entrancelogs | If you could be any you, who would you be? [OPEN]

Who: EVERYBODY!
Where: TV Wonderland
When: June 29th - July 1st
Rating: anything from Teletubbies to Game of Thrones
Summary:
As announced this will be a catch-all post for shorter scenes, commercials, or things you simply don't want to make an entry for.

If you want to involve your character in anything and everything, leave a blank comment with them and see what others drag them into! Other characters will respond and set a random scene for the two (or three or seven) of you.

If you only have one particular thing in mind then set it up in a comment and wait for replies of anybody who wants to play along with the idea and stumble into that scene in their next response (or mark the thread CLOSED if you already have participants in mind)!

The Story:
Over the course of the event, everyone will be forced to act out various stereotypical roles and common tropes. The setting immediately around them will change randomly into settings from cliche popular media, complete with mediocre side-character NPCs who will never break character. It will become clear very quickly that they are expected to act out a particular role in the scene. They might be expected to be a tough cop, or a handsome sexy doctor, or someone’s evil twin come back from the dead, or any number of terrible tropes – and these tropes do not necessarily have anything to do with who the character is or what they do for a living. They could be the most innocent person and suddenly find themselves forced into the role of a hardened criminal.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

So. That sure was an interesting event to wake up to, a few days ago. And once Philip figured out that he was meant to escape those scenes by playing along he also figured out that this whole story had a really familiar ring to it. Something an old friend told him once. Really odd story, even for that guy.

Well. That was a few days and several channels earlier though, and by now Philip's forgotten about that particular memory in favour of doing the only proper thing in an hopelessly haphazard situation like this: Walk up front to wherever the "studio" puts you, and do your lines with a resigned expression.

This time he all but perks up at that announcer though. Hey, it's been a while since anybody Dr. Philip LaFresque'd him, and it's almost nice to reminisce on-- On a career decidedly not related to men's health, and there goes his mood.

And if that mood wasn't leaving the stage fast enough, hey, here's a look at his co-host, and suddenly Philip grimaces, struck with the reminder of his first day epiphany.

"You."

Truth to be told, that probably wasn't in the script.

"This is your bloody fault, isn't it?"

...And that probably wasn't either.

Truth be told, up until this moment Dean had absolutely no idea what Philip's last name is. It catches him off guard and his brow furrows, he can't help the way he mouths it incredulously. Seriously, though, French? He's shaken from that train of thought rather thoroughly at that accusation and he points back defensively.

"Hey, you can't prove that!"

...So basically, yeah, this is entirely his fault and it's made all the worse by the fact that he's got to play this whole thing out with the guy who's been a bigger dick to him than virtually anyone else in Wonderland. Then again, said dick did also give him a bar and a car. So he's a dick with a gooey Okay Guy center, but he's still a dick and this event is a pain in the ass.

There's a tense silence that follows, coupled with a few throats clearing in the audience, and he glances over at them. It's a pointed reminder of exactly what they're supposed to be doing, and he paints on a pained smile. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Dr. Phil."

There's some light laughing and a round of applause, and he shrugs a little helplessly. Like they were gonna go more than ten minutes without making that joke.

First of all, it's not French, it's Belgian. The, erm, French-speaking part of Belgium. And second of all, shut up. Philip casts an irritated glance at the studio audience, because that did not even deserve one single clap of encouragement.

They're trapped in the contents of a TV guide, they're forced to play along, and they've got a set ready to turn on them if they refuse. If that's not the fault of Dean or one of his people then--

...Then Philip's glare at the hunter is cut somewhat short by the metallic creaking of the spotlight above them. Right. Not sure how well their product would sell if one of their presenters got smashed to bits, but supposedly any publicity is good publicity, so the doctor isn't going to risk it.

"Dean," he begins and forces an attempt at a smile, which never quite makes it past the look of a pained grimace. "Our experts have created an incredible product, haven't they? Why don't you-- Why don't you start by telling us just why our viewers would want Lift! in their life?"

Because he sure as hell hasn't got a bloody clue.

French, Belgium, blah blah he can't hear you over the sound of his freedom and his awesome American-ness. Although, he's gotta admit, Belgian waffles are pretty delicious.

His eyes flick upward at that creaking, dangerously swaying light and then back to Philip again a little wide. Play along, asshole, because he really doesn't want to get crushed beneath falling studio equipment. He's got plans and a desire to live and a sudden hankering for breakfast foods.

Philip flips the spotlight onto him and his lips part a little. Shit, he's gotta... come up with... you know, something. It's just a shame he sucks at acting.

"...Uh." A glance at the studio audience while his brain scrambles for something, anything at all. He draws a nice, empty blank until his eyes fall on the podium center-stage. There are some diagrams laying neatly on the surface, and he cranes his neck to get a better look at-

...Oh, you have got to be kidding him. His face falls into something flat and unimpressed. "Because they're depressed and horny."

It comes out almost as an accusation, and he picks up a nice, pretty little graph that shows the rate of increase in both mood and penis size over a six month period. Holds it up as if to show no, he is not in fact kidding.

Philip spits out an incredulous laugh and stares at Dean in disbelief, and not just because Belgian waffles have absolutely nothing to do with Belgium beyond their name.

"Because they... are depressed and horny."

The disbelief in his voice falters at the sight of the graph, and the weak smile that crosses his face when he glances at the audience almost looks like a silent cry for help.

The comment reserved for Dean is nowhere near as reluctant.

"We could've had ghosts, or werewolves, or demons, or anything but this," he hisses in Dean's ear and takes the diagram from his hands.

Faintly Philip probably recalls a time when he would have been grateful for the opportunity to talk his way out of a situation, rather than engage in a potentially lethal confrontation with the supernatural, but that time lies long dead and buried. These days he has developed a grim appreciation for any problem that can be made to disappear with the pull of a trigger.

Instead this one requires-- Actually, better not think of a word for it, that'll get his mood down faster than whatever candy drops they're selling can lift it back up. No, better to close his eyes and pretend he is giving the most ridiculous lecture of his life. Because there's no getting out of here otherwise.

"Recent studies show that over 37% of all Americans suffer from a combination of depressive mood disorder and erectile dysfunction. However, most pharmaceuticals used to combat these issues can be difficult to manage, be overly expensive, or have unpleasant side effects."

Philip shoots Dean a sharp look. Your turn, have fun with it.

Dean takes the time to shoot Philip a helpless look. It's not his fault! Even though it... kind of is, but still. Dean doesn't have any more control over these things than Philip does, and it's all written right there in his expression as he passes the graph over.

"Oh, please, like I'm dancing the friggin' La Bamba over here." He hisses it back defensively, quickly, before pulling back to smile painfully at the audience again. This is the worst. It's legitimately the worst possible friggin' thing, he hated it when it was happening and he hates it now. As a matter of fact, if he never, ever sees a studio audience again, it'll be too damn soon.

He returns Philip's sharp look with a flat one, like they're creating a goddamn symphony of failure together. Whatever. He can do side effects. "It's true, Dr. Phil. Studies show that other drugs can have a whole mess of problems. Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea-" Wait, no, that's all the shit Pepto Bismal fixes. "-High blood pressure, heart attacks, high mortgage rates, inflation, flat tires, badger attacks, the moon. All directly caused by taking Viagra just once. Lift! doesn't have any side effects, because it's all natural, isn't that right, buddy?"

If you could be any you, who would you be? [OPEN]

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