[GRO] Aandes LaMode - Adult

[Hivestuck]

A producer's job is never done...

Only Sypon is allowed to post in this thread; please quote the mule when you are done with your growth.  

[Sypon]

Aandes’ morning and evening routines had shifted dramatically since the incident with Kursha Vidari. Careful preening and dressing was a mainstay that was merely extended due to his injuries. More make-up combined with physical therapy, pills and making sure he wasn’t outright falling apart. He couldn’t imagine how Rasali was faring. Aandes made a note to drop off some medical supplies where the rebels would retrieve it. He’d have to be more careful, especially now, but it would be worth it. The two had sacrificed much for each other.

The greenblood removed himself from his ablutionblock and sat at the nutritionblock table with a steaming mug of hot hustle. His knee was serviceable, even if he still had a vaguely visible limp – and for what it was worth, he didn’t mind too much. Like scars, his limp had a story. It gave him some weight, his cane added to his brand whether he liked it or not. It would improve. Trolls were resilient, after all, and compared to an average footsoldier he’d suffered a mere trifle. Files and forms spread out in front of him. The first order of business: dramaturgy. Namely, investigating the truth behind Shishi Schrad. His findings were carefully laid out. They were as follows:

Military documents from the codex repository.

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The vast collection of non-fiction was primarily practical help books. There were few history books or military documents to speak of, given the nature of Regina’s reign and the lack of such forces – not to mention that past conquests of Alternia were practically fairy tales. What Aandes did find, however, were a couple of handy nuggets with reference to Schrad, a redblood scout. Most of the information was allegorical, but her reputation was positive even if her forces suffered heavy losses. Black and white photos were carefully examined and copied in the order they were taken.

A small notepad with written gossip from a party formerly hosted by Erilyn Awassi.

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Information extracted from tipsy, affluent guests at fancy parties was always difficult to decipher but generally got down to the core of things with little work or question. While each guest had a different theory for their fall from grace (Aandes didn’t particularly care about the details), but their military history was consistent. A communicator, unrelated to Schrad but passing near her occasionally on duty. It gave Aandes a few new leads and some interesting techniques per their eccentric lifestyle – only he, of course, would work to avoid becoming cullfodder. The picture of the redblooded officer was becoming clear – and the company she kept. The disgraced Mapuye Puchen was a particular name that was dropped.

A thick file from a visit to the Burning Bird Bakery.

Quote:

Aandes made his way to the establishment early in the evening, prior to opening. The blueblooded officer known as Mapuye Puchen was working inside when he rapped on the window, and begrudgingly cracked open the door after his persistence.

“Scram. We open in an hour.”
“Pardon, but I figured there would be less spies watching this early, Miss Puchen – I have some questions for you about Shishi Schrad.”
“Who are you? No way I’m getting back into that mess.”
“I think you’ll find I can adequately reimburse you for your information. And then some.”
“… Come on in. You get ten minutes.”

The wealth of information Puchen provided to Aandes had to be taken with plenty of salt, but the reveal was quite telling. Names and information of others at the Banquet – including important players such as Sarcel Cincil, Kursha Vidari (surprise, surprise) and his own Eostre Diazzi stuck out to him particularly in their rise to the top. He made note to look into the Queen’s invited guests later. As for the dead, he would begin to look into the likes of others who had perished. The juggalo ambassador Comedi, the socialite Gerard (who Puchen admitted to killing herself in self defense). The network of information was addictive. The file, chocked full of leads, lead Aandes every which way in his efforts. However, one thing was quite clear – his investigation into Schrad had painted a clear story of ambition and spite. The destruction of highbloods for the advancement of others was an intriguing lash at the military, if not disturbing by Aandes’ standards. He was surprised it took her so long to get culled.

The greenblood wondered to himself how long Regina had known, how long she was playing with her. And finally pitting her against others like her in order to remove her from the picture. Puchen was rewarded for it with her life. Again. Disturbing. Aandes made a small mental note to himself, reminding himself about the Queen’s penchant for turning trolls against each other. Ending up in physical combat with another was a weakness of his. His guards Sascha and V would have his back and feed him intel on the regular, but on his own he’d have to outwit his opponents or somehow receive combat training.

Aandes’ compiled his notes and finished off the last of his scalding hustle. He’d have to file them away somewhere obscure. In the meantime, it was time for work. The production was coming along. Rehearsals had begun, and a grand set was underway with the same vigor that the Space Towers had been erected. He pulled on his coat and stepped out into the bitter cold wind.  

[Sypon]

After his injuries, he hadn’t been able to take his motorcycle in. At least what he lacked in mobile independence he had in spades in other areas – namely, having boatloads of beetles. Hiring a scuttlebuggy to shuttle him around was something he dared not get too used to, lest he grow a dependence on the bubbly drinks he enjoyed in the back of his swanky cab. Plus, he got to check his facts and write – he was always writing – during his commute. Aandes had preened through every employee file, knew the system of his production by heart. But his paranoid thinkpan would not allow him to rest easy. There was more riding on this than just a successful show. And the more he built up his social citadel, the more closed off he became.

Meetings with Odette were brief. As her sponsor, he had a duty to maintain appearances, check in, make sure she wasn’t doing anything overtly rebellious, keep her in line. Meetings with his crew were businesslike – he was known as the hard a**, cutting down ideas and recommending efficient techniques with equal practicality. He was always seen around the space of the budding grand theatre, but he was infrequently available. Too busy for socializing. A production force. Drinks out with coworkers was out of the question. Like his foray into the Four Fronds City movement after the spaceship crash, none of these trolls were anything but connections to serve his own ends. He would not allow them to become a liability, or breach his defenses in any way. Sascha and V were two loose ends. Thankfully… They were lowblooded.

Aandes stepped out of his transit and made his way into the grand theatre, up a flight of stairs to the production offices. He was relatively undisturbed until he got to his own desk, at which point he was met by a squirrely page seeking his business. After dismissing them with a cool gesture, Aandes sat.

And sat. At first with proper posture, then Aandes folded his hands over each other and rested his chin on them. He took a long inhale, exhale, closed and opened his eyes and sank back against the rest of his chair. The contents of his desk looked like gibberish. He removed himself. Striding over to the water cooler, Aandes hydrated himself and put the back of his hand to his forehead. A final swig, back to the desk. He sat. It had been so long since he’d seen Rasali, in good health no less. He pressed his palms into his eyesockets and focused on his breathing.

“Mr. LaMode? We’re meeting now.”

“Right. I’m coming.”

Aandes got up, pushed in his chair, and went – backtracking to grab his notes and a pen. How could he forget the budget meeting?  

[Sypon]

“Thanks to Her Highness Marian, we have the go-ahead to expand our resources to however we need.” A stately blueblood announced to the group. Aandes was leaning back in his chair, pen in mouth, eyes half-lidded.

“The pyrotechnics in Act 3 Scenes 1-5 are now on, and we’ll be focusing on the conversion of the Alternian spaceship set to make sure it’s as portable as our stage can allow. Sonder, you’ve also been cleared to compose additional scene-change numbers between acts.”

“Very good! How does this affect my instrumentation?”

“Well, the Queen only wrote “yes” on all of our requests, so just make sure that you and Carmen work together to ensure proper casting of musicians and dancers.”

“I have some thoughts about that, actually…”

The greenblood pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nodesniffer and exhaled. There was nothing in this meeting he needed to hear – the droning would only continue. Only after what seemed like sweeps did something catch his interest.

“Something has come to my attention – we’re missing some entries in the expenses for props, looks like a clerical error we should patch up. LaMode? Do you know about this?”

He shot up out of his sheet and scrambled to alertness. Aandes’ fingers clambered to grasp the forms he was handed. “What…?” The blood was rushing to his face. He’d missed something. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Aandes leaned back in his chair and waved his hand for the rest to continue – but his façade had dropped momentarily. His eyes darted to and fro. For a moment the other designers’ focus lingered on him, but dropped when the murmur of the meeting continued. Aandes shifted back to the documents, cross-checking with his own. His expression turned steely.

Someone was skimming. Someone was against him, his project. He damn well knew he was being watched already and now someone was actively sabotaging him. The papers were creased where Aandes had clutched them. Momentarily, the meeting was adjourned.

The properties designer was a portly younger troll with a knack for woodcrafting. His lusus was deceased after an accident, and he was currently residing in Four Fronds with his kismesis. He had a lethally potent allergy to seaweed. Aandes shadowed him as he exited the room. Through the halls, wing tipped shoes quiet on the carpeting, until Aandes gently grasped him by the arm.

“Keep walking.” Aandes whispered. “And listen closely.”

His eyes flicked to the side only to catch the up and down of the designer’s throat as he swallowed. “This is a legitimate production I’m running. I’m an honest man, Promer. I want you… And your crew… To be honest with me, now. If I don’t see those expenditures settled and paid in the next week, Mindyl might have to look for a new hivemate. Understand?”

There was the vaguest of a nod. Aandes hummed. “Great. Keep up the good work. See you tomorrow.” He removed his hand from the crook of the poor troll’s arm and gave him a long pat on the back before splitting off.  

[Sypon]

The trek back to his hive that night was long and laborious. The first driver he’d received was off. Aandes didn’t trust the way he moved, smiled – like Kursha in his confidence, his easy-going drawl. He opted to wait for another – even worse. The inside of the scuttlecab was practically a death trap in itself. By the time his third commissioned ride came around, Aandes was a shivering mess. He entered his buggy, silently paid the driver in advance, wrapped his scarf around his neck and buried himself in it.

The drive was bumpy. Aandes insisted that the driver drop him off a ways away from his hive, so he walked in the thin glow of the early morning to his door. He scanned his hive, peered through the windows and out at his lawnring and beyond before unlocking the front door and stepping inside. Click. Locked. Aandes unwrapped himself from his apparel. He took a brief tour through each block (Koalapops was napping on the nutritionblock floor) and slowly made his way up the stairs. Right – front – left. Clear. He closed the door of his respite block behind him, satisfied, and finally melted into weary repose.

Aandes carefully stripped. It no longer hurt, but the feeling of his many wounds – skin brushing against damaged skin – made him bristle. He washed off all of his make-up, let down his hair, and looked into the mirror. He was so much older now. His cheeks had hollowed with stress and age, his structure no longer so soft. Eyes sharp and unforgiving, the bags underneath them required thick layers of cover-up to conceal. Not to mention his stature. He tugged at his shoulders uncomfortably and turned away. This was growing up on Alternia. Rebirth, over and over again – that or death. All things considered, he had been in a darker place once. At the end of the night, he would always remind himself: for now, they were safe.

Hivestuck

fin