Chapter Text
Clack, clack, clack, pause
Sip
Clack, clack, clack, clack
Your fingers graced over the abused keyboard, your computer mouse bearing the brunt of the aggressive clicking as your eyes darted around, scrutinizing the video you were working on. Although the day’s work had been completed, you stayed behind in the studio to clean up the new batch of video clips that Troy had sent over for the CoV’s Let’s Flay series.
Troy Calypso, your boss.
The rest of the studio crew were gone for the night, retiring to their quarters and leaving you alone to your own devices. Unlike the other tasteful members of the CoV, you and your crew were pretty sane, a welcomed relief for the Calypso that decided to spare your group. Nobody attempted to blow up bandits, catch on fire, or get on Troy’s nerves.
Perfect, model ‘employees.’
Your crew were the only ones left alive from a failed documentary series expedition on Pandora, no attempts from your former employer to retrieve the group. When the CoV raided the small compound you and your fellow unpaid intern video editors were holed up in, the Calypso twins were dumbfounded to find a ‘cult’ of bandits worshipping a vintage VHS player. To survive the crazed bandits, you managed to rig the item to spool out random pieces of paper with messages that described the actions of certain locals. Your crew had combed through various video feeds acquired during the beginning of the expedition, essentially creating a blackmailing VHS player to keep the locals in check while masquerading as the electronic’s ‘keepers.’
Did that impress Troy? Probably, but he was more ecstatic in finding others that had more than one working brain cell in Pandora that knew their way around electronics without destroying the items. That, and the local bandits got to keep their heads by becoming the heavy muscle for moving audio and film equipment for Troy, still fearing the wrath of the old VHS player.
As unpaid interns, you and the crew had little choice but to join the CoV. The promise of food and shelter without the burden of student loans and debt collectors was enticing minus the cult atmosphere. It was a small price to pay for ‘divine protection’ from the harsh life in Pandora.
“Still fucking cold…” you muttered, adjusting the blanket covering the lower half of your body.
And the insufferable Pandoran heat as well.
Checking remotely the thermostat via your computer, you cursed under your breath at the chilly temperature that was set for the studio. Due to the delicate computer equipment, the studio was the only place in the CoV compound that was freezing cold. You rubbed your hands together, grabbing your cup of tea to warm them up. It was short lived, the tea growing cold. Sighing, you kept on working.
Shortly after, a loud hiss from the steel doors announced company. You paid no attention to the new guest, hearing the dragging footsteps and huge thuds of heavy items hitting the floor, followed by the creaking of a chair. Sniffing, you quickly saved your work, waiting on the computer to finish processing while sipping your tea.
“Rough day, boss?” you asked, still staring at the screen, resuming your work.
A grunt was your response.
“...Got chewed out again for something that had nothing to do with you?” you inquired, popping your neck as you sift through another batch of video clips.
“Hmmm….”
“Tough shit,” you replied, side-glancing at the studio’s other occupant. Leaning further backwards, Troy was pushing the limits of his chair as he sunk further down, his eyebrows creased as he glared forward. You blinked, not bothering to continue the conversation when the computer beeped from an error in an audio track. Your attention switched back to the screen, duty calling.
You tuned out all noise except from the keyboard, slowly realizing another annoying sound disrupting your thought process. Troy stopped rocking on his chair, the squeaking noise ceasing. Rubbing the bridge of your nose in annoyance, you shot him a look despite the man facing the other way.
Silence.
Then the clack, clack, clack, click, click resumed.
...
Squeak!
“I swear to the universe…” you muttered, taking a deep breath.
You were sure Troy was doing this on purpose.
Shoving your hand inside a pocky box stashed inside your desk drawer, you took a stick out and began nibbling on it to occupy your mind, shifting gears and forgetting about the insufferable squeaking noise of Troy moving about in his office chair. The sound of wheels scraping against hard concrete floor managed to squeeze itself past the noise-cancelling headphones, signaling the Calypso’s position in your personal space. Engrossed in your work, the weight on your shoulder didn’t stop you from editing, adjusting audio on the current video project.
“Huh…” you muttered, tapping your chin in deep thought as you playbacked between the new and old audio track. Briefly pausing, you grabbed another pocky stick, offering and holding it for Troy to munch on, his lips brushing against your fingers.
“You need to do something about those chapped lips, bruh,” you teased automatically, jumping when Troy nipped on your fingers when he finished the confectionery.
“Ow!” you feigned, knowing Troy had a stupid grin on his face. You got back at him by ruffling his hair with your free hand, ignoring the hiss emanating from the Calypso. He hooked his human arm under your right arm, resting his hand over yours that was madly moving on the computer mouse. You could feel the warmth of Troy’s red tattoos penetrating through your long sleeved sweater, helping a bit with the wrist cramp creeping up. A comfortable silence settled between you and Troy, only the noises of the keyboard and mouse clicking audible. Troy got cozy in his seat, leaning more against you and fully resting his head on your shoulder. He quietly observed you working, mimicking the mouse clicks by tapping on your hand.
Annoyed, you flicked at his hand.
He pinched your wrist.
“Rude, I won’t give you any pocky,” you growled, adjusting your headphones, huffing. Troy snickered, patting your wrist in apology. It was an empty threat towards the Calypso considering he was the one ordering the pocky alongside other items for the studio crew.
You took another pocky stick, nibbling on it for a bit before Troy appropriated and ate it.
“Are you serious? Ugh…” you didn’t break eye contact with your computer screen while reaching towards him to pinch his nose.
“Gah!” Troy cried out, smacking your hand away.
“That’s what you get,” you stated, pushing your glasses up your nose bridge, “I have work to do.” Troy didn’t respond, only huffing at your comment. Had it been someone else, the individual most certainly would have lost a limb - worse - their life. You couldn’t recall the time these ‘odd’ interactions began between you and Troy started, only acknowledging that he would be the one initiating them, even in the presence of the other crew members. No one questioned it, more worried about their work than whatever the boss had in mind. If anything, you’d scold him for ruining your concentration with Troy sheepishly looking away and muttering a ‘sorry.’
Sighing, you pat him on the head, scratching for a bit, hearing him hum in approval. Adding the last touches to the video clip, you let the computer do the last stretch of work, rendering the final product as you leaned back on your chair, stretching your legs.
“And now to wait,” you said, removing your headphones and placing them on your desk. Troy, anchored down on you, shifted in his spot to adjust to your new position. No words were exchanged as you waited on the computer. Pulling up the blanket covering your legs, you stared at Troy, the top of his hair only visible to you. Discarded on the floor not too far from your spot laid the Calypso’s giant mechanical arm and crazy-sized jacket.
Whenever Troy and Tyreen would get into a heated argument, he’d venture into the studio and remove his mechanical arm and jacket, tossing them on the way to his makeshift office. Sometimes, he’d be too fed up and angry to notice anyone around him that, one time, he ended up tossing his jacket on you while you were editing. But that didn’t stop you.
When Troy returned to retrieve it, he literally screamed upon finding you under the jacket. You, unfazed, turned around on your chair, removed your headphones and merely replied with a “What?” and then resumed your work, upset at being interrupted.
One of your crew members mentioned to Troy that the others had managed to stack food boxes on top of your head. Present record: 9 boxes that toppled when you sneezed. Thankfully for the others, the boxes were empty and spared from your wrath. Current challenge set by Troy: How many sodas cans can be balanced on your head.
Moments like those may have been why the Calypso decided to pester you when he was feeling down from a fight with Tyreen. You shrugged at anything, and never bothered to sugar coat any statements - very blunt. CoV followers would praise him to prevent his anger; you were snappy and kept him grounded. You knew when to talk, where to stop, and if Troy didn’t answer, you moved on and gave him space.
You provided a sense of normalcy in the insane world of bandits.
And inside the studio, Troy allowed himself to shed that God King persona with no fear of ridicule from you.
“Hey… are you awake…?” you whispered, poking his arm. No movement, only the evened out breathing from Troy.
“Huh, you fell asleep… again,” you shook your head, grabbing your blanket and tossing it over the Calypso’s sleeping form. He probably didn’t need it, but it was unnerving having him shirtless and snuggling up to you in the cold studio. Checking the status of the video, you sighed, lifting your legs up to rest on the edge of your trash can while continuing to wait.
Minutes passed and Troy remained asleep, using your shoulder as a pillow and keeping a tight grip on your right arm. You absentmindedly stroked his head, zoning out for a good portion of the time. A beep from the computer snapped you back to reality, the alert notifying you the video’s render was complete. Forgetting about Troy’s weight on your side, you pouted, unable to reach the keyboard from your current position.
“Ugh… come on…” you muttered, groaning in frustration. Determined, you pushed Troy’s chair with your own, rolling over to a corner of the studio where a worn-out futon laid. Throughout the trip, the Calypso was fast asleep. You carefully removed your arm from his grip, pushing his head back on the headrest of his chair. Making quick work, you lowered the arm rests, getting easier access to Troy. You grabbed his legs and placed them on the futon, then wrapped your arms around his chest and lifted him up, grunting at the weight of the man.
“Good lord, you’re fucking heavy…” you hissed out, carefully laying him down, grabbing a throw pillow to put under his head. Double checking that nothing was out of place on the Calypso, you grabbed the blanket and tucked him in. Satisfied, you hopped over to retrieve his mechanical arm and jacket, tossing the latter over the futon and leaning the arm against the wall close to the bed for easier access.
You stood up, out of breath, nodding, “And that’s that...”
A buzz from your sweater’s side pocket spooked you. Glancing at the sleeping man, you took out your ECHOnet device, seeing a message from your crew. You messaged back promptly, putting away the device as you stared at Troy.
No response.
You sat down at the edge of the futon, the metal frame squeaking a bit, “You shouldn’t let her ruin your day, you know?”
Silence.
“The God Queen doesn’t know how hard we all work, especially you. Staying up late to make her videos are top-notch.”
Still asleep.
“Hm, I mean, I see you reeling her in whenever she goes off script in the livestreams,” you added, staring at your shoes in wonder, “Just cause she pulls off the cutesy look doesn’t mean she can get away with saying stupid shit on the air.”
You fiddled with your thumbs, unsure how to continue.
“...My crew and I respect your dedication,” you continued, voice low, “to your..goals.. So to speak…”
Silence.
“You don’t need her approval,” you cleared your throat, “Not in the sense of getting her ‘okay’ on things but more of… having her set your value. That came out wrong… thank goodness you're asleep…”
No stir from Troy.
“....” you stared at him for a minute before getting up from the futon. You disappeared into the backroom, coming out with a thicker blanket.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you around, boss,” you whispered, fixing up the extra blanket on him, “Sleep well.” You ventured to your workstation, checking and saving your completed work before turning off the computer. With a last glance on Troy, you exited the studio, dimming the lights further down.
As you stepped out, Troy’s lips curled into a small smile.
Your presence never failed in comforting him.