Chapter Text
Chapter One: Normal
Anya Novakova's slate rang for the tenth time in just as many minutes. She ignored it as she casually sipped her iced latte from her table, the shadow of the gleaming M.A.S.T. Building keeping the worst of Jemison's summer heat at bay. She watched as passersby went about the day, throwing a sly, ball-capped wink to the occasional double-taking lookie-lou as they stumbled by. It all felt somewhat normal.
Sure, her shoulder ached and Anya was fairly certain she broke a rib when she was thrown out of the exploding civ shuttle, but somewhat normal was a nice change of pace.
Two hours in makeup, another two hours getting rigged and walking through the aforementioned civ shuttle scene, 10 minutes to get the shot, then right into the fight choreography run-through. An hour later, she was breathing heavy, sweating, and standing over a bunch of stunt guys that were playing possum for the camera.
Except for that one guy. Rich? Rick? No, Brian. She definitely hit him. Hard. Whatever, Brian and his grabby hands had it coming.
That was her cue to exit stage left. Right to her trailer, then out the back and to the landing pad. The crew was too busy tending to Brian—wait, it was Rick. Brian's cool—to notice that her and the Jolly Steve were already on the other side of Jemison.
The slate buzzed again, a persistent thrum that she ignored.
Anya absentmindedly took another sip of her latte as she maintained eye contact with a younger guy walking down the street with an equally young girl. He stopped and gawked, a finger half-pointed before the girl spun around with a look of utter disdain. She could just barely hear the girl's angry words, but the heat they radiated was undeniable as she stomped off, the poor guy trailing after her, stammering and sputtering.
It all felt so messy, this normal life thing. Unscripted. And Anya was enjoying every moment. She took another sip, slurping up the last of the milky coffee concoction as the slate buzzed for the twelfth time.
With a sigh, she reached for it and keyed the 'accept' icon. A litany of expletives exploded from the speaker, garnering sidelong glances from a handful of her fellow Terrabrew patrons.
"Hello, Archie."
The speaker stopped mid-colorful expression and cleared his throat, "Anya. Doll. I've been trying to call you for the last 15 minutes. Are you planning on returning to the set? James is getting... anxious."
"Oh, no. We can't have that. Especially not for THE James Tunn." Anya didn't hide the eye roll, nor the sarcasm.
There was a strained silence for the briefest moment. "Anya. Doll. We need you to come back to the set. No one is mad. Well, the stunt guy you decked isn't happy, but..."
"That dude's a dick. He had it coming. Besides, getting hit is part of the job description."
"Well, yes and no," Archie's chipper tone frayed at the seams, his frustration seeping through the cracks. "Listen, we just need you back here. They're not happy that you took the Steve. Do you realize the financial risk involved in that little joyride?"
Anya pulled the slate to her lips, knocking her cap off in the process. "They can bill me for it!" she huffed. "It's not like I couldn't buy twenty ships just like it!"
The line went muffled as two voices overlapped, Archie's faux New Atlantean joined by a richer, feminine tone. Anya knew what was coming next. She brushed her crimson hair from her face and mentally braced for what was about to come.
When the line cleared, Archie's sleazy voice was replaced by a sultry, Akilan drawl, so sweet that Anya could smell the floral perfume through the slate.
"Anya, Honey, it's Margot Wyatt. It seems like you've gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle."
Margot's tone was even, sad, and caring, but the undertone of disappointment curdled Anya's stomach.
"I know," she said softly, her haughtiness melting away. "I'm sorry, Miss Margot. I..."
Margot made a quiet shushing sound. "I get it, Hon. We've been pushing you hard with the tight film schedule after just coming off of the Press tour. You're obviously worn out. And I'm sorry for that."
"I just wanted coffee," Anya felt childish. What a stupid reason to run off, after all.
"Coffee? Honey, we've got the best craft service in all of the Settled Systems on the set. We've even coaxed Mickey Caviar out of hiding. We could have gotten you anything you wanted."
"But, it's not the same. Anywhere I go, it's always whatever I want when I want it. Unless it means just going out on my own for something. I just wanted to do something for myself. Just once."
The words weren't filled with fire, but they stung as they left Anya's lips.
"Listen, Hon. I'll deal with Tunn and the Producers. Take the day, catch your breath and we'll get back to work tomorrow. No harm, no foul. How does that sound?"
Margot had been there for her, her friend, mentor, and Mother Goose, since the day she picked her out of the crowd on Neon.
Anya sniffled. Disappointing Margot hurt.
"Great. I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, two things. Next time you feel like taking a walkabout, please bring Titus with you. No point in having a bodyguard if he's not there to guard your body."
Anya bit back a retort. After all, Titus was the one that gave her all of the training that she put to good use in her movies, for authenticity. Never mind the fact that she could outshoot the man now.
"Ok. And the second?"
"Keep a low profile. It seems you've already stirred up quite a ruckus. Let's not get the whole city in a craze."
Margot ended the call without another word. The slate went silent, and a low buzz filled the air. Anya looked up. A gathering crowd, starry-eyed and eager, was rushing toward her.
Oh, no... fans. She realized too late that her disguise had been blown the moment the Jemison sunlight touched her signature red hair.
She smiled awkwardly, waving and stood, not exactly running back to the starport. She paused for a brief moment at the SSSN's vid screen, on which a reporter was talking to an excited young man, his young girlfriend now exclaiming that she had seen Valiant Bravo at Terrabrew.
Life is funny, she thought, before hurrying off as the fanatical crowd trailed close by. She tossed a credstick at the confused Ship Tech as she rushed past him.
"They'll never believe you!" she said with a wink then ran up the ramp of the red and black behemoth that was the Jolly Steve.
"Brody!" she yelled as the landing ramp lifted, not waiting for her robotic steward to answer. "Get Steve off of the pad before the paparazzi show up!"
Steve was airborne and cruising back to the set by the time Anya climbed up into the bridge, breathlessly dumping herself into the captain's chair, eyes closed as she willed her heartbeat to normalize. Anya had grown to love the unfortunately named warship since it was written into Valiant Bravo's second film, 'Stars Collide', but she had always been at odds with its sheer immensity.
"Captain Bravo," Brody's digital lilt filtered in beside her. "We have a guest."
She regarded the miniature A.5 robot with one eye. "A what?"
"Hi, Miss Bravo," a small, shy voice said.
Both eyes open now, Anya sat up and looked at the diminutive ponytailed figure beside her.
"Frak."