Chorus continued to pour over their computer as they had for the past… few days? Possibly a week? More? Who knew at this point. They trimmed the last video clip for their current project. It had to be at least the millionth they’d edited since they entered the editing bay for their nonstop binge.
When was the last time they’d eaten, showered, slept? More mysteries. They vaguely recalled dipping in and out of consciousness for a while, but every waking moment was spent editing the thousands of hours of footage they’d obtained over the past few months.
Certainly, their physical appearance must be in shambles by now. They could never let another person ever see them like this, or their reputation would be shattered. Thankfully, the room they were in had a shower along with other amenities. Chorus and Victori had taken over one of the available cubes at the compound and turned it into their PR headquarters.
It had a full kitchen and bathroom and beds that folded out if needed. The space could certainly be lived in for a long duration if needed—a bunker if they were ever to fight in a metaphorical and digital war. Chorus had their own editing bay that was a separate closed-off room—basically a closet.
Even Chorus’ Fiend eyes were straining after staring at monitors in a dark room for such a long time. They finally hit the render button on what would be their very last project before launch. It joined the other edits on the other dozen or so computers in the room, all churning out content to spread across the world.
They had months worth of videos lined up and still countless raw footage if needed. The real question, though, was any of it good? Was any of it worthy of the brand Chorus wanted to make? Would it wow and capture the world?
To figure that out, they needed victims, err, volunteer viewers to subject to some test viewing. Now just who could they find to bend to their whims that would also give fair and constructive feedback.
Chorus shifted over to their emails—the counter of their inbox maxed out. They’d have to go through them all at some point to make sure there were no fires to put out, but for now, they quickly skimmed through the lot of them, looking to see if any of their old contacts had reached out that could serve as a foot in the door.
They didn’t expect to find their salvation in the form of a spam email. It was for an upcoming award show that gave the viewing information for when it would be broadcast. Chorus checked the current date to see if they’d missed it. Huh, today?! Coincidence? No, destiny!
Had they received an official invite? Chorus did a search through their mail and found nothing, not even a news outlet asking if they were going. Traitors. They’d only been out of the game a few years and the whole industry had forgotten about their existence. Someone could have at least sent a courtesy invite out of respect even if no one believed they’d actually attend.
Well, it was time to crash the party then. Chorus doubted they’d face much resistance, but either way, it was nothing they couldn’t handle. One way or another, they could get into anything.
They checked the time. It was still only [159]—the dead of night. The show didn’t start until [800] and was being held in Shindig, which was on the same side of the continent at least, so it wouldn’t take too long to get there. That left plenty of time to get ready, have some food, maybe take a nap, and most importantly, machinate.
After a good long shower, Chorus entered the main room of their headquarters. They expected it to be completely empty given the time, but found Victori still manned at her station despite the ungodly hour.
It has actually taken them a moment to fully grasp that it was Victori at all and not some bum that had wandered in somehow. Chorus couldn’t blame her too much, since they’d just been in a similar state, but talk about a fall from grace.
She had been assigned the task to keep an eye on the various rumors circulating about the Fiends for Hire while Chorus was editing. Either she’d taken the role so seriously that she too never took a break, or had gotten far too comfortable in this lazy life that she’d become a worthless human being—not that she was exactly stellar before.
The once proud noble, raised on etiquette and proper posture, was slumped so far down into her chair that it looked like she’d melted into it. The hoodie she was wearing had ridden so far up that it was only covering her breasts, and she was now using her bare stomach as a mousepad to navigate her computer.
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Her sweatpants that clearly hadn’t been changed the entire time were now littered with holes throughout—some small ones even clearly showing her panties underneath. On one side of her chair were countless opened bags of snacks that her free hand was currently fishing into. Her long hair was drooping down the other side of the chair, hovering over a pile of dirty dishes that it was most certainly dabbing the surface of every so often.
Crashing and burning was a timeless tale for those put in the spotlight, so it wasn’t exactly surprising. Chorus was more confused that Mallea and Crucion had let the room get to this state, but then they remembered that they’d asked to not be disturbed while editing.
Still, this wasn’t something they could let stand. In their past life, Chorus had lost count of how many young actors and actresses looked up to them—trying to break into the business and wanting to be taken under their wing. Chorus had been far too selfish and focused on their own goals to give those starry-eyed dreamers the attention they needed to succeed—even inadvertently crushing some of the young-ones’ goals with their own hands.
That was a mistake that wouldn’t be repeated. They wouldn’t let their current protege, no matter how far gone they were, fall into disgrace again. “Victori!” was all Chorus had to say for the woman to leap out of her chair in panic—landing face first into her pile of filth. “Get yourself cleaned up. We’re going out tonight. Don’t worry about your outfit or your hair, I’ll take care of that. We’ll have Niloy take care of the makeup as well since she’s better at it than I am. Just make sure you scrub every inch, because you need to be spotless in order to shine!”
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“Are you sure I look fine?” Victori fidgeted in her dress. It was astonishing how uncomfortable she found it. Her whole life up until just recently had been entirely fashion over function, and she never gave the irritation and stiffness a second thought. But now that she’d lived it up in nothing but clothing softer than a cloud, she found the lap of luxury to be unbearable. How she longed to be back in sweatpants.
“You look stunning, my dear,” Chorus grabbed her chin and inspected her again, making sure that she hadn’t ruined her makeup or hair on the ride over. They’d flown most of the way, but made sure to swap into a limo before their arrival at the venue.
“We’re not going to get in trouble are we?” Victori was doing her best to stave off a panic attack. Chorus had told her the gist of what was going to happen, but apparently a majority of their plan was to ‘just wing it.’
Chorus only smiled. “We may not be officially invited guests, but there’s not a soul in the business who hasn’t heard of me. They may not recognize me for my looks anymore with my new hair and eye colors, but what’s important is the presence I exude. I belong there, and no one will dare stop me.”
It was time for Chorus to prove their point when their limo rolled up to the event. The door was immediately opened by the waiting attendant, Chorus slammed a foot down onto the blue carpet. In one fluid motion, they slid out of the car and to full upright attention, only to turn around and offer a hand to Victori.
She wasn’t quite as elegant in her exit, but still years of practice allowed her to do it without embarrassing herself. The two strolled down the carpet, but unlike how Chorus had laid out the scene to her, basically no one was even looking their way.
All their eyes and cameras were ahead. It made sense for the majority, since that’s where the dedicated showcase spot was to allow the media to take as many pictures as they liked. Still, a good few would try to get the jump on a scoop when someone took their first step onto the scene. Maybe one or two had taken their picture, but most ignored them and continued their endless onslaught of pictures aimed at the celebrities ahead in line.
Chorus was currently dressed up in a pretty generic looking suit. With their orange hair tidy, short, and unimpressive, they certainly didn’t look like any of the current top celebrities or the Chorus Mistrion of legend. But Victori had to assume it was all part of their plan.
When it was their turn in front of the spotlight, they had a few pictures taken, but got more mumbles than camera clicks—things like who they were and why they were here—were they actually important enough to be invited to an event like this?
That’s when Chorus vanished, swallowed whole by their wardrobe that appeared out of thin air. They were in there for quite some time, or at least it felt that way compared to the split-second that they usually took. Maybe they were trying to build suspense, or maybe they were just having a hard time choosing what to wear.
Normally, the wardrobe just vanished when Chorus was done with it, but to add to the spectacle, the doors creaked open. They strolled out in a gown so lavish and long that the tail draped behind them for several feet. Once they were out and in full view, they raised their arms and the collar of the dress rose to match their movement and then flared out like a fan.
This drew quite a bit of attention, but not all of it just yet. Some photographers were still pointed at the next people in line, trying to get some early shots, but a lot had focused on them just because of the outfit change. But then came one eager person saying the right thing and all eyes fixated on them like predators.