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Footsteps echoed against unforgiving asphalt. True, faeries could fly. But not for a terribly long time.
Ta’Tania had fucked up. Truly, impressively, royally fucked up. Every muscle in her body ached and beneath that, deeper, she could feel the strain of her depleted magic. Still, she kept running. It was a last, desperate gambit. Honestly, to call it a gambit at all was generous.
Her pursuers loped through the brightness of the streetlights and splashes of neon, avoiding the shadows. She didn’t have the breath to comment on it.
Unfamiliar horizon splashed out in front of her as she twisted between realms and then with a gasp she dropped out onto slightly more cracked concrete. The effort of the jump left her struggling, and she felt her pace falter.
It was just ahead, an unimposing squat building that looked more like a warehouse than anything else.
The windows were dark, of course, because it was the very early hours of morning. Despite a diligent craft services team, no one here started the coffee at 2am. Ta’Tania stumbled, righted herself, kept running. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for, but it was the only territory within miles that would allow her in.
The door opened easily under her touch and she flew through dark hallways, semi-familiar. A light was on ahead - she could see the spread of warmth from under a door. She burst onto the set, lit by a single stage light. There was a crash, and the host stumbled blearily onto the set.
“Sanctuary,” Ta’Tania said, and collapsed.
“Does anyone know why we’re here?” a PA asked as the yawning group formed in the parking lot. Bianca rolled her eyes. Vic had probably come up with some new change they needed to do ASAP, never mind that it was three in the bloody morning.
She walked toward the entrance and the group yielded to her. It was possible this was out of respect, but it was more likely that no one wanted to be the first target through the door.
Nevertheless, it meant she had an unimpeded view of the scene on set. Someone had dragged the army-surplus green cot out from the back room and it currently contained Ta’Tania Jackson, who had Vic’s brown jacket draped over her.
Vic was crouched by the bed, expression unreadable. They were in their usual brown slacks and a plain white button-up with the sleeves rolled up. They glanced up as Bianca entered.
“What’s up?” Bianca said, aiming for chill. Her gaze flitted back to the unconscious faerie, though, which probably ruined the effect.
“Not sure,” Vic said slowly. “She ran in here, said ‘sanctuary,’ and collapsed.”
“And your response was to summon the crew?” Bianca asked.
“I called 9-1-1,” Vic said. “I don’t think they believed me.” There was a slight crease between their eyebrows, as if they were faintly puzzled by the LA emergency dispatch not knowing about faeries.
“What’s wrong with her?” a PA asked, as the rest of the crew began to trickle in.
“Tired,” Ta’Tania mumbled, and Vic moved back slightly. The faerie blinked and tried to sit up.
“Nope,” Bianca said, putting a hand on her shoulder and trying to ignore her step-parent glaring daggers at her. “Stay still for a second. You passed out.”
“Just… used too much magic,” Ta’Tania said sluggishly. “Had to get here.” Her eyes widened and her hands shot out to lock around Vic’s wrists.
“Did you grant me sanctuary?” she demanded. Vic leaned back further, retreating without breaking their wrists free.
“What? Is this… like, an immigration thing? A union thing?” They said union like a bad word. Bianca rolled her eyes.
“Boss,” she said, not bothering to hide the acid in her tone. “Just do it.” Vic glanced up at Bianca, then back to the wide-eyed crew.
“Okay,” they said. “Yep. Sure. You can have sanctuary.” Ta’Tania relaxed her grip and Vic yanked their arms back like the touch had burned. Then they returned their steady gaze to the faerie. “Can you tell me a little bit more about what sanctuary means?” Across the room, an enterprising PA flipped on a camera.
“No time,” Ta’Tania said, sitting up and pulling Vic’s jacket tightly around her like a blanket. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? What are you sorry for?” Vic asked, and then the door to the hallway slammed open with a bang.
A gust of wind came howling through the room, scattering any paper not secured to a clipboard. Crew members scurried after them, quickly sorting them back in order.
“…weird,” Connor said, flipping on the close-up camera and zooming in on the doorway. Bianca felt a spike of pride in her crew. This was what they did, after all. Recorded the most bat-shit insane things that had ever happened in an interview.
Then a man appeared in the doorway, and Bianca stepped back into her own role. With quick hand gestures, she got mics and cameras up. With an efficiency born of the time they’d had to interview a ghost, the crew had the strange man on camera. Bianca slipped her headphones on, waving the last of the chit chat into silence.
The new man looked unsettling, his skin pale as bleached bone and his eyes the moldy pale blue of lichen. He was in a crisp suit that Bianca though might have been Armani, and even his white pocket square looked starched.
“Ta’Tania,” he said sharply, his voice too loud for the enclosed space. Someone flinched and adjusted the audio controls.
“What..?” Vic started. Ta’Tania stepped to the side, putting Vic between her and the strange man.
“Do an interview,” she whispered sharply. “Please.” Vic glanced around, wide-eyed, but straightened their shirt.
“We all have a story to tell,” they said, making eye contact with Bianca through the camera. “And sometimes, those stories need to be shared with the world.” The man frowned, tilted his head.
“I’m Vic Michaelis-” they continued.
“Aha!” the man roared, raising a finger and pointing it at the host. Nothing happened. He blinked in a sort of baffled confusion. Vic ignored him.
“-and this is Very Important People.” The man actually flinched, like Vic was the one being too loud.
“Please,” Vic said, gesturing at his seat as they sank into their usual spot.
“Please?” the man echoed, giving them a smile. Bianca had the sinking feeling it contained too many teeth.
“Have a seat,” Vic clarified. The man blinked.
“Do you know who you’re addressing, whelp? ” he spat. Vic blinked impassively.
“We do introductions after you’re seated,” they said, and maybe only Bianca heard the slight waver underlying their crisp presenting voice. A little nervous, were they?
“You would disobey the rules of this Court?” Ta’Tania asked, looking a little steadier on her feet. “Now, do I know some people who would be interested to hear that.” She grinned into the nearest camera.
“This is no Court,” the man snarled. “A Changeling and some chairs does not an audience make.”
“No?” Ta’Tania said. “Don’t you feel it? Their power here?” Vic preened.
But it was a little odd, wasn’t it? The man’s fine suit was almost washed out by the lights, whereas Vic’s white shirt almost glowed. Behind them, on Ta’Tania, the gold pin on their jacket gleamed in the light - a tiny sword, this time.
The man grunted, but lowered himself into the chair. Bianca and some of the PAs had a whispered argument about whether to keep Ta’Tania in frame.
“Please, introduce yourself,” Vic said.
“I am Oberon, King of the Fair Folk and Lord of Tricksters,” the man said, and someone rushed off to make the title card.
“Wow,” Vic said, smile bright and brittle. “Should I call you Your Majesty?”
“You certainly could,” the man said, his answering smile something predatory.
“Something to think about,” Vic deflected. “Now, I have to say that this interview was somewhat unexpected. What brings you to LA?”
“Oh,” Oberon said, his eyes going to Ta’Tania. “Retrieving something of mine.” Bianca frowned. Had Ta’Tania talked about any controlling clients lately? She couldn’t think of anything.
“Maybe I’ll just take it,” he continued sharply. He stood and Vic stood with him.
“Now, hold on-“ they said, holding one hand out as if to stop him.
He flicked his wrist and Vic hurtled ten feet sideways, slamming into the wall of the set with enough force to dent it. Bianca slapped a hand over her mouth in time to muffle her yelp, torn between an instinct to freeze and an instinct to run to them. Around her, the rest of the crew stayed frozen.
“You would violate the rules of hospitality?” Ta’Tania yelled, but she backed up as the man stalked toward her.
“This is play-acting,” the man said derisively.
Vic shoved aside the remnants of the table and staggered to their feet. Shards of the clay fish crunched under their boots.
“She has sanctuary,” they said, a little thickly. They wiped a trickle of blood from their nose and glanced down at their bloody hand with an unreadable expression.
“Sanctuary?” Oberon said with a laugh. “You can’t even protect yourself, sweetheart.”
“That’s condescending,” Vic said, a little firmer than before. It did not appear odd to them that they had left a dent in the metal sheeting of the wall and gotten back up. “But I’m a professional, so I’ll let that one slide.”
Bianca’s phone vibrated in her pocket, and she checked it instinctively.
HARD FALL DETECTED :: Vic Michaelis :: 34.01028° N, 118.08279° W
Huh. They were Vic’s emergency contact? And the impact had been hard enough to set off the phone’s automated warning. Bianca glanced around the camera and blinked. Blood was smeared on Vic’s upper lip, and there was a bruise forming along their cheekbone. She returned her gaze to the screen. Strangely, on camera, Vic looked unhurt.
“I am not finished with the interview,” The Host said, gesturing pointedly at the chair.
Oberon sat, much to his evident surprise, as The Host took the free chair.
“You told me your name,” Oberon said. It sounded plaintive. “I should have power over you.”
“Okay, interesting,” The Host said. “Tell me more about that.”
“Knowing someone’s full name gives you the ability to magically compel them,” Oberon explained. His audio was low, and a very reluctant boom operator crept slightly closer. They probably shouldn’t stop the interview to try and mic him, Bianca decided.
“Magically compel them?” The Host echoed.
“Have them bound to your Court, your whims.”
“And what’s your Court?” The Host asked.
“Well, I’m Seelie,” Oberon answered. His earlier rage seemed to be fading. “So the Seelie Court serves me.”
“I see,” The Host said. Bianca made eye contact with Ta’Tania, who had crept to the door offstage. She waved a hand and ducked through the door.
“Keep going,” Bianca whispered on the headset, and then ducked out to meet the faerie.
“What the hell is happening?” she asked as soon as they were far enough from the set.
“I panicked and used Vic for diplomatic immunity,” Ta’Tania said promptly. “But as soon as this interview is over, I think Oberon is going to kill them.”
“What- why would Vic give you diplomatic immunity?”
“They’re unclaimed, which means they don’t belong to any Court. Technically, I think that means they can make their own.”
“You think ?”
“I didn’t really have time to do a ton of research,” Ta’Tania snapped. “This is so far out of my area of expertise.”
“She STOLE from me!” Oberon bellowed in the other room, and there was the familiar murmur of Vic trying to talk a guest down. Bianca gave her a look.
“He’s not- it’s a person, okay?” Ta’Tania said. “He’s just a kid, some kind of royalty maybe? From India? Oberon decided he wanted the kid around to sing, so he made him a bad deal and stole him.”
“Where is he now?”
“Safe,” she glanced back at the set. “I can’t say anything else.”
“Are you running?” Ta’Tania made a face.
“I want to.”
“But?”
“I got Vic into this mess, and they only found out they were fae like two weeks ago so I don’t think they stand a chance against Oberon.”
“And you do?”
“Well. Maybe?” Ta’Tania said. “I am 100% Black Girl magic, after all. He’s a Seelie, so he doesn’t come around the mortal world often. Here, I have a bit of an upper hand.”
“Don’t,” The Host said on-set, and someone shouted wordlessly. Bianca and Ta’Tania traded looks and ran back to the set. Oberon had drawn a nasty looking dagger, and was pointing it threateningly at Vic. Vic was hiding behind their chair, yelling at the crew for not helping.
“Uh oh,” Ta’Tania said.
“What’d we do already?” Bianca snapped, grabbing a nearby camera operator.
“Uh, rapid fire questions,” she said.
“Vic!” Bianca called, and held up a cue.
“Oh?” Vic said, sarcasm and panic tangling in their voice. But they stuck their head around the chair, seemingly as compelled by the format as Oberon.
“I have another question for you,” they said. “I ask it to all my guests.” Oberon threw the knife and they jerked back, dodging it by inches.
“I’d never heard such a sweet song!” he bellowed. “And she stole him from me!”
“What is the meaning of life?” asked The Host.
“What?”
“What is the meaning of life?” Vic repeated. Oberon paused.
“I guess- to collect. To have the finest things.”
“You guess?” Vic asked, emerging again from behind the chair. Oberon distractedly righted his toppled chair and sat back down, steepling his fingers in front of his suddenly pensive expression.
“Well, maybe not,” he said.
“Why do you want the finest things?” Vic asked.
“To be happy,” Oberon answered promptly. “To enjoy them.”
“And enjoying them makes you happy?” Vic prompted.
“Um,” Oberon said.
“It’s a simple question,” Vic asked, target clearly acquired. “Yes or no. Does enjoying your fine things make you happy?”
“N- now wait a minute,” Oberon started.
“Because I’m beginning to think-” Vic continued, heedless. “-that you aren’t very happy. We’re off the topic. What is the meaning of life?”
“The meaning of life?” Oberon parroted. Beside Bianca, Ta’Tania stood rigid.
“I ask all my guests,” Vic said again. There was a moment of tension, like the air was humming with a silent expectation of violence.
“Mischief,” he said in a rush. “The world is so full of rules, and snobs, and people thinking that life is this serious and solemn affair. It’s like they don’t realize you can do whatever you’d like. Sure, you can wake up and drive to work. Or you could stop for donuts. Egg the mayor’s house. Turn someone’s head into a donkey head. Take the bus.”
“Sort of like spontaneity,” Vic suggested.
“Yes, exactly! Spontaneity. The unexpected. That’s where a lot of comedy comes from.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Vic deadpanned.
“Well, it’s in those moments of disruption that things seem more real. More alive .”
“Thank you for sharing,” said Vic. “A beautiful answer. And, I think, the end of our episode. I’m Vic Michaelis, reminding you to be yourself - unless you’d rather be somebody else.”
There was a silent pause of anticipation. Ta’Tania took Bianca’s hand and squeezed it. Then Oberon laughed, standing and offering a hand to Vic.
“Well done, little Trickster,” he said. “I’ll leave you my contact info. I think you’d do well in the Seelie court.” As they shook hands, searing white light carved an incomprehensible glyph into the wall behind them.
“That’s rented,” Vic said weakly. Oberon shot Ta’Tania a nasty look, then turned and left.
The door closed behind him and a bunch of people made the sounds of being very busy while definitely planning to eavesdrop on your boss.
“I think that went well,” Ta’Tania said. Vic, still looking oddly vulnerable without their jacket, gave the two of them a despairing look.
“Is it too much to ask that I know about guests more than five minutes ahead of time?” they complained, swaying. One hand went absently to their side, like their ribs were hurting.
“You’re hurt,” Bianca said. “From the wall.” More than just hurt, maybe. They were even paler than usual, and their eyes were slightly unfocused. “Should I take you to the hospital?”
The speed with which Vic pivoted from annoyed and in pain to softly excited was as disconcerting as always.
“You’d do that?” they asked, like it was a marvel.
“Ugh. Let’s go,” Bianca said. “Ta’Tania, are you coming? For protection, or whatever?”
“Hm? Oh. Sure,” Ta’Tania said. “Can I keep this?” She was putting Vic’s jacket on.
Vic coughed wetly and Bianca saw them wipe blood from the corner of their mouth.
“Yeah, I have a bunch,” they said.
“Why?”
“Wing keeps tearing through.”
“ Wing ?!”