"Avicia Thorn, xir. She/her pronouns."

For a breath, they seemed to consider this. Avicia couldn't begin to decipher the look in their eyes, and that made her chest ache with uncertainty. Finally, they gave a curt nod and muttered, "Kahdreg Vidaroc. ...He/him."

And that was it. Mr. Kahdreg Vidaroc strode from the lobby, not even throwing Avicia another glance.

With as much grace as she could manage, Avicia stumbled after his moderate gait, her high heels clacking against the marble like an angry cicada.

She had barely managed to race out the front door without twisting her ankle. As soon as she exited the air conditioned lobby, nature's heat flared in her face. Overhead, the sun blazed, edging closer to the zenith of the sky. She surveyed the lot, her heart sinking into her stomach. There were so many obstacles to stagger over in heels: throngs of busy bodies, tourists in their caravans, hefty props hauled to and fro. Vidaroc was already so far. Her feet ached at the very notion of catching up to him.

"Wait!" She called after the director. He spun on his heel, annoyance morphing to confusion. Leaned against a door jamb, Avicia struggled to unclasp her less-than-functional heels. Professional attire wasn't worth a broken ankle.

At Kahdreg's expression, Avicia growled, "I wasn't planning to hoof it across the lots, sir."

A less-wily part of her cringed at the venom in the last word. Then again, she was about to dance across a cement lot, already baking in the heat of the morning sun. It'd be like walking barefoot across a hot beach, if that beach were in a volcano.

"That's ridiculous," sighed Kahdreg, pocketing his phone as he closed the distance between them. He held out his arms, like someone waiting to be loaded down with fresh linen. "I can carr-"

The look Avicia shot him made the words wither on his lips. He huffed and rolled his eyes, dropping his outstretched arms. She returned her attention to unbuckling her heels, not even managing to undo one before a commotion caught her ear. Glancing up, her heart stuttered at the scene. Vidaroc menaced over a random person, presumably not possessing a director's clout but definitely holding keys to a golf cart. Passerbys gawked, some whispers being exchanged behind hands. Before she could even bumble over to him in protest, the opponent sidled away from the director.

She caught their eye, an apology on her lips and sympathy in her eyes. They merely spun away and charged through the crowds, shoulders hunched in mortification. An ache of pity shot through Avicia, before Kahdreg's whistle broke her thoughts.

A frown caught her lips as Kahdreg whistled again, motioning for her to get on already. Trying not to feel like a dog, Avicia gave in. Protesting wouldn't matter now, anyway. The battle was fought and Kahdreg Vidaroc was the victor. No point in letting his spoils go to waste.

She climbed in and, as gracefully as she could, sat next to him. Kahdreg didn't even wait for her to settle before gunning the cart. The little machine buzzed as it wove between clusters of people and objects. Odd stage props sped by; an anchor, suits of armor, mechas made from foam, a large black hand, Victorian furniture. Flanking the perimeter of the film lot, hulking film sets - like airplane hangars - loomed and blurred on the ride.

In vain, Avicia attempted to spot some way to discern one from the other. A name, a number, anything.

Just as motion sickness gripped into her gut, the golf cart suddenly stopped. She gasped, thrown forward in her seat with a yelp. The cart creaked and shook as Kahdreg bounded off, leaving the keys in the ignition.

Avicia snagged the keys - it wouldn't do for a tourist to go on a joyride, would it?- and raced after the orc. At the doorway, Kahdreg charged in, demands and questions echoing as soon as he set foot inside. Beyond the threshold, Avicia could feel the dark waters of apprehension taunt her. Inside, a cacophony of voices and movement came to life with Kahdreg's entrance.

She could imagine the tangle of wires, the heat of lights, the countless crewmembers, the scenery and props and cameras. Scents, sensations, and what tasks she'd be charged with eluded her, though. A textbook definition of chaos, from which a makeshift world would be recorded and woven together as a movie.

In her hand, the keys to the golf cart burned with temptation. She could just leave. Avicia glanced back to the cart, but images of her father and medical debt loomed up. Shaking retreat from her head, she turned back to the set.

With a deep breath, Avicia quashed the desire to run and stepped into the new world.

—

Hours passed and Avicia's head still throbbed as she tried to place names and occupations to faces. Camera operator, first assistant, grips, gaffers, boom operators, supervisors. And there were more yet! It didn't help that Kahdreg rushed through introductions, eager to return to work. The pleasantries were only a minor speed bump on his road to success.

At Kahdreg's beck, crewmembers had swarmed around her. It seemed strange, until Avicia realized she was the director's personal assistant. It was in the crew's best interest to know who she was and - perhaps - to request things from her, instead of directly from the illustrious Vidaroc.

Regardless of the overwhelming amount of information, Avicia retained her smile and ability for polite interaction. Without a phone or tablet, she soon realized there wasn't much for her to do. So, she observed.

Loud and mouthy and demanding, Kahdreg was everything she expected of him. There had been a number of unflattering articles about him in the past. Though, it was always a mixed bag with him. When one negative article roused, there was always a more positive counterpart. Irritation mingled with a sense of impressiveness in Avicia's thoughts. Couldn't he stand to be more polite, at least?

Once, when Kahdreg was out of earshot, Avicia caught a whispered conversation from two other crew members who were hoisting props.

"Mr. Vidaroc is crabby today, huh?"

The other cackled, too loud to be inconspicuous, "What else is new?"

Before Avicia could consider whether she should make friends with the two, Kahdreg snarl of "Move!" effectively disrupted her thoughts.

The sound of something heavy hitting flesh echoed through the stage. All eyes and ears spun toward the source, like meerkats suddenly alert for danger. Avicia stifled a gasp. The lead actor sprawled on the floor a few feet away from Kahdreg, disoriented and sporting a scraped elbow. Her gaze dragged to Kahdreg, her eyes widening further.

At first, Avicia thought it was a heavy piece of equipment. Something that had fallen from the rafters. On closer inspection, it looked like a piece of the set. A big, hulking metal-appearing thing that didn't appear to weigh much to Kahdreg. Though, knowing orcs and their hardiness, who knows what damage the actor would've taken?

"Be careful!" Kahdreg bellowed upwards, lips twisted into a grimace.

Motion higher up caught her eye. A dryad on a ladder scrunched their shoulders to their ears, eyes wide and trembling hands still extended to where the prop had been. "I-I was just trying to a-adjust it for the next shot, sir. I-I-I don't know what happened."

Various people darted up to Kahdreg, the scene now becoming understood. A minotaur - a prop master, if Avicia remembered correctly - relieved Kahdreg of the object, inspecting it for damage. Their tail twitched, spotting an imperfection before hustling off to get one of the back-ups. There was a brief, whispered back-and-forth between Kahdreg and Elyon Kaegwin, she/her pronouns and elven script supervisor.

Bound by duty, and roused by curiosity, Avicia left her seat and quietly approached the two.

"-botaged it. I'm fucking certain it was that shitstain."

"Accidents happen, Kahdreg. No one sabo-" Elyon stopped abruptly, ears twitching as she turned toward Avicia. "Ah, the newbie!"

Caught under two sets of piercing eyes - one pair orange, the other a vibrant purple - Avicia mustered up a smile. Her brain whizzed quickly through options. She had barely settled on one before Kahdreg barked, "Thorn, go to Java Brava on Sunset. Extra grande, double quad, mocha, extra whipped and caramel drizzle."

Metaphorical whiplash snapped at her thoughts as she shifted gears. Before she could ask him to repeat his order, various other supervisors piped up from clustered groups.

"Medium caramel macchiato, please!"

"A large Chai Latte, extra hot for me!"

"Oh, are we getting coffee? I'll take a medium special frap, extra whip!"

"Wait, I need to wri-" Avicia didn't even get a chance to finish her sentence before Elyon shoved a piece of paper into her hand. She blinked, stunned and somewhat dizzy from the momentary dismay. Glancing up, Elyon flashed a knowing smile and winked, before turning back to where Kahdreg had stormed off to.

Looking down at the paper as she started for the exit, Avicia couldn't help but envy the pristine script before she gleaned over the orders. They read correct, from what she remembered. But that wasn't saying much. There was, however, no information about this particular coffee place.

What had Kahdreg said? Java Brava on Sunset, right? Pressing her lips together, Avicia pulled out her personal phone, plugging in a search query into Gaggle. Something had to come up, right?