mastin2
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Actors have it harsh. Long, hard days spent doing painful laboring just to get that scene perfect. The pay is good—err…most of the time—but is it really worth it? Some doubt that it is. With the New Year approaching, Christmas Break gives these poor souls the chance to rest and relax.
A circle of giants hoard around a warm fire, enjoying the heat as much as they can. The orange flames spread their heat evenly, giving each a chance at relaxing. Even in daylight, inside of a vacation house, winter means that it can get cold. At an average of eight and a half feet tall, the need for warmth is even greater.
“I can’t stand it,” one of them declares. His bright crimson eyes radiate his anger. The large gems seem to intensify the fire, adding further fuel with his dislike, his hatred, for something.
“What?”
“Working conditions.”
“Well, the pay is good.”
“But makes me miserable! Really, I’m supposed to act like I’m a bloodthirsty monster. I’m peaceful; how can I act like I’m just out to get the meat on my next victim? It’s a disgrace to our kind, I tell you.”
“You have it easy. You get the normal roles, the extra in a large cast. I, however, get worse treatment from the harder stunts. Ever try getting sliced in half? Well, let me tell you something: It hurts!”
The group chuckles, all except for the original speaker. “Yea, but even extras have it bad. We’re either shot by silver arrows, or impaled by giant spikes. Silver’s fine. It really doesn’t hurt as much as we pretend that it does. Spikes, however, leave their mark.”
A third speaks up, telling of his own misfortune. “You might have the most physical pain, but I swear that I’ve gone through the most mental. My group and I have to regularly act as ‘Uldarms’. I have to wear giant yellow contact lenses! If that weren’t enough, I have to put on black makeup. Worse yet, I have to act brainless! Do you know how embarrassing that is?!?”
“At least you get paid well.” The group of Darmichrons turns their attention to a humanoid figure, one of only a few in the group. “I have to transform in each battle, you know. When it takes twenty tries to get the perfect shot of a scene, it adds up. I have to change into new clothes after each shot, since they shred when I transform. Worse yet: it comes out of my paycheck! My pay is significantly lower than anyone else’s.”
“Try getting impaled through the stomach twenty times, David. Oh, wait…you have. But you have more natural resistance to pain than any of these fellows, and certainly more than humans such as I do. Really, all of you might feel pain, but not as much as I do.”
“Point taken, Brian. But I still say I’m worse off. A silver bar through my head forty times, plus two in the heart. Impaled twenty-four times. Worse, by far, of all, though…getting shot by ten seeds three times, and wrapped in vines that really cut me…seven times. All for the sake of the perfect shot.”
“I don’t know about you, Darmichron, but I looked at the fine print in my contract; I can’t. I doubt you can, either. We really need to pay more attention to the fine print, but we’re legally bound to follow the terms of it once we sign…which we did just over a year ago.”
The Darmichron curses, throwing a piece of wood onto the fire. “I hate Mastin! He’s such a perfectionist on the shots, so he makes us suffer! The pay is good, but the pain wasn’t part of the contract!”
“Actually, it was. Surely you read that part?”
“The pain makes the pay worth only a third of what it should be…”
“Well, don’t worry. We’re already done with a third of the show.”
“And a thirteenth of the rewrite!”
“I can’t complain. I’m a giant, so I’m cast in as a leader. My size makes me an excellent ‘leader’ figure amongst our cast, making me a popular target for one-on-one fights. Sure, I’ve had my moments of extreme pain, but my deaths are most commonly by CGI magic, so I can’t really say I sympathize.”
“Why do you torture me more?”
“Well, while complaining goes against our contracts, you could always ask for another role.”
“Thanks. But, really, thirteen episodes—oh, wait, twenty-six episodes half the length—of work is still thirteen episodes of work!”
“Less, actually. I hear you Darms receive lesser roles further on.”
“WHAT?!?”
“Something about Darms not being villainy enough.”
“Stop calling us that! We’re not even on stage.”
“Sorry. Bad habit.”
“Couldn’t Mastin find a way to keep us?”
“Of course. I said lessened, not eliminated. I’m not even certain this is final, anyway. I think he means it as a favor, though. Look on the bright side—less acting, less pain.”
The Darmichron curses to itself. “And less pay.”
“So, where are we in the credits?”
“Again, don’t take my word for it…but… I hear Mastin feels that it’d be embarrassing to you for your name to be listed, as it is—as you said—humiliating. From what I understood, you’d have to specifically ask for you to be put in, or else you’ll be left anonymous.”
“How kind of him. What’s he afraid of? A complete flop on the scales, of a theatrical disaster?”
“Or a total hit, which would make you well-known, even if you’d prefer to remain anonymous. He is counting on it being rather popular eventually.”
“Ha! Like that’ll happen! Mastin’s so bad, it will—”
“Are you mad?!? Mastin hears everything! Talk like that, and you’ll be given more painful roles!”
“Err…umm…I didn’t mean it, Mastin! I was, umm…joking. Yea, that’s it! I was kidding!”
“Well, anyway, let’s try not to talk about that. I’m rather happy at the moment. It’s good to have a break.”
“Yea, we rest now, but when we come back, it’s double the work for weeks!”
“True, true…”
“So, got plans?”
“Not really. I’m just hanging around here, for the moment.”
“Well, the human cast is having a party at Mastin’s house while he’s on vacation; he gave me the keys. As long as we keep it in the exact messy condition that it is in right now, not worse, not better, we’re free to use it. If you stay outside—you can’t exactly fit through the door—you’re free to come.”
“Thanks, Brian. That’s an offer we might take you up on.”
“Maybe you, but not I.”
“There will be food and a wide variety of drink…”
“Tempting, but the time spent getting there wouldn’t be worth the free food and drink.”
“We’ll have presents passed around…”
“Count me in!”
“Good. Mastin left already. He told me to give you all the presents he bought for you. He said that you deserved them, and had worked hard. They’re not much, but he couldn’t think of anything else.”
“Might as well open them up.”
Brian leaves the circle and heads to the driveway, to his vehicle. The car, a fine truck, is too far away for anyone to see what he is doing, but they imagine he’s just getting the gifts. Minutes later, he returns with a large box, wrapped in red wrapping paper and with a green bow. The Darmichron closest to Brian takes it and cuts the dressing to shreds with a single swipe of its claws, revealing the brown box within.
“Not very appreciative, are you?”
“Maybe I am; maybe I’m not. Probably the latter, but if it’s the former, from Mastin, it becomes the latter. Wrapping paper ends up burning, anyway; no need to keep it in one piece.”
“True, true. Not going to savior the moment?”
“Nope.”
Another more delicate swipe cuts the tape off the top, permitting the four flaps to open with absolutely no resistance. Brian looks at it with a slight frown, something about the method either displeasing him, confusing him, or providing a strange twist of humor within.
“Efficient, aren’t you?”
“Works better than a knife or scissors.”
“But traditionally…”
“Ah, screw tradition. Mastin can kill me later if he dislikes me not wasting minutes to find a cutting utensil, open the present delicately, and save everything, wrappers, bow, box, and all. He can do that if he wants to, but nowhere in the contract does it say that I have to.”
“Good enough for me. Alright, go get your things. If you don’t like them…well, like they say, it’s the thought that counts.”
“Yea, well, thoughts don’t feed mouths. Actions, money, and good gifts, however, will.”
“Just shut up, will you?”
“Though I’m just speaking the truth, I shall comply with your request.”
The rest of the Darmichrons move in, surrounding the box. Even the most emotionless of them can’t help but chuckle at the conversation. When they surround the present, a similar change happens: they all smile, delighted at what they see.
Inside the box, a dozen gold medallions are all neatly wrapped. They take them out, each grabbing one to keep. Closer inspection reveals that each of the medallions has something engraved on them, all containing the same message:
I’m a
Person,
Too!
“Aww, he shouldn’t have.”
“Yea, he really shouldn’t have, considering how you’re probably all angry at such a trivial—albeit expensive—gift. But don’t consider selling them just yet; he left some other gifts as well.”
Each Darmichron takes an extra month’s paycheck, smiling with glee at the money that was buried by the medallions. Deeper than that, though, the Darmichrons all spot cards, and each of them takes fourteen each. When they see what the giftcards are for, each of them manages their unique grin.
“Wow.”
“Yea. There’s a note as well, which you can read later if you wish. It basically tells you what they’re for. Each of those is a day’s pass from work. You’ll still get paid for the days you take off as well. So you have potentially two solid weeks off. Of course, it’d be wise to spread it out, use when you’re in a particularly bad day, but that’s up to you. He thought you deserved the break.”
“Aww, it’s appreciated. I really mean that, with no sarcasm at all. It’s a truly good gift. Thanks, Mastin!”
“Yea, me too. I think we can all say we honestly appreciate it.”
“We’ll have fun and shall definitely use your gifts.”
“We’ll work hard for this gesture, and do our best to return it.”
“We’re truly enjoying it.”
“And I’m in such a good mood, I think I’ll take up your earlier offer and will be honored to hang out in our boss’s home.”
“Good. We’ll be leaving soon enough. It’ll be fun.”
“I think we’re all going to have a wonderful holiday.”
“And I think we can all say thank you to Mastin.”
“We’ll plan out what we have to do in the mean time. Anyway, happy holidays!”
Merry Christmas!
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