47 MI - 6: Fallout
Author's note: I now have a p-word as you all know, so if you feel like reading 5 advanced chapters at the measly price of $3, then do join. The link is in this book's bio, or you can just search 'Archonstine' followed by p-word on your browser.
Also, join my discord will ya? For movie and tv-show recommendations and character images. And also it's the one place where I ask you all for suggestions. The link is in this book's bio.
P.S, donate some power stones while you're at it. And maybe... write up a review?
2nd June 1997 (Monday)
Ricky Stirling (POV)
128 pounds.
Oh, that's my weight by the way. After following what I can only describe to be a cruel fitness regimen, I finally lost a majority of my bulk, and muscles.
That's not all. To provide the illusion of being 17-years old, I even gained a sliver of baby fat around my cheekbones, rounding off my sculpted jawline.
I want to say initiating such a drastic change in my physique did not impact my stats majorly… but then I would be wrong.
Name – Richmond 'Ricky' Stirling
Age – 19
HP: 220/220
Occupation: Novelist, Comic Book Artist, Film Director, Scriptwriter, Producer, Actor, Editor, Music Composer, Singer, Songwriter
Titles: Genius/Prodigy, Literary Behemoth, Multi-linguist
Affiliations: Stirling Studios (Unofficial)
Base of Operations: City of Los Angeles
Citizenship: American
Education: Masters in Fine Arts (Cinematic) from USC
Money: $58, 342, 994. 71
ATTRIBUTES:-
STR: 24 (38)
DEX: 26 (40)
CON: 31 (36)
INT: 79
WIS: 65
CHA: 51 (66)
Specialized Attributes:-
Creativity: 62/100
Technical Proficiency: 76/100
Physical Fitness: 65/100
Networking: 32/100
Stage Presence: 41/100
Business Acumen: 28/100
SP: 0
Skills:-
Gamer's Mind [Passive] Lv. Max
Gamer's Body [Passive] Lv. Max
Seeing the reduction of my STR and DEX by 14 never failed to put a damper on my mood… but then I saw my net worth.
And imagining how a little extra effort on my part would soon allow to cross 9 fuckin' figures… It gave me some much needed motivation to continue my stringent routine.
I proceed to get off the weight scale, and exit the bathroom, tussling my silky smooth hair with a towel in order to dry them off a little.
After reaching the basin, I chase off the remaining water with a dryer, examining my reflection in the massive mirror opposite me.
…
Still as handsome as ever… although that just might be my vanity talking.
After putting on a fresh pair of clothes, I descend down the spiral staircase leading to a massive hall, which I exit through a doorway on my right, walking down another hallway, to finally enter the patio.
A stream of sunlight forces my eyes shut, as I attempt to block the bulk of it with my fingers. I succeed narrowly, making my way towards a table for 2, where my dad is seated, sipping a cup of tea as he reads the newspaper.
"Morning!"
"Good Morning kiddo! You're usually up earlier… had a late night or something?" He asked, without taking his eyes off the paper.
"... Or Something. This new diet, it's kicking my ass in all the wrong ways… not that there is a right one. I feel weaker, and whenever my head hits the pillow, I go lights out in seconds flat." I take a seat, serving myself a few spoonfuls of scrambled eggs. "And then I awake groggily to the sound of my alarm, having lost track of time. My internal body clock doesn't work- long story short, it's a nightmare."
He scoffed smilingly, "That's what happens when you lose upwards of 50 pounds in a couple of weeks… still think it's worth it?" He asked, raising his eyebrow slightly, as he took his eyes off the paper.
I sigh wearily, "I made a commitment. I'm simply abiding by it. It's never gonna be- 'not' worth it. I'll do what needs to be done."
He nods lightly, before folding the paper entirely and setting down the empty cup of tea. "Speaking of things that could have been 'not worth it'... the monthly issue of 'In-HindSight' came out."
Oh, no. Fuck, what the hell did that bint write?
"I gave it a read first thing today… took me a couple of minutes, but… they were worth it." His smile widened, a semi-mocking expression directed at none other than me manifested boldly on his face.
I stare at him for a good 3 seconds, bravely disregarding the sense of despair about to take hold of me as I gulped before voicing the query that had occupied my internal thoughts.
"How bad is it?"
He leaned over about to pass it to me, "Take a look for yourself kiddo-"
"No! I mean, I'll read it in entirety in my office, just- give me the cliff notes please."
He snorted before retracting his hand, setting the magazine down gracefully into the waste paper basket by the table.
The fucking bin.
"That bad, huh?"
"You look pretty good on the cover though. A teen 'heartthrob' she called you. Your answers were good. Her analysis on the other hand…"
"Just tell it to me straight dad, I can take it."
"She never straight out accused you or anything, but she referenced a few behavior traits, took them out of context, and alluded that you were a serial womanizer, with deep-seated commitment issues, stemming from your mom's early death. A deranged genius, who's too sure of himself, and doesn't realize that he's setting himself up for inevitable failure. Someone who believes success in one field, your writing in this case- will translate to success in other fields as well. You 'allegedly'... display traits of borderline OCD, which you seem to have mistaken for perfectionism- hold on, kiddo! Relax, it's not all bad!" He said, just as I took the magazine out of the bin, and was about to tear it in twain.
"Not all bad?" I asked, my face devoid of any emotion as I met his eyes. "Not all bad?! Then get to the good part!"
"I'm getting there! I'm gett-, oh so now you're reading the article. What about your plan to read it in the office?"
"Plan? It obviously changed." I said, as I hurriedly perused my section of the mag, utilizing speed-reading to its absolute fullest.
"I figured. Anyways, she lauded you as a once in a generation genius, who through hard work and intelligence, set academic records in all stages of school, and college. She mentioned your little chess phase, stating how you could've become the youngest grandmaster if you hadn't entered film school- PUT THE MAGAZINE DOWN RICKY! OR I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL TELL WYATT YOU GOT THE RECENTLY CLEANED PATIO COVERED IN SCRAPS OF PAPER!" He blasted midway through his little monologue, just as I had finished reading the negative part of the analysis, and was all set to shred the mag again.
I didn't.
I complied with the threat. Why you might ask? Because it worked. I don't care how clouded by anger I was, my mental faculties had not been addled to the point where I could disregard the threat that Wyatt posed when I caused wanton destruction for the heck of it.
"... Fine. I put it down okay? … Don't tell Wyatt."
With a quick nod, he continued, "Now before I was rudely interrupted by your tantrum," I had the decency of looking sheepish, "I was saying… Where was I? The chess part, yes. She lauded your skills in that area. Then she mentioned your stint in journalism back at USC, apparently she was really impressed by-"
"I got it, okay? I know my own achievements. What was the psychological aspect? Was any of it good?"
"... I'm getting there Ricky, have some patience. Yeah, so journalism. Then she mentioned your philanthropic efforts, and your media presence. And how charming you can be when you want to. She then linked that part with some claims in a study, about womanizers and whatnot- anyways! Then she harped on about how deeply insightful you were, and went on to give examples about your feats of intellect, like that debate you effortlessly won against J. Navier, the sci-fi author turned politician… I personally still find it difficult believing you disproved his policies on air by the way… or that you understood any of them when you were 17. Moving on, she called you methodical and precise, someone who had an unnaturally good grasp of his own psyche… The she wrote a paragraph on your Texas sized superiority complex, and how in your arrogance, you spat on the face of the one true God-"
"Were those her exact words dad? Or perhaps… you're still pissed off about me denouncing Christianity?" I interrupted, realizing how oddly phrased that last point was.
He shifted in his seat uncomfortably before exploding out of nowhere, "FINE! HELL YES! Of course I'm pissed! What did you expect? Now, I don't believe in heaven and hell, and all the other crap they've come up with and all but- America is a Christian country son!"
"Technically, it's not-"
"Oh that's just what they wrote to make themselves feel comfortable! You really think people won't take issue to you admitting OUT LOUD… that you are an atheist?! I know people who wouldn't hesitate to call you the antichrist! Corrupted by the devil and whatnot and you just told every single one of your fans, that you are a fuckin' non-believer. You think you're doing yourself any favors Ricky? You wanna succeed in this country? Then you better change that shit in your next interview. Just say you found God, and make up some flowery bullshit like you always do."
After a long pause, I simply smile sarcastically, before raising my cup of coffee towards him, in a mock toast.
He rolled his eyes, before opening the paper again. "Read the rest yourself kiddo. And for god's sake- don't try and talk down to someone who's gonna write about you. You be patient with them, no matter how illogical their line of questioning is, you just endure. They make a mistake, nobody gives a flying rat's ass. You make a mistake? And all of a sudden everyone and their mother will be cussing you out. They'll stop after a week, forgive and move on. But here's the thing Ricky… they'll forgive, but never forget. Some random schmuck in the future will dig it up, and use it against you, smearing you all over again. Just remember that, and you're golden." He finished, before proceeding to read the paper again.
"Thanks dad… I'll remember." I reply, and we settle into a comfortable silence.
…
…
I stepped out of the elevator onto my designated floor, being greeted by startled employees of Stirling Studios, all of whom recognized me at first glance.
Of course they would. They knew exactly who I was… and with quick, consecutive uses of Observe, I knew exactly who they were, as I greeted them by name, shouting good morning, hello, hey, etc.
A few greetings here and there could be misconstrued as insincere, but if I specify their names every damn time, and get them all right consistently, I guess I'm hoping it will create a general consensus that I care about them. They'll see me in a favorable light, and I wouldn't have had to spend a penny ensuring that.
But that's when it happened. A few more good mornings, and I had started noticing a subtle pattern amongst a few of them. How their cheeks involuntary twitched right after meeting my eyes. A few of them even averted their gazes, and one particularly brave redhead even winked conspiratorially like there was a dirty little secret known only to the 2 of us… Was there?
Nope, there wasn't.
… What the hell is going on here?
My questions were answered the moment I stepped into the conference room, as every single pair of eyes swiveled towards me.
Normally, I would've dismissed it as a byproduct of my insanely good looks coupled with my ridiculously high CHA… but a casual look around the room revealed a stack of magazines.
Every single one of them was 'In-HindSight'.
Aww fuck.
And the worst thing of all, I had scheduled a table read with the majority of the cast of 'Catch Me If You Can' today, and it seems everyone had arrived well before the allotted time, providing them with an ample amount of time to do a wide variety of things.
They could have gone through the script themselves, in a bid to better understand it, or perhaps they could have engaged in a casual icebreaker session with each other, considering how they would be colleagues for the next few months going forward.
Yet one look around the room and it was clear they had utilized their free time by grabbing the nearest copy of the mag, and reading it for all its worth.
I cleared my throat loudly, gaining the attention of any whose eyes weren't already directed at me when I entered, "So… I'm guessing you all read the interview… Allow me to clarify a few things people. Everything about me that you read in the analysis…" I take a pause, allowing the tension to build… before I pierced through it with my sharp sword-shaped humor, "If it's good it's true if it's bad it's false got it? So without further ado, someone set fire to that pile of mags so we can get started." I clap my hands with an exaggerated grin, and instantly the room devolves into laughter.
Amidst the giggles and squeals, I look across the room and meet 'her' eyes…
Her almond shaped blueish-green eyes meet my own, as our grins turn genuine for a second… before we swiftly break eye-contact, and I begin addressing the room once again…
Even as I convey today's directives, my gaze rotating around the room, peering into everyone's eyes, I capture every moment of hers from my periphery, no matter how minor.
The way she tucks a strand of her blond hair, with dark brunette undertones behind her right ear, focusing on me as I command everyone's attention…
