YOU'RE THE NEXT CONTESTANT

[sictransitgloriamundi]

WHO: the Captain + You
WHAT: contractually obligated price is right game
WHEN: 11/18, like nightish?
WHERE: Bellona Theater
WARNINGS: N/A, currently

[you've heard the announcement, the sound of Friday's cautious optimism as she spoke it. you've waited all day. now, it's time for the game.

the amount of effort that has gone into this production at Bellona can be safely defined as “minimal.” there are three podiums, with three slate boards and three pieces of chalk. there is another podium, currently empty, next to a plain folding table. there is a tablecloth draped over the table, covering a lumpy, inscrutable shape.

the most remarkable thing is the giant wheel set up on the other side of the empty podium. the slices of the giant circle are colorful, but also completely blank. the Captain actually spends 30 minutes prior to the start of the event simply sitting in front of it, back to the audience, and spinning it, listening to the loud clacking noise pick up and then die down again, before spinning it once more.

clackclackclack clack clack. clack. clackclackclackclackclack.

it's gonna be a long night.]

Comments

[iwearnomask]

IT LOOKS INTENTIONAL. AS IF THEY CUT OFF THE UPPER TIP OF THE GEAR AND STUCK IT TO THE TOP OF THE TABLE TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE THE GEAR HAD SIMPLY SLID THROUGH IT. THE EDGES OF THE TABLE ITSELF ARE STRAIGHT AND CLEANLY CUT, DESPITE THE ROUGH CRACK DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE WOOD. EVEN THAT HAS ITS CORNERS SANDED. IT'S AS IF THE DESIGNER WANTED TO CREATE A TABLE OUT OF, I DON'T KNOW, BARN SCRAP.

[theotherright]

[ ...

...

... ]

WHY?

[iwearnomask]

I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, ARTHUR! MAYBE THEY WANTED SOMETHING "RUSTIC"?!

[ss_buttcrack]

Crichton can't stand this anymore. Listen to this asshole, yelling out stuff like he thinks he's actually helping. Well, two can be not helpful while shouting!!

He cups his hands to his mouth and bellows, "Arthur, it looks like what some rich asshole would put in the lobby of their fancy hotel as a statement piece. Bid high!"

[iwearnomask]

What the f- oh, FUCK this guy-

John finds Crichton easily, given they were both close enough to talk to Erin, and in a voice just a little quieter than what he was shouting to Arthur: "What the fuck kind of hotel would have that in it?"

Said as if he's been in more than one hotel, and as if the one hotel he ever was in wasn't abandoned and falling apart. But Crichton doesn't need to know that and John's point stands!!

[ss_buttcrack]

Oh? Oh, John wants to beef? Yeah? He wants to get into it? Bring it on.

"The kind of hotel that charges five hundred dollars a night for you to get an obscured view of the Gulf Shores and still makes you pay extra for the cabana, that's what!" He shoots back. "The rich assholes kind. Pay attention."

[iwearnomask]

Lacking any better retort faced with that lack of hotel experience or confessions, John just spits "Fuck you!" and sits back in his chair, exiting the conversation NOT sulking.

He doesn't argue further because with the care taken in smoothing and painting the parts of this alleged table, he agrees it isn't cheap either. No matter how much of an asshole Crichton is, John's invested in Arthur winning now, or at least making a good effort. Second, maybe, because that table (for all the effort put into making it) sucks. The point is, John was helping Arthur first so John gets credit either way for helping whatever result comes of this. Fuck you, Crichton.

[ss_buttcrack]

"Wow, what an original comeback," Crichton answers with the kind of smugness that makes it very apparent he thinks he's won this argument.

Before sitting back down himself, he adds one last, "You got this, Arthur!" Just because he can't stand not having the last word on things.

[theotherright]

[ Sorry John, Crichton is from the future, and seemingly a future that also includes weird intentionally-shitty tables, so Arthur is going with his suggestion on this one.

He's already found the chalk and slate (they're easily recognised; he remembers using them in school) and with some care and spacial awareness he writes his answer. Arthur thinks of a ridiculous rich-guy who-would-pay-this-for-a-table number, and then triples it to account for... who knows how much inflation, and comes out with: ]

$900 USD

[ Is that over? That feels like it's going to be over. ]

[obeyseventually]

[Jack shoots a look into the crowd at that, trying to squint at the guy doing the shouting because what the fuck do you think he just has random cogs in his barn? Do you think he'd make a table with holes this big in it? Or a table that needs a second set of legs because the first are too circular to actually hold the fucking thing up??]