Page 5 of Cosplay & Consequences

Truthfully? More like ‘lightly skimmed.’

Paige growled, knowing exactly how well I read those notes.

“If you did read them, you would know that Contessa and Marlin had a love affair twenty years ago when he was using the alias of Duncan Feldspar. Who was a completely different actor until Marlin’s brain was transplanted into your body.” Paige continued to glare at me. She was very good at it.

“I was eleven, twenty years ago,” I countered, rolling my eyes. “Contessa is younger than me on the show. It still doesn’t make any sense.”

Paige let out a huff of frustration and threw a couch pillow at my head. “You’ve been on the show ten years, and Contessa has been on it for six. We cannot keep having this conversation! We do not argue with the logic of soap opera plots, Daniel! This isn’t Mamet at the Atlantic Theater company. This is a soap opera that uses brain transplants as plot devices! You’re about to put on leather pants and a wig to swing a sword on a MaxFlick limited series that is doomed for cancellation in another season or two. You do the work, don’t question the writers or piss off the studio.”

I bit my tongue. She was right. As usual. I only wished she didn’t take such smug satisfaction from it. “You know a Daytime Emmy is just as legitimate as a Primetime Emmy,” I said, trying to convince my own sister that I had at least some kind of respectability.

“Keep telling yourself that, Danny.” Her attention returned to her phone. “You better get over to makeup and hair before Alfie starts screaming about delaying the re-shoots.”

I turned back to my dressing room mirror, letting out a long sigh as my stomach grumbled. Clearly the scrambled egg whites and tiny piece of cantaloupe did not do the job this morning.

Maybe if anyone wasn’t watching closely, I could grab a Snickers bar between takes.

Jess

Itook a gamble and drove my car to the Mission Verde Convention Center. Did it take me five times to get the car started? Yes. Did the ever-present engine light that has been on for months turn off? No. Nevertheless, I arrived at the hotel connected to the convention center without my car catching fire. This was a total win in my mind. As far as I was concerned, the engine light was Future Jess’s problem.

With thirty minutes to spare before the convention officially began, I frantically put the finishing touches on my cosplay. One of the wonderful things the MaxFlick series paid attention to was the detail of all the costumes that went into the novel for Fiona’s outfits. During the first season, I snagged an interview with Sophia Barrera who made all the costumes. Through her, I learned Isla had insisted the outfits be accurate to the books. Sophia should have won an Emmy for her work… if it hadn’t been for the Tyrst’an outfits, which resembled your standard fantasy male character costume.

Apparently, Brandon Quill had a lot to say about his costume, and it had nothing to do with practicality, the character description in the books or even the video games. One of many reasons why I despised him being the main male lead of the show. A lot of important story elements were dropped due to his interference. Some characters were merged together, and key plotlines were outright ignored. It infuriated me how one man’s ego impacted future stories from the books and the games.

The other actors on the show did their best to ensure that the main story remained intact. Isla read all the books before she auditioned for the role and made sure Fiona’s story was true to the books. Miles Mueller, who played Oderan the Red Tyrant, owned personally autographed copies of all the books from the author. That fact alone endeared him to me.

I guess not all actors are horrible.

The night before, I finished the main brocade in blue with the brown pleather strapping, which was a complete nightmare to sew. The white faux fur collar made it through the trip unscathed and easily snapped on. I already slipped into the matching blue panel skirt with thigh-high slits, the only work I had left on the brocade was the gold trim. Which, unfortunately, needed the dreaded hot glue gun. Hopefully, I could at least make it through the first day without my costume falling apart.

I made some decent progress when the ring of my phone startled me. I squeezed the trigger on the glue gun as I spun towards the noise leaving a long trail of glue across the brocade. I let out a loud groan of frustration before scrambling to get to whoever was calling me.

“Hi! This is Jessica,” I said, forcing some cheerfulness into my voice. Maybe once the glue dried a little bit, I could peel it off without ruining the jacket.

“Hello, Jessica. Britta Klein, here. I represent Daniel Finnegan.”

“Who?” I wandered back over to my outfit, noticing the string of glue had dried. I was so relieved when I scraped it off the trim. I did not want to walk the floor with glue stains all over my cosplay.

A snort of derision came over the phone. “Daniel Finnegan. The actor you roasted on your livestream the day before yesterday.”

“Ohhhh. You mean Marlin Sinbad,” I replied, repositioning the trim and starting again.

“That’s his character on As The Minutes Tick By,” the lady replied with a tone that sounded polite but also was holding back a whole lot of cranky. “Anyhow, we noticed you were having a live show at the Mission Verde Fantasy Con tomorrow. We thought you could make room to talk to Daniel about the role of Tyrst’an.”

I stood straight up, shooting hot glue out of the gun directly onto my hand. “Owwww! Wait. What? I’m sorry. Did you say you want me to interview him?”

That guy? The one I rated ‘meh’? Oh man. I wiped the hot glue off of my hand using the comforter on the bed. I could see the red mark on my skin appear as the pain slightly subsided. Then I realized I was probably going to get billed for the glue on the comforter.

Britta, or whatever her name was, kept talking. “Yes! We know your opinion, but I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving the guy a chance. He’s a total sweetheart, and a wonderful actor.”

“Oh. Well, I mean, I would, but I have a guest booked⁠—”

“You mean Peony Lizzenbaum?” she cooed. “Oh, didn’t you hear? Poor girl is sick with a case of the con-flu she caught at Kraken Con last week.”

That didn’t sound right. Not at all. Usually when someone is sick, I heard it from them first. I checked my messages on my phone. There wasn’t a text or email from Peony.

This was not the first time the studio tried to mess with me and my followers. Deep down I knew this was another one of their underhanded tactics. It’s good the old lady on the phone couldn’t see my side eye. It was spectacular. “I’m sorry. How did you get this number?”