Preparation Stage. Snuff Casting.

Preparation Stage. Snuff Casting.

The garage door was freshly vandalized with graffiti, a lone tag by the artist tucked down at the bottom: Lounge Cupid.

The essence of the scene was captured masterfully: the artist had painted the garage with a big, styled hairdo and a tailored Costume, holding a swaddled baby that looked more like a doghouse. The whole thing was boldly titled: Motherly Love.

Evelyn studied the masterpiece and finally gave her verdict:

— There’s... something to it. Looks like your poster campaign got the attention of more than just wannabe actors. You reeled in a whole ecosystem of creative art- freaks.

— Let’s just hope they’re not dangerous. — Flora replied. The woman shrugged and motioned toward the interior:

— We got our fresh air, now let’s see what we actually filmed. That was a hell of a day, and I swear I’ve never been this exhausted — not even when I had to listen to my ex- husband whimpering about dividing our furniture. Did you transfer all the footage from the camera to your laptop?

— Yeah, Auntie. But maybe not tonight? My head’s ringing like a church bell and I feel kinda sick.

— The girl pleaded, giving her companion big puppy eyes. But Evelyn was not the merciful type:

— If we’ve started it, we’re gonna finish it. Let’s not lose the momentum.

All the garage walls were covered with flags from countries Lorenzo and Camillo had visited on their many adventures. The sheer overload of color was blinding — but as Evelyn aptly pointed out:

- Better that than staring at wrenches and camshafts.-

Flora’s friends were in Tanzania and weren’t coming back for a few days, so the garage was fair game — open 24/7, no strings attached.

In the back, next to the far wall, stood a massive iron table — no clue how it even got there — but it lent some real gravitas to the - casting process.- That’s where the two - talent acquisition specialists,- Flora and Evelyn, sat, having lined up a few chairs for the hopefuls ready to dive face- first into showbiz.

The Copy didn’t get her own chair — which deeply offended the aspiring auteur. She alternated between swinging her legs from the tabletop and perching on Auntie’s lap like a spoiled cat.

Things kicked off at 8 a.m. sharp, and they didn’t wrap until 9 p.m., finally booting out the last contestant — a dude who insisted on showing card tricks, which prompted Evelyn to offer to demonstrate the epic vanishing act of him.

Every file dumped from the camera’s hard drive was now named after the actors — or at least their nicknames (makes sense, right?). Auntie wanted to watch them all in order, but her niece shut that idea down.

Flora had a decent memory and a strong gut feeling about who had potential — and who should be gracefully exiled to the folder: Not Sure. Maybe…

— Evelyn, why waste our time on people who are obviously not it? Remember the… But what didn’t they see that day?

The moment the two makeshift filmmakers approached the infamous garage, they found a cluster of humans milling about — chatting, snacking, laughing, or throwing side- eye at rival contenders.

Evelyn scratched her head at the spectacle. Her eyes couldn’t settle on any one person — everyone looked too exotic, too out there. Flora tried to unfocus her gaze so everyone would feel equally unfamiliar. She was also dying of nerves.

Digging through her coat pockets, the future director unlocked the garage and stood by the entrance, waiting for her aunt to power up and calibrate the camera. They’d prepped the place earlier, though it was already pretty clean — the owners clearly took pride in the garage, even if it hadn’t housed a single car in ages.

Once everything was ready, Flora flung open the door and shouted:

— Hi, everyone. Thank you so much for coming. I really hope this turns out fun for all of us, and that nobody feels bad even if things don’t work out. Now, please line up and come in one at a time. Stays organized, and — please — no pushing.

As soon as she said that, there was a stir in the crowd of newcomers, and two people pushed their way through the others, ignoring the shouts of protest. Flora barely managed to dart back inside, and right after her, the two intruders entered, shutting the gate behind them.

— Sorry, but we’re only letting people in one at a time! — protested Evelyn in her usual casting- maker tone, but was gently cut off by an elderly man with a monocle, thick mustache, and a shaved head:

— We’re merely part of the entourage. I’m the interpreter, and Faruz here — he gestured to a giant man with a curly beard — serves as personal bodyguard to Mr. Bulla.

Only now did Flora notice, somewhere around Faruz’s knees, a small child in a gray hoodie, wearing a skullcap, with the look of a deeply depressed pug, pulling strawberries from his pocket and popping them into his mouth one by one.

Evelyn even lowered the camera slightly and exclaimed:

— Ladies and gentlemen, maybe we didn’t specify this in the casting call, but we thought it was obvious. We’re happy to see kids for auditions, but only if they’re accompanied by a parent. We can’t legally hire a child without proper consent!

The boy began trembling and stomping in outrage, his tiny legs clad in blood- red moon boots — each one nearly half his size. From his mouth burst a furious, birdlike chirping speech, clearly directed at Aunt Evelyn. She resumed filming and chuckled, glancing at the camera display:

— Sorry, kid, but you’re out of my weight class. When I make it big and start repping the Smurfs, we’ll totally set up a match under boxing rules.

— Auntie! — Flora gasped, covering her mouth — that’s voice- shaming! How can you speak that way to such a distinguished guest? I’m so sorry, please forgive us! Auntie didn’t mean it! Please, have a seat.

Mr. Bulla gave a satisfied snort and, graciously accepting the apology, strutted over to the chair. His entourage silently followed. The security guard found a large wooden crate and placed it on the seat. The contestant climbed up and now sat face- to- face with his potential employer.

She looked at the child awkwardly and began to speak softly:

— Mr. Bulla, we’d like to inform you right away that for our upcoming campaign, we won’t be able to pay honorariums to actors. We’re operating on a volunteer basis, purely in the name of Art itself.

— Flora nodded toward the boy’s staff, implying… well, her aunt quickly spelled it out:

— What my niece is trying to say is — how long did you have to save up your school lunch money to afford such a backup crew? What did you do, Mr. Bulla, sell NFTs in preschool?

Flora’s heart clenched again, and she clutched her chest, apologizing profusely once more. But her words had zero effect on the furious little man, who was now aggressively swinging his legs in the air, thumping his heels against the crate. Meanwhile, the bodyguard cracked his neck — and, while at it, his massive knuckles.

Copy raised her index finger to the sky and shook it solemnly:

— Before you stands a true success story — someone who knows what he wants and surfs the tidal waves of ambition like a pro. And all our aunt can do is insult such an honorable gentleman.

Shameful!

The interpreter raised his palms in a conciliatory gesture and offered:

— Let’s not fight. There’s clearly been a misunderstanding, which I’m sure we can fix. You mistakenly assumed that Mr. Bulla is a child, but in fact, he may very well be older than you, dear director. But that’s okay, because we can—

— Kneel! — The dictator suddenly squeaked, and this time, everyone understood what he said.

- Oh, come on, I only kneel for R’n’B stars and orthopedic massages. – Evelyn chuckled.

Then came a passionate monologue in his chirpy language, which the interpreter quickly relayed:

— My employer demands proper respect be shown. He requests that the lady in question — he gestured to Evelyn, who was now shaking from silent laughter — behave with dignity and kneel before him as a sign of deep remorse and recognition of her wrongdoing. Then we can proceed with the audition. If you refuse… then you’ll have your interview with Faruz instead. And that one might be a little more… dramatic than any of us would prefer.

Flora’s gaze darted between all participants in the unfolding chaos. Her mind raced to figure out what to do. Her aunt, unfazed by the rising tension, cheerfully agreed:

— Of course! In fact, I’m even ready to issue a public apology right out there on the street so everyone can see it. That way, I hope, I’ll meet all the expectations of His Majesty… umm… Mister Bulla!

Delighted, Mr. Bulla threw his arms triumphantly into the air—only to overbalance and tumble forward off the crate. His bodyguard barely managed to catch his terrified boss in time and began rocking him in his arms, trying to calm him down.

A couple of minutes later, the entire entourage headed toward the gate, while Evelyn bowed graciously, inviting the trio to exit first. The moment they stepped over the threshold, the operator, moving with surprising and previously unseen speed, slammed the rolling shutter down. A second later, heavy pounding echoed from outside. Some of the thuds were deep and thunderous, shaking the very doorframe; others were lighter, frantic jabs coming from somewhere lower to the ground.

— Auntie, why are you doing this?! — Flora cried, her voice trembling with distress. — Don’t they deserve an apology after what you said? Go out there and apologize right now!