Judas Nantale Okello. Twenty-nine. Comedian that frequents The Comedy Cellar. Lives in Red Hook. "Don't hesitate. Time heals the pain. You ain't the problem "
location: the main hall, after the secrets have been revealed
Judas had been mid-way through his fourth glass of champagne and had a good buzz going when it happened. How quickly his mood was trampled was truly remarkable, but only because one moment he was laughing and joking with Norah, and the next he was suddenly faced with the reality that his career might be over.
All over a lie. “That’s not true!” he suddenly perked up, any happiness he’d had moments ago now completely erased. In its place was a look of pleading, with the people around him to believe him. “It’s not true, I swear! I would never do something like that!” Then he turned to Norah, eyes wide and concerned, only to realize more secrets were popping up in the chat. His eyebrows furrowed inward, and then his jaw dropped open with shock. A stare whipped back over at his coworker and he all but shouted. “You BURNED DOWN YOUR HIGH SCHOOL?!”
She still couldn’t fucking believe they were actually going to this event. She couldn’t believe they had been invited. Norah was all done up - hair in a severe bun off of her face, scarlet red dress clinging to her skin. She adjusted the red lace that obscured the top half of her face, expression a little wry. “I’m a very convincing woman, Judas.” She half shrugged, pulling up her matching red shawl to her shoulders against the cold. They cleaned up nicely. No one would guess Norah had been up until three am researching cannibals who had made tracks online. No one needed to know that, really. Norah turned to Judas and righted his bowtie for him, just a minor tweak. “Ugh, I reject compliments if they come in that accent!” She looped her arm through his with a face, bumping her hip against his. It was hard not to be playful with Judas, he definitely brought out that side of her. Levity. “Do that again and we’ll get kicked out.” She said very firmly before breaking out into a wide smile.
.
HIS CHIN lifted as she adjusted his bowtie for him, and then Judas tossed her a playful grin. “I know better than to argue with you on that. If someone can get all of our podcast listeners to not thirst over Ted Bundy, there’s really nothing they can’t do.” A laugh rumbled from his chest now, and kept that smile pinned up effortlessly. Being friends with Norah was easy—like a breath of fresh air, in the way that it metaphorically cut through all of the city’s pollution and smog. So far, for Judas this was something like living a real life dream. He felt fancier than fancy, and in some ways having this mask on made him feel like he was taking on a whole new persona. No longer was he Judas, the comic. He was Judas, the king.
As they entered the venue, he lowered his tone, as if the other masqueraders might overhear and quite literally throw them out before he could get any of his scheming finished. “I say we see how far we can push it before they do kick us out. How much you wanna bet I could get up and swing from the chandelier before they caught me?”
It was a suprise to Rhett to be at this event at all. He had about two dollars to his name, no job, no nothing. Yet, there he was. All thanks to his love of his life friend, Rafael. He was appreciative to be there but he had to admit, he was uncomfortable. And when he was uncomfortable, he wanted to get high. But, he was trying to be good for Rafael tonight. He didn’t want to ruin anything for the man…but he figured he could at least get a little drunk. Right? Right.
Walking around the ball with a some foo-foo cocktail, Rhett’s blue eyes shifted back and forth, trying to figure out if he could recognize anyone. that was half the fun right? After a bit of searching, he was pretty sure he spotted someone with a swagger that was undeniable. Judas. Approaching the man, Rhett reached out and slapped a hand on his shoulder with a grin, “Judas!” He exclaimed, “I hope.” He laughed, “That would be fuckin’ embarassing if it wasn’t, right?” The Brit shook his head and smiled yet again, “What are you up to, mate?”
.
THE NIGHT so far was going well for Judas. He didn’t often get invited out to fancy masquerade balls (who did, really?) so there was something about the night that sort of felt like he was floating. Up on cloud nine, all smiles and living in a real life Disney movie. Something like this just wouldn’t have happened back in his tiny little hometown. He knew he’d made the right decision to move to New York, despite his parents’ protest so many years ago. It was otherworldly here.
He’d already went to sign up as a Big Brother for the charity, since money wasn’t really something he could afford to just give away. Rent was coming up soon and the small paid comedy gigs he’d landed weren’t really bringing in loads of cash. But here in this venue? None of the weight of his reality could be felt. Here in this venue, he felt on top of the world.
The sudden palm slapped onto his shoulder made him jump a bit, and then laugh the second he realized who it was. His own hand draped over his chest, over the momentary panic. “Jesus, man!” he laughed, and then made a playful gesture to throw his arm around the other’s shoulders. “You could have given me a heart attack. Or made me drop my hors d’oeuvres,” he tried in a fancy accent. He felt swanky, but he was still Judas at the end of the day. “Mm—tryna eat as much of this fancy food as I can so I can say the night was worth it. Was thinking about stuffing some of those prosciutto things in my jacket and sneaking away, but I have a feeling they might make my tux stink.” He said it so nonchalantly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “What about you? You ready to get out on the dance floor and show off on everyone?”
prompt: “How did I ever let you talk me into coming here?”
Judas tightened the bowtie against his neck, frowning against the concentration as he tried to get it symmetrical through his reflection on the windows outside. He didn’t often have a reason to dress up. In fact, he sort of... never? had one. The tux he had on had practically been dusted off before he put it on for the night, but he felt fancy and handsome, and it dressed him with the glow that only a confidence boost could provide. “How did I ever let you talk me into coming here?” he joked, nudging an elbow Norah’s way when he was finished looking at his reflection. Perhaps an attempt at humility, because he wasn’t used to being so happy with how he looked. “You look incredible, by the way,” he complimented in a very bad English accent. “I do say, nothing like a murderer investigator at all!” Then he held his arm out for her to loop her’s through.
Judas was a fine addition to Caution Tapes, having joined the team for the past four episodes. He added levity to Norah’s cutting words and determined drawl, her own source of comedy dark and dry. Mostly sarcasm. He also added a new energy, almost turning them into an entirely new show. The network was absolutely thrilled at the new audiences pouring in to listen each week, and Norah was happy to be able to truly laugh at work. She was excited to be at work, really, something she hadn’t realized had been missing a while.
Norah sat at the round studio table, laptop stationed before her and a pile of notes to her right. She mildly regretted not having her headphones on as Judas squeezed close, blowing air across her cheek. Anyone else she’d surely bat away from her personal space, but a smile tugged at the left corner of Norah’s mouth. She didn’t try to hide her amusement as she playfully swatted at him. “You ever heard of Jodi Arias?” She asked, sliding her notes to him. The first page was a photo of Jodi and Travis Alexander smiling brightly at the camera on one of their many shared vacations. “Next page is the crime scene photos, so you might want to skip that.” She never gave Judas much information before they began recording, letting him riff on the information as she reported it.
—
Things with the team at Caution Tapes had been... easy. Easy in the way that it never truly felt like work when he was going in, but then again he was one of the fortunate ones to have a job that only required making people laugh. Sometimes that was stressful in and of itself—because sometimes life was weird, and got in the way, and any playful nature he could have fueled his rapid-fire jokes off of was totally null. Judas tried to keep those days infrequent at worst, mostly because the embarrassment that underlined a poorly executed joke was its own special form of torture.
But he’d been at it long enough that it still felt like second nature to him, and in a lot of ways he made people laugh out of empathetic reasons on the daily anyway. Someone crying on the subway? Crack some jokes about how shitty the city was. Someone spilled their coffee and was ready to rage? Tease them about having shitty taste in coffee and maybe the gods might not have made the executive decision to yeet it into the street. In so many ways, comedy helped pave a bridge to connect with people. Even here, when Judas didn’t directly interact with anyone but Norah and the story, because he knew people were listening tense and on the edge of their seats. Being interrupted with something completely stupid was funnily enough driving up their numbers. It was working for them. He felt like an asset here, and it made him comfortable enough to swivel a bit in his chair while he flipped through the papers. “Nah, but I’d be willing to bet at least three dollars that you’re gonna tell me. Maybe four.” As she suggested, he flipped past the next page, and skimmed over the articles. “You know what? How much is Audible? Like ten bucks? I’d literally give you ten bucks to SparkNotes your notes, so I don’t gotta read em.”
It was nights like this that he was glad the comedy club had a two drink minimum. The comic was sweating through his shirt and looked painfully awkward as he shuffled around on stage, wringing his hands unsuccessfully as he stumbled through another failed joke. Kal winced into his drink, his half-hearted laugh more out of pity than anything else.
“That was tragic.” Kal said, slapping at Judas’ hand but allowing his friend to steal some of his fries anyway. He had gotten them with he intention that Judas would eat most of them anyway, a silent tank you for allowing him to have a single night where his personal life could be simple.
“If you had ever sounded like that I would have enlisted Shay to help me stage an intervention, trust me.” He scoffed, shaking his head before finishing his drink. “No, you’re actually clever, first off. Why do you think I make you sign all those posters? I’m going to sell them on Ebay when you finally catch your big break and retire on the proceeds.”
—
An easy smile came to Judas now right before it closed around his stolen french fry. Despite his earlier convictions about the performance that had been executed on the little makeshift stage, Judas loved being here no matter who we was with or who was sitting up there coughing out dry, lame jokes. He spent enough nights in the Comedy Cellar that it’d become something of a second home to him. Something of an extension of himself, in a way—where every ounce of determination and awe with his life concentrated into the dingy seats and dusty low light. In every way, it should have been a place left for more miscreant types—or at least those with lower standards. But somehow, just as it was Judas’ home, it was also the checkpoint for so many big named comedians, who also once sat where he was sitting now. Enjoying some fries in the environment as a momentary reprieve to chasing that dream.
Compliments were nice of course, but Judas was a humble man. Compliments rolled off him like water on plastic, and cascaded their way back at the sender. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Ballet King over there. Pretty sure I’m the one who should be selling your signature on eBay. Maybe I should have gone into the ballet,” he quipped, lighthearted with no real substance to it. Realistically, he could never envision himself in the ballet. Hell, he wasn’t built for that kind of elegance and agility. Not when he preferred napping till noon and still stealing Kal’s fries from across the table. He was built for nature and laughs—that’s the niche he’d found himself a long while ago. “Pretty sure you need some like supreme, level nine thousand ankles to get on your level, so maybe I’ll cop those jawns while you’re asleep, sell your ankles on the black market. Make millions, ‘cause you know, branding. Pay my rent, what have you. You couldn’t even be mad at me, too. It’d just be payback, for making money off my signature on eBay.” He chuckled at himself, leaning back away from the table now. “You don’t need ‘em right? Could replace those fuckers with roombas.” Judas rumbled a bit with laughter. “You’d be like a cyborg.”
closed starter to @gctekeeps
location: the comedy cellar
“ are you bleeding ?? ”
Tonight’s set had made Judas feel like he was on fire. Like he was George Carlin himself, every joke coming out smooth and and sticking the landing. He was still all grins, chuckling at himself, when he stepped off stage and spotted Kalima. Normally he made polite small talk and observed her from afar. Partially because she intimidated him, but mostly because he knew if he started comparing himself to her again, whatever high he was riding on from his successful set now would disappear as quickly as it’d come. But tonight he stopped in his tracks when he was trying to evade her, and a flicker of concern came onto his features. “Oh my god, are you bleeding?” he asked, pointing at her arm, that was very much so bleeding. Nice one, genius, he thought to himself, immediately beating himself up for asking such a dumb question. He sort of just stood there awkwardly for a few moments, and then remembered he should probably help her. “Oh—here—” he offered, retrieving the dingy excuse for a first aid kit the comedy club kept. He popped it open, only to find it stuffed with candy bars.
Judas rolled his eyes, and then laughed a little feebly. “Oh, ha ha. Very funny,” he called out sarcastically to no one in particular and then lifted up one of the chocolate bars. “Pretty sure my high school used to sell these in fundraisers. Not a bandaid but the chocolate toffee nut ones are practically first aid I guess.”
closed starter to @vivalavienna
location: on the outskirts of the city
“ there’s a gas station five miles from here . we’re just gonna have to push the car there . ”
Going on impromptu trips out of the city to get some real fresh air, or maybe even touch a tree in a forest again, was basically Judas’ version of therapy. He was feeling very zen when he climbed in the back of the shared uber that was going to bring him and this stranger back into Brooklyn. For the first few minutes, everything was great. He was cracking jokes with the uber driver and the woman beside him—it made the hour long drive go a little faster. But then the driver started apologizing and next thing he knew, they were pulled over on the side of the road. The guy kept saying he “knew his car, normally it would be able to last longer on a quarter tank” but that didn’t do much to help them now, did it?
Judas sighed. Not really an angry sigh but an alright-I-guess-we’re-doing-this sigh. “Google says there’s a gas station five miles from here,” he announced, leaning over the hood of the car. Then he cracked a smile at his unlucky ride-sharer. “We’re just gonna have to push the car there.” Some comedic relief might do them all well in this situation. “Maybe if we’re lucky, Uber might even pay us for our hard labor.”
Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but [JUDAS NANTALE OKELLO], a [TWENTY-NINE] year-old [CISMALE] has lived in [RED HOOK, BROOKLYN] for [SEVEN YEARS]. This is the city of dreams and [HE] knows it, because they came to NYC to be a [COMEDIAN]. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like [DANIEL KALUUYA]. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it!
“…His curiosity began with watching the wildlife in Yellowstone, and he quickly grew a deep appreciation for the logistics behind life. He always felt like he was safest to tap into his full potential with learning when there was no one leaning over his shoulder, so even though he wasn’t doing anything wrong, when he began to take small samples from the park back home in terrariums—to ponder over them—he kept it all to himself…”
NEGATIVE TRAITS: skeptical, secretive, judgmental, too people-pleasing
GOALS/DESIRES: Live every day in the present
FEARS: None
HABITS: going to the zoo, getting fixated on niche interests, listening to various controversial podcasts for the sake of staying open-minded, washing every dish immediately after using it, eating non-breakfast foods for breakfast
closed starter to @bunnyhendrix
location: lucid cafe
Judas tugged his leather jacket closer around his shoulders against the assault of the morning’s bone-chilling wind. Luckily reprieve from it wasn’t far away, because the rush of aroma filled air that greeted him on entrance of the cafe was warm and welcoming. A smile broke through his features when he finally spotted his... date? Well, sort of date. Not really, because that was the whole point. It wasn’t often that the opportunity to not-date date someone came up, be he rightly thought the idea was hilarious and that one day, somewhere down the line, he’d be able to use this experience in comic sets on a big stage. Life was all about experiencing and laughing about it on the way, right?
“Hey!” he greeted, slipping into the seat opposite of her. He made an exaggerated shiver and brrrr, and then extended his hand across the way for a handshake. “Judas Okello. I guess it’s kind of weird to shake your hand for this kinda thing, right? Like—hello, nice to meet you, do you want kids?” he exaggerated, and then laughed. “Seriously though. I gotta say, this is the first Tinder non-date date I’ve ever been on. So, we’re kinda making records already.”
closed starter to @norahphobia
location: podcasting!
Judas had always loved true crime podcasts. Well, really podcasts of any kind, but the mystery behind a murder gone unsolved was a certain kind of interesting to him. Being the one sitting behind the mic instead of glued to the headphones made him feel a little bit giddy. A nervousness blooming within the happiness. Sort of like a kid in a candy store, only he was excited to be Norah’s comedic relief rather than stuff himself sick with sugar. It’d been a few weeks since he’d joined the Caution Tapes team and the time spent telling crime stories had easily become the highlight of his day.
So there was a pep in his step—as there usually was, when he walked into the studio. He took a moment to plop down and swivel in his seat a few times before regarding Norah, grin wide before he leaned over. “What murder are we covering today, Holmes?” he asked, playfully talking against her face.
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