Had he been human, Shwaan thought idly as another blazing studio light flashed directly into his eyes, he would almost certainly have been blinded at some point during the two hours he had been sitting opposite Casia, in what he was excitedly told by one of the interns was the company’s largest studio – the one where Casia hosted most of her shows. As it was, the sheer brightness of the place made him feel rather refreshed. It wasn’t sunlight, of course; far from the real thing. But it was still better than the constantly overcast skies of Ragah in July. It made him feel oddly at home.
They were taking a break from the filming, and one of office boys rushed in to thoughtfully hand him a bottle of chilled water. Although it wasn’t technically possible for him to feel thirsty, Shwaan could almost feel his voice cracking from the strain of talking nonstop for over two hours. By contrast, his companion’s voice remained just as fresh and chirpy as when they had first started filming, and much more so than it was when she was off the camera. He drank slowly, listening with half an ear as Casia finished her phone call – telling whoever was on the other end that she would see them at dinner. He then set the bottle down on the edge of the table and tried to compose himself for the next round.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
He had been on earth for almost a month now and he was still regularly surprised by all the new things he saw every day. It was disorienting. It all felt strangely familiar, yet oddly foreign, like a forgotten dream from a different age.
“You understand we’re only taping this because this is your first time in front of a camera. And we didn’t want to put too much pressure on you right away,” Casia said, firmly but not unkindly, as she switched off her phone and settled back into her own chair. “The next time we do this, you’re gonna be on live TV. No more cuts and retakes then.”
“I-I’ll try to do my best, Miss Casia.” Shwaan tried to make his voice as agreeable as possible without sounding too confident. It was a delicate thing.
“That’s good then,” Casia smiled, flicking two fingers at the crew to indicate that they were ready to begin shooting again. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, she turned to the camera, her expression a mask of earnest neutrality, and began: “Welcome back to The Hour of Truth. I’m Casia Washi and we have with us today…”