I’m flesh of da flesh of dis world!

Evelyn, noticing the awkward pause, jumped in smoothly:

— No one's getting paid on this project, miss - Yo- whatever- your- name- is. - No exceptions. Are you okay with that?

— Name’s Peyota. That’s my tag, vatos. You don’t need my real name, get it? — She pulled out a rolling paper and a tiny bag of green. In one swift motion (a sign of long experience), she stuffed the joint, licked it down, and flicked a lighter. A fruity, mango- tinged funk filled the air.

— 'Bout that cash — shame y’all ain’t got a lil’ green for me, but hey — it is what it is. — Tilting her head back, she blew a thick stream of smoke toward the ceiling and smiled — damn, that’s some potent shit. So? Am I in or not?

— Just a sec. Let’s talk a bit first. Tell us something about yourself. — Flora tried to reclaim the initiative, still unsure how to act. Evelyn gave her niece a supportive squeeze on the shoulder.

— Sure thing. You wanna hit this? — Peyota held the joint out to the director, who politely declined. Auntie, on the other hand, took a drag — and immediately exploded into a coughing fit. Flora stared in disbelief — wasn’t her aunt strictly anti- weed? But hey, in this freakshow of a day, nothing was off the table anymore.

Noticing the reaction from the camera crew, Peyota kicked her legs up on the table and said, knowingly:

— This shit’s fire. It’s called - Bruce Banner, chicas. No downsides, all gamma rage. I only just started smokin’ this sativa and it goes hard, swear to god.

Flora gently reminded her:

— Right. So maybe tell us a bit about yourself?

While Peyota mentally prepped her confession, Copy scrunched her nose in disgust and got off the tabletop, backing away toward the wall with theatrical disdain:

— Why didn’t you bring champagne? So I could inhale something truly noble instead of these disgusting - incenses- ?

- Hypocrite. - Flora thought.

Instead of responding, the Latina girl launched into her monologue:

— Basically, I’m a person. And if you don’t believe that, slash my skin and watch the freakin’ blood pour out. Red — just like yours. — From her pocket, almost magically, a butterfly knife appeared, which she tried to hand to Flora.

— No, no! I believe you!

— Who am I? I’m a walking, talkin’ pain in the ass — for everyone. I live for the buzz and I’ll die like I’m being born again. I chase highs and hunt hype, so my new career starts right here, right

now. ‘Cause I’m done with the hormone therapy, the endless boob jobs, the orchiectomies, the voice surgeries — I’m done! But for the Me inside me? I’ll do anything. Still, I’d rather cut someone else than keep letting doctors cut me, feel me?

Am Real! I’m flesh of da flesh of dis world! Non sum qualis eram (I am not the same as I used to be). Feel me?!

The joint hovered inches from Flora’s face like an accusatory finger.

— I get it… — she mumbled, for some reason.

— Nah, you don’t get jack shit! — The girl snapped. — Don’t try to butter me up, señorita. I see those hollow eyes of yours — no thoughts behind them, just static. That other chick, though? She’s got the vibe. Knows how to work her words. Fist bump, Ser la Leche Doña.

Evelyn extended her palm, sealing the gesture with a solid handshake. But even after that peace offering, Peyota didn’t dial down her fire:

— Damn, you’re cool. I’m into this! So what were we talking about again? Ah, right — who I am. I’m a whole new bitch in this messed- up society. Used to be someone else entirely. Got sick of my old self — my habits, my vibe — and now I’m flipping the whole script. Not just the inside, you feel me? I wanna be an Actress with a capital A. Ars longa, vita brevis (Art is long lasting, but life is short).

— Wait, so you mean… your name used to be different or something? Lemme guess…— Evelyn started, ignoring Flora’s warning side- eyes and frantic shushing.

The air snapped like a rubber band.

Out of nowhere, Peyota whipped out a gun from under her oversized flannel and aimed it directly at the camera.

— Don’t even try it, Perra! Don’t you dare deadname me! My past is buried, and you better leave it the hell there!

Flora turned ghost- pale, dabbing at beads of sweat with trembling fingers. But her aunt? Cool as ice.

— Put your toy away, baby. You’ll hurt yourself. If I offended you, then fine — I’m sorry. But don’t you dare threaten me. You see I’m filming this, right? What if this footage ends up with the cops?

— I don’t give two shits about pigs! — The girl shouted, exhaling smoke like a dragon — and even if they come, I’ll snatch the file and smash it to hell before you can even blink!

For a moment, the two women locked eyes, heat radiating like a microwave showdown. Tension thick as old diner gravy.

Flora flung her arms out like an underpaid traffic cop:

— Can we not fight, please? Miss Peyota, you’re in.

Copy just about jumped out of her seat yelling, - Are you outta your mind?- but then added, - On second thought — she’s a walking wildcard. Might be useful.-

Flora, after stopping the current recording, avoided everyone’s eyes and muttered a line she’d clearly stolen from Copy earlier:

— Auntie, don’t yell. It’s just… she’s magnificent. In her rage. And in her fire. To everyone’s surprise, Evelyn didn’t shout. She just gently agreed:

— There’s truth in what you say. And you’re right — it’s your project. You can cast whoever the hell you want. All I ask is one thing: that you do it because you want to, not because you feel scared or pressured. No power moves from me, baby. Just a tiny piece of advice. Take it or leave it.

— I know, Auntie. But she really is amazing. And I stand by what I said. — This time, Flora meant it — every word — and she caught the warm look her aunt shot her way.

With that emotional resolution, they hit play on the next audition.

The same familiar foreground: the infamous garage draped in flags, the table, and two women. Now they were joined by a man with a fairly official appearance.

He wore Levi’s jeans, a gray business shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and classic dress shoes. His build was solid, broad- shouldered, and strong. He had long hair with a few gray strands, neatly brushed, clearly well- groomed.

The new guest stood frozen near the gate, politely smiling from within the shadow cast by a nearby tool cabinet. Evelyn exclaimed in surprise at the sight of him:

— No way! Did someone from The Office just walk in? The Copy glanced at her and nodded.

— Yeah, that’s actually surprising. Did your half- ass casting call really attract someone who doesn’t throw poop at people? Although… he looks kinda boring.

— Enough! — Flora shouted, and everyone in the room turned to her in astonishment. — We need interesting personalities and actors, not just background cutouts. Shame on you for saying that!

— I can confirm every part of what you said — except the acting experience. — The contestant's voice, despite his strong and toned physique, came out rather squeaky and unmusical, as if he had swapped voices with Campus. That guy should've had this voice, no doubt about it! — I chatted with a few of the other candidates and realized that most of them are amateurs, just like me.

As for me, I’m not an actor at all, but… well, never mind. As far as my identifiers go, I’m just a regular person, since I’m Māori — and in our language, that literally means - normal.- And yes, you nailed it about the whiteness of my skin.

He finally stepped out of the shadows he’d been hiding in all this time — and Evelyn leapt from her seat with a shriek:

— Vampire! Oh, you bloodsucker, how’d you get in here in daylight?!

The man continued to smile kindly and stood still, while a visibly paler Flora, who’d clearly been startled herself, began to realize her aunt wasn’t yelling at him, but at another contestant who had slipped through a crack in the garage door. This one had applied pale makeup, fitted himself with fangs, and popped in red contact lenses.

While the aunt was busy shooing away the vampire- wannabe — who, naturally, couldn’t cross the garage threshold — the Copy was already admiring the newest arrival:

— At least he’s got proper diction. That’s… something, I guess. Sad that’s the gold standard today, but hey, we work with what we’ve got.

Backing up her words, the contestant said: