Campus

— Truly, it is so. It has begun! They shall create Art! — Copy raised her hands to the heavens and rolled her eyes back in mock- spiritual ecstasy, trembling like she was channeling divine inspiration. Flora ignored her completely and turned to Vanna with a polite smile. The tactile contestant hugged her again.

And so, on this cheerful note, the director explained that actors wouldn’t be paid for their participation—something that didn’t faze the unshakeable Vanna in the slightest. Nothing seemed capable of rattling her.

— Not a problem at all. I don’t need money. What matters more is this: may I begin the monologue I’ve prepared for the audition?

— Well, the thing is… — Flora hesitated. — Our film will be fully improvised, and I’m actually not looking for prepared speeches. On the contrary, I want to reveal real people on camera. I dream of seeing who they truly are—not who they’re pretending to be.

— Screw Stanislavsky! — Copy blurted out, instantly regretting it and awkwardly apologizing. — Sorry, it’s just… I’m coming down from the banquet. We were celebrating a holiday called -

Headliner’s Day.

The words Flora had just spoken touched the girl even more deeply, and she admitted that with every passing second, she liked being here more and more.

— Then just tell us about yourself. That’ll be enough for me. — The director suggested.

— I’m a beginner unisex fashion designer, and in all the different styles of clothing, I try to see not just fashion or wearability, but also...

— She’s trying to deliver unto us, the poor and pitiful, her grand Artistic Vision! — Copy exclaimed theatrically and mimed holding an invisible skull, imitating a well- known stage character.

— I just wanna come up with something fun, something that sticks in your memory. — Vanna wrapped it up simply and without frills, much to the surprise of the audience. — I’ve got bags of my clothes in the trunk behind the stroller. Open ’em up and try stuff on if you’re interested. I’d be so happy! You’re both so sweet!

When Flora tried to protest that this could be done after the audition, Evelyn brushed her aside and pulled out two large sacks from the designated area. The bags had no brand logo printed on them.

— Oh! I forgot to put the label on the bags! — the designer slapped her forehead. — Well, no

biggie, they’re just prototypes. Once we go into mass production, I’ll fix that. Promise. So? What do you think?!

Into the light came the newborn outfits, which Evelyn examined with great curiosity, turning them over in her hands. Her niece, for her part, kept sneaking glances at them too. The first item turned out to be a plain oversized blue T- shirt with white stripes along the edges — and then came a print… of that same T- shirt, reproduced exactly like the original.

The same went for the long bermuda shorts and a lime green hoodie with a smiling human mouth printed on the chest, above which hovered a cartoon speech bubble: - I’m a smile and I love to smile. Do you? - And right in the center of the hoodie was a tiny replica of itself, complete with the same exact print.

— Incredible! It’s like a matryoshka, but in a stylish reimagining. — Flora said, clearly delighted, and her aunt approvingly chimed in — both on the video, and now here in real time:

— Do we take her? — She waited for the project lead to nod before adding, — and if she ends up flopping in the role, at least we won’t need to go shopping for a while. If only she made shoes too, Miss Vanna would be priceless!

— Auntie, shame on you! We’re fighting for Art here, and you keep reducing it all to greedy materialism and other base matters!

Evelyn burst out laughing, clutching her stomach like a cartoon character:

— Oh come on, Flo, I was just joking! Why are you so sensitive? Vanna’s adorable, and I’m glad she’s joining our team!

— With you it’s always the same… never know when you’re joking and when you’re being serious. Let’s just watch the next candidate’s material. His companion's behavior raises serious concerns about the censorship rating of our future film, but… there’s something about him. Something remarkable!

— He’s a scoundrel and a rogue! A proper villain! — cried the offended Evelyn — and she definitely had reasons to be upset…

Vanna had barely stepped out the garage door when a man appeared in the room — average height, a lush full beard, a flannel lumberjack shirt, Timberlands with stiff rubber soles, and a trucker cap. Altogether, he was decked out in the stereotypical Southern look. But really, who cares about stereotypes, when the inner essence of a person matters more?

On his broad belly (which practically screamed - Beer lover - as Evelyn silently noted to herself, - I prefer wine, though ), the man proudly wore a kangaroo- style backpack shaped like a fire hydrant. And dangling in the center of it, tied on by the cords, was most definitely not a baby.

Not even remotely a baby. You wouldn’t wish this kind of - pet- on your worst enemy. And yet, the actor approached the table with a completely calm face. Just as calmly, he pulled out a chair and sat down opposite the director and the camerawoman, starting a silent staring contest.

It was clear Flora was uncomfortable again. She needed to say something — anything — to break the tension and greet the newcomer. But really… what was there to say?

— This is nuts… — muttered Evelyn, staring at the large plush doll, which had an undeniably creepy look. It resembled a bratty little demon from the lower pantheon — something like an imp, with small horns, - skin- in red- and- green hues, and a huge mouth stretching from ear to ear. And it was that mouth that opened first, revealing neat rows of sharp fangs. The demon gave a mocking grin and immediately winked (its eyelid actually closed and reopened!):

— Hey there, sweet babes. You, sexy bombshell, and of course, you — luscious, juicy MILF. — The creature’s voice seemed to genuinely come from its mouth, and unexpectedly, it had a velvet, alluring tone, like that of a pro voice actor — not some mischief- making imp. The man's lips, meanwhile, remained perfectly still, as did the rest of his stone- faced expression.

The demon, though, was very much alive — twitching and making faces using its eyelids and that infuriating - Cheshire Cat- smile, which irritated even more than its sleazy words (at least, that’s how Evelyn felt about it).

— Ahem... So, I take it you're a ventriloquist, freaking objectifier of women?? — Evelyn tried to defuse the thick silence, and caught the puppet’s excited nod in the next frame. It was bouncing on the man’s belly (and how was he even controlling it?! The woman could’ve sworn his arms were just hanging limp at his sides the whole time).

The imp gleefully responded to her question:

— Oh, my hot buttered biscuit — (at which point any anti- gluten activist would’ve had a full- blown cardiac arrest) — you’re absolutely right. I control the body of this non- athletic sweat- soaked meat sack! Although I adore his body! It's mine too. And I love myself!