Ad-Lib

[ t i t l e ]

[ t i t l e ]
Ad-Lib

[ s u b t i t l e s ]
t.b.a.

[ B a c k g r o u n d s t o r y ]
Officially they should have filmed this in December.

Officially, Luke Bronx thought, and it wasn't his fault if he was slightly bitter because Shaniqua had dragged him out of bed at seven-bloody-am when he bought Skyrim 4 yesterday. He had been prepared to spend his free Saturday gaming and maybe stare at his homework or walk his mum's dog - he had not been prepared to meet up with old friends for their Theatre & Film assignment because I'm not even part of this class what the fuck Shaniqua.

He could've called it quits and gone back home, like, it wasn't as if any of them could stop him, unless Evan tackled him to the ground or something, but he wasn't that big of an asshole and honestly, these losers needed at least some sort of professional.

(Luke wasn't a professional by any means, but at least he had never puked on stage like that Brody kid in middle school, the sucker.)

"What's the plan again?" Lucia asked. The Italian tapped her foot, looking around her small group of friends expectantly. Then, shoulders slumping as realisation began to hit her, "Please tell me we got at least something."

Luke grimaced and shoved his hands a tad deeper into his pockets, thanking, once again, the heavens that he wasn't responsible for this mess and, most importantly, that he wouldn't have to face miss Marx when the end result was handed in. It had been common knowledge that not even theatre kids enjoyed the class, or like, Luke thought it had been common knowledge, but that piece of information had obviously escaped the people around him, and wasn't it ironic that Luke had steered clear of the class his entire high-school life, yet here he was, having to -

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Shaniqua pinched the bridge of her nose. "You know what? We've procrastinated so much, I think we can handle another ten minutes. Let's get coffee."

"And breakfast."

"And breakfast."

[ P r o l o g u e ]
"Who the fuck decides to shoot a Christmas movie in the middle of the bloody summer?" Luke groaned, hiding his face in his hands. It was a shame that his friends were so stupid, because the day had seemed a lot more bearable when they had walked into the small café, ordering whatever they wanted and falling into those chairs that seemed really uncomfortable and were, you know, still really uncomfortable when you sat down. Luke's mood had only progressed with every gulp of coffee and mouthful of blackberry muffin.

(He had only managed to steal one bite before Lucia punched him in the arm.)

(It had been worth it all the same.)

"All of us did, actually," Evan shrugged, wiping the corner of his mouth. "Stop glaring at me, will you? You can't blame us, we had to fill in all those details in, what, November? Literally everyone was in the Christmas spirit back then. Again, we're as innocent in this as you are."

"Also," Lucia piped up before Luke could retort," do you know how original it is? I felt like miss Marx was going to cry when everyone said they were going to shoot a romantic comedy. We got at least half our grade by simply choosing something different. We got this."

"Okay, hold up," Shaniqua raised her hands. "You guys realise we can still completely ruin it, right? I'm not trying to burst anyone's bubble right now, but we got no setting, no plot, nothing. There's no way we're going to pass if we don't even know what we're filming."

The four of them fell silent after that, exchanging glances as they wracked their brains for ideas. Luke didn't mean to be sappy or dramatic, but it kind of reminded him of the calm before the storm, of the good old days - the days he spent with the exact same three people but also of when he still belonged to theatre - or did theatre belong to him? - and everyone came together to discuss the script and how they were going to do it, which was slightly ironic because those times weren't silent at all, no, they were filled with weird voices and dramatic hand gestures just to get your point across even when the director was glaring at you, because you can't silence a theatre kid, you know, because it's something that lives inside of you.