The highway was an infinite stretch of asphalt. A seemingly never-ending conveyor being fed through the glare of her headlights. Beyond that was the endless nightscape of barren desert. The occasional silhouette of a shrub or cacti would fly by on either side of the hearse; the closest thing to company on this lonely road.
The waxing moonlight bounced off of the shimmery paint job of her pearlescent hearse. The iridescent white with it's subtle notes of pink and lavender gave the vehicle a ghostly glow as it tore down the empty highway.
The sound of JoJo's ‘Leave (Get Out)’ echoed through the night in its wake.
Fantasia Four tapped her manicured nails on the wheel. She'd been driving all night - she had no idea where she was going, only that Los Angeles was long behind her. An abundance of air fresheners and miniature pine trees jangled about, swinging from her rear view mirror. They did very little to mask the putrid stench of Smacahoe's corpse in the back.
Fanta was tired. She knew she should probably pull over and find a motel - road safety was no joke - but her mission was too important. She hadn't even hired a driver, and to be honest a car ride with Portia - no matter how brief - was torture.
Portia had made them stop for Taco Bell five times during the short drive from The Manor to Alex's Di$Count DragWorld.
That was six delays if you counted her pitstop at the gas station to get a family-sized bag of Bugles.
The JoJo bop ended, crossfading into the next song on the radio - it was the Glee version of Tina Turner's ‘River Deep, Mountain High’. Almost immediately Fanta was overcome with nausea, Tish and Anita had chosen this song for messy seven-way lipsync on (Trigger Warning) Reddit's Rising Stars.
Fanta rushed to change the station. A government issues news bulletin described something with a frantic sense of urgency. Mass suicides and chaos were ravaging the nation, some dangerous unknown entity was driving people insane.
Fanta yawned and switched the radio off.
She wasn't entirely sure where she was headed. She wasn't even sure what she was doing. As much as she hated to admit; sometimes other people needed to take charge. She didn't have all of the answers.
All Fanta knew was that three seasons worth of ghouls were dead and rotting in the backstreets of Hollywood. She didn't know who to blame. She wasn't entirely sure how she had failed to notice them disappearing by the dozen - was she really that self absorbed?
Fanta didn't know why she had grabbed Smacahoe’s body over everybody else's - maybe it was just winners privileges? Regardless, there was only one ghoul who could get this dead bitch to talk, and she needed answers.
It seemed like an entire eternity had passed since the events of Wasteland Weekend. Would there ever be an RD3 winner? Probably not. The finalists were taking their goddamn time, Fanta knew that much - but none were as guilty of causing this delay than Erathelle was. Honestly, who abandons a competition right before the finale to go on a peyote-fueled soul-searching vision quest in the desert?
That bitch, apparently.
Truthfully, Era was probably the only ghoul Fanta was aware of who had any legitimate experience with communing with demons and spirits. If she was ever going to figure any of this mess out, she needed Era's help to point her in the right direction. Maybe she'd talk to Smac's skinny ghost. Maybe she'd cast a resurrection spell - who knews?
Fanta was eager to hear if Smacahoe knew who murdered her. Judging by the queens endless list of petty arguments and fiery confrontations, there would be no shortage of potential suspects.
Fanta's phone lit up with a notification. Someone had sent her a snap.
Keeping one eye on the road, Fanta swiped across the screen. It was Caprice. What did that bitch want? Fanta thought she'd blocked her after the last string of indecent images.
Fanta opened the snap, not entirely sure of what she was looking at. A horrified gasp escaped her throat.
“N-no…” she murmured, tears streaming down her face.
She could feel everything good she felt about herself and the world dissipate, floating away like mist. All that was left inside her now was hatred, anguish and pain. She felt incomplete, like she no longer belonged to the world as she knew it.
The dread was consuming her entirely. Fanta knew she had to look away from the image but she couldn't - it was burning itself into her mind like a branding iron. The hearse began to sway from side to side, swerving dangerously on the highway. Was she doing this on purpose or had she lost control?
Fanta gave one final defeated whimper as her pupils broke apart, her irises scrambled beyond the point of repair. She could never unsee the atrocity she had just seen.
She had to end it.
The entire hearse shook violently as it left the road, kicking up clouds of sand as the tires lost their grip - spinning out of control. There was a devastating crash as her hood connected with a boulder, causing the hearse to flip.
The pearlescent white hearse rolled frantically through the dunes, leaving twisted metal and shattered glass in its wake as it plummeted over the jagged edge of a ravine.
CLUB 27 | WEEK 4
The panel scene returns.
Nothing had changed. Not the lighting, not the backdrop, and not the line of ghouls standing back in the safe zone.
Diana and Flashback stood to the right of the stage, their nerves on the brink of collapsing altogether. In a matter of minutes one of them would go from a competitor to 8th place.
[FLASHBACK MARY] “This is my first time in the bottom and it really, really sucks. I don't want to be here ever again.”
[DIANA FOREST] “This entire episode was a mess. I've won challenges before. Portia knows what I'm capable of.”
The camera took a moment to focus on Fantasia, who sat behind the panel with a stern look of discontent. She didn't seem to be very impressed with Portia, who - instead of talking - chose to make love heart shapes and gestures with her chubby fingers.
Portia mimed another heart, bringing it up to her face where she took turns covering each eye. The veins in Fanta's neck and temple began to throb with anger as her patience grew thinner.
Smacahoe sighed. Portia was attempting to create a moment of some sort. She seemed to be under the impression that emojis were included within the vocabulary of American Sign Language. Smac contemplated calling the care home, but the cracked cellphone she'd confiscated from Tish was covered in congealed cheeto dust.
The smell alone made her retch.
“Just send a bitch home already!” Fanta cried, slamming her hands down on the table.
Portia frowns with disappointment, realising that Fantasia and the others were unappreciative of her performance art. Shia Labouef would cringe if he knew she was surrounded by such peasants.
Portia coughs, clearing her throat with a cloud of salty green gas. The stage was flooded with the odor of krill and plankton.
“Portia-” Fanta asks, “-who have you chosen to get the chop?”
“This was a hard decision…” Portia is overcome with sincerity, her eyes begin to water as she takes one last glance at the bottom two, “-but the queen I have chosen to eliminate is…”
EXTERMINATION
The dying mall was on the cusp of becoming a mausoleum. The distant mischievous chatter of teenagers echoed through the empty hallways.
They were tagging the iron shutters of one of the abandoned retail units. The smell of aerosol paint mixed with the warm, stale air. The ancient fluorescent lighting blinked overhead.
The idle whistling of an overweight mall cop caused the youths to scatter like roaches. Their juvenile laughter booming down the halls as they fled the scene.
The mall cop observed the graffiti and sighed. It read ELLE WAS ROBBED!!1! in a messy black scribble.
How rude.
The mall cop shook his head and walked away, passing by one of the few remaining stores that hadn't shut its doors for good. The backlit marquee read: BOP TIL U DROP in bold garish letters. No longer just a relic of the nineties, the amateur recording studio drew in a steady stream of wannabe SoundCloud rappers.
Inside the store clerk had their dirty sneakers propped up on the counter as they casually flipped through a gossip magazine. Their bubblegum deflated, hanging limply from their mouth before they began chewing again. Above her head was a neon sign, casting everything in a faint red glare. It spelled out ‘OCCUPIED’ in a swirly cursive.
Sure enough, the recording booth was in use. Behind the soundproof glass a drag queen was feeling their lonesome oat. The queen held some oversized headphones to her ear as she swanned about in the booth, using her free hand to guide the pitch of her voice. She was singing into a ceiling-mounted microphone, that swayed gently like a pendulum.
The soundproof foam on the walls and her awkward movements made the scene comparable to a cell at a psychiatric hospital.
“There was a time-” The ghoul crooned “-we'd sext each other all fucking night-”
She was really starting to get her jush. SZA had nothing on this bitch. Her manicured fingers slithered around the microphone, squeezing it tightly. The painful sound of electrical feedback flooded the booth.
“-NO LIES! NO WRONG!-” She howled, “-boy I, must’ve been a low five-”
This queen was feeling her French mustard fantasy. She yanked on the microphone, the little hooks keeping the cord suspended popped out of the ceiling one by one.
“-so when I think of the time that I told you I loved you-” the queen whined, slowly rotating on the spot, “-came on my own face and I, I sent it to you-”
She was facing us now. Diana Forest was mashing a finger into her temple as she struggled with the high notes, painfully unaware of the stranger who had just entered the booth behind her.
“-your load, you blew it-” Diana wailed, desperately trying to find the note “-you told me you couldn't do it-”
Diana was overcome with emotions. She closed her eyes, focusing on the intensity of the lyrics. This must have been how Lady Gaga felt when she sung ‘Til It Happens To You’ for the first time.
“-I'm not over you-” Diana squealed, mashing a finger into her temple, “-so baby please take me back-”
The stranger had began to take the slack microphone cord in their hands, slowly fashioning a makeshift garrote.
“-I wanted you so bad-” Diana squawked, “-I’d even call you dad-”
She opened her eyes, tears streaming down her face as she processed the raw, unfiltered emotions. A star was being born. Not in this booth, somewhere else.
“-'cause honestly you turned out to be the best dick I never haaaaad HEY-”
A length of cord looped itself around her neck, before instantly constricting. It cut her off mid-lyric, all she could offer was a terrified wheeze. The cord pulled tighter and tighter, the skin on her neck bulging over the wire as the life was literally squeezed out for her. The whine of feedback flooded the booth as the mic rolled about, dropped to the floor during the struggle.
She clawed at the cord, for a moment she thought she'd managed to get her fingers under it, but her acrylics snapped off. Tears streamed down her face. She could see her reflection in the soundproof glass. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her face was turning blue.
The worst thing was of all was that the clerk was completely unaware of what was going on. She was still flicking through the pages of her magazine.
Diana’s ears were ringing. Her vision was fogging up. It felt like someone was holding her head underwater. She gave one last attempt to fight back before her neck snapped under the pressure.
Her entire body went limp in an instant, sagging to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Her windpipe let out a croaky death rattle as the cord went slack once more.
DING!
The bell rang. She'd ran out of her prepaid studio minutes.
“Diana.”
Portia wiped her tears away.
“So this decision was not easy. I mean, someone's gonna die you know? So you have to weigh these decisions carefully because, you don't wanna kill somebody that doesn't deserve it.”
The camera pans across to Flashback Mary who is overcome with relief.
“So we have Mary. I don't think we said a word to each other until this very moment. I don't know who you are or what you think. I want to know you more though.”
The camera pans across to Diana, who has her eyes fixed to the floor.
“Then Diana, my Rising Stars sister. You've even had a win already this season. But you've also been in the bottom twice… By episode four.”
“This decision was really, really difficult. I can't rely on track records, the judges critiques were very even, I feel like seeing your performances - they were very equal.”
Smacahoe checks her wristwatch. She motions for Portia to begin wrapping her theatrics up.
“So who goes home? The fresh face who misunderstood the assignment? Or the friend who made me the very cake that I'm eating right now?”
“Diana... You forgot one thing... I'm on a diet.”
Diana could smell a lie, especially one as deluded as that. She crossed her arms and began to tap her heel against the stage. Disappointment was an understatement Flashback gives her a congenial hug, and whispers her goodbyes before joining the others in the safe zone.
“I’m so sorry.” Portia said, heading over to comfort her.
Diana noticeably cringed as Portia patted her back. A moment later and she was alone on the stage, she had the spotlights undivided attention.
“Diana Forrest, when you auditioned to this competition I had heard good things about you. I only got to speak to you once or twice before this, but because of your run here I learned a damn lot about you-” Fanta explains, “-you came in guns blazing, slaying that first challenge, almost topping on the second, and even though you may think your time here ended badly, the portfolio of work you produced - and the love that you have earned here - proves that isn't true.”
“I know this isn’t the last we’ll see of you, and you have so much more left to show-” Fanta continues, “-we're all rooting for you, and we admire the mark you've left in this competition. Now, you may leave the stage.”
Everyone watches as Diana struts over to the exit, bathing in applause from the remainder of the cast. She flips the cameras off playfully before disappearing for good.
[DIANA FOREST]: “I really don't want to go. I knew that I was in the bottom, but I didn't expect to be gone so soon. I don't know what the next challenge is, but I know that I'd have killed it. Whatever.”
Diana rolls her eyes.
[DIANA FOREST]: “I have so much more to give… but… I still did great, and I made some lame new friends. I guess I'm off to go lose another competition, or to finally trap a man.”
THE MANOR | WEEK 5
A beautiful constellation of stars lit up the night sky, observing the vast property of the manor. The coronations of crimson roses that lined the driveway outside began to close for the night, the silk petals enclosing whirls of saccharine scents that were ready to be released in the morning.
The fine establishment in the background came into focus, no windows were lit up albeit a gentle amber cast in the lounge window, the flames of the dying fire flickering within the fireplace. The view of the house was disrupted by the silhouette of an unknown queen, sneaking ahead of the panning camera in a furtive manner - almost a bit too unnecessarily stealthy at times, rolling forward or even crawling. A curvaceous, feminine shape could be made out from this unknown figure, but the luminous, viridescent eyes of the black cat that followed her drew more interest.
Blending in with the shadows, manifesting into the night, she proceeded forward to the entrance doors. Striking her hand to the side in synchrony with the sound of a blades being unsheathed, a set of acute claws protrude from her fingernails. Sliding one into the keylock and cautiously twisting her hand a few times, the click of the lock can be heard, giving her signal that access was granted.
She needed no light, nor no direction, somehow able to sense the location of what she was looking for. Heading into the living room, she glances at the dimly-lit fire, in awe of the grand fireplace and it’s sculptured oak mantle piece.
Within the alcove a crystal sculpture of Starry Wisdom’'s head - modelled specifically after her Justice Is Blind look - was displayed proudly upon a pedestal. The intruder did silent cartwheels, her hot and flexible body approaching the priceless artefact in all different positions.
She reached out towards the sculpture, her clawed fingertips so close she couldn't bear it.
Thud.
She retreated backwards, taking cover behind the sofa. Whatever that was, it came from the kitchen. It sounded like somebody slamming the refrigerator door shut.
Heavy footsteps echoed across the marble as some behemoth stomped through the shadows. The gaping maw of their mouth made a chorus of damp, ogre-esque sounds - chomping, slurping, the shameless licking of lips.
She peered over the edge the sofa - equally cautious and curious - as the beast passed through a sliver of moonlight, their identity revealed.
It wasn't some flesh eating monster, but rather Portia, trying to carry as many pints of Ben and Jerry’s as she could back to her bedroom. She squeezed the tubs in her meaty grip - there was one of every flavour, except for the low-fat vegan options - they oozed ice cream, leaving a trail across the floor.
Tucked between Portia's chins was an extra tub of Half-Baked Alaska, just in case she got hungry later.
A moment later and Portia was gone. She had been a mere false alarm.
The intruder quickly grabbed the sculpture by it's scalp, revealing a hollowed out interior. Within the macabre cavity was a bulbous red button. Carefully pressing down on it, the entire room began to vibrate.
A cloud of dust exploded outward from the opulent fireplace as it shook, before folding away section-by-section into the wall behind it. Marie Kondo could never. As the pristine woodwork collapsed and disappeared, a mysterious passageway was left in its place.
The intruder approached the secret entrance, where a rickety spiral staircase plunged deep into the darkness below. Her companion - the fiery eyed cat - watched intently as she began to descend the staircase, fading from view.
THE MANOR | THE NEXT MORNING
A new week commences, starting off with a throwback to the classic season two morning montages. A sped up sunrise, the darkness rapidly depleting across the orange sky. Coronations of crimson roses lining the driveway, wet with morning dew. Sunlight pouring through the arched gothic windows, warming up the ancient floorboards. Miniature rainbows danced across the panelled walls.
A fake chorus of birds chirping combined with the instrumental of rustling trees was sloppily edited over the footage.
The cameras peered into the various bedrooms, each one a mess after last night's de-dragging. Corsets, hip pads and strips of musty tucking tape littered the various carpets. Not only were their bedrooms a nasty sight to wake up to, but also each other as they slogged about the hallways with their sleepy bloodshot eyes.
[FLASHBACK MARY]: “It's a new day in the manor and I'm feeling fresh and flirty and oh so happy to still be here!”
Flashback Mary seems to be the only ghoul in a decent mood, having escaped her recent brush with elimination.
“I don't know what you're so happy about-” Satina mumbled, clearly not a morning person, “-I miss being in the top three, I miss my husband, I miss the free Danish health care…”
Satina dragged her body pillow behind her as she made her way towards the staircase, eager for her daily dose of caffeine.
“-I swear to God if I'm safe one more time I'll-”
Satina was unable to finish her sentence, instead crying out in terror as she tumbled down the stairs. Numerous heads poked out of their bedroom doorways, trying to catch a glimpse of the accident.
“What the fuck happened here?” Bella asked, looking around at the carnage with disgust, “-there's ice cream everywhere...”
Sure enough, there was a copious amount of Ben and Jerry's tubs littering the staircase, and a trail of ice cream that led all the way down to the kitchen.
“Is this for real?” Bella asked, crossing her arms, “I literally live with animals.”
Portia peers around the door, blushing slightly with embarrassment. She retreats back to her sty, burying herself under the covers, attempting to hide her guilt.
[PORTIA BELLA MUSHROOM]: “These skinny bitches shame me for my food choices every. Single. Morning. It's BULLYING. I won a challenge, I deserve some GODDAMN respect!”
Portia sniffles in the confessional booth, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
[PORTIA BELLA MUSHROOM]: “All b-bodies are b-beautiful!”
The confessional momentarily fades out to an upset Portia crying under the sheets, her whimpers picked up by the camera but by no other queen in the room.
RD2 FLASHBACK EXCLUSIVE
A bright flash of white light takes us back to the simpler (and some would say better and more talented) times of RD2.
We're in the kitchen. A pre-implants Smacahoe leans against the island, celebrating yet another challenge win by treating herself to her favourite breakfast food - a cigarette.
Portia enters, and freezes up when she realises that she has company. She begins to sweat as she makes her way over to the fridge. With an exasperated sigh, she opens the door and begins rummaging around in the vegetable drawer.
“Well, well, well…” Smac says, staring at her judgmentally, “-if it isn't Mama June's before photo. How kind of you to grace us with your bloated presence.”
“Please-” Portia cried, randomly grabbing some celery, “-I-I'm not here for any trouble, I j-just want a salad!”
Smac rolls her eyes and taps her cigarettes ash into the fruit bowl.
“Don't pretend like you want to eat those vegetables, you're not fooling anybody-” Smac says, pointing a finger, “-you've ran out of trans fats, you've cleared the kitchen out.”
“This is discrimination!” Portia cried, “I have rights too!”
“You have the right to put that salad back where you found it-” Smac insisted, “-we need the low calorie shit for when Hettie's blood sugar gets too high. She can't be having one of those fits again.”
Portia sighs, slamming the door shut.
“I'll just have some grapes-”
“No!” Smac cried, holding her hands up defensively, “-Back off! I don't want to start orbiting you again.”
Portia couldn't let Smac see her cry. She made a dash for the garden doors.
“Yeah that's it-” Smac called after her, “-go drink water from the hose out back, you sow.”
Bianca's chiffon dressing gown trailed behind her as she swept through the lobby, clutching her green breakfast smoothie.
The top seven in her original season felt so crowded. It had almost become a chore to beat every one of her peers in the challenges each week. But here in the manor? It felt so empty.
Sure, she hadn't been here right from the start, but she'd been here long enough. She didn't feel like an outsider anymore. Even the most stubborn of her competitors didn't seem to be that threatened by her anymore.
Bianca approached Satina, who was laying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. Satina feebly reached upwards, begging for help to get back on her feet. Bianca casually stepped over her, gliding into the lounge.
“I can't believe Diana's gone-” Tish said, chewing her ninth grilled cheese of the morning with her mouth open, “-I'm really gonna miss that slut.”
Bianca shrugged.
“The manor is only going to get emptier and emptier-” She said, “-anyone could be gone next week.”
“Not one of us though-” Tish said, playfully punching her in the shoulder, “-not one of the frontrunners, amirite?”
“Don't touch me.” Bianca replied.
“Seriously though-” Tish said, grease and melted cheese running down her tree, “-we've lost Robyn, Steve, Ava, Pinterest, and now Diana… I think they're planning something.”
“Oh?” Aristo asked, entering the lounge with a jar of PureForMen, “-How so?”
“They're going to bring one of those flops back-” Tish theorized, “- I can feel it in my chest.”
“That'd be the heart attacks-” Bianca said, eying up the passageway, “-Am I blind or has that always been there?”
“I don't know what's down there-” Aristo replied, “-but I hope it's a swimming pool.”
“It's not going to be a swimming pool you stupid slut.” Said a new voice.
*Bianca, Tish and Aristo turned to get a look at the newcomer. Smacahoe strutted into the room, serving her best Miss B. Haven eleganza.
Smac clapped her hands together.
“Go round up the rest of the skanks-” She ordered, “-we're going underground.”
THE BUNKER | WEEK 5
Smacahoe led the seven ghouls down the twisting staircase, where they dipped deeper and deeper into the stale darkness. It wasn't clear how deep underground they were going, but whatever this place was, it was built to withstand a nuclear blast.
“How much longer?” Tish whines, her voice echoing down the shaft, “-my cankles are hurting.”
[TISH HUGHES]: “Can we get to the challenge already? Like damn.”
Satina appeared to be experiencing an extreme case of deja vu.
“Are you sure we haven't been down here before?” She asked, “This place feels really familiar.”
“That'd be impossible, bitch-” Smac replied from the front of the line, “-Fanta only just had this place built last week.”
“This was being built during the Faces For Radio challenge?” Bella asked.
Bella shuddered, thinking back to that damp, musty, abandoned nightclub in the basement of the cryogenics laboratory. That had been one of the worst field trips of her life. It would definitely explain the lack of a budget this season.
“Fanta wanted her own Dragula-exclusive production facility for big budget projects-” Smac explained.
Bianca snorted. Big budget? Yeah right.
“-and because The Manor is listed as a historical landmark by the city of LA-” Smac continued, “-the only way for her to expand the property was to dig deeper.”
As Smac begins to explain random, unnecessary facts about Reddit's Dragula, all of which seemed to be related to the fact that statistically she was the strongest competitor in all four seasons, Flashback approached Portia.
“Thanks for saving me-” Flashback whispers, “-I really appreciate it. If you're up for an alliance of any kind, I'm interested.”
Portia doesn't seem to notice as she has a pair of headphones in. If you checked the lockscreen of her phone you'd see that she was listening to ‘All About That Bass’ by (TRIGGER WARNING) Meghan Trainor.
Aristo pushed to the front, creeping up behind Smac.
“Did Fanta build a secret sex lair?” Aristo asked, drooling slightly, his mind racing at the possibilities of what he may encounter down there, “-how did she afford this?”
“Portia donated the money so her flop of a cruise ship would be used in the ‘Bon Voyage’ challenge-” Smac replied, “-or did you forget she was a billionaire?”
After what seemed like forever, or the length of an episode written by Smacahoe that nobody was actually going to read, the procession of ghouls finally reached their destination.
“Are you nobodies ready?” Smac asked, opening the stage doors.
The humid mist of a steam vent flooded their senses momentarily, dissipating as they ventured further into the set. The only response the ghouls could muster was an amazed chorus of ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’.
Gargantuan buildings surrounded them, some art deco, others brutalist, their only common bond being their blackened exteriors and competitiveness to be noticed. They stretched high into the rafters, where darkness concealed the ceiling.
If it wasn't for the complete lack of fresh air, it was almost believable that they had stepped into the streets of some dark, chaotic city. It was like hell had burst through the pavements and kept on growing.
“Echo!” Tish called out, testing the acoustics, “Echo!”
Her booming voice bounced off of the elaborate facades and set pieces, echoing around the mammoth studio. The bizarre dimensions transformed the voice, so when it echoed back it cried out ‘FAT. FAT. FAT.’.
“Where the HELL are we?” Bianca asked, pulling her heel out of a sewer grate.
A Farrah Moan-esque whine echoed throughout the twisted street. The ghouls looked about, trying to determine the location of their newest arrival.
A curvy figure in a latex catsuit - the same from the night before - somersaulted gracefully down from the fire escape. Her heels dug into the concrete as she made her landing.
It was none other than Fantasia Four, giving her best Catwoman Illusion.
“Hello Kitty Girls-” Fanta purred.
“Wrong show, bitch.” Smac replied.
“And welcome-” Fanta continued, “-to Gotham City!”
She released a manic laugh, twirling around as she gestured to the maze of streets and buildings. It truly was a concrete jungle beneath the ground.
“This week, you will all face the dreaded or beloved branding challenge.” Fantasia and Portia cheer, celebrating their favourite type of challenge.
“I should’ve won the one on season tw-” Smacahoe attempts to interject, only to be cut off by a frantic Fantasia who starts to explain the challenge.
“In a challenge inspired by Batman, more specifically the Cinematic Universe of Batman Returns from 1992, Batman Forever from the year 1995, and Batman, from 1989 - each of you ghouls will be creating your own supervillain persona that will produce chaos in Gotham city. This villain persona must be symbolic of your band, style and aesthetic as it is once again, a branding challenge.”
[PORTIA BELLA MUSHROOM]: This is going to be interesting, maybe I can win two branding challenges also, as I did win the original.
Portia winks at the camera cockily, a sparkle in her eye.
SUMMARY
For week 5, the ghouls must create their own Gotham City Personas that become Supervillains. Each villain persona must be symbolic of their brand, style and aesthetic, and have a unique power that also represents their brand.
The challenge is split into three parts:
Firstly, the contestants must create a scene of them as a civilian of Gotham City - before they became a villain. This scene can show the backstory and develop the character.
Secondly, a second scene must be produced where their characters receive their powers, aka a freak accident.
Last but not least, all contestants have to provide a floorshow of them as their supervillain up to no good. Remember, your villain persona has to be representative of your brand, please do not forget that this is also branding challenge, which has and will be continuously reminded to you.
You can use any Gotham City related/inspired environment from the movies listed above, and in total will need 3 environments. If you aren’t already familiar with these films and overall basis of the challenge, you will have to do your homework. Any environment is up for grabs as long as it isn’t inconceivable that it would be rebuilt in the underground studio.
Due to the fact that this isn’t just a floorshow or acting challenge, this is a branding challenge, ghouls should use this as a way to further showcase their distinctive styles and personas, consider your identity.
RESTRICTIONS:
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No extras or unknown cast members, any additional roles in your skit must be played by the hosts or other remaining contestants.
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Be aware of the bunkers spatial limitations. Interior sets are fine, street sets are fine. Wide exterior sets such as plazas, parks, entire mansions etc are not.
TIPS:
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The submission should flow as one continuous narrative, not just 3 unrelated parts that have been mashed together. Look at the bigger picture.
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Be inventive and unique. This is not a night of 1000 Harley Quinns challenge.
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Remember which part of your submission are the scenes, and which part is the floorshow.
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Flesh out the civilian, they are just as important as the supervillain. They should have a story and purpouse. They are two sides of the same coin, a before and after.
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Both looks, the civilian and supervillain, are important. But the civilian is generally more character driven than fashion based - unless they were like a model or an actress.
DEADLINE: Friday 8th March at 9pm CST.
SPREADSHEET: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1wysBvt45oyuoBP1apJ89H7r2sG3Asow_Fl5S3KJyojc
Submitted March 01, 2019 at 07:01PM by bbukrpdr https://ift.tt/2NBsyyl
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