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Mar 8, 2025

Poppy Avenue: The Auditions

Original concept by @babyblankyerror

Expanded by @aroace-get-out-of-my-face

This was a bad idea, Stanley Pines decided.

Come on, what was he thinking? Voice acting, really? He had been smoking since 17 and he thought, even if only for a moment, that he could voice act. And it had only taken that stupid little moment for him to decide not only that he could do that, but as a puppet for a kids show. A. Kids. Show. No wonder everyone thought he was an idiot.

Stan wanted to run and go die in a ditch somewhere. Hell, that may be just what he does after whatever producers tell him to fuck right off. What was the studio called again? What was the show even called? Pepper str- no, sesame… road? Whatever, it didn’t matter. All Stan knew was that he was royally screwed.

Why did he think he could do this again? Maybe it was nostalgia, remembering all of his favorite kids shows. Maybe he thought that he could sham these show folks out of their equipment. Maybe… He just wanted a chance at something normal. He was getting nowhere with his StanCo products, and wasting all of his money on new commercials wasn’t really in his current budget. Besides, it wasn't like he was really risking that much here.

The production was small. Very small. The fact that the flyers stapled throughout the city stated that they would take anyone willing to lend their voice or hands was proof enough. The fact that they let Stan, in all of his smelly, dirty, homeless glory, inside was proof enough. Although, he probably shouldn't have been that surprised. Hardly anyone else was at the auditions. Granted it didn’t help that this was happening early on a Wednesday. Not to mention, all of them were young. Stan was probably the oldest guy there. And it was also likely that, like him, no one here had any experience to speak of.

Although, who were these big-ish wigs, to judge? They were holding auditions in a dinky old warehouse that smelt like a gas spill and sadness. Stan wasn’t really able to say anything though. Already it was better than the Stanmobile, even though he would never dare say such things to the old girl, being far more insulated and protected from the outside elements. At least Stan would be protected from the early March weather here.

Looking around, he counted at least ten other people who had arrived for the auditions, three older teens and the rest young adults. Not only that, but they all seemed to be in the same boat as Stan. All down on their luck; a little scruffy, disheveled, and tired.

All around the warehouse were boxes of equipment: cameras, mics, lights, rolls of film and plenty of other things Stan didn’t recognize. Closer to him was the temporary set, obviously built in a rush. The paint still had that wet sheen and there were rough splintered corners on the shoddily cut wood. Whatever these producers were planning, it was cheap, rushed and likely barely expanded on besides a prayer and getting people to come to it. Speaking of.

There were three people sitting off to the side at one of those white plastic folding tables, slightly better dressed than the other people in the room. When Stan had come in, they had asked him to sign a paper on an old clipboard then go stand by the sets. Currently they were whispering at each other, some harsh, some exasperated, all of it unintelligible. Occasional glances over the shoulder marked parts of the discussion. One of them had glasses, he noted.

Stan sighed; he was bored. He thought it was going to be like the movies, where they just had each person come up and read off of a script in some goofy voice, with a lot less standing around. His mistake. Although, he was also pretty sure that this wasn’t how it was done either. But again, what did he know?

A clap sounded from the white table, reverberating in the hollow walls of the warehouse, making Stan and the others flinch. They all turned towards the group of producers, who all stood in an unorganized semi-circle. The tallest one, a darker man with well-trimmed hair, addressed the group.

“Hello, and thank you all for coming in today!” he greeted, stepping forward. “I am Lloid Henson, the director for Poppy Avenue. The fine gentleman here-” He gestured to his left, where a freckled man in a familiar looking button up, sweater vest and glasses combo stood, Stan did his best not to flinch. “-Is Jim Cooney, he made both our sets and the puppets for today. And this lovely lady-” He then gestured to his right, to a small, chubbier girl, dressed in a cute combination of a long-sleeved shirt and overalls. “-Is Joan Morrisett. Our writer.” Both of Lloid’s colleagues waved and gave small greetings.

Stan honestly couldn't tell if the three had been friends already or if they all had just come together to make this puppet show, but either way, none of them looked like they knew what they were doing. Then again, it’s not like Stan knew how these things worked either. Neither did anyone else, if their pinched glances to one another said anything. He nearly snorted at the idea. No one here knew what they were doing. Except, maybe, Lloyd. At least, in the sense of working on a film set.

Not that any of it would matter to Stan anyway. He really didn’t think they were going to go for him. He didn’t have the voice built for a kids show no matter how he pushed it. That is, unless he played a villain, but he seriously doubted that this was the kind of show to have villains.

He and the others watched as the three producers walked to one of the box stacks, grabbed one of the bigger ones, and brought it to the make-shift stage. Then dump the contents onto the hopefully non-staining plywood.

Frankly, Stan didn’t know what he expected. Most of the puppets and props looked to be hastily thrown together, even though they did seem to hold some level of quality. They appeared to be early mockups of scattered ideas, shoved together in the hope that one would inspire the notion of an idea. They looked… very homemade. That was him being kind about it.

None of them looked bad, but it was obvious that they were all mishmashed together. All the same, it didn’t stop any of them from approaching the pile of fabric and plastic. Almost immediately, Stan found his attention being drawn to a rather ugly green sock. The green was an offshoot that lied closer to yellow, the sock itself had been altered to have two stuffed arms that ended in nubs that in extension had a nub to act as a “thumb”. The puppet’s face had a large orangish nose, and large simple felt eyes that sat just above it, a pair of wire-framed glasses were taped to its face, giving it a nerdy appearance. The simple vest and bowtie didn’t help matters.

Stan knew that the puppet had to be based on Jim, but still, he couldn’t help but see-.

No. No he will not think about Him. It's not worth the heartache. He knows better than to start longing now. They won’t want to see him until he has millions, He needs him to make up for his mistakes, he needs to remember that. This is his attempt to finally make something more of himself other than a homeless vagrant. More than a criminal. More than the dumb twin. More than the spare.

While Stan buried himself deep into thought, the producers finally began their explanation of what it is he and the others were there for. They were to pick a puppet, along with any props, and a pre-written script, then act out a scene with the puppet. Once again Stan could feel his nerves fray as everyone began grabbing up the cloth patchworks on the set. Quickly, he snatched up the ugly green sock and meandered towards a separate white fold-out table where piles of paper sat.

Each script had a defining title: The Kid, The Parents, The Neighbor and so-on. However, Stan was scanning over the names with a simple idea in mind. He knew what he was searching for. Soon, he found his prize: The Scientist. This was likely his only chance at avoiding resorting to asking for questionable loans that he could never pay off, he needed to make it count.

The others had done almost the same as him, sans the immediate actions he took, they actually sat there and thought about their decisions. Each one glancing over their options. Stan hadn’t really taken the time to take the others in, outside of surface-level group observations. They were all vastly different looking, he noted. People from all demographics: man, woman, some where he couldn’t tell, child, adult, tall, short, fat, skinny, and some were of different backgrounds that he hadn’t seen often in Jersey. One, he noted, even appeared to have a cane, perhaps a lame leg? Another seemed to be missing some fingers. Many of them were like him. Someone who was desperate and needed this one chance.

He meandered back to the homemade pile to look at the left-over props as a majority of the others went to the script table. As he looked over the leftovers, one of the teens, a girl with wild, short, curly hair spoke up.

“Why did you decide to try this out?” It was innocent in delivery, and Stan could hear a subtle South American accent, Brazil, maybe? She had a sweet face, still a bit rounded with baby fat. She held a small felt puppet, with red yarn hair and a cute green dress. The Girl’s dark brown eyes look up at him with a shy curiosity.

“Need work” Stan replied simply. Before he could stop himself, he then continued. “You?” He wanted to hit himself; he shouldn’t be making small talk with these people. He probably wouldn’t get past his first line before they decide to have him leave.

“Mama saw the flyers, and suggested I try it out. Said it was because I had a good attitude for it.” She responded. Doing it ‘cause of her ma? Respectable, Stan supposed. “I’m a little nervous though, I haven’t really acted in front of adults before.” Her face began to turn red in embarrassment.

“Bah! The most these guys will say is ‘thank you’ then move on, I wouldn’t set your eyes fully on this. There are always other options.” He had to learn that the hard way. He wouldn’t let this little girl have that same crushing feeling. Although, his options had all run dry by now. At this point he noticed her looking at him intently.

Her eyes grazed over him for a few moments. Studying him. It made Stan want to curl up and disappear. Who did she think she was? Didn’t her ma teach her it’s rude to stare? Rather than voicing this, he merely just huffed and quickly grabbed some fake plastiglas cups and some sticks, then briskly walked away.

What was he doing? He probably just screwed himself over with that! First of all, he was a full-grown man talking to a kid. Then snuffing her instead of ending things politely. Good going, moron…

This all was a bad idea. He never should have come at all. But he had already gotten this far, he needs to finish what he’s started. Stan sat down on one of the many boxes scattered throughout the warehouse and began reading his script. Only to pause mid-reading.

Sure, the letters were kinda scrambled and flipped, and the words were moving on the page, but-. How old was this show’s demographic again? Second graders? Stan may have been dumb, but he remembered a better way to learn about basic physics as a kid. Sure, He had been the one to teach him that way, but still, he understood that better at that age than he did this.

Maybe he could change it just a little bit? Simplify? Although, the producers likely wouldn’t like it if he changed their scripts. However, Stan knew what it was like to be the kid who was called stupid because he didn’t understand the topic that was being taught.

…Who wrote these again? The short girl. Joan Morrisett?

Looking around, he quickly spotted the women responsible for the scripts watching the others search for the script they wanted to try out with. Anxiously, he walked to the writer. As he got closer, he found a stiff weight firmly planting itself inside of his gut and heat rising up his face. He shouldn’t do this, it’s rude, but it’s not like Stan Pines ever gave much mind to being rude before.

Before he could stop himself, he came to a stop beside the young woman and cleared his throat.

“Uhm… hay uh…” Stan mumbled, only to pause as the shorter girl jumped in surprise.

“Oh!” Joan startled, snapping around to look at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you!” She gave him a pleasant smile. “Did you need something?”

“Uh… kinda?” Stan shrugged. “Just a question, or a suggestion, I guess, from someone considered an idiot, y’know? Someone who was a kid who struggled in school?” His face was getting warmer by the second, his eyes looking everywhere besides in front of him.

“Alright,” She answered kindly. “Go right ahead.”

Stan, once again, cleared his throat. Rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension. “The science script. I have the whole Idea down… but looking at it… it reminds me of how I struggled in school, and how nothing the teachers taught me stuck. It was through a-” Damnit, he shouldn’t mention Him. Quick. Lie. “-close friend that I ever really learned anything. He helped me where teachers couldn’t, I was just wondering if I could… uh.” He stuttered. “Minorly alter the wording of the script, just a little!” he emphasized, panicked. He never should have asked-!

“Oh, alright! Although could you point out the section to me, so I get an idea of what you’re describing?” She slightly peaked over to look at the script Stan held. Nervously, he tilted it in her direction and pointed to a segment of text.

“Ah, yeah.” she mumbled, hand lifting to rest on her cheek as she huffed in frustration. “I wasn’t the best at science in school… I don’t really remember much from it either, I was more of an English and performing arts kid, y’know?” She shrugged.

Stan vaguely nodded in general dismissive interest.

“Well, how would you put it then?” She looked to him with a soft, encouraging smile, like the tutors that he would be assigned when he was very young and teachers still had hope for him. It managed to crack something deep inside him. With a preparing breath, he began to explain in the way that He did back then.

-------------------------

The current position Stan was sitting at was uncomfortable at best. He was planted beneath a table with its sides and front covered by a tablecloth, the back open to allow someone to sit slightly under. Stan was taller than the table, even when sitting, so he had to slouch uncomfortably to stay hidden from the producers sitting in front of the stage. The others were off behind the stage, waiting their turns or had already done their auditions. He had been placed firmly in the middle of the lineup, as he and Joan had taken time to alter his script before he read through it.

Around him were many tools of production for a show: lights, those inverted umbrellas that reflected the lights, a boom mic, and one of those expensive colored cameras. He had been asked to give his name, which he gave a fake; Pan Stein, what script he would be performing, and what his puppet's name was. Truely, there was no other option, he wore his inspiration on his sleeve. Dr.Pine, he told them, his puppet’s name would be Dr.Pine. With that done, they directed him to sit behind the table and now he waited for the snapping sound of the clapperboard.

When it finally snapped, Stan swallowed the spit overflowing in his mouth. He staged his puppet climbing an invisible set of stairs under the table, then feigned clearing the puppet’s throat, lifting its fake hands to its mouth. Then, with mild exaggeration to his normal tone, he addressed his audience.

(I can’t write scripts, and I have at least two other parts I want to write for this au, so please be nice and just imagine Stan does a good job and explains things well, I’m not used to writing fanfics yet-)

As Stan stood from behind the table, he briefly glanced at the producers. With a quick giving of thanks, he rushed from the stage and around to the back of the set. Sitting in a cheap folding chair, hunched with his face almost to his knees and cupped in his hands, he let out a deep sigh. His thumbs rubbed his temples, and his palms dug into his eyes as he let himself de-stress from the work of acting. He was usually so good at this, why was he so stressed now? Acting was basically what being a door-to-door salesman was all about, pretending something was amazing so shmuks would buy it.

But now, it felt impossible…

He never should have tried. He should have just cut his losses and took on some loans. Sure, some of the deals were shady, but it couldn’t have been as bad as this. He wasted his time, and these people’s time. All for what? Unbelievable.

His foot came in contact with a plush lump on the floor. The puppet, Dr.Pine. A name both familiar and not in its minor differences. A name for something that was, in all ways that mattered, nothing. A close enough name to someone who couldn't call himself anything close to who he used to be. Man, how deep is he spiraling that he's becoming introspective? Not really his whole thing, dumb twin and all.

Footsteps echoed as Stan registered the newly formed crowd around the back of the set. He must have been in his head for a while; although, it hadn’t felt that long at all. For a moment, he thought he locked eyes with Joan. But, with a blink, the contact disappeared. Must have been mistaken. However, she did tap on Lloyd's shoulder, then whispered to him while vaguely gesturing to Stan. He wanted the floor to devour him.

Lloyd would also momentarily glance at Stan, but his focus was mostly on Joan. This had gone on for maybe a minute, before the taller man approached Stan. He could feel his heart begin to race. Then stop as the main producer did too.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir.” He awkwardly began. “My colleague told me about the changes you suggested for the script, and it was based on your struggles in school and with learning.”

Great, now he’s losing an opportunity because he was a dumbass, good going-.

“And I think we might have the perfect position for you if you really are serious about this show. There is some work that could be done for your acting; but it’s only fair since you didn’t have much time.” Lloyd finished, face holding a professional smile.

What? No, really. What? They were offering him the job? Because he wanted to simplify some words? But then again, there is no way he was the only one like this, surely. They wanted him for that? It was that easy?

“Are you sure?” Stan tested, nervous.

“Positive.” Lloyd assured. “That is the whole reason for this show, to help kids who struggle. If you’re up for it. We have a contract you can look over, no strings.”

This was it, Stan processed. This was his chance to get out of this pit he dug. His chance to make something of himself. He somewhat shuffled as Lloyd guided him to a small, makeshift office and handed him a small stack of papers to read over. As his eyes scanned over the somewhat swimming text, he finally made his decision. And grabbed a pen, fake name at his fingertips, soon to be his new life.

Huh, maybe… he could do this.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #science time with dr pine #gravity falls au #au #fanfiction #fanfic #graphic design #science time with dr pines #Both are correct

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