Folly Wood. Home to innumerable studios that churned out the bulk of everyday entertainment. Where stars shine bright along the sidewalks, holding their macchiato grande venti caffeine boost. Where movies and television shows plant their seeds, to flourish into fanon fodder online.

Under that glitz and glam, there were still menial jobs to be done. Avicia Thorn considered this fact, while the elevator hauled her upward. There were a multitude of thankless minimum wage jobs available. She'd be employed in one of them, soon.

Entering data, answering phone calls, making appointments, filling out documents. It was bound to be tedious, but it was a paycheck.

Avicia sighed, staring off into space to avoid the mirrored elevator walls. She knew what she looked like. It was very... professional. With her hair - dyed a dusky rose - pulled back into a bun and her glasses, she doubted anyone who knew of her would recognize her. The clothes were fairly unassuming, as well. A white blouse, a black knee-length skirt, dark stockings, and a dangly pink necklace. Perfectly business appropriate.

However, a hardcore fan might recognize the heels she wore. Pretty, pastel pink heels with a slight platform to them. They straddled the height line between appropriate and inappropriate. The heel truly was the defining feature, though: a heart when viewed from the side.

Pressing her lips together, she tried not to think about her shoes. If she thought too hard, she'd remember the illicit pictures she took in them. It would make her more nervous. As the elevator continued its ascent, Avicia mentally repeated: No one will notice. No one will notice. No one will notice.

The elevator slowed to a stop, chiming just before the doors rolled open. Avicia stepped into the hall and started toward the HR Department. The last time she'd been here, nerves wracked her thoughts. This time, the nerves were still present, but - at least - she was more comfortable with the layout.

When Avicia neared her destination, tension prickled over her arms. Then she heard the yelling.

"-today! Not tomorrow, not a week from now. Today!" The words came out as a near-bellow by the time Avicia wandered closer to the open HR office.

Leaning over the recruiter's desk, a large figure loomed. Tall and broad-shouldered, with large green hands firmly planted on piles of paper. Irritation flickered in their body language. Avicia couldn't help noticing the recruiter's nameplate became upended, as if disturbed by a previous thump of something upon the desk. Avicia's eye trailed down their back - following the curve of their braid - before gracing onto denim stretched over a taut a-

Avicia tore her eyes away.

Just as she did, Tarragon Bubbleswamp - senior recruiter for Spectretainment - caught her eye from behind his desk. His pointed ears pricked upward with relief. Noticing Tarragon's change of demeanor, the intimidating figure spun around, braid flying out behind them.

Avicia jumped to attention, gaze snapping to the orc's face. Orange eyes glared down, lips twisted into a snarl. As their lips twisted, a scar that crossed the right side of her lips puckered. "Who are you?"

She stared up at them, wide-eyed and throat clenching under the intimidating glare. Her stomach had taken up gymnastics as her mouth struggled to formulate a response.

"M-Mr. Vidaroc, Miss Thorn is a new hire that I must train today." Tarragon managed to squeak, very slowly climbing back into his chair. A residual cringe lingered at the corners of his eyes.

They still stared at her, gaze drinking in every detail of her demeanor. Even though they remained still, Avicia felt as if they were circling her. Lowering her hand, she bade off the tingle that caressed down her spine. She was used to people staring, wasn't she?

Still, the intense look from them weighed on her.

"What qualifications do you have?" Despite being a question, the words sounded more like a demand.

Avicia cocked her head, eyes narrowing in suspicion and uncertainty. This had taken a turn. "I applied for a data entry position."

"Work history?" Another demand masquerading as a question.

"Retail and office work, mostly." Irritation bristled over her skin as the orc rolled his eyes, giving a halfhearted nod. Her hands tightened on the strap of her purse as she managed, with a bit more force than intended, "I've been self-employed the last few years, though."

At that, Vidaroc cocked an eyebrow. "Doing?"

Her practiced line shot out before she could even think. "I developed content on social media."

"Influencer?" The word left their lips, demanding and without any inflection of sarcasm or distaste. Avicia wasn't sure how to read their reaction.

"I made video content." Avicia readjusted her sweaty grip on her purse. Her heart thrummed heavy in her chest as she spoke over-rehearsed lines. "I worked hard to produce videos with a self-imposed schedule, engaged and maintained good relationships with my fanbase, and ran a webstore associated with my brand."

Another cocked eyebrow morphed Vidaroc's expression from unimpressed to one of intrigue. He hummed thoughtfully.

Though she wasn't necessarily lying, Avicia's ears burned all the same. She had scraped together everything for her cam career! Advertising, being friendly, setting up merchandise that didn't violate any ToS. It had been hard and she'd spent hours - sometimes days - researching the best options or preparing for shows.

Still, part of her wish she hadn't finangled her resume to include the work. Too many unwanted questions and too lofty of expectations would be placed on her. But, without it, her resume over the last few years looked barren.

"You're lucky," Vidaroc turned, pointing at Tarragon. The recruiter opened his mouth, but the orc interrupted him, "She'll need a phone and a tablet, with a keyboard, by lunch."

"B-but-!"

"By. Lunch." There was no room for negotiation, let alone outright argument. They leaned forward again, hand falling heavy onto the desk. "And alter her payscale to a personal assistant salary."

"Yessir." Tarragon quivered, obviously emotionally spent.

Vidaroc nodded, before turning on their heel and marching out of the room. Avicia stared, stunned by the sudden turn of events. Her mind scrabbled for any mental foothold, but everything slipped through her grasp.

It wasn't until Tarragon's voice, caught between fear and annoyance, she moved. "What are you waiting for? Follow him!"

—

Avicia rushed from the HR office, mind aflutter with nerves. Her gaze snapped up and down the hall, seeking her - apparently - new boss. She spotted them by the silver elevator doors, head bowed. As she neared, Avicia realized they were on their phone in the metal reflection.

At her approach, their gaze snapped up. The intensity in their gaze rebounded off the mirrored metal, pinning Avicia with a look. There was a moment's hesitation, before she closed the distance, shoulders hunched to her ears as her fingers fiddled with her purse strap. She could feel Vidaroc's gaze on her. A flush tauntingly warmed her face, but hadn't broken to the surface. Yet. Still, Avicia couldn't meet their eyes.

"Do you know what film I'm working on, right now?" The words cleaved through the silence, utterly ignoring the awkward tension in the air.

Something in the air sizzled. Intuitive alarms keened out in Avicia's head. This was a test. To see if she knew who exactly they were. Was she an airhead who just wanted a job at a film studio, hoping to nab some bigtime beau or weasel her way into the big screen? Or did she know, exactly, who they were?

Though Avicia added bitterly in her thoughts, it didn't really matter if she had come to the film studio looking for an affluent love. She had applied for data entry, not to be a personal assistant. It was Vidaroc's impatience that put her in this position.

Avicia did know who Kahdreg Vidaroc was, regardless. Some years ago, they were a fresh directing face. The first orc nominated for directing a box office smash. They clawed their way through the ranks and headlines, like they were waging war for glory. Maybe they were. In no time, they became a producer of bigger hits. There were even rumors of Vidaroc dipping their toes into the ocean of TV miniseries.

"You're working on an adaptation of Dead Ringer." Now, they truly looked at her. Avicia swallowed down the heat that flared in her chest. As a way of explanation, she blabbed, "I'm a big fan of the series. I've been following the news."

At the back of her head, cheeky memories flickered. Her fans quite liked her cosplay videos, too. They were looking forward to new material she could mimic.

"We're only about a week or so into shooting." It seemed her answer sufficed. The elevator arrived with an interruptive chime. Vidaroc stepped on, hand hovering over the doors to keep them from closing. "You're lucky you haven't missed much."

Avicia ducked into the elevator, trying to ignore the bite of Vidaroc's words. Lucky. As if she was late to the show of her own volition. In such a small area, she became intensely aware of how much space Vidaroc presided in. Their body heat, tinged with the scent of a light cologne, infiltrated every corner. The squirming in her stomach had little to do with the descending elevator. She knew what the sensation meant, but dutifully ignored it.

Again, Kahdreg's eyes were glued to their phone - a huge one, meant for orcs, giants, and minotaur hands - as they spoke. Their sentences were punctuated with swipes and the tapping of furious texting. They held the phone a smidgen too high for Avicia to risk a peek. "We don't have time for a studio tour. I expect you to figure that out yourself. So, don't get lost."

A frown threaded over Avicia's lips. She hadn't even been expecting to walk the lot, let alone know how to get from point A to point B! These shoes were not made for walking! A knot tightened in her stomach. This had been a mistake. A huge mistake. She should have put her foot down or choked down her pride when they abruptly "interviewed" her. Now, she was in over her head with a famous director. Her heart pounded as potential future missteps bloomed in her imagination.

Kahdreg Vidaroc didn't seem like the sort who forgave mistakes...

"If you do well here, I'll consider putting you on my payroll as a permanent PA." Those words shattered through Avicia's worries. That's right, this was a personal assistant position! How much did they even make? It had to be better than entry level pay. Which meant slashing those medical bills quicker! Vidaroc's next words nailed cold uncertainty back into place. "So, try not to fuck up."

Despite the chill of the words, Avicia's temper flared. Try not to fuck up? Were they expecting her to fuck up? Her fingers wrapped tighter around her purse strap. It wasn't her fault she was here! They're the one who demanded fresh meat. Probably after unduly firing her predecessor. She was willing to bet it was a simple infraction, like... like... what did personal assistants do anyway? Her brain fritzed, realizing she had no clue what her job entailed.

Slowly, Avicia took a deep breath. She could do this. There'd been a number of requests, demands, and more during her cam career. She could deal with a petulant orc and learn and adapt, right?

Channeling Bellamy Bluebell, Avicia managed a soft, "Yes, xir."

Just as the elevator doors hissed open, Kahdreg threw her a look. Avicia stepped forward, into the lobby, blatantly ignoring the sudden snap of his eyes on her. She paused a few steps away, watching as Kahdreg disembarked and new travellers swarmed into the box.

Something glinted in their eyes. Familiarity? Calculation? A deep fear refused to focus on it. Kahdreg Vidaroc rumbled a question, softer than previous demands. "What's your name, again?"

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head until she pinned Kahdreg with an over-the-glasses look. It was a staple expression in every sexy, no-nonsense, librarian session she'd performed. The smallest glimmer of recognition sparked in their gaze. Dammit. Why did she have to do that?

Curiosity edged at the worries. Now, she wanted to know if they watched her videos, enjoyed her sessions, indulged in some cam fun.

She realized it was a professional limbo. Even if they were her #1 fan, neither had anything to gain from the acknowledgement, while having plenty to lose. Though sex work might be legal, stigma still followed it like a puritanical bogeyman.

"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.