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Mort was breathing heavily not just through his nostrils but through his whole body, like he’d just finished a workout. if you count writing a script for a play as a workout, then yeah.
“FINISHED!” Mort yelled triumphantly as the quill slipped from his grasp. He slammed the thick, layered script shut; it landed with a loud boom.
“YES! YES! YEEEEESSSSS!” Mort shrieked, manic and foaming at the mouth.
He snatched up the script and rushed outside to the backstage area, only a foot away from his director’s room. He composed himself, settling back into his usual doe‑like, stupid bug‑eyed face and that annoyingly shrill voice.
“Alright, everyone!” Mort announced.
That grabbed everyone’s attention, except the king and his advisor, the former probably prattling about something nonsensical to the latter.
With everyone gathered, Mort hoisted the big, heavy script over his head.
“I have finished the script for King Julien and the Philosopher’s Pineapple!” he declared proudly.
“Ugh, finally. We can get on with the show. Took you long enough,” Hector grumbled from the front row, annoyance thick in his voice.
“CAN IT, GRAMPS!” Mort snapped.
Hector rolled his eyes and muttered about how stupid this whole thing was. If that was the case, then why did he come and willingly participate? That grumpy geezer of a lemur sure was a mystery.
“Anyways,” Ted said, trying to steer things back to the play. “Timo?” he called to the tenrec.
Timo immediately hurried over with his laser‑ink‑janer‑tron in tow. He stepped beside Ted, who then turned to Mort.
“May I?” he asked.
“You may,” Mort giggled impishly as he handed over the script to Ted, whom promptly dropped straight to the floor from the sheer weight. Mort had carried it like it was nothing, and over his head too.
𝒜 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝓊𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓉𝑜𝒸𝑜𝓅𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓉 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓈 — 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝓂𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓏𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓈 — 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝒽𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝓎𝒶𝓁 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓀𝒾𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇…
“Alright! People, places!” Ted called, clapping his hands and gesturing everyone into position. “That means you too, King J,” he added, finger‑gunning at the king.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Julien muttered as he waved his hand dismissively at Ted, motioning for him to go on ahead.
Once Ted walked away and was out of earshot, Julien glanced over at Maurice.
“Urrrggghhg!” he groaned.
Maurice rolled his eyes.
“It was clearly a mistake approving a community theatre. Giving Ted stage power went straight to his head!” Julien complained as he dragged his feet into place.
“Oh, come on, your majesty, it’s not that bad,” Clover said as she walked up to them.
Maurice nodded at her comment.
Julien raised an eyebrow at her.
“Okay, some of it, is bad. Especially Ted getting a big ego about this,” Clover admitted. “Trust me, I know.” She thought back to all the times Ted had redone rehearsals again and again until they felt perfect.
“Either way,” Maurice chimed in, “what Ted’s doing is good for everyone. It helps build community, strengthens our bonds, and gives folks a chance to express themselves creatively.”
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to bless the audience with my talents,” Julien said as a smirk spread across his face.
He immediately sucked the smirk back in when Clover elbowed him in the ribs before folding her arms sternly. Maurice also looked at him expectantly.
Julien quickly recollected himself, chuckling nervously as the weight of their stares settled on him.
“To bless the audience not just with my talents, but with yours and everyone else’s as well!” he corrected.
His friends gave him approving looks.
Julien tilted his crown forward, eyes and eyebrows slanting in theatrical readiness.
“Alright. It’s showtime,” he said coolly.