Chapter Text
“I don’t understand why humans are so sensitive!”
“Neither humans nor trolls enjoy being told that you plan on murdering everyone but your friends, Eridan.”
“Come on, Kan, what’s a little genocide between species?”
Kanaya rubbed her temples. She never wondered why she worked with Eridan; it was an obvious slippery slope from auspisticizing between him and Vriska to ‘Well, now they’re both entering the entertainment industry…’ A more pertinent question was how she allowed herself to get pulled into being their auspistice in the first place.
Regardless, that little lapse in judgment was how she ended up here: sitting across from Eridan at a Hollywood restaurant, trying to salvage his acting career because—as it turned out—Kanaya was the only manager willing to deal with him and he was the only client she had, meaning they would both be out of a job if this fell apart. “Among the myriad problems with that question, have you considered that killing everyone will leave no one to produce or consume your films?”
“Sea-dwellers and all the land-dwellers I let live.” Seeing the hard look on her face, Eridan back-peddled. “It’s not like I was secretive about wantin’ to kill everybody before.”
“Your films weren’t universally panned before.”
“That last one was RoChris’ fault; you said so yourself.”
“Yes, and I will continue arguing so to the studio. However, the fact remains that you are earning a reputation outside of your acting. It was easier for people to dismiss your genocidal threats when you had a moirail.” He glared down at his nutrition plateau when she said that, and she leaned across the table before pressing the point. “Now, not only do you not have a palemate to settle your more outrageous inclinations, you’ve made enough concupiscent solicitations towards your colleagues that many of them are uncomfortable working with you.”
He stabbed at his steamed sea shellbeast with his fork. “It’s not my fault Fef split when I suggested movin’ more flushed. I just think I’d have more luck keepin’ a moirail if I filled out my other quadrants first.”
Kanaya refrained from pointing out that it usually worked the other way around. Instead, she said, “There’s a difference between seeking matespritship or kismesissitude and alienating everyone who might work with you.”
“It’s not like I don’t have better films lined up. What about that Action/Adventure one? The space pirates, minor political intrigue, and all that.”
This was the part of the conversation she had been dreading. She kept her glance nuggets on her glass of yellow blood, and, if she still breathed, she would’ve held her breath. “You lost the role. Both Lupita Nyong’o and Troll George Takei were going to withdraw when they discovered you had been cast, but the director booted you to keep them.” 5…4…3…2…
And there they were: the quivering lip and the rivers of dismay fluid. Kanaya was dreading this part of the conversation. Any time she had to break bad news to him, it always seemed to go this way. Forget what he said about filling his concupiscent quadrants first; it always felt like he was trying to pull her into a pale relationship when he got like this. She sometimes doubted she even felt ashen for him, but then guilt crammed that thought back down her word tunnel.
“It’s just not fair, Kan! It’s not like there aren’t worse actors who keep gettin’ work for some reason. Just look at Jared Leto!”
“I know. I’ll see what I can do to smooth things over. But you can’t expect me to make the issue vanish completely. You have to work on professional behavior.”
“I know I can rely on you. If only everyone else was as nice to me.” Eridan prattled on for a while about how alone he was and no one listened and are you sure Vriska isn’t forgetting about him? Kanaya drained her serving of blood a little faster than she normally would.
~----------~
Vriska swung her strut pods onto the conference table. “Alright, dweebs. I have air space to fill, and I’m only going to fill it with the shows that are going to bring in the ratings. Impress me.”
Kanaya could practically feel Nepeta, her assistant, wiggling in her seat. It wasn’t from boredom; of the two of them, Nepeta was probably more excited to be there. They weren’t even there to pitch an idea. Mostly it was about maintaining the connections they had and keeping their ears out for anything they could have Eridan audition for. Honestly, if it weren’t for her relationship with Vriska, Kanaya would probably leave these meetings to Nepeta and turn her own attention towards resolving Eridan’s various professional mishaps.
One of the troll occupants of the room spoke up first. “It’s called Thresh-Hold. Twenty lowbloods, desperate to make the most of their limited lifespans, thrown into the trials aspiring Threshecutioners faced in the years of Her Imperious Condescension: a series of obstacle courses, survival challenges, multi-opponent combat rounds, you name it. Whomever dies or has the lowest score each week is disqualified. The winner receives a place in the Intergalactic Interception Forces.”
Kanaya exchanged a look with Nepeta. It’s not exactly the violence that was the problem. The “lowblood” part and forcing trolls into fights for entertainment, maybe, but the two of them weren’t exactly the most pacifistic trolls ever. Nor would regulations stand in the way. Cultural differences meant that troll-only programming could get away with things human-involving programs couldn’t, especially with trolls’ nocturnal-typical cycles meaning their shows could come on the humans’ “late night.” The problem laid in Her Imperious Condescension.
Nepeta scribbled something down on a pad of paper and passed it over. Kanaya jotted down her response before handing it back without moving her eyes from the head of the table. The two of them were used to this system of chatter.
:33 < isn’t purrpaganda suppurrting the former qu33n illegal?
Verified Propaganda Has Been Outlawed Yes
But Depictions Of The Condensce And Her Regime By Themselves Dont Qualify As Propaganda
:33 < i think this counts ://
:33 < it purrsents joining her conquering forces as a goal to purrsue
I Know Vriska Could Spin It Otherwise Should She Choose To
Kanaya tried to send Vriska a discouraging look. Vriska caught her gander bulbs for only a moment before announcing, “I love it. What else you got?”
“Monster Island,” another troll suggested. “We ship a bunch of human guardians to a remote location where they must battle the ferocious beasts there to the death if they want to see their wigglers again. But! What they don’t know is that these ‘beasts’ are lusii with their own wigglers to care for, and the last human standing has to decide whether to raise all of the orphaned grubs themselves or let them be culled.”
:33 < ://
Kanaya didn’t bother writing back. She clenched her jaw and tried to motion rejection at Vriska. The complete disregard for children was making her jade blood boil. She didn’t know if any of the other trolls were as upset by it or if it was just her own motherly instincts, but she couldn’t expect the humans to accept it much more than she did. Had she been thinking rationally, it might have occurred to her that the human involvement would make it near impossible to get greenlit anyway.
It occurred to Vriska. “Miiiiiiiight have a hard time getting that one by Standards and Practices,” she said. She paused to examine her nails before a grin curled over her cheeks. “But I love it. What else?”
Kanaya pinched the bridge of her nose. Nepeta chewed her knuckles. A human occupant of the room cleared their throat. “For something a little less violent and for a little bit earlier in the day,” he said, “what about Temptation Island for trolls? More like…Vacillation Island. We get some couples whose matespritship is troubled and stick them on a resort island with a bunch of singles—”
“Yaaaaaaaawn. Bored. Romance is how you catch the human-troll overlap, though, so you’re not completely hopeless! Next.”
:33 < i think a romantic show would be purrfect! X33
:33 < trying to target trolls and humans means we could get all kinds of match-ups
:33 < maybe we could get carapacians in, too, to make it extra interesting
Its Certainly Less Protest-Worthy Than Some Of The Other Ideas Presented
But We Need A More Solid Proposal Before I Can Give My Judgment
:33 < how about a match-making show?
:33 < finding out what trolls want from their quadrants and which humans are open to quadrants, and pushing the most compatible ones together
This Is Just Reminding Me What Eridan Said About His Own Quadrants
:33 < that doesn’t s33m like an issue to me
:33 < actually, it s33ms like just what we n33d
:33 < if you enter eridan in the show, he’ll find a match and a job! :PP
I Doubt That He Would Be Amenable To Splitting His Potential Matches With Others
:33 < so make it focus more on finding him a match!
Kanaya tapped her pen on the pad. That was ridiculous. They weren’t here to make a pitch to begin with, and proposing something with the specific intent of solving the Eridan predicament seemed opportunistic. But, well, the rest of the table wasn’t exactly offering up this particular idea, and she would be helping Vriska, technically, and it would be a way to stay involved, rather than passively sitting in…
And, okay, Nepeta was right; this was exactly what they needed. If Eridan was right and he just needed a concupiscent match to stabilize him, most solutions would still leave him unemployed until he found a mate, while a show would give him something until the roles started coming in again. Kanaya remembered him mentioning his flushed quadrant specifically, and it was very convenient that he seemed to be preoccupied with the quadrant that has the most overlap for troll and human audiences.
“Will You Be My Matesprit?” she blurted. “That’s…a pitch, not a solicitation.” She waited for the room to finish chuckling before she continued, “An assortment of trolls, humans, and carapacians compete for the red affections of an eligible bachelor or bachelorette. The audience votes on which suitor they want to advance each week, and the contestant with the fewest votes is eliminated.”
“That’s what I’m talking about! Matespritships are the sweetspot for the crossover audience, and call-in voting means sponsorship from Sprint.” In other words, the less the station had to pay, the better. Vriska eyed Kanaya with the closest thing to a neutral expression she could manage. Kanaya knew the feeling of Vriska’s telepathy and her vision eightfold, and even though she knew neither were being used, she still felt like she was being stared into. “Had a specific ‘eligible bachelor’ in mind?”
“I would suggest Eridan Ampora.” Kanaya refrained from commenting on her certainty that Vriska already suspected as much.
Vriska cackled. “He iiiiiiiis getting desperate, isn’t he? That’s so embarrassing, how could I not greenlight this? It will be a testament to my show-running skills if I can make Eridan Ampora look like an attractive matesprit.” She clapped her prongs together. “Alright, if none of you other writhing blood noodles have anything else worth saying, that’s all the time we have. Now, get out.”
Nepeta nudged Kanaya. She gave her a grin and a double thumbs-up before collecting their pens and notepad and ducking out of the conference room. Kanaya took another moment to gather her thoughts and wonder how Eridan was going to react to being volunteered for a Vriska production.