BESEECH THE QUEEN

There’s reason for King Blueberry to be cautious. The last time he stood outside this door – the one that separates the office of Lindsay Troy from the outside world – he was joined by eleven other men (and one mannequin), none of whom wanted to be the first to cross the threshold. And when Blueberry did step inside the office, he was summarily trampled by those same eleven men. Twice, in fact.

Now, with the cameras off and the night’s Survivor challenge a memory, there is no need for costumes, or pageantry. It’s for those reasons and those reasons alone that he’s here without the mask. Besides, there’s no need to subject his boss to the horrors of his David Bowie tight pants.

Much as it was two weeks ago, the door is open, though only slightly ajar. With a slow, steadying breath he knocks lightly against the door.

King Blueberry: Hey, it’s just me, the village idiot. I promise this isn’t some dumbshit stunt.

He pokes his head inside.

King Blueberry: Don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, but I was wondering if you’ve got a minute.

“The Boss” appears to be preoccupied with typing on her phone when King Blueberry sticks his head across the threshold, because she doesn’t say anything for a beat or two. It’s a long enough pause for him to consider saying something else, or coughing to get her attention, but just when he’s about to open his mouth, Lindsay Troy speaks.

Lindsay Troy: But there are so many village idiots and pains in the asses here.

Her fingers finally stop flying over her phone screen and as she places the device on her desk, she looks up at Jared with a smirk. 

Lindsay Troy: Did you bring the horde with you again?

King Blueberry: The horde? Oh, uhh, no. You should talk to Melvin about that. I’m just in the circus, but he’s the one that sets up the rings.

Ah, there it is: the dawning realization that he’s said something ridiculous.

King Blueberry: Well, no, I guess the ring crew sets up the actual rings, but… Look, you get what I mean. Jesus, that analogy worked so much better in my head. I’m rambling.

He eases the door open and steps inside, making sure not to get too close. When you’ve spent as much time inciting chaos as King Blueberry, it’s best to keep a safe distance from the people in a position to see that nonsense punished.

King Blueberry: Anyway, I was wondering if I could ask a favor.

Lindsay Troy: If you’re going to ask to fight Bathory too, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Jon…

King Blueberry: Bathory? No. Nothing like that. This is about the mannequin. More specifically, about replacing it. With a human, not another mannequin.

Lindsay blinks. Then blinks again. And again, quickly.

Lindsay Troy: You mean…

A smile slides across her face.

Lindsay Troy: My long, national nightmare is about to be over?

The Blueberry’s posture relaxes, an obvious sense of relief washing over him.

King Blueberry: Short answer? Yes. Long answer? Okay, that one’s a maybe, with a high chance of yes.

He moves to the seats in front of her desk, taking one for himself and placing a messenger bag in the other.

King Blueberry: I’ve got someone in mind, but I haven’t said anything to her yet because I wanted to do this the right way and get your sign-off first. I think she’d agree, but there’s always the chance that the idea gets shot down, and then not much changes. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not thrilled about that being a possibility either.

Lindsay Troy: (deadpan) I will sign off on nearly anyone with legitimate experience to replace the mannequin, Jared.

King Blueberry: Oh, thank god.

His smile is equal parts joy and relief.

King Blueberry: Would it be cool if I brought her the paperwork? Do we trust me to not fuck that up?

Lindsay Troy: Call Killean in the morning and work it out with him. Tell him we talked already.

King Blueberry: Thank you for this. I really appreciate it. Hopefully things work out, and there’s a chance they won’t, but I think I’m ready to play the odds.

He pulls the bag off the nearby chair and reaches a hand inside. The device he removes is only a few inches long, encased in black with two prongs at one end. A few members of the roster have felt the bite of the taser dubbed “Count Shockula,” and that was before the fangs and cape were glued to it. King Blueberry – Jared – sets it down on Troy’s desk.

King Blueberry: Which means I shouldn’t need this anymore.

Lindsay picks up the taser, considering it, and then smiles. She opens up a drawer and places Count Shockula inside.

Lindsay Troy: Anything else you need?

King Blueberry: No, I won’t take up any more of your time.

He rises from his seat and moves to the door, slinging the bag over his shoulder as he walks.

King Blueberry: Again, thank you for this. I know the last few months have been a little, uhh, let’s say “iffy,” but I owe you for this.

Lindsay Troy: Mmhmm. And Jared?

He looks back at her.

Lindsay Troy: I’m hard on you because I want you to succeed. Not because I dislike you. You wouldn’t be here if that were the case.

He nods slowly, taking in and processing each word.

King Blueberry: Then I’ll try not to disappoint.

The door closes with a soft click.

FADE TO BLACK