Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Angela had been at Smosh for approximately five minutes and was dressed like a possessed middle-schooler.

And painted red.

This felt promising.

Not literally five minutes.

Probably.

Time had stopped functioning normally sometime between getting into costume and being told, with complete sincerity, that her character's name was Bazanka.

Bazanka.

Angela had repeated it back once just to make sure she'd heard correctly.

She had.

So now she was sitting at a table with Ian Hecox dressed as Billy Mays, Matt Fox playing Landon Cody, Amanda Lehan-Canto as Babe Ruth, and the vague awareness that this was technically her first Smosh video.

Cool.

Fine.

Normal first day.

Don't fuck it up.

That thought had been hanging around for most of the morning.

Not loudly.

Angela knew how to perform.

That wasn't the problem.

Give her a character, a stage, a camera, something stupid to commit to—great. Fantastic. She could do that.

It was everything around the performing that made her brain start opening unnecessary tabs.

Was she talking too much?

Not enough?

Was that joke funny or had everyone just been polite?

Did these people already have a rhythm she was stepping on?

Was she supposed to wait?

Jump in?

Would jumping in look overeager?

Would not jumping in make it look like she couldn't keep up?

Jesus Christ.

She adjusted part of her costume.

You're doing improv dressed as a possessed middle-schooler. And painted red. Get a grip.

That helped.

A little.

Across from her, Amanda was becoming Babe Ruth.

Not preparing to become Babe Ruth.

Becoming.

There was a difference.

Angela had noticed it almost immediately.

Amanda had walked onto set looking like Amanda, talking normally, laughing with everyone else.

Then they'd started.

And suddenly—

Babe Ruth.

Not an especially historically concerned Babe Ruth, from what Angela could tell.

That did not appear to be the priority.

The priority was whatever the fuck Amanda had decided Babe Ruth was going to be in this room.

And she was committed.

Fully.

Accent.

Posture.

Face.

Everything.

Angela watched her answer something in character with complete confidence, even though Angela was nearly positive none of what she was saying had anything to do with the actual Babe Ruth.

Someone behind the camera laughed.

Amanda didn't break.

Didn't glance around to check whether it had landed.

Just kept going.

Angela felt her own mouth starting to pull upward.

Oh, she's insane.

Excellent.

That was useful information.

Because the scariest kind of person to perform with was someone who committed halfway.

They'd give you something ridiculous and then immediately back away from it, leaving you stranded there holding the stupid thing alone.

Amanda didn't seem physically capable of doing that.

If anything, Angela suspected that if she jumped off the cliff, Amanda might somehow already be at the bottom digging another twenty feet.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

"Alright," someone said from behind the cameras. "Let's reset."

Everyone shifted.

Angela took a breath.

First Smosh video.

First actual thing.

Don't fuck it up.

Amanda glanced over.

Angela caught it because Angela was already looking at her.

Not—

Whatever.

She was looking around the table.

Amanda happened to be there.

Amanda gave her a quick smile.

Not Babe Ruth.

Amanda.

"You good?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Angela nodded too quickly.

Amanda's smile widened.

"Nervous?"

"No."

A beat.

"Yes."

Amanda laughed.

Not mean.

Warm.

Immediate.

Angela rolled her eyes at herself.

"I mean, I'm fine. It's just—"

"First one."

"Yeah."

"You'll be great."

There wasn't any dramatic pause around it.

Amanda just said it.

Like it was obvious.

Then someone called them back in and Babe Ruth returned so quickly Angela almost laughed.

Okay.

Fine.

Let's fucking go.

The thing Angela learned approximately two minutes later was that Amanda was dangerous to look at.

Not because—

No.

Jesus Christ.

Not like that.

Dangerous because Amanda had one of those faces that made breaking incredibly easy.

Angela would be completely fine.

Locked in.

Bazanka.

Whatever Bazanka was.

Then she'd look across the table and Amanda would be sitting there as Babe fucking Ruth, saying something with the absolute conviction of a woman testifying before Congress, and Angela's brain would immediately go:

That's ridiculous.

Then:

Don't laugh.

Then, inevitably:

Fuck.

She broke.

"Sorry."

Angela covered her mouth.

Amanda immediately started laughing too.

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not!"

"You are!"

"I broke because you broke!"

"No, you were doing the face."

"What face?"

"That face!"

"This is Babe Ruth!"

"I know!"

That was the problem.

Angela laughed harder.

Somebody called for another reset.

"Okay," Angela said, wiping beneath one eye. "I'm done."

"Are you?"

Amanda asked it in the Babe Ruth voice.

Angela pointed across the table.

"No. See. You can't do that."

Amanda broke again.

"Do what?"

"Switch like that!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"You know exactly what you're doing."

"I genuinely don't."

"That's worse."

Amanda laughed.

Angela did too.

Great.

Excellent.

First Smosh video and she was already wasting everyone's time.

She glanced toward the crew.

"Sorry."

Nobody seemed particularly concerned.

If anything, everyone looked used to this.

Okay.

Maybe that was good.

Maybe breaking wasn't a felony here.

Someone reset the conversation.

Angela pulled herself together again.

Bazanka.

Focus.

This time Amanda spoke and Angela managed not to laugh.

Progress.

Then Matt said something.

Ian answered.

Angela jumped in.

Amanda immediately built on it.

Angela's attention snapped toward her.

There.

That.

Amanda hadn't just waited for her turn.

She had actually listened.

Caught what Angela was doing.

Added to it.

Angela threw something else back.

Amanda took that too.

The rhythm happened quickly enough that Angela stopped thinking about whether she was new.

For maybe thirty seconds.

Which was honestly incredible.

No calculation.

No should I jump in?

No wondering if she was stepping on somebody else's thing.

Amanda gave.

Angela took.

Angela gave.

Amanda took.

Easy.

Oh.

Angela knew this.

This she could do.

Her shoulders loosened.

She leaned further into Bazanka.

Amanda's eyes flashed when Angela made a choice she apparently liked.

Tiny reaction.

Barely there.

Then Babe Ruth responded.

Angela nearly broke again.

Don't.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

Amanda kept going.

Don't you fucking dare.

Amanda looked directly at her.

Bad.

Huge mistake.

Angela's mouth twitched.

Amanda's did too.

"No."

Angela said it under her breath.

Amanda lost it.

"That's not fair!" Angela shouted immediately, breaking with her.

"What?"

"You looked at me!"

Everyone laughed.

Amanda leaned back in her chair.

"I'm supposed to look at you!"

"No, not like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you knew I was gonna laugh!"

Amanda was still laughing.

"I did know!"

"That's fucked up!"

They had known each other for—

Angela checked mentally.

Not long enough for Amanda to know that.

Apparently long enough anyway.

Interesting.

By the time they stopped for a break, Angela's nerves had moved somewhere less annoying.

Still there.

Obviously.

Her brain wasn't going to suddenly develop chill because she'd survived half a shoot painted red and playing a tween demon.

But the sharpest edge was gone.

She'd made people laugh.

More importantly, she'd made the people she was working with laugh.

Different thing.

Angela cared about that more.

Maybe too much.

Whatever.

She stepped away from the table and reached for her water.

"So."

Angela turned.

Amanda had wandered over, still partially Babe Ruth.

Which was an incredible sentence.

"What?"

"How's your first day?"

Angela took a drink.

"Terrible."

Amanda nodded seriously.

"Good."

"I hate everyone."

"That's usually a positive sign."

"I'm never coming back."

"Perfect."

Angela laughed.

Amanda smiled.

Up close, without the bit actively happening, she seemed—

Angela searched for the word.

Easy?

That sounded stupid.

But yes.

Easy.

Some people had an energy that made Angela immediately start editing herself.

Amanda didn't.

Which was strange considering Angela barely knew her.

"So is this normal?" Angela asked.

Amanda looked around.

"Here?"

"Yeah."

"No."

Angela nodded.

"Okay."

"This is actually one of our more professional days."

Angela stared at her.

Amanda held it for maybe two seconds.

Then laughed.

"You fucking liar."

"I know."

"Jesus."

Amanda took a sip of her own drink.

"You having fun, though?"

There was something slightly more sincere underneath that one.

Angela glanced toward the set.

Ian still dressed as Billy Mays.

Matt talking to someone off-camera.

Crew moving things around.

The table.

The costumes.

The whole ridiculous thing.

"Yeah," Angela said.

And meant it.

"Good."

Amanda bumped her lightly with an elbow as she moved past.

"You're funny."

Angela looked at her.

Amanda was already walking away.

That—

Okay.

Cool.

Nice.

Fine.

Angela took another drink.

You're funny.

Whatever.

She knew she was funny.

Sometimes.

Hopefully.

Still.

It was nice.

Especially from—

Angela glanced back toward Amanda.

Amanda was talking to someone else now, gesturing with both hands.

Especially from someone Angela already thought was funny.

That was all.

Professional respect.

Normal.

Please stop analyzing a compliment.

Right.

Angela went back to set.

The second half got weirder.

Angela preferred it that way.

The longer they filmed, the less aware she became of the fact that this was her first video.

Her original goal had been simple:

Don't be bad.

An excellent artistic standard.

Really inspiring stuff.

Now, though, she wanted to see how far she could push Bazanka before somebody stopped her.

Apparently very far.

Every time she made a choice, she waited—without consciously admitting she was waiting—to see what Amanda would do with it.

Amanda kept meeting her.

Not every time.

Obviously.

There were four people at the table.

This was not The Angela and Amanda Show.

But enough.

Enough that Angela started learning Amanda's rhythms.

Amanda would get this tiny change in her face right before she committed to something particularly stupid.

Her shoulders would shift.

Her eyes would sharpen.

And then she'd go.

Angela liked catching it.

It gave her half a second to prepare.

Usually not enough.

At one point Amanda launched into another deeply committed Babe Ruth thing and Angela just watched.

For a second too long.

Not because she'd forgotten her own character.

She was waiting.

Amanda kept building.

Angela could see where the bit might go.

Or maybe three possible places it might go.

She picked one.

Jumped in.

Amanda caught her immediately.

There.

Again.

That little click.

Like hitting a ball cleanly.

Angela smiled before she could stop herself.

Amanda did too.

Then Ian said something that completely destroyed whatever they were doing and the whole table broke.

Angela dropped her head.

"Fuck!"

Amanda was laughing beside her.

Angela looked over.

"This is your fault."

"How?"

"I don't know yet."

"Great argument."

"I'll figure it out."

"Take your time."

"I will."

Amanda's smile lingered.

Then they reset.

Again.

Lunch happened later than Angela expected.

Or maybe exactly when it was supposed to.

She had no idea.

Her internal clock had been replaced by costume changes and camera resets.

She ended up sitting with a few people she knew varying amounts of well.

Amanda was nearby.

Not directly beside her.

That was probably why Angela noticed when she started telling a story.

Amanda had apparently never met a story she couldn't make longer.

Angela discovered this within the first minute.

There was a setup.

Then context for the setup.

Then context for a person who had appeared in the setup.

Then Amanda stopped because apparently explaining that person required introducing another person entirely.

Angela looked at Chanse.

Chanse was listening like this was normal.

Okay.

Fine.

Maybe it was.

Amanda kept going.

"And the thing is, you have to understand—"

"Do I?" Angela asked.

Amanda looked at her.

Angela had not meant to say that aloud.

Whoops.

Amanda narrowed her eyes.

"Yes."

"Okay."

"You absolutely do."

"Continue."

"I will."

Amanda turned back to the group.

Angela smiled into her food.

The story continued.

It was objectively too long.

Angela listened to the entire thing.

After lunch came more filming.

By then, Angela's body had figured out the room.

Not the people.

That would take longer.

But the mechanics.

Where to stand when she wasn't needed.

Where she'd be in someone's way.

When crew needed quiet.

Where people put their phones.

Tiny things.

The stuff you learned without realizing you were learning it.

Angela liked knowing the rules.

Even if she eventually planned on breaking half of them.

Especially then.

During one reset she stood off to the side while Amanda filmed something at the table.

Angela wasn't needed for the moment.

She could've checked her phone.

Actually, she did.

Opened it.

Looked at a notification.

Didn't process a word.

Because Amanda had started talking.

Angela looked up.

Babe Ruth again.

Full commitment.

Angela watched.

Not the joke exactly.

Amanda.

The mechanism.

How quickly she could make herself ridiculous without ever seeming embarrassed by the fact that she was trying.

That was harder than people thought.

Trying visibly.

Caring visibly.

There was always risk in that.

Angela knew.

She'd spent enough time performing to know.

The safest thing in comedy was pretending you hadn't really tried.

Then if it failed, whatever.

Didn't matter.

Amanda didn't seem interested in safe.

She went all the way in.

And if it failed?

Fine.

Next thing.

Angela liked that.

A lot.

Someone else behind Angela started talking quietly.

Angela barely registered it.

Amanda changed something about the character.

Small.

Precise.

Angela smiled.

Good choice.

The bit ended.

People reacted.

Crew started shifting for whatever came next.

Angela was still looking at Amanda.

Again, not weird.

She was literally watching someone perform.

That was—

That was what people did.

Amanda dropped out of the character and glanced around the room.

Her eyes landed on Angela.

Angela didn't look away.

Why would she?

Instead she lifted both thumbs.

Amanda's face brightened.

Then Angela mouthed:

"Fucking insane."

Amanda appeared to understand.

She pressed one hand dramatically to her chest.

Angela laughed.

Someone walked between them carrying equipment.

That was it.

Moment over.

Angela looked back down at her phone.

Three notifications.

She had no idea what any of them said.

Near the end of the day, Angela found Chanse.

Or Chanse found her.

Details.

"So?" he asked.

Angela was gathering her stuff.

"So what?"

"You survived."

"Barely."

"Are you coming back?"

"They haven't kicked me out yet."

"It's early."

"Fuck you."

Chanse grinned.

Angela shoved something into her bag.

"I think it went okay."

"It did."

"You're not just saying that?"

"No."

"Because you have to tell me if I was annoying."

"Oh, you were annoying."

"Okay."

"But not in a bad way."

Angela looked up.

"There's a good way?"

"Apparently."

"Great."

She zipped the bag closed.

Across the room, Amanda laughed.

Angela's head turned automatically.

Again—

Loud.

Amanda had a loud laugh.

Anyone would've looked.

Probably.

She was back in normal clothes now, or at least partly changed out of whatever Babe Ruth situation she'd been wearing, talking to someone near the table.

Angela smiled.

Chanse noticed.

Unfortunately.

"What?" Angela asked.

"I didn't say anything."

"You made a face."

"I literally didn't."

"You absolutely did."

"Okay."

"What?"

Chanse shrugged.

"You and Amanda were funny."

Angela blinked.

"Oh."

That was—

Yeah.

That was fine.

A normal statement.

"She's fucking good."

Chanse nodded.

"Yeah."

"No, like—"

Angela stopped.

Why was she explaining this?

She continued anyway.

"She's really good at committing."

"Yeah."

"Like she doesn't bail."

"Yeah."

"And she listens."

Chanse's eyebrows lifted slightly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You keep saying nothing and doing something."

"I'm standing here."

"Judgmentally."

Chanse laughed.

Angela rolled her eyes.

"I just like working with people like that."

"Okay."

"Because you can actually do something."

"Angela."

"What?"

"I agree with you."

"Oh."

Right.

Cool.

She adjusted the strap of her bag.

"I just think she's funny."

"I know."

Angela squinted at him.

Why did he keep saying things like that?

Before she could ask, Amanda appeared.

"Who's funny?"

Angela's stomach dropped.

Not because—

Jesus.

Because they'd been talking about her.

Normal social nightmare.

"You," Chanse said immediately.

Angela stared at him.

Traitor.

Amanda looked delighted.

"Me?"

"No," Angela said. "Different Amanda."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"That's disappointing."

"Sorry."

"I was really ready to accept that compliment."

Angela sighed dramatically.

"Fine. You're funny."

Amanda smiled.

"Thank you."

"Don't make it weird."

"I didn't!"

"Your face did."

"My face again?"

"Yes."

"You've had a lot of issues with my face today."

Angela opened her mouth.

Stopped.

Chanse made a noise beside her.

Angela turned.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

"Wasn't."

Amanda was looking between them.

"What is happening?"

"Nothing," Angela and Chanse said together.

Amanda stared.

Angela stared back.

Then Amanda laughed.

There it was again.

Angela smiled.

"Okay," Amanda said, starting to move away. "See you guys."

"Bye," Chanse said.

Angela lifted a hand.

"Bye."

Amanda got a few steps away.

Then turned.

"Good first day, Bazanka."

Angela laughed.

"Thanks, Babe Ruth."

Amanda gave her a little salute and disappeared around the corner.

Angela looked at Chanse.

Chanse was already looking at her.

"No."

"I didn't—"

"No."

"I'm literally—"

"Nope."

Angela started walking.

Chanse followed.

"I was going to say nothing."

"Good."

"I just think—"

"Keep it."

"—you made a friend."

Angela slowed.

Oh.

That was considerably less annoying than whatever she'd assumed he was going to say.

She glanced toward where Amanda had disappeared.

A friend seemed premature.

They'd spent one day dressed as dead people saying stupid things at a table.

Angela barely knew her.

But—

Maybe.

Eventually.

"Yeah," Angela said.

Then immediately, because sincerity had lasted long enough:

"If she'll ever shut the fuck up."

Chanse laughed.

Angela smiled.

That night, Angela was lying in bed when her phone buzzed.

She looked.

A message from Chanse.

Angela threw her phone beside her.

Idiot.

She stared at the ceiling.

First Smosh video.

Done.

She'd survived.

Better than survived, probably.

It had been fun.

Really fun.

Her phone buzzed again.

Angela ignored it.

For three seconds.

Then picked it back up.

Not Chanse.

A follow request.

Amanda.

Angela blinked.

Then laughed quietly.

Of course.

She accepted.

Followed her back.

Simple.

Normal.

Coworker stuff.

Her phone went down again.

Angela closed her eyes.

The day replayed in little pieces because her brain was incapable of simply turning off like a normal person's.

Bazanka.

Billy Mays.

Babe Ruth.

The table.

Amanda breaking.

Amanda making Angela break.

You're funny.

Amanda catching her choices without needing an explanation.

That tiny click when they got into the same rhythm.

Angela smiled into her pillow.

She liked that.

Working with Amanda.

That was all.

There wasn't anything else for it to be.

They barely knew each other.

Tomorrow—or whenever the next shoot was—there would be other people, other bits, other characters.

Maybe Amanda would be there.

Angela hoped she was.

Not for any particular reason.

She was funny.

She listened.

She committed.

That was enough.

For now.