Power Stone Goals from now on: I always post a minimum of 5 chapters. Henceforth the following are the goals:
Every 150 powerstones, I upload an extra chapter.
If we hit top 30 in the 30-90 days power stone rankings, thats 1 more chapter
If we hit top 10 in the 30-90 days power stone rankings, thats 1 more chapter
If we are top 5...well lets get to that first. Happy readings!
Chapter 4: Changing the script
To be honest, I felt slightly uneasy as we stood ready to begin the scene. Despite the preparation, there was a subtle tension beneath the surface. It wasn't because the moment was difficult or unfamiliar, but rather because of who I was performing with.
Crystal Reed, standing only a few feet away from me, was someone I had admired for years back when I used to watch Teen Wolf. I had always found her presence on screen captivating, and her portrayal of Allison Argent had, in many ways, left a lasting impression.
At the time, I would have described it as a crush, although it was mostly admiration from a distance. Seeing her now in person, preparing to rehearse a scene together, felt unexpectedly strange.
The casting director gave a brief nod and said, "You two can begin when you're ready," and without much thought or hesitation, the transition began.
Just like before, the shift happened almost imperceptibly. I didn't feel anything specific. No visual distortion or sound. It was just that, one moment I was standing in a quiet, neutral room with bare walls and soft lighting, and the next, I was no longer thinking as myself. I had once again become Scott McCall, fully immersed in his point of view.
Even though the surroundings hadn't changed, and we were still physically inside a rehearsal space, everything I saw and felt had adjusted to match the character's experience.
It wasn't jarring, just complete. I walked toward the entrance of the imagined veterinary clinic, flipped the sign to indicate the clinic was closed, and gently shut the door behind me.
Lifting my shirt, I checked the bandage still clinging to my side. It was soaked with dried blood, but when I peeled it away, I was surprised to find no wound underneath.
My abdomen, lean and clearly defined, was completely healed. The skin was unbroken…wow, whatever bit me didn't seem to have bitten that deep.
Whatever injury had been there before was now gone. I tossed the bandage aside and didn't dwell on the change for long, as there were other things I needed to attend to.
I moved into the back room to continue the nightly tasks. I collected a bag of cat food and entered the room where several cats were kept. Almost immediately, their behavior shifted. What was normally a calm environment quickly became filled with noise and motion. The cats hissed, backed into corners, and scratched at their cages. They seemed genuinely frightened.
Their agitation seemed directed at me, though I wasn't sure why. I stood still for a moment, watching their eyes track my every movement. Then, deciding not to make it worse, I quietly closed the door and stepped away.
As I turned back toward the front of the clinic, I heard a quick, uneven pattern of knocking at the entrance. The sound was steady but urgent. I approached and saw someone standing outside.
It was Allison. She was clearly shaken, standing in the rain. Her hair was wet, clinging to her face and shoulders, and her expression was full of worry.
I opened the door and stepped aside to let her in. The sound of thunder echoed faintly behind her, and rain tapped steadily on the pavement outside.
She started speaking almost immediately, her voice strained. "I didn't see her. I only looked away for a second. The dog just came out of nowhere."
I tried to stay calm and grounded, responding with even words. "It's alright. Do you remember where it happened? We can contact animal control."
She nodded quickly, correcting herself. "Yes, I know where it happened, but she's in my car."
We stepped outside again and walked toward her vehicle. The rain hadn't slowed, and the ground was slick beneath our shoes. As she opened the door, the dog inside barked suddenly and loudly.
Startled, she stepped back. I instinctively moved between her and the animal. "She's scared," I said, keeping my voice steady.
Trying to lighten the moment, she replied, "That makes two of us."
"Let's see if I have any better luck," I said, taking a cautious step forward.
As I approached, something shifted in the dog's posture. Her barking stopped, and her head lowered slightly. The tension seemed to ease, not through any specific action, but in a way that felt quiet and unspoken.
The dog, after a few tense moments, began to settle. Its ears lowered, its posture eased, and the sharpness in its expression slowly faded. I moved with steady care, making sure not to disrupt its calm, and gently reached into the car to lift the animal.
She didn't resist.
Though clearly still uneasy, she allowed me to carry her, and that was enough.
As we made our way back into the clinic, the weight of the dog in my arms grounded me in the moment, but a quiet thought remained present in the background of my awareness.
At that moment, I was both Scott and Jace. I was living through this scene as Scott McCall, but somewhere behind the instinctive responses and emotions, I was also still myself. I knew the trajectory of these events. I knew how they had played out on screen.
And yet, knowing didn't give me the ability to change anything in a direct sense. I couldn't make Scott act out of character.
I couldn't insert lines that weren't his.
All I could do was guide the energy of the moment within the boundaries of the role I was occupying.
It felt a bit like standing on the edge of a coin—Scott on one side, Jace on the other. Both parts existed simultaneously, but they didn't communicate freely.
There was no way to cross over fully, no opportunity to speak from one role into the other. Influence was possible, but only through nuance, through tone, through the rhythm of choices that remained true to the character.
Once inside, I placed the dog gently on the operating table. I began assessing her leg, my hands moving carefully as I petted her to keep her calm.
"Her leg looks like it might be broken," I said, speaking more to myself than to Allison, though I knew she was listening. "I've watched the vets here do this enough times. I think I can apply a basic splint and give her something mild for the pain."
Allison stood a short distance away, arms wrapped tightly around herself for warmth. She didn't say much, just nodded slightly, the fear still showing clearly on her face. I noticed her shivering and realized, too late, that I should have offered her something dry.
"I have a shirt in my bag," I said, glancing at her.
She hesitated. "I don't want to trouble you."
"It's really no trouble," I responded, already reaching for the extra shirt I kept in my bag. I handed it to her without waiting for a reply. She took it with a soft smile.
While I returned my attention to the dog, I noticed that Allison had stepped to the side, her back turned as she pulled off her soaked top and slipped into the dry shirt. I remained focused on my task, but the motion in the corner of my vision briefly caught my attention. The dog, now lying down more comfortably, looked up at me with a gaze that felt oddly pointed.
"What?" I murmured.
The dog gave a low whine, enough to sound like quiet disapproval.
"I wasn't staring," I said in a hushed tone. "I didn't see anything."
The dog rested its head again, as if mildly satisfied.
By the time Allison returned to the table, I had completed the makeshift splint and was gently checking the dog's breathing and response.
"Thank you for doing this," she said, her voice softer now. "I feel kind of stupid."
"Why do you say that?" I asked, keeping my tone even.
"I freaked out like a total girl," she replied, glancing down, her posture slightly defensive.
"Well, you are a girl," I said, then quickly clarified. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with that."
She shook her head with a small, amused exhale. "No, I meant like a girly-girl. And I don't usually think of myself that way. Or at least, I didn't used to."
I continued petting the dog, offering a subtle smile. "Honestly, if I were in your shoes, I'd probably have reacted the same way. Maybe worse. I might have cried—and not just a little. I mean full-on tears."
She laughed then easing her tension a bit. It had a softness to it, like the kind of laugh you let out without thinking too hard.
"Sure you would," she said, the edge of a grin still on her face.
I looked over at her for a brief second. I wasn't thinking about what the script called for or what the system expected.
I was just noticing how her expression softened when she smiled, how her words were uncertain but open, and how, despite everything, she found space to laugh.
Scott liked her—that much was clear. He found her easy to talk to, even in uncomfortable moments.
She was kind, even when she was unsure. She was beautiful, but not in a way that felt distant or untouchable.
And maybe that was why he kept looking at her with the quiet kind of hope that didn't need to be said aloud.
We both continued looking down at the dog, who now seemed to be fully at rest, her breathing rhythmic, her frame still. I gave her one final gentle stroke along her side before quietly saying, "She's going to be fine. I think she might even let you pet her now, if you want."
Allison glanced up at me, her lips curving just slightly into a quiet smile. "I don't think so," she replied, her voice calm but still tinged with uncertainty.
"Come on," I added, keeping the tone light, "you don't want her filing a lawsuit, do you? This breed's reputation for litigation is actually quite alarming."
The smile on her face grew, the absurdity of the comment softening the moment just enough for her to take a step forward. With a glance at me for reassurance, she leaned in and gently patted the dog's back. The dog didn't flinch or stir, still comfortably settled into rest.
As Allison remained focused on the animal, I slowly stepped aside to give her space, but my eyes briefly wandered back toward her. It was instinctive more than anything—just a quick look, and then another, slightly more deliberate one. The moment felt relaxed, and in the quiet that followed, I felt comfortable enough to speak again.
"See? She likes you," I said.
Allison looked up from the dog, meeting my eyes with a puzzled expression. "What?"
I shook my head slightly. "You have an eyelash on your cheek," I said, pointing gently.
She raised a hand, halfway to her face, and said, "Oh. It's probably from all the crying."
"Here, let me get it for you," I offered, moving closer. I reached out slowly and brushed my thumb across her cheek, clearing the small lash from her skin. Her expression softened, and her smile returned, this time with a touch more warmth.
"Thanks," she said, her tone quiet but genuine.
With everything in the clinic more or less in order, I offered to walk her back to her car. The rain had eased into a light mist, and though the night air still held a chill, the worst of the storm had passed. I assured her that the dog would be fine staying overnight, under supervision, and she seemed comforted by that.
As we reached her car and paused for a moment beside it, I found myself thinking about what I was about to say. Normally, I might have hesitated. I might have let the opportunity slip away, content to walk back in silence and leave the rest unsaid. But something about the moment felt right, and maybe it was a little of Jace pushing through Scott's usual hesitation.
"Are you free this Friday?" I asked, then added, half-teasing, "Or was Family Night just a convenient excuse?"
Allison tilted her head slightly, her expression amused. "Why?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to go to the party with me," I said. I kept my voice casual, but not so much that it sounded indifferent.
She didn't wait long to reply. "Family Night was a total lie."
I raised an eyebrow, the corners of my mouth turning up slightly. "So… would you like to go with me?"
She smiled as she opened her car door. "Definitely yes."
With that, she stepped inside, and as the door closed behind her, the smile lingered. I watched the car pull away and stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle before turning back toward the clinic.
To someone else, it might have seemed like a small deviation, hardly significant. But from my point of view, standing both inside the performance and outside of it, this was something that mattered. In the original narrative, Scott McCall was way more nervous and hesitant for what he did.
Sure he still asked her out but he was nervous then
But here, I had managed to shape the moment in a way that still felt honest to the character while also being a little more direct.
And it occurred to me that this was part of what the system allowed. I wasn't breaking the story. I was performing it as intended, but with a slight shift in timing or tone. And as long as those changes stayed within the lines of who Scott was, the system didn't resist.
I wasn't rewriting the role. I was just letting it grow a little differently, and maybe that was where the real opportunity lay.
...
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator