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It wasn’t clear whether Aandes’ eyesight was going, or whether he was just overexerting from the constant strain of going over the script of Schrad: The Musical. Here he was, sitting at home being examined by a blueblooded ocular specialist, and he’d never felt more embarrassed in his life.
“Press the button every time you see a dot appear.” Directed the troll. Aandes cleared his throat. All of this should have been easy, but feeling less than his best was not something that he desired. There was so much at stake – surely his body wouldn’t fail him now. Beep. Aandes clicked the button, realizing his focus drifting off. This should have been easy, he reminded himself. Exhaustion and bleary sightstalks were the last thing he needed.
No – the last thing he needed was for the world to uncover him, to root out his beloved, to crush him by toppling the tower he was building himself up on. He was building himself a safety net and securing his own fate with every troll he enlisted into his service to confide in. It had taken him two solid weeks of hemming and hawing to find the nerve to call a specialist and help him with his ringing head and bleary eyes. Driven and ambitious to a fault as ever, Aandes would not give up.
It had all started with Bloodfest. A whirlwind, the booth, Odette’s magnetism and then – suddenly – the Jack and the Queen. Aandes had put up a fine poker face, but the game had only just begun. There was no hiding now. What was Regina’s angle?
The first, most obvious incentive was keeping a close eye on Odette Cygnet. Her involvement in rehabilitation was a flimsy veneer to someone as powerful and astute as the Queen, who could have her immediately culled with no explanation with the bat of an eyelash. She would only be a fascinating subject to the Queen as long as she entertained. At the very least, Aandes considered, that was her specialty. Tethered together now, Aandes was as much a rebel as Odette as far as the Queen was concerned. His own motivations for being around her could be called into question as easily as his own demise. There was little doubt that this little project was an easy source of propaganda, surveillance, and some chuckles from the capricious Empress.
That wouldn’t do. As soon as he made his way back to his hive that morning after Bloodfest, the reality of his peril had set in. And, following it, his determination. Aandes intended to rise above the game. Unfortunately since then it seemed to be killing him slowly.
He finished the dot test (or whatever the specialist had called it) and moved on to a rather large yet strangely portable ocular device that was strapped to his head. Which is clearer? The one on the left? Or the one on the right? Aandes suffered through the test. After having a drop of something deposited in his sightstalks and feeling subsequently sick at the sensation, the tests were over and his fears were realized.
“Pick out some frames and I’ll deliver your prescription to you in a couple of days. Good evening.”
Aandes was left alone. Squinting out at the departing figure outside his door and feeling miserable enough to hardly bother with a farewell as he closed the door behind him. He crossed to his visiting block and sunk down in a chair. Fantastic.
The greenblood waffled between simply sleeping (his ocular enhancements would arrive sooner that way) or trying to get some work done (he still had to contact his whipsmart team of production designers, make some hiring decisions and set up a budget meeting). He resigned himself to his thoughts and soon found his mind drifting as he sunk deeper into the comfortable upholstery.
Fact-searching would be necessary. He had to get all of the information on Schrad that he could find, using a dramaturg of sorts that he trusted – not one of Regina’s goons. He’d vaguely heard of her demise at a curious party that many trolls had attended, and it reeked of foul play at best. Something was up, and if he was to be played by the Queen he wanted it on his own terms. Second, he had to delve deeply into his staff. Hiring the same individual for both tasks was too risky, not to mention the implications of his intent in investigating his own staff. That might require a more covert agent, one who he had leverage over. Loose ends and paper trails should be avoided at all costs.
Hopefully he wouldn’t have to resort to a visible bodyguard. The situation at the booth with Kursha Vidari was a result of a hair trigger, and the unpredictability of the act was worrisome. With any luck, the greenblood was under the Queen’s thumb enough not to pull the trigger on him. But then again, he had Rasali. Any association might bring everything crashing down. He would need to come up with a watertight plan, for attack and for defending against a siege against his name. Rasali…
Aandes had slipped under. Pleasant, staticky dreams were quickly replaced by his head at the receiving end of a rifle, blood running down from wounds he couldn’t staunch no matter how hard he tried. He jerked awake in the chair, and the heat in the room quickly brought him to full consciousness. It was morning already. He must have been sleeping just until the sun began to set, and Aandes quietly thanked the heavens for not passing out throughout the day. There was too much work to do. Scrambling to his kitchen table now fully awake, Aandes pulled one of many full notebooks in front of him and began to sketch out his thoughts.
Contingencies. He had to be one step ahead of any bullheaded, power-tripping warmonger that popped up in his path. No one had anything on him, but that wouldn’t be a deterrent for someone like Kursha. Aandes scribbled.
“Rasali, destroy this after you read it. I need to create contingencies should your cover be blown or should our cover be compromised. Please read the following closely, my dearest, and remember that I’m forever yours…”
There was a treacherous path ahead of both of them – who knew that Bloodfest could have been the catalyst?
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