The
elevator to jane’s office opens, and she stumbles inside. the last
traces of trickster mode are bleeding off her aura. the great gift
of this sacred boon has run its course for the evening, and though
she is not as grateful as she should be, she nevertheless
acknowledges the extraordinary benefit it has afforded her with a
slight nod to the mirror. she pulls a hand through her hair,
watching in the reflection as the last of the pink coloration fades
to black.
she has been campaigning this way for some
time now. in fact, it’s been over a week since she was last seen in
public without the aura bestowed to her by the divine lollipop
juju. there are many benefits to trickster mode, in that it imbues
one with an endless supply of enthusiasm and supernatural
positivity. additionally, it prevents one from dwelling on any
given personal problems, or the greater implications of any
political statements one might make.
however, while a great portion of the
electorate adores jane’s elevated sense of charisma and presence
when she is in trickster mode, as they should, there are just as
many detractors who claim that the whole thing is “extremely
problematic.” i doubt this is true but must also acknowledge it
exceeds the scope of my expertise to comment on the subject.
JANE: Oh my goodness.
JANE: It’s NOT problematic!
jane erupts, alone in the
elevator, seemingly talking to herself. she appears to be
responding to her own inner monologue, which i, admittedly, am
presently conducting. she appears to agree with me on this matter.
the juju has truly blessed her with great wisdom.
JANE: I have endured this argument for years, and I
honestly cannot see a single thing about it that could be even
thinly construed as problematic.
JANE: Furthermore, despite the fact that I
emphatically do not find it to be problematic, I have in
the past politely refrained from indulging in the profane pleasures
of the Trickster Lollipop out of respect for those who do find
offense with it.
JANE: However, citizens of the Human Kingdom
delight in my Tricksy antics, and what kind of politician would I
be if I were to deny my core voting demographic that sort of red
meat?
JANE: Or... candy, I suppose.
JANE: To imply that I am superciliously and
recklessly stoking potentially dangerous cultural fires is honestly
an insult.
JANE: I am guilty of only one crime: energizing my
base!
she is saying it better than i
could possibly say it myself. it is unusually gratifying to witness
a human with such high regard for hallowed cultural artifacts and
the unparalleled blessings they bestow upon lesser beings.
JANE: Wait, who am I talking to?
jane rubs her eyes under her
glasses and groans. trickster mode is also quite exhausting. what a
strange quirk of human biology that excess euphoria must
necessarily be followed by crippling despair. she carelessly tosses
the lollipop on the floor, lurches toward her desk...
no.
she turns around promptly, her body jolted
by the surprise of her sudden reversal. she bends over, cradles the
lollipop reverentially, and situates it carefully in a place
signifying respect: atop the mantle, after clearing space for it by
shoving several brittle, worthless objects to the floor.
only then does she drag herself to her
desk, her legs shaking as if she has just run a great distance.
the moment she sits down, her phone begins
to ring.
JANE: Yes?
DIRK: Yo, don’t spend too much time in Trickster
Mode.
JANE: Is that all you have to say?
DIRK: In general? Not by a long shot.
DIRK: But pertaining to this specific issue, yeah,
because you should know better.
DIRK: At this rate you’re going you’ll burn
yourself out before we even go to the ballots.
DIRK: Can you just trust me on this, for once? I’m
a bit too preoccupied at this exact moment to turn my chair
backwards and rap at you about the dangers of dope.
JANE: I know what I’m doing, Dirk.
JANE: Do I need to remind you that all of this was
initially my idea?
DIRK: In that case, how about we tap into some of
that outrageous political acumen of yours, dial back on the manic
pixie dream candidate bullshit, and focus a little more on
substantive policy speeches.
JANE: Oh come on, Dirk. Both you and I
know that isn’t how politics works.
DIRK: Yeah, you’re right. I can’t believe I
actually said that with a straight face.
JANE: You say everything with a straight face.
DIRK: Another fair point.
DIRK: See, Jane? This is why you’re going to clean
his fucking clock in the debates.
DIRK: All I’m saying is, there are better ways to
go about unscrupulously manipulating the electorate than burning
through your entire lifetime’s supply of dopamine.
JANE: Like, perhaps, gaining the ever-vaunted
endorsement of one Jake English?
DIRK: Exactly.
JANE: You know, the last time we spoke about this
issue I could have sworn you asked me to let you handle
Jake.
DIRK: Hmm.
DIRK: I guess I did say that.
JANE: ...
JANE: Dirk, are you doing quite okay?
JANE: It’s very unlike you to forget details like
that.
DIRK: I’m fine, Jane.
the prince is not fine. he is
not the type who takes well to having his plans upended, or his
control of a shared vehicle fully suppressed. my brother wasn’t
much that type either.
DIRK: Oh, fuck off. I’m nothing like that guy.
JANE: Huh?
JANE: What guy?
DIRK: Uh.
DIRK: Forget it. I was talking to someone else.
JANE: Who?
JANE: Is someone else there with you?
DIRK: I... no. It’s nobody. Let’s just drop it,
ok?
yet, unfortunately for everyone
in the corporeal realm, the prince isn’t the type to overlook the
need for backup plans either. he devises contingencies for both
success and failure. wheels within wheels, as he likes to
imagine.
in his workshop, the prince machinates,
while the seer both diminishes and ascends. he is being careful to
make sure the precise nature of his activity is obscure. he closes
his mind to all observation. he scatters many stray parts across
his worktable and busies himself with a variety of misleading
mechanical tasks to hide the true intent of his schemes from
me.
but certain objects and actions strike me
as more notable than others. that very long, red rifle on the
table, for instance. a weapon that does not belong to him and has
not been used in a long time. he has been returning to the rifle
between his other menial activities of probable misdirection. he
dismantles it, reassembles it, slides off the receiver cover to
examine the firing mechanism.
the prince clearly believes he is a very
clever boy. my brother did too.
DIRK: (Christ.)
DIRK: So, on the Jake issue,
DIRK: Unfortunately, my influence is a
little...
DIRK: “Limited” at the moment.
JANE: What does that mean?
DIRK: A whole lot of bullshit that I don’t have the
time or patience to explain right now.
DIRK: All you need to know is that I’m working on a
solution. To both my problem and yours.
DIRK: Until then, you should figure out how to get
Jake to, at the very least, avoid taking a side.
JANE: Actually, I have been
thinking...
JANE: Perhaps this attempt to get Jake on our side
is the wrong angle from which to approach this vexing problem.
JANE: Wouldn’t it be much easier to discredit or
blackmail him?
JANE: He is much beloved in the Troll Kingdom for
his carefully cultivated posterior, true.
JANE: But we both know that his bottom is not the
only intimate attribute for which he is famed amongst
Trollish citizens.
JANE: It would take almost nothing to expose his
many dalliances through the human media.
DIRK: Hoo boy.
JANE: I know! Not to be judgmental, but his zipper
is as loose as his pants are tight.
DIRK: That’s not what I meant by hoo boy.
JANE: You don’t think it would work?
DIRK: Oh, it could work.
DIRK: A certain illusion of boyish innocence is an
important part of his brand.
DIRK: You contrast that innocence with the gyrating
of his sinewy thighs, beaming raw, sweaty sexuality right into the
camera on live TV five nights a week...
DIRK: That’s what makes Jake English work as a
marketable commodity. The tension between the two, the inherent
friction there.
DIRK: He’s gotta look coy as all get-out. Like he
has no idea how sexy he is. Like if you actually got him into bed,
he’d completely disintegrate into a blushing mess of hesitation and
sexless uncertainty.
JANE: Wow.
JANE: I’ve never heard anything more preposterous
in my life.
DIRK: Yeah. Well, his fans get off on it.
JANE: So what’s the problem?
DIRK: The part of your plan that involves exposing
his promiscuity with trolls in order to hurt his chances with the
human vote.
DIRK: And thereby framing interspecies sex as an
inherently scandalous thing.
DIRK: I dunno, Jane. That sounds pretty fucking
xenophobic.
JANE: Auuugh!
JANE: Not again!
JANE: What ISN’T xenophobic?
DIRK: Well, for one thing, what you just said
there?
DIRK: Probably also xenophobic.
JANE: WHAT?
DIRK: Sorry, that’s just how it is.
DIRK: You either gotta roll with the woke shit, or
decide to commit laborious, symbolic, melodramatic suicide in the
process of utterly giving up.
JANE: ??????????
DIRK: Yes.
DIRK: It is confusing.
DIRK: But that’s why you’re lucky to have me as
your top advisor and strategist.
the prince appears to have
discarded the pretense of misdirection at his worktable and is
focused solely on the red rifle. he clicks the casing back into
place. he sets the weapon on his shoulder so he can test the view
through the scope. the setting sun bounces off the slick, red metal
and slices a bar of light across the wall behind him.
JANE: Sigh.
JANE: Dirk... do you want me to deal with Jake or
not? You’ve offered nothing helpful yet, but you’ve shot down all
my ideas.
DIRK: That’s because lately, all your ideas have
been fucking terrible, Jane.
DIRK: Seriously. You’ve got to quit the
tricksterpop. It’s rotting your brain.
said the heathen. the cur. a
true philistine. jane’s head swivels sharply to look at the juju on
the mantle. she admires it longingly. piously. she will never
relinquish her priceless boon, no matter what reprehensible lies
the prince whispers into her ear.
JANE: Then what do you want me to DO?
DIRK: Play defense for a while. Like I said, I’ve
got some cakes in the oven so to speak.
DIRK: But we can’t set them on the cooling plate
just yet, so go make some fondant in the meantime.
jane frowns. the baking metaphor
felt like one contrived purely for her benefit, and therefore
condescending. and yet she hates how effective it was. she laments
her own weakness for being so easily swayed by a well-delivered
baking comparison. she lets the prince go, and begins making her
own plans.
in his workshop, the prince lines up an
imaginary shot. he pulls the trigger, listening to the pieces
within slide and click together in a satisfying concert of metallic
sounds. impeccably assembled, perfectly greased. the gun is not
loaded, but the shot goes off without a hitch.
what do you think you’re up to,
prince?
DIRK: Your
ass is mine, Jake English.
he speaks under his breath
inaudibly, perhaps frustrated, unaccustomed to scheming while
others look over his shoulder. it’s possible he is not as bold, or
as confident in his own designs as i believed.
DIRK: I fucking said, your ass is mine,
Jake English.