Fable Weaver
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DOS Ch-251
🕑 Added 2025-07-03 22:55:19 +0000 UTC“What the fuck happened to you?” Scarlett demanded the moment she stepped through the doorway of the modern seaside villa they were renting in Wellington. The wind from outside still clung to her jacket, and her eyes landed immediately on Troy, who was sitting in a wheelchair near the dining table.
“Nothing,” Troy replied, a little too quickly. His tone was defensive. “Why would anything happen to me?”
“Yeah, nothing happened when you fell off that horse either,” she remarked sarcastically. “And if nothing truly happened, why are you in a wheelchair?”
“Oh,” Troy chuckled nervously, as if he hadn’t realized already what she was talking about, “That.”
“Yes, that,” Scarlett echoed, folding her arms. “Don’t tell me you’re trying method acting, living in a wheelchair just like your character.”
“I…” Troy’s eyes dropped to the floor, refusing to meet hers.
Scarlett exhaled sharply and stepped further inside, letting her bag drop on the couch. “I don’t wanna do this again, Troy.”
His head snapped up. “Again?”
“Josh Hartnett,” she said, her expression darkening slightly at the memory of her ex. “He met Daniel Day-Lewis at some awards thing and suddenly decided to go full method for a role. Didn’t improve his acting much, but he made my life hell. No girl wants to come home to find out her partner’s brought work with him in the most annoying way possible.”
The room grew quiet for a beat. The only sound came from the distant crashing of waves outside the window.
“I’m still mostly me,” Troy said eventually, voice low but firm. “But instead of my feet, I’ll use a wheelchair. What’s the problem with that? Would you have said the same if I actually lost my legs tomorrow? Would you leave me then?”
“Of course not.” Scarlett crossed the space between them, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. “But don’t forget—you haven’t lost your legs. Speaking in hypotheticals like that isn’t fair.”
Troy opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue, but Scarlett didn’t let him.
“I get the drive to play a character perfectly, I really do,” she said softly. “Some of the roles I’ve done, I wish they were simple enough that I could live them out for part of the day. But that’s the thing, Troy. Part of the day. A character you play should be exactly that: a character. I don’t want to be living with a stranger for months. I love you, not some guy fighting a war on a distant alien planet.”
Troy didn’t respond right away. His jaw was tense, but he wasn’t fighting her words.
She touched his arm. “If you really wanna do this, then do it on set. You shoot for more than half a day. While you're there, even if I’m visiting, I won’t expect you to drop the character, because that’s your workplace. But when you’re with me, be you. Not him.”
Troy leaned back in the chair, his expression thoughtful.
“I had made some plans,” Scarlett added lightly, sensing he needed time. “We could tour New Zealand whenever you're not shooting [Avatar]. Think about it. No paparazzi chasing us around like they do in London or LA.”
She yawned suddenly, covering her mouth. “I’m jetlagged from the flight and need to crash. You’re welcome to join me if you want.”
That finally earned a reaction. Troy’s face lit up, his earlier brooding forgotten for the moment. He stood up quickly from the wheelchair, flashing a grin. “Now we’re talking.”
Scarlett laughed at Troy’s antics, amused despite herself. Shaking her head, she said, “I’m tired. So unless you’re just here to cuddle, stay put.”
Troy shrugged, unfazed. “It’s a little early for my bedtime, but I do love cuddling next to you. Kind of like Edward from [Twilight], I love watching you sleep.”
Scarlett groaned, her face twisting in mock disgust. “Please don’t compare yourself to Edward.”
Troy burst into laughter, clearly pleased with how much it irritated her. She knew exactly what he was doing—poking at her for a reaction. And it was working. Still, two could play that game.
“Fine,” she said, her tone sharp with mischief. “Then let’s abstain from premarital sex. Wasn’t that Edward’s entire philosophy?”
“Hey!”
Troy sprang toward her, but Scarlett was already bolting down the hallway, laughing as she ran for their shared bedroom.
“Turnabout is fair play, mister!” she called over her shoulder, only to yelp in surprise as he suddenly appeared behind her and swept her off the ground by the waist.
“Let’s see how much premarital sex we don’t have tonight,” he whispered playfully, carrying her inside.
(Break)
“Cut! Print, check the gate.”
Jim’s voice rang out across the expansive soundstage, bringing the day’s shoot to an official close. The crew began moving with the usual post-wrap rhythm—adjusting equipment, chatting, preparing to leave. I stayed put, standing off to the side of the set as Alfonso studied the lighting setup and camera placement.
The scene we had just filmed didn’t even feature my character, but I remained on set longer than usual. My dad was visiting, along with Alfonso and Jeff Robinov, the newly appointed President of Warner Bros. Pictures. It felt important to be present.
“So, what do you think?” I asked, watching Alfonso closely as he stepped around a dolly track to examine the dual-camera rig.
“It’s marvelous,” Alfonso said, nodding with genuine admiration. “I didn’t think we could shoot something this simple with two cameras side by side and still have it feel so organic. That 3D depth is subtle but immersive. It’s ingenious.”
“I agree,” Dad said, his voice warm with pride.
The two men turned toward Jeff, who stood with his arms crossed, a skeptical expression on his face.
“It’s just a gimmick,” Jeff replied, his tone dismissive. “A good movie doesn’t need… this. We already have a strong story, and people will show up for that. Sure, 3D tickets are more expensive, and from a business perspective, I get why we should do it. But we could convert the footage in post-production for a fraction of the cost. Faster, too.”
I studied Jeff for a long moment, considering his words carefully. Dick Parsons had warned me months ago that he’d soon step down as CEO and President of Warner. I had hoped he wouldn’t, but that hope had clearly come to nothing. I liked Dick. We got along well, and he actually loved cinema—understood its cultural weight and artistic value. Jeff, on the other hand, was a businessman through and through. At least that’s how he came off to me. And if there was one thing I trusted about myself, it was my ability to read people.
“That’s not true, gentlemen,” Jim interrupted, joining us after handing off his headset to a PA. He sounded calm, but assertive. “It’s not a gimmick at all. Native 3D is miles ahead of post-converted 3D. There’s no comparison. Not even close. And I can prove it.”
I grinned, already knowing what was coming. A few weeks earlier, Jim had shown the cast a similar demonstration to quell doubts about shooting in 3D. When I learned that Robinov would be accompanying Dad and Alfonso to Wellington, I’d asked Jim in advance to prepare another viewing.
“Please do, Jim,” I said, turning toward him. “They need to see what they’re missing.”
“Gladly,” he replied with a grin. “I’ve got time to spare today.”
He led us to the editing suite, a room unlike most post-production bays. This one was equipped with a full-sized 3D projector and a large screen that mimicked the feel of a cinema. Since Jim was co-editing the film himself, it made sense that the space would reflect his unique style. He didn’t do things by the book; he rewrote the book.
“John,” he called out to his editing partner, who was already seated at a workstation. “These gentlemen here would like the 3D demonstration.”
John nodded without looking away from his screen. Clearly, he’d been briefed ahead of time. With a few clicks of the mouse, the room darkened and the projector powered up.
We were each handed a pair of 3D glasses, and within seconds, the screen lit up with a high-resolution clip. It opened on a serene forest—tall trees cast long shadows, their trunks lined with moss. A lion walked through the brush, weaving silently between the trees. Beams of sunlight filtered in from above, and the lion paused to glance in their direction.
The clip only lasted about two minutes, but it had been designed to impress.
Jeff Robinov scoffed the moment it ended. “I told you. Just a gimmick. I’d rather watch it in regular 2D.”
But Jim didn’t look disappointed. In fact, his grin only widened. I couldn’t help but mirror it.
“That was converted 3D,” Jim said slowly, letting each word land. “Now watch the same clip, shot natively in 3D.”
John cued it up again. This time, the difference was instant.
The forest felt alive. The trees stretched toward us, their bark textured and tangible, as if we could reach out and touch them. When the lion emerged, it wasn’t just on the screen—it was the screen. Its fur shimmered under the dappled sunlight, and when it looked in our direction, Robinov flinched beside me.
The sunlight burst through the canopy in thick shafts, creating an ethereal glow. The Tyndall effect, the scattering of light, was so lifelike that I instinctively raised my hand to shield my eyes.
“Holy shit,” Robinov muttered, unable to look away.
“That, my dear friends,” Jim announced with theatrical pride as the clip faded to black, “is the wonder of native 3D, the future of cinema. I’d love to see more filmmakers use this technology. Once I wrap [Avatar], the same equipment will be available. You could even use it for [Harry Potter]. We could split the costs, and it would be efficient for both productions.”
“Now that is a great idea,” Dad said immediately, turning to Jeff. “Something I hope Warner would be open to.”
Jeff didn’t reply right away. He glanced toward Alfonso, his expression thoughtful. “What do you think? Would you prefer this over conventional shooting?”
“I can’t say just yet,” Alfonso admitted. “The tech is impressive, but the production needs of [Harry Potter] are very different from [Avatar]. If Jim doesn’t mind, I’d like to spend some time on set to see the logistics.”
“I’d love to have you here,” Jim replied without hesitation.
Of course he would. If Alfonso signed off, it could save [Avatar] millions in shared equipment costs.
(Break)
(Time Skip)
“Good evening, New Zealand!” I shouted into the mic, and the crowd around me erupted in a roar.
The stage lights glared down from above as I stood at the center of Westpac Stadium, catching my breath after the high-energy opening number. The cheers echoed through the arena, rolling like thunder across the 48,000 people packed into the stands and the field. It wasn’t my biggest concert to date, not by a long shot—but the energy in Wellington tonight was electric.
“I would love to sing another song after that opening number,” I said, pacing across the stage, “but now’s the time I get to talk to all of you... which also means I get a little break from singing.”
The audience laughed, and I grinned, letting the warmth of their reaction settle over me.
“My last few months here in New Zealand,” I continued, “have been some of the best of my life. I’ve been shooting a movie down here, thousands of miles from home, and yet, not for a single moment did I feel alone. The love, the hospitality… it’s been overwhelming. And that’s coming from a Brit.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd, joined by scattered applause. But I meant every word.
It wasn’t just stage patter. These months in New Zealand really had been something special. Even though I still had a security detail, it felt safer to walk down a street here than anywhere in London, New York, or LA. Scarlett and I had taken road trips almost every weekend, and wherever we went, people were kind, respectful, and most importantly, normal about things. I still got recognized, sure, but it wasn’t the manic, suffocating sort of attention I was used to.
I fucking loved it.
This country had given me peace in a way few places ever had. A little pocket of quiet amid the madness of Hollywood. Urban, but not chaotic. Natural, but not isolated. I’d already bought a house here by the beach. I was serious about coming back.
I glanced toward the VIP section near the front of the stage. Scarlett was there, grinning up at me, her face lit by the stage wash and the giant LED screens. Just seeing her made me smile.
“I shared these past few months with a very special woman,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Someone I’ve grown to care about... deeply.”
The crowd quieted, sensing the change in mood.
“And for her, I’ve written a song. It’s not released yet. I hope you won’t mind if I share it with you tonight, for the very first time.”
That got them. The crowd exploded in cheers, as I knew they would. Most artists would hesitate to debut a new track live, let alone at a stadium show, but I didn’t worry about leaks or piracy. The song was already copyrighted under my name. Besides, I had more money than I could ever need.
I turned to the side of the stage and motioned for my guitarist. He walked over quickly and handed me the instrument. I adjusted the strap, gave the strings a quick test strum, and nodded toward the band. They began playing the soft intro I’d given them in advance.
I took a few slow steps toward the edge of the stage, strummed the opening chord, and locked eyes with Scarlett.
Then I began to sing the first line—just for her.
[Die With a Smile - Bruno Mars, Lady Gaga]
~ I, I just woke up from a dream
Where you and I had to say goodbye
And I don't know what it all means
But since I survived, I realized
Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow
Nobody's promised tomorrow
So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night
Like it's the last night
If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you
If the party was over and our time on Earth was through
I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile
If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you ~
As soon as the final chord faded into silence, the stadium erupted into thunderous applause. The cheers echoed across the open-air venue, but my focus remained on just one face in the crowd.
Scarlett.
She stood frozen for a moment in the VIP section, her expression overwhelmed, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson—the same shade as her name. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward with purposeful strides.
The security guards at the base of the stage recognized her instantly and parted without protest. The audience’s cheering only grew louder as she made her way up, but in that moment, neither of us cared about the noise or the spectacle.
Scarlett closed the distance between us and, without a word, placed her hands on my shoulders and kissed me. Soft, certain, yet fierce. Exactly as I loved it.
Everything else fell away.
For those few seconds, it was just the two of us, sharing something intimate under the open sky, with nearly fifty thousand people watching—and likely millions more who would see it online within hours. But it didn’t matter. None of it did.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes were shining.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the roar of the crowd. “That was the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”
“Stay with me forever,” I murmured, brushing away the wetness on her cheeks, “and I’ll keep giving you more.”
The emotion in her gaze—pure, vulnerable, and unguarded—was everything I had hoped to see when I planned that song for our last night here in New Zealand. The music, the crowd, the cameras... they all faded into the background. That night, for me, was already a complete success.
(Break)
Christian Bale was at his wits’ end.
Seated stiffly in yet another press junket for his upcoming movie, he tried to keep his expression composed as yet another reporter lobbed the question at him.
“So... can you at least give me a hint who the Joker is?” the woman in front of him asked, her voice low and flirtatious, as if she could charm the answer out of him.
Even if Christian had been green enough to fall for that tactic, he still couldn’t give her what she wanted, because he genuinely had no idea.
“I really don’t know,” he replied, reciting the line he’d rehearsed a hundred times before. “The entire cast and crew signed NDAs, but even then, the actor who played the Joker never revealed his identity to anyone except Chris Nolan. So if you want to ask someone, ask him.”
The woman leaned forward, pen poised. “But they haven’t even released a photo of the Joker. Why all the secrecy?”
“I’m not sure,” Christian said with a shrug. “If I had to guess, probably so people don’t use Photoshop to strip away the makeup and figure out who it is.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Have you seen the final product yourself?”
“Not yet.” Christian shook his head. “There’s an internal screening scheduled for tomorrow, and I’ll be attending that. I haven’t seen the film yet, but I have read the script—and I can confidently say it’s the best one I’ve ever worked on. I’m sure the result will speak for itself.”
What he didn’t say out loud was what had been gnawing at him for over a year now: the mystery of the man who had played the Joker. The so-called Frank. Christian had never met him outside set, yet this phantom actor had stolen scenes from him in the script like a ghost through a locked door.
And tomorrow, Christian would finally get some answers.
Hopefully.
_____________
AN: I'm sorry for the bad cliffhanger from the last chapter. Originally, I had planned something else, but when I wrote it, it came out terrible, so I scrapped it and started again.
On another note, we're finally at the moment you've all been waiting for: the release of TDK.
Comments
J
Lmfao some of the cast is gonna be so pissed at troy
Fable Weaver
I was feeling lazy at the time and didn't want to calculate which month they were exactly in, so I skipped it.
Ant1h3ld
Instead of (Time Skip) maybe write something like - 3 Weeks later- (Time Skip) feels like a movie script or something. It's a little immersion breaking.
