I swear I meant to be encouraging, but I guess that’s the best way to get under her skin at this point.
I run a hand through my damp hair. Maybe being nauseous and tired leaves me without enough energy to hate Christine, because I really do want this fight to be the best that it can be.
You can do it, Mylo. Don’t be an asshole.
I dig deep.
“Okay, so… Electra. What’s her ideal outcome here? It’s not just knocking Melinoë out of the plane, right?” I already know the answer, but it’s important to give Christine the chance to feel like she came up with it.
Christine eyes me warily, then nods. “Yeah, she has her hero code. It’s very much arrest the villain, bring them in for questioning. Electra knows that Melinoë might have intel on Thanoseid that’ll help defeat him. Electra’s a bit overly optimistic too; she kinda thinks she can still talk some sense into Melinoë.”
“Maybe we ad-lib some dialogue to that effect; that’s a nice touch. What do you think, Andy? Can we work with that in post, even with the oner?”
Andy rubs his chin again. “We’re already doing some voice-over with Haley for getting the right grunts in. Face-replacing and voice-over at the same time, though…”
“Maybe Melinoë’s just laughing, refusing to engage.”
“That’d certainly get under Electra’s skin,” Christine says, and she seems to actually be talking about the character.
“That’s good. So, how is Electra reacting?”
“She’s getting angry,” Christine says. “Trying to pin Melinoë.”
Andy nods. “Let’s take a run like that.”
I’m sure this has all already occurred to Andy; he’s an incredible storyteller. But I think that’s exactly why he’s drip-feeding us this information. He wants us both to feel ownership here, to not only take direction but to really live in the role. It’s the only way to make this all work in the limited time we have.
Christine and I take our marks in the fuselage.
For the first time, I feel like I’m standing across from an actual person. We have a job to do together, and we’re both committed to doing it.
This time, when I take my first pass at Christine, she predicts my landing, leading a swipe to grapple me. I duck and roll, then line up for another attempt—but she’s already moving toward me, on the offensive.
Now there’s no time to think, there’s only the flow of movement, only instinct and muscle memory. There are a few stutters as we adjust to the tilting of the fuselage—Christine stumbling and leaving an opening, me jumping up to the ceiling just as the angle of the plane twists awkwardly—but Andy doesn’t tell us to stop, so we keep going.
And then it all clicks. I’m not really trying to get the ribbon; she’s not really trying to pin me—or, well, we are, but the tension of those two goals in equal balance creates something more than the sum of its parts. We find a rhythm, a volley, trading attacks and dodges as we move fluidly through the space.
Christine swings a punch, expecting me to dodge. I swivel a kick at her head, knowing she’ll catch it properly on her forearm without harm.
That’s what’s changed: trust.
We trust each other.
The fight progresses, spilling out onto the wing of the jet. Melinoë scurries over the top, swinging in through the opposite door—also opened by her hacking bots—and surprising Electra from behind before the two grapple again.
As we pass over the waves, that sickly sweet coconut fades, or perhaps I’m getting used to it. Between my bare chest and damp shorts, I stay cool enough to fend off the motion sickness for the next couple hours as Andy guides us through progressively more complicated passes, adding in the camera work and blocking out some rough choreography.
The part we rehearse the most is the last few moves: the moment that Electra finally seems to get the upper hand, when Melinoë allows herself to be grappled in order to subtly grab the Thunder Stone.
As Melinoë twists out of Electra’s grasp, the plane jerks sharply, smacking into Melinoë’s back. Air knocked out of her, Melinoë tumbles out the open door.
We lift the fuselage to ten feet for this practice, which gives me enough time to get to a safe landing position before I hit the blue foam crash mat the PAs dragged in for us.
There won’t be room under Melinoë’s costume for padding, so when the plane jerks up to hit her across the back, I take the hit directly. The metal fuselage rings convincingly with every impact. All ten of them as we practice and reset, practice and reset.Christine hesitates. “You sure we should keep doing this part? That looks like a hard hit.”
“Nah, I’m good. Making it look like it hurts is the point.”
“It doesn’t hurt at all?”
