Season of Reckoning
Ordinary People. Extraordinary Abilities.
Real People. Unreal Adventure.

Episode 3 – Thicker than Watercolor
written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
co-directed by: Rebecca Yu and Benedict Almirol

Previously, on SR…

“My name is Chari. I just transferred.”
“It was weird, huh? The way they kept talking about specials.”
“About you, you mean. Don’t deny it, Jethro.”
“The Icarus incident. Sound familiar?”
“Desi Mina was a rogue agent. We didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Your debt, David. Do not forget. I certainly will not.”

Now, SR continues.
__________________________________

Snap!
Claudine looks up, startled, and notices the shadow lingering under the crack of her door. The knob begins to turn, and her heart stops beating. Precious seconds pass before she can force her arms to move, stuffing a weatherworn map and a hastily scribbled note inside her backpack.
The door swings open, and a woman stomps inside, heels muffled in the fuzzy carpeting. At full height, she is only a few inches taller than her younger cousin; she makes up for this by scowling ferociously, flipping her thin, straight hair over the shoulder of her newly ironed business suit.
“What are you still doing here? You know I can’t leave the house if you’re still combing you hair,” Yvanne hisses. Claudine clumsily runs a thick brush through her curly black locks, adjusting the strap of her backpack. She notices her guardian’s signature clipboard, which had made the irritating snapping noise – brown, and old, looking very official. Just like her cousin. “Hurry, hurry. Your bus is downstairs.”
“It’ll wait for me,” stammers Claudine, rushing past. She practically leaps down the stairs, as her cousin takes tiny steps in her tight knee-length skirt. The teenager dashes for the fridge, and flings it open, snatching up some food. “Why can’t you drive me?”
“I told you last night, my boss needs me there early today. We’re meeting someone very important. The future of our company is at stake here. And frankly, so is my job.”
“Ditch the bank, Yvanne,” mumbles Claud, chewing.
“And do what? How am I supposed to pay for our bills?”
“Find another job. Something that makes you happier. Less catty.”
Claudine looks up, waiting to see her cousin sneer, but Yvanne is already out the door with her keys, prying open the door to their car. She trots over to the window, choosing to ignore the bright white school bus parked across the lane, and waits. Tap, tap, tap, go her fingers on the window sill.
Leave already.
“Lock the house, okay?” hollers Yvanne, as she pulls out of the driveway.
Claudine nods, throwing two thumbs up, and begins to walk toward the school bus. The banker’s car disappears down the street, making a sharp turn. Sunlight glints off it, momentarily blinding her. She pulls up her colored sleeve, putting her head through the open window.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” roars the driver.
Making some dry, pathetic coughing noises, Claud responds, “I’m sick.”
“You should’ve said so earlier. We wasted twenty minutes waiting for you.”
Claud barely has time to pull her head back when the bus zooms away, leaving clouds of dust in its wake. She takes a few steps back, breathes in deeply, and checks her watch.
“That cab should be here any minute now. I’m coming, Dani.”

*****

Golda lowers the brim of her top hat, fingers sweeping over velvet and silk. She pulls the folds of her blue tuxedo jacket together, crossing her arms to brace against the cutting prairie winds. She hurries away from her trailer, and is already half-invisible when a heavy weight falls on her left shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re going, Lab-labs?”
A carnival sideshow steps down onto the dirt, and gracefully saunters over on her slender legs. Golda turns around to wave away the neatly braided claw of hair, and tilts her head.
“You promised you’d go with me to meet the new babies,” Alla says, crushing the last word with an accent. Beh-behs. “I thought you were into that kind of thing – meeting people our own age.”
“Normal seventeen year olds,” sighs the magician, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose as she looks at Alla. Her fair white skin was glowing, as usual, noticeable only for the lack of the beard regularly dangling from her chin. The Bearded Lady, clean shaven at the moment, was a head taller than Golda, and certainly much thinner. “We live in a carnival, Alla dear. Sometimes I need a break from freaks like us.”
Alla waves her hands lightly in the air, dismissing the comment. She busies herself with changing the color of her hair, from a warm auburn to an icy purple and blue.
“Going to the mall? Can you pick me up some earrings? Nothing too fancy, or Lydia will notice and tell us off again.”
The magician wonders what kind of earrings would complement three serpentine tangles of hair, each four feet long.
“Sorry, cuz,” laughs Golda, rich and deep. “Today I’m attending class at that nice scholar’s institution nearby. We passed it on our way out here, remember?”
“Oh!” Alla’s lovely lips make a perfect circle shape. Her dress, bright yellow and violently frilly, shakes and rattles as she turns around. “You’re going after our carnivalettes. That’s cute, Lab-labs. I approve.”
“Alla,” Golda whines, her voice fluctuating in pitch. “I told you I didn’t like him that way.”
“What about the card?”
“It was the Fool. And only because Noel has plans for both of them.”
The Bearded Lady turns to a large mirror, framed by a spiky sun carving, and squints her already naturally narrow eyes. She was exotic, even for the carnival, and delicate – something most passersby miss.
Growth suddenly erupts above her lip, healthy strands of hair emerging, twisting and turning, into a neat little moustache. More tawny, bushy tassels cascade from her chin, lengthening into a full beard. Suddenly she isn’t so delicate.
“Have to put my game face on.”
“Charming. You know, speaking of Noel’s plans…” Here Golda lowers her voice and leans in. Alla’s braids swivel over and rest on her shoulder, pulling her closer. “I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing. Twice in this week alone he’s been shot down. Do you think Ti-”
“Shhh! The name, Gizzy, the name. You have to give Noel some time, okay. Being a leader is a tough job. All eyes are on him.”
“But they’re not seeing what I’m seeing.”
Alla blinks, and Golda has already disappeared. She watches as the gates to the selling area swing open, then slam shut, creaking eerily.

*****

Yvanne vaguely waves to the guard standing by the entrance, who pushes the glass double doors open for her. He tips his hat – a wasted gesture, as she is already well behind the transactions counter, about to enter the office rooms.
Her heels threaten to shatter the marble; her hair whips from side to side, as though she were walking straight into a giant fan. She clocks in, fashionable and late, before pushing the door to her boss’s lounge open.
“Sir, I’m terribly sorry, my little cousin was being a brat, so I’m a little behind, but I have your appointme– What the hell are you doing here?”
The large cushioned office chair swivels around, and a woman with shoes to rival Yvanne’s drops her feet comfortably onto the varnished wood desk. She grins facetiously, twirling a pen along her fingers.
“Daddy’s little girl,” sneers Yvanne. She closes the door, and takes her seat behind a smaller, clearly inferior table. Her clipboard clatters beside some paperwork, and several pink and yellow paperclips fall onto the rug. “What brings you back to the real world, Miss Party Planner?”
“Business, of course. It sounds like you really missed me.”
“I would show you the jar of tears I cried, but I had to sell it online to pay for my rent.”
Desi gets up from the table, straightening the brooch above her suit’s front pocket. She fluffs her hair, tied in a bun, and looms over Yvanne. Rather than cower under her shadow, the secretary rises to her full height, just under Desi’s nose.
“That’s right, Yvanne. Face the facts. The bank is tanking and all of you are this close,” hisses Desi, bringing her thumb and pointer finger together before the secretary’s eyes, “from losing your jobs. Recession is terrible, isn’t it?”
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”
Blood returns to Yvanne’s palms as she finishes brutally stapling faxes together. She crosses the room, Desi watching in a mixture of irritation and arrogance.
“I’m here because I’ve convinced my dad to give me a second chance with this company. Now I actually have work experience to show for.”
“Doing what? Putting icing on a cake? This is bitch eat bitch world, Desi. We still have no room for you on the corporate ladder. Off the rungs, honey.”
“For your information, Secre-tacky, I was employed at a much bigger Company. I’ve earned my retirement and now I have a plan that will save all your asses from the soup kitchen. Do you want to hear it or will I have the pleasure of my first let-go as new executive?”
Yvanne hugs her files closer, angrily blowing a lock of hair out of her face.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“No, Yvannity. You wouldn’t,” Desi smiles. “Now siddown.”

*****

“When do you think Patty is coming back?”
Elise plugs her keyboard into the socket at the school’s back lobby, and stretches. She places a piano piece on the ground in front of her, and flips to the third page. Jethro sits down beside her, guitar at the ready beneath the crook of his arm.
“Ma’am Kiel was saying something about her foster parents having to be out of town. No one in their house, no relatives… Guess they had to take Patty with them. Don’t you have a copy of the chords for Hymn of the Wind?”
Chester sits with Chari by the ramp rails, and casually points to his two classmates, making motions in the air, and laughing. Chari merely places a handkerchief lightly over her lips to muffle her giggles.
“Hey,” the boy begins, eyes locked on the wispy streams of green and red floating away from Elise’s keyboard. “You can see them, right?”
Chari nods. “Jethro looks like he’s having fun. Elise told me about the Ferris Wheel.”
“No, not that. But yeah, I was there,” says Chester, tilting his head back slightly. His eyes are squinting, as if to keep out the light of his own bright smile. “I mean, the colors. You see them, right?”
The lovely young lady’s lips fold inward, amused. “I’m not, what is that called again, colorblind. Why?”
Moments pass as Chester yet again waves the new student’s pink lights out of his face. Boys pass them, some heading to the cafeteria, others back toward the Science and Humanities Building, all shooting the two looks – admiring Chari, and scowling at the one boy she seems to talk to.
“Forget that,” Chester sighs. “How’re classes?”
“They’re okay. Trying to catch up. We didn’t have those lessons at my old school.”
“Then what did you have?”
Instinctively, Chari’s hand shoots up to her hair, and she begins caressing and brushing the strands. She turns her head, as Chester cocks his in confusion. Very quietly, eyes shifting between groups of passersby, she mumbles, “Trouble.”
The new student gets up, sweeping some dust off her checkered mustard skirt.
“I…have to go to the bathroom.”
Chester watches her go, half a smile still lingering on his face. His thoughts are disrupted by Elise’s loud laughter – which erupts before his eyes as pointy yellow shapes. He looks over to the two and sees that a teacher has joined them.
“Mister V,” says Jethro, getting up. Elise catches his guitar as it falls from his lap, and the boy apologizes. He gives the art teacher a “student five”. “What’re the coats for?”
Ancer Villacruel adjusts his black visor cap.
“I’m planning a Christmas Cosplay,” he answers, bright eyes gleaming. Jethro recalls a previous incident, when those pupils rolled back into white and began to paint the future. The sound of the teacher crunching chocolate snaps him back to the moment. “How about you kids? Anything lined up?”
“We have Paskorus and Paskoncert. Sir, you’d better watch me and Chester. We’re joining the competition this year.”
“Sounds…awesome,” replies Ancer, trying to shift the things he is carrying to give the students a thumbs up. He fails.
“And…we have to get back to practicing,” Elise reminds her friend, as more of their classmates begin to arrive. “Bass, alto – over there. Soprano, here with me. Tenor, sit down! First note!”
“Alright, well, I have to go. Second years are waiting,” says Ancer, putting away his Kitkat bar. He whirls around, and blinks. “You guys saw I was carrying a painting with me, right?”
Chester slumps into place with the other bass singers, as Chari takes noiseless steps away to the gazeboes. Elise begins to go after her, piano notes ending abruptly, and Jethro shrugs.
“The big one on the canvas? Watercolor? Yeah, you were carrying one, sir.”
“Did you see where I put it down?”
Jethro shakes his head; Ancer wanders away, bewildered, up the first of many flights of stairs to the fourth floor.
“Chester, dude. There’s an ACTS meeting later, Earth Sci room. You should try joining us. It’ll be awesome.”
The addressed rests his back against the wall, as Elise comes back without Chari. He suddenly realizes how vastly different she looks without her smile.
“Don’t know,” Chester says, closing his eyes. The colors return, bouncing about in the darkness of his mind in time with footsteps down the hall. “Elise also invited me to SCA.”
“Dude,” Jethro moans, raising an eyebrow.
“Right. I forgot. Whatever, I don’t know. We’ll see, okay?”

*****

Balls of thirsty tumbleweed race around the tents pitched on the carnival grounds, shearing sand close behind in the wind. Noel pads through the dirt, and slips right into the Tattooed Lady’s tent.
“Didn’t our mother ever teach you to knock?” Lydia smirks. Her eyes were pressed shut, hands clasped, and Noel takes a seat opposite her. He drags his gaze across the piles of burnt wood resting in the corner, to the collection of stuffed bears on the shelves, and over the surface of the gleaming crystal ball on the table. His reflection smiles wearily back at him.
“Have you seen Golda? That gift I meant to deliver is gone, but I’m not sure she understood my instructions exactly.”
“You know I can’t find her when she cloaks herself,” sighs Lydia, biting her lips. Ink detaches from her tattoos, spiraling toward the bare space of her back. “Besides, the carnival seems to have no shortage of teenage girls lately.”
A second passes before Noel begins to laugh, rocking on the stool in amusement. Lydia opens one eye, unable to keep her lips from breaking into a fragile smile. The image on her back solidifies, like a charcoal sketch, and even blinks. Tumbling black locks frame a round, youthful face with batting eyelashes and rich lips.
“You’re joking, right? Wait, no. Lyd doesn’t know how to make jokes,” Noel chuckles.
The Tattooed Lady’s smile shatters, and she turns around.
Noel steadies himself, waiting for tension to dissipate.
“Who’s this?”
“Her name is Claudine Duñgo. A special…” Lydia inhales, and the tattoo anxiously looks around at the room. Noel avoids its inky stare. “She’s a body snatcher; watch the eyes. She’s looking for one of us. The insect girl.”
“Will she be useful?”
Lydia turns her head to give Noel a reproachful look, but his figure stands a silhouette at the tent entrance, surveying the grounds.
“It’s too early to tell. Alla is taking our new sisters around the carnival, showing them the ropes. You should join her – you are the new ringmaster, after all.”
Noel can picture the expression on his sister’s face. He closes his eyes, turning around to mutter some kind of apology, but Lydia is already busy with her crystal ball.
“You’re working too hard, Lyd. I can tell. It’s straining your body.”
“And my mind. But blood is thicker than…water. Or ink.”
The carnival barker sighs, pats Lydia on the back gently, and leaves.

*****

Any time now, buddy.
The Company boss twiddles his thumbs, waiting for Ancer to stop screaming. Rather, waiting for the art teacher to cease opening and closing his mouth in a way that mimicked actual surprise.
“But… What? Why? How? I’m confused.”
Ancer thrusts one bony finger in the direction of an old painting propped against the corner of the room. The watercolor depicts an ancient tree crowning the rooftop of a grand countryside estate. David grimaces.
“It’s old news, old friend. I’ve finally decided what I want to do with this new life. I was thinking of teaching Biology to third years here at Philippine Science.”
The professor maneuvers around the easels standing sentry to the fourth floor drafting room, and plugs his keys into a drawer in his desk. He digs through the contents, and finding a chocolate bar that is only slightly melting, he peels the wrapper off and begins to chew.
“But you’re green.”
“Working and hey – founding – the Company, I was greatly involved in genetics and human anatomy. I think I can handle flipping through a few slides and checking papers.”
“No,” says Ancer, wagging his head left and right. “I mean you’re colored green. You look more like the experiment than the instructor.”
David sticks his gloved hands in the pockets of his trench coat, and leans against the rickety plywood walls. He lifts his chin, and Ancer glimpses furious flashes of green where his eyes should’ve been.
“Minor setbacks. I can call in a few favors from my oh-so-persuasive friends. Who needs a teaching degree when a brainwash is a phone call away?”
“Then to what do I owe the visit?” Ancer’s hand instinctively flies to his paintbrushes, and he moves some boxes around to look for blank canvases. “Need new paintings?”
“I just want to know what my chances are. Is this worth my time?”
The art teacher pauses to consider.
“I think I have an old sketch in here somewhere. Trench coat in the Bio room. I think we have a uniform regulation here, though.”
“So I’ll trade in these tattered sleeves for a brand new labcoat.”
“If you’re going to teach here, then who’s -”
“Running the Company?” finishes David. “I think I ought to clock out permanently. It feels good, Ancer. To have passed some form of legacy on, to have others continue your work.”
“That’s what teachers do,” says Ancer, handing him a notebook. He flips to a precognitive drawing of David standing before a class of students in the Biology Room. “We shape the next generation.”
“We craft new heroes,” sighs David, smiling.

*****

“Chester!”
Two sparks – one orange and one periwinkle – light up the young man’s field of vision. From inside the SHB, Jethro marches toward him; arriving from the volleyball court, some dirt smudged on her face, Elise waves.
“We’re about to start. Free food. Can’t resist that,” says Jethro, slapping him on the back. Chester tosses his backpack beside the stone bench behind them.
“Need to find a projector,” says Elise, grabbing Chester by his wrist. She starts to haul him off, but Jethro’s hand falls on his shoulder. The two nearly begin a tug-of-war.
“Whoa, whoa, hands off the merchandise.”
“Che, you’re Catholic. And you’ve been MIA since the start of the year. Today we’re having bible studies and a PowerPoint presentation. And free food of our own,” insists Elise.
“Dude. Just one meeting. I promise you’ll love it. ACTS is open to everyone, okay,” explains Jethro. “It doesn’t matter what your religion is. We’re jamming today in preparation for the praisefest.”
Spotting Ms. Beleran approaching, Elise blinds them all with a smile.
“Chari Vhee is ours, Che-che. Come on.”
“You’re taking Chari and Chester?”
Elise sticks her tongue out.
“I can’t see why I can’t have them both.”
“Whatever, man,” sighs Jethro. “They’re looking for me already. So? Which one is it?”
Chester breaks away from them, just as Chari arrives. She hovers behind Elise, and Jethro just barely resists the urge to stare at her.
“How about I surprise you? Go ahead. Maybe I’ll drop in on both meetings. I don’t know.”
His three friends look at each other, shrug, and then head off, splitting between the left and right corridors of the SHB.
Yawning, Chester bends over to grab his backpack. His fingers brush empty air, and he opens his eyes wider.
It wasn’t there anymore. His backpack was missing.

*****

“This is where the animals are kept when they’re not performing,” Alla explains. “That’s where we have breakfast together every morning, and those are where the concessions stands would go. Oh, and oh, oh my gosh, I almost forgot. That’s my tent. Half of all our visitors detour straight over there,” she adds, laughing.
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” interrupts Patty. “Would it be okay to ask if you could put your hair down? I’m getting kind of dizzy trying to follow which direction your braids are pointing.”
The Bearded Lady pauses to consider her request, and then nods deftly. The eight or so tangles of dark red and orange settle behind her, untying from their knots.
“Okay. So like, everyone has some chores to do when we’re not having shows. For example, I keep track of our inventory and basically get to boss everyone around. Third in command,” she winks. “Second actually, since, you know, Lydia and Noel are kind of a package deal. It’s a cool job. Patty, you could probably spend time making some pretty, pretty posters.”
Wordlessly, the teenager smiles in agreement. Her braces glint in the afternoon sun.
“And Dani, you could…train a flea circus.”
A shock of dark, unruly strands rather resembling withered grass nods, and Alla wrinkles her nose.
“I can fix that for you, sweetie. No problem.”
Licking her lips, the carnie waggles her thin, lovely, manicured fingers, parting Dani’s hair to reveal her face. The newcomer’s eyes, however, dart from right to left, furtively following a shadow zipping around the orange tarpaulins.
“Okay, so…snack break,” beams Alla. “If you head over to that tent over there, I’m sure Marj and Kent have whipped up something tasty. After you eat I’ll show you around all of the rides, which, of course, being family, you have totally free access to.”
The Bearded Lady moseys back to her trailer, and Patty starts toward the smell of banana-cues. She halts, and contemplates chatting with her new sister, but the insect girl is already gone.
Dani follows the vivid red speck of a ladybug as it hovers in the late afternoon sun. Its soft, arcane voice whispers to her, beckoning her behind some old crates. The creepy-crawly perches on her shoulder, clambering up above her ear, as a familiar shape emerges from the shadows.
“There you are.”
Clutching a map in one hand and a topaz-encrusted dowsing rod in the other, Claudine takes tentative steps toward her long lost companion. They size each other up, gaze connecting in almost the same way as when they first met, months past. Finally, as though their beating hearts had magnetized, the two friends collapse into each others arms.
“You’re safe,” whispers Claud, sniffing.
“I’m…home,” says Dani, arms shaking, as she captures the carnival behind tightly shut eyes.

*****

The familiar buzz of electric guitars pacifies Jethro, who slumps into a stool. The other members hand out nametags to the first timers, directing each one toward a table well set with chips, sandwiches, pizza, and soda.
“Change of plans,” says a senior, just as Jethro rotates and turns his back. “We’re going to have ‘sharing’ with the small circle before we play.”
Jet merely nods his head, earphones plugged in. His fingers dance along the vibrating strings, and he remembers the vague stories Chester had to tell about the colors he was seeing.
Chester was convinced he was special. Jethro wasn’t sure if he was. Or if he wanted him to be. Automatically he pushes that selfish thought out of his head, and begins to pluck.
Maybe he could make his own colors. Borrowing some electricity from the amp, he lets sparks bleed onto the steel. The neon blue fires slide up and down the frets, and the sound of his song stretches into something entirely new.
Something entirely him.
“Your turn, Jamon,” calls one of the female members. The president. “Since I don’t think you’re aware that we’ve started,” she laughs, “let me fill you in: we were just talking about being thankful for our blessings. One of the freshmen told us a story about losing his iPod.”
“Yeah,” Jethro says. His hands begin to sweat. His nostrils flare. “You never know what you have until you lose it.”
A single name comes to his mind, against his will: Duke.

*****

“And I will sing forever of your love, oh Lord,” croons Elise, clapping her hands. She goes around the room, pulling sleepier SCA members out of their seats, forcing her own infectious energy over them. “For you are my refuge and my strength - Come on!”
Chari watches her with curious eyes, beady and mesmerizing like a doll’s. Even from the farthest table, way back at the edge of the room, touching the walls, Elise’s powerful voice was clear and resonant.
The junior slides by the keyboard, a perfect crescendo complimenting their entrance into the second chorus, and goes around again. The others smile in spite of themselves, and join in.
“You fill the world, with your life-giving spirit that speaks your word – Chari!”
Before the new student can wheedle her way out of participating, Elise yanks her into the middle of the circle of singers. She begins to say she doesn’t know the lyrics, but her friend only beams brighter, chanting louder, and points at the screen, where the words were filing down in marquee.
Chari summons up all her strength to fight the feeling. She wasn’t going to enjoy – she couldn’t. It wasn’t safe.
But Elise firmly closes her hands around a bible; Chari makes a move to return it but Elise’s arms fold over her, caging her in a powerful, warming embrace. The two of them sing, swaying side to side, in a feeling Chari could only describe as peace.

*****

Chester picks up the last of his notebooks, flayed carelessly on the ground with its pages half-torn out. He rubs his eyes, and realizes he is standing right in front of his own dorm room.
“Damn whoever thought this was going to be funny.”
The teenager shoves the door open, and finds his backpack lying at the foot of his bed. The zipper was still hanging open, and the rest of the contents he had not found scattered on school grounds were in disarray on the floor.
He grunts, stooping down to collect his belongings. His mouth drops open as he notices a large square shape sitting on his bed, covered in red silk. Fingers trembling, he pulls the curtain of cloth away.
Five sides of varnished three-quarter inch wood and a sixth face of pale plywood greet him, assembled together into what he quickly declares is the most beautiful cajon he has ever seen. The beat-box stands about little more than two feet tall, and sports impressive gold engravings that suggest it was hand-carved many, many decades ago. This was more than instrument – it was a work of art.
Chester’s breathing escalates from a dull thumping to a thunderous gallop; he could feel the cajon beating in unison. Light begins to flow in thin wisps from the sound hole; somewhere inside, the drum snares were becoming restless. The glow is a color he has never seen before, a variation of a shade of a hue that was invisible to the normal human eye.
The door slams behind him, and he nearly jumps into the air. Swallowing, he convinces himself to calm down. He spots a tag hanging off one of the cajon’s rubber feet; he pries it off and reads.
A gift from NC.
As Chester’s mind erupts into activity, he glimpses another foreign object on his bed – a painting. He wordlessly picks it up, hanging it on the wall, and steps back to admire it.
Violent, but beautiful – the acrylic emanated from the center in arcs, colors blending and breaking into one another, in the same way he saw and heard them. The image is abstract, until Chester notices a silhouette near the bottom of the frame. A young man appeared to be sitting on a rock, arms folded and hooked before him.
Upon closer inspection, Chester realizes that the rock is actually the shadow of a beatbox. He turns his head slowly, ominously, toward the mysterious gift waiting on his bed.
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