to the contestants to make for juicy reality tv. It was cancelled after a single season, but not before Rudzite here applied to be on Season Two.
Reese: That was years ago, and I fail to see the relevancy of—
Nick, talking over Reese to the audience: Thanks to the detective work of none other than Taliaferro Parker, we’ve managed to get our hands on a copy of Rudzite’s audition tape.
Glitch emerges from behind the stage curtain, dressed in a bumblebee suit and wearing a crown, and pulling a cart upon which is a holoprojector.
Reese: You have absolutely no right to—
Nick: Now, for the first time ever, the world premier of ‘Reese Rudzite’ . . . singing PopoZão by Kevin Federline.
Glitch pushes the play button. A holograph forms into an image of Reese, perhaps a few years younger, who immediately lets out a screeching, inhuman yodel.
. . . The song does not get better from there.
By the end of the recording, Glitch and Nick are near tears with laughter. Reese scowls.
Reese: Contestants weren’t allowed to choose our own songs.
Glitch mimics the yodel from the beginning while pushing the holoprojector offstage, and Nick cracks up once more.
Reese: One of the production assistants had a vendetta against me.
Nick: Let me guess, they were your first murder?
He explodes into laughter again as he recalls Reese’s attempt to dance along while singing.
Reese: I never found out who assigned me that song. Had it not been given to me for the second round, I would’ve no doubt made it through to the finals.
Nick: The finals for a show that never aired.
Reese: Regardless, I didn’t deserve to be dropped from the competition.
Nick: Agree to disagree.
He attempts to duplicate Reese’s yodel only to erupt in giggles.
Reese, annoyed: Do you have more questions for me or not? I assume that you didn’t ask for this interview for the sole purpose of humiliating me in front of an audience.
Nick: No, that’s honestly the only reason I agreed to have you on the show.
Reese: As mature as I’d expect from UCRT’s leader.
Nick’s expression turns suddenly serious.
Nick: You made your feelings about me clear while I was under your control. Turn about is only fair play, and my methods are much more humane than yours.
Reese looks away. Nick glances down at his notecards.
Nick: How long have you been a member of Vengeance?
Reese: I’m more than a member. I’m the spearhead who will lead Vengeance into the future.
Nick: Hard to do that from prison. Do you keep in contact with any of your former followers now that you’re behind bars?
Reese still doesn’t meet Nick’s eyes.
Nick: So, their idolatry only lasted until following you put them at risk. Such a loyal little cult you had.
Reese: You wouldn’t understand the ties that bond us.
Nick: Other than Liz Guerra, you seemed to keep your distance from the other members of Vengeance. Why is that?
Reese: As a leader, becoming too close to your followers can undermine your authority—it’s something that even you must have realized once you were given your father’s mantle.
Nick: I earned my position as Justice.
Reese, condescendingly: Of course you did. But the most effective leadership comes when it’s also aspirational—I provided a model on how to be the ideal member of Vengeance. Compassionate yet resolute, with my eyes always fixed upon our organization’s larger goals.
Nick looks skeptical.
Nick: Uh-huh. And do you have a role model?
Reese: I forged myself into being the type of person whom I’d look up to. I’m my own role model, as I was theirs.
Nick: That’s some pretty unwarranted narcissism from someone who twerks to K-Fed songs. What about when it comes to your former second-in-command? Was Liz just another student that you were trying to make follow in your footsteps?
Reese: Liz was useful. Misguided at times . . . but useful.
Nick: Caleb and Isaiah both stuck out as being atypical Vengeance members. Caleb because he helped rescue me, and Isaiah because he’s obviously a Ment. What made you decide to recruit those two?
Reese: It’s no great mystery. Caleb possessed a skillset that my organization was in need of, and his loyalty to his cousin insured his cooperation and silence. As for Isaiah . . . we had similar goals, despite his affliction.
Nick: And by “affliction,” you mean “psychic agility.”
Reese: Yes. You must understand—I don’t hate Ments for being born the way that they are. It’s not as if this is a choice. What I loathe is how this genetic abnormality has become venerated as a gift, when in fact it endangers the freedom of everyone who scores below a Pollard 6. Your own parents fought against the North Korean regime; you can’t deny that Ments have a history of abusing their powers when given free reign.
Nick: Let’s say that you’d gotten away with all your nefarious plotting. What were your goals for Vengeance? What kind of world did you imagine once the smoke cleared?
Reese appears surprised by the question.
Reese: I’ve never lied about my objectives. My one and only dream has always been of a society where all men are truly created equal. It’s as American as apple pie.
Nick: And if you have to break a few eggs for the pie dough, it’s an acceptable loss. Gotcha.
Nick takes a deep breath as he reads over the next question card.
Nick: Why risk going to the hospital yourself when I was first injured? Why make contact with Button?
Reese: Given my thespian background, I knew that I could pass as an orderly without much trouble. As for why I went in the first place . . . curiosity, I suppose. We’d been surveilling your sibling for a while.
Nick’s hands ball into fists.
Reese: Tapping into their phone taught me so much about them. Such adorable pictures of the two of you together! I wanted to meet my new informant face to face, even if they weren’t aware of our connection.
Nick: If you weren’t in cuffs right now, I’d . . .
Reese, tauntingly: Pummel me half to death? Wipe my mind so that I become a drooling vegetable? Go ahead. Show the world exactly what they can expect from Unity’s version of justice.
Nick takes a deep breath and forces a carefree smile.
Nick: The world knows what it can expect from me. That I’ll bring would-be genocidal maniacs like you before a court of law.
Reese: Ellery’s photos weren’t the only thing I found interesting, you know. People keep their entire lives on their phones—after tapping into your sibling’s cloud, I came to know them on such an intimate level.
Nick stands up. Reese tenses, as if sensing she’s finally gone too far, but Nick only walks off stage without saying another word.
A minute passes, with Reese awkwardly sitting alone on stage.
Then Glitch returns with the holoprojector, and Reese’s rendition of Kevin Federline’s PopoZão begins to once more play over the loudspeakers. The music doesn’t quite cover up the sound of arguing taking place backstage.
When the song ends, Glitch rolls the projector offscreen. Sally appears in her stead, wearing a sparkly red dress, a poufy blonde wig, and a headband with pig ears. Her nose is transformed via facepaint into a snout. She takes Nick’s vacated seat and smooths her dress.
Sally, to the cameras: As our usual host has had a sudden allergic reaction to asshole, I’ll be taking over this interview.
Reese eyes her, not bothering to conceal her interest.
Reese: You were one of Isaiah’s little proteges, were you not?
Sally ignores her question. She primly arranges the pile of cards on her lap, selecting the top one and reading it off.
Sally: What would you say is your greatest weakness?
Reese: Yes, you’re definitely one of Isaiah’s old students. He shared your case files with me once, you know. You had adorable ringlets when you were little—like little orphan Annie.
Reese covers her mouth with feigned apology.
Reese: Oh, but you are an orphan, aren’t you? Either that, or your real parents couldn’t handle a Ment child. You must see, this is why I advocate for the development of BRSes, so that unfortunates like you aren’t ripped from the—
Sally, robotically: What would you say is your greatest weakness?
Reese deflates at Sally’s lack of response to her needling.
Reese: Would it be too cliché of me to say it’s a good bottle of Chianti?
Sally: Everything about you is a bad cliché. What about your greatest fear?
Reese raises her shackled wrists.
Reese: It’s already come to pass.
Sally gives her a poisonously sweet smile, and reads the next card.
Sally: How do you feel about being described as “blandly attractive”?
Reese: Are you dressed as Miss Piggy? Don’t tell me that you and Justice decided to match. How nauseatingly adorable.
Sally, stoically repeating the question: How do you feel about being described as “blandly attractive”?
Reese: There’s nothing wrong with being classically good looking.
Sally looks Reese up and down, her upper lip curling in a way that makes it clear she disagrees with her self-assessment.
She reads from the next card.
Sally: Why are you single?
Reese: The path I walk has always been a lonely road to the pinnacle.
She heaves a theatric sigh.
Reese: Love has been elusive. Finding someone who truly grasps the enormity of my calling has been—
Sally, interrupting: Do you know how to play chess?
Reese: I know my way around an en passant.
Sally: Do you have any unexpected skills?
Reese: I’m not certain what would qualify as ‘unexpected.’ Unexpected to whom? My people have always expected me to be a master of many skills, and I’ve done my humble best to live up to their belief in me. But I suppose, if pressed, I’d say that most people don’t anticipate the full scope of my musical talents.
Reese flushes, immediately recalling that her most humiliating performance has just been aired to world. Not that she sang the song badly per se, so much as it’s a song that should’ve never been sung.
Sally: Would you ever fall in love with a Ment?
Reese: My dear, is that a proposition? You’ll make the frog morose.
Sally, repeating slowly: Would you ever fall in love with a Ment?
Reese is beginning to look more and more annoyed by Sally’s refusal to engage with her banter.
Reese: I’d have no objection to embarking on a relationship with a former Ment who’d chosen to be cured.
Sally: Are you capable of keeping your word?
Reese, acidly: Are you capable of having a personality? Or do they keep you backstage because you’re unable to do more than read off notecards?
Sally smiles mockingly, clearly enjoying the way she’s getting under her skin. Reese may have enjoyed antagonizing Nick, but it’s less fun when her victim refuses to engage.
Sally: Are you capable of keeping your word?
Reese: I’ve never once lied to myself. If I have to bend the truth to others in order to keep those self-made promises, so be it.
Sally: What job would you have pursued had you not joined Vengeance.
Reese, scowling: I had a job. A good job.
She pauses, waiting for Sally to ask for him to elaborate, but she only coolly arches her brows.
Sally: What’s your skincare routine?
Reese looks put-out by Sally’s refusal to ask about her career, yet can’t help but preen at the acknowledgement of her dewy complexion.
Reese: I’m not surprised that you noticed. My nightly process is more in depth, but I rinse my face with coconut water every morning. The resulting glow is unparalleled.
Sally: One last question.
Reese: I’ll answer anything to end the tedium of this interview.
Sally sets down the notecards. Her face is serene, and it’s impossible to know what she’s thinking about.
All of sudden, she seizes Reese by the wrist.
Sally, whispering: Do you want to know how you’ll die?
Reese struggles to pull away, but Sally is surprisingly strong (or at least tenacious), and Reese’s handcuffs limit her mobility.
Reese: Let go of me, you—
Sally gasps, and a glaze falls over her eyes.
Sally: You’ll die alone, choking on a chicken bone in the cold dampness of your cell. Your bunkmate doesn’t bother to alert the guards that you can’t breathe—they steal the packet of ramen from beneath your pillow as you futilely gasp for oxygen, that’s how much they hate you. How much the entire world hates you.
She releases Reese, leaning back into her seat with a cold smile that’s even more menacing due to her Miss Piggy makeup.
Sally: But the world won’t hate you enough to remember you. You’ll die, and you’ll be forgotten. If you’re lucky, maybe your terrible audition will live on as immortalized cringe. But no one will remember either of your names.
Reese bolts to a stand. She clings onto enough dignity to resist running off stage, but departs at a pace that causes her to stumble slightly before disappearing behind the curtain.
Nick walks back on stage after she’s gone, taking Reese’s vacated seat.
Nick: Is that really how she dies?
Sally shrugs.
Sally: Ellery’s close enough that I’m not having visions. But it’s the ending that she deserves.
Comments
Skippy Hugo
I am LOVING the aggressive Sally.
