31 Think Opera Notes at the Staccato Pace of Rap
Think Opera Notes at the Staccato Pace of Rap
A nother week passed, and they were officially halfway through filming. Only four weeks left to go. Four weeks until Spie could ditch her imperial responsibilities for good. But the thought was lacking in its usual excitement. Instead, a small pocket of dread irritated her lungs.
She didn’t want to examine the feeling closely.
For her solo date this week, she’d chosen Jasmine Gross.
Nicky was out with Cailin Frederik, the poor boy.
Altogether, they’d sent home twelve contestants so far.
Twelve remained. By this week’s end, they needed to send home another three.
Spie was already pretty certain the finale would come down to Arbora and Petra for her and Cailin and Artemis for Nicky.
Which meant she’d earn her two million credits.
Speaking of . . .
Do you think if I fake food poisoning, I’ll be able to cut this date short? Spie bridged between takes.
Trash Girl: Only if you really sell it. Moan with gut pain, vomit dramatically. Definitely faint. And make sure it’s on camera so I can enjoy the show later.
Spie: What about yourself? The producers putting you through anything torturous back at the manor? We could be “sick” together in my room.
Trash Girl: Culinary cultural exchange. We’re all in the kitchen cooking signature meals from our homes. I’m substituting Expanese white potatoes for eio root—it’s basically a flavorless mash unless you can afford salt.
A producer with greasy orange hair gave Spie the two-minute countdown.
While the makeup crew touched up her face and smoothed her hair, the musicians returned to the stage to warm up their instruments.
The vibrant strum of two electric guitars soon drowned out the muffled chatter.
Spie liked the noise, the way it filled the too-quiet spaces in her mind.
The first portion of her date with Jasmine had been spent scuba diving off the coast, exploring an ancient sunken spaceship.
A thoroughly enjoyable time, in all honesty.
Due to the extreme nature of the date, only two cameras had been able to follow them around as they swam.
Spie could’ve stayed down there forever.
Now they were at a private venue in Elsidor.
A refurbished warehouse with blue fairy lights that hovered halfway between the cement floor and the twenty-foot ceiling.
The kind of place where one could turn out the lights and lose themself in sound and sweat.
Forget their heart had ever beaten separate from the thrum of music, become one organism with the mass of other people’s bodies.
Spie had always loved music—when not stuck starring on reality holovision, she could be found most weekends at concerts or symphonies; she personally knew many of Expan’s popular artists (had ended up in bed with more than one).
Tonight’s band called themselves Top Prop. They played operatic rap and hailed from a mishmash of continents in Expan’s southern hemisphere. Expan was the empire. The Prop was the seat of that empire. Top Prop was a play on that.
Spie joined Jasmine on the dance floor. As the band launched into their next song, her date began bobbing her head politely. In what was definitely a less-than-kind thought, Spie considered that Top Prop wasn’t talented enough to have achieved their level of success without the aid of nepotism.
“They’re great!” Jasmine shouted over the erratic beats. “Very authentically Expanese.”
Spie gave the other woman her best false smile.
The one she’d curated for interviews and press circuits.
She’d have no problem sending Jasmine home, but Blessing Stone had the inane idea to use her to foment drama.
Make her someone that both Spie and Nicky pretended to like.
Nicky had taken her out last week with the understanding that Spie would do so this week.
They were supposed to get Blessing Stone a few episodes of fake drama before sending her home.
Spie itched to bridge Artemis about the band, ask her opinion on operatic rap, on dark warehouses, on nepotism.
Relish in the absolute dearth of politeness that was Trash Girl.
Artemis had an opinion on everything. Spie liked that about her, liked the lack of self-consciousness between them.
It felt more honest than any other relationship she’d ever had.
Throughout her life, Spie had had a lot of friends.
Or, rather, people she’d thought of as friends.
Distant Expani cousins; the other children of Expanese politicians; musicians and artists and actors and athletes.
Her social circle had been wide. Unlike her brother, who kept himself constantly isolated, Spie was always out with people.
Her life had always moved fast—fast enough to outrun the failures she was trying to keep buried, the feeling of loneliness that sneaked up anytime she was alone for too long.
But how many of the people she’d passed her time with were actually her friends?
How many would show up for her if she suddenly lost the title of imperial princess?
Did she have friends or did she merely have sycophants?
Not long past, she wouldn’t have cared to make a distinction.
Hadn’t she laughed at Nix six weeks before when he said he wanted Artemis on Love Galaxy because she was real?
Spie hadn’t realized how deeply she’d been craving the same thing.
How different would her relationship with Arbora have been if they’d been more honest with each other? If Spie had slowed down long enough to really see her? How many of her relationships had existed solely to distract Spie from her own feelings?
Was she doing the same thing with Artemis now? It felt different, their conversations. But could Spie be sure?
After a rather dull evening of shallow conversation and chaste kisses for the cameras, Spie bid the Old Terran contestant farewell and sank, exhausted, into her bed. The balcony curtains were drawn, letting in the light of two and a half moons.
Immediately, she awakened her idling CB. No new bridges from Trash Girl. Disappointing but easy enough to remedy.
Spie settled comfortably against her pillows and dictated her message by voice.
Spie: What’s your stance on operatic rap?
While awaiting a response, she connected her CB’s neural link to her visual field and took to browsing the internet.
Virtual spaces were heavily monitored and regulated, so much so that the majority of fringe territories were routinely denied online access.
That had been the great focus of Gracelin Expani’s reign: cleaning up the internet and allocating trillions of credits’ worth of resources to controlling it across the empire.
Installing broadband stations inside every jumpgate and at regular intervals between planets.
Spie couldn’t begin to understand the science that made the galactic web work, but there was immense power in curating people’s access to information and limiting what they were permitted to see.
And right now, the majority of virtual spaces were dedicated to Love Galaxy .
Flicking her eyes up and down, Spie scanned through various sites detailing summaries of the show’s first few weeks.
There was a list of the contestants that had already been sent home, Cailin Frederik’s top eight outfits ranked, predictions of who would make it to the finale.
Spie blinked twice on a Love Galaxy fan forum, scrolling idly through posts.
TeamGetNixxed: you think producers are making him keep the x-er around? i just can’t fathom that my hot, smart scientist boy would be into her??
DramaMama: @Nixxed, what are you talking about??? He obviously likes her! They have some of the more substantive conversations out of anyone on the show. Like, she’s clearly not an airhead, which is more than I can say for others on there.
TeamGetNixxed @DramaMama are you saying cailin frederik is an airhead???? my girl went to law school and got top marks. everyone knows he’s gonna pick her, like it’s never even been a question. the x-er can go back to the fringes from whence she came. she doesn’t care about anyone but herself!
r56as8!: @Nixxed Tell me you’re from New Terra without telling me you’re from New Terra, am I right @DramaMama
BraxtonBurroughs: Am I the only one still with no idea who Spie is going to pick?
I went into ep. 1 thinking her ex, Arbora, but they’ve barely interacted?
? They haven’t even kissed. And the one time they talked about their history felt like they were saying stuff without saying stuff, you know?
It was annoying, like just TELL US WHAT HAPPENED.
DramaMama: @Braxton She seems into Petra Corran the most. Kinda wild, if you think about it, having two fringe territories doing so well. It’s a breath of fresh air. I was sad when they sent Rosaria home.
herbert: OMNebulas I LOVED Rosaria. I really wish she’d dated Spie, you know what I’m saying?
DramaMama: @herbert Rosaria was clearly just there for Nix. If Spie wanted her to stick around, they wouldn’t have sent her home.
goose300: @DramaMama Yeah but it’s lame.
I want to see more drama between the heirs.
What’s the point of having them star together if they aren’t gonna fight over anyone?
? They should’ve just split them into two different seasons if you ask me.
We’re getting shorted on content cause they’re covering too much ground.
herbert: what goose said
BraxtonBoroughs: long live goose
SpieforEmperor: I’d love to see Spie shock everyone by putting an end to the monogamous tradition and picking two (or more) winners—my girl can’t be tied down like that.
TeamGetNixxed: @DramaMama since you’re clearly an x-er apologist, you should take a look at this, might change your mind. Is Artemis Ialan an Anti-Humanist Sympathizer ?