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Johann Von Braun had always known he would be a star. He had never doubted that he would find success on the stage. The lights, the camera, the audience, they all love him too much, and even during the lowest depths of his show's ratings, Braun had never truly thought that it could fail. That he could fail.
No, if his show didn't succeed it could never have been his fault. He had been the only thing keeping it afloat. It was why he had been so sure that the ritual would bring the solution he needed, despite the warnings of others in the industry who had tried it and failed. He knows now that it was because they didn't have what it takes to truly reap the benefits of the ritual. They weren't him. They hadn't been worthy of their Good Friend.
Johann Von Braun knows this because Kim Soleum had said so himself.
"You are exceptional, Braun," he had said. "Amongst all the humans I have met, you have the makings of a fine friend."
And although Johann Von Braun had been skeptical at first, even after he'd drawn the pentagram and summoned a being from another dimension into a most darling little deer doll, Kim Soleum had similarly proven how exceptional he himself was, and how true of a friend he could be. Braun had only needed to give him a list with a few names, problems, and over the course of one month, every single problem had been rather neatly and satisfyingly resolved.
Naturally, after new and more suitable employees had been obtained, Johann von Braun's ratings climbed, and his good friend congratulated him on the results. He was ever so humble, his good friend. He demurred any token of thanks that Braun had to offer, instead citing Braun's own timely exploitation of the situation as the greater contributor.
Johann Von Braun is a man of many things, but he has not and will never be in any way ungracious. Of course, Braun could not simply let that lie. While it was true that Kim Soleum had only provided the opportunity and that it had been down to Braun himself to take advantage of it, Braun also knew that luck and fortune were things that one should always endeavour to be on the side of. And filling Kim Soleum's little bath full of Braun's own blood (for that personal touch), while gruesome, is only giving his good friend what he is owed for his service to Braun.
Kim Soleum had been so grateful for even such a little favour. How could Braun deny him really when every time Braun prepared a bath for him Kim Soleum would thank him in that quiet, sweet way of his. It is as if no one had ever treated Kim Soleum quite so well. Which is a shame, truly. Braun's good friend is an eminently agreeable fellow, true and loyal. Braun's ever rising ratings speak to that.
But even darling little Kim Soleum in all his power could not pull gold out of a barren quarry. The networks' prejudice, the greed of executives. And the audience, boorish and contemptuous. They simply had not been ready for the quality of broadcasting Braun aimed to deliver to them, having been long glutted to slothful contentment on vapid gossip mills and artless "reality" spectacles. Bearing the weight of it all had dimmed even Braun's delight in standing under the stagelights, and one night, when overcome with despair, Kim Soleum had come to him, stubby plush arms on Braun's shoulder in companionable comfort.
"They don't understand your art, Braun. I'm sorry."
"I thought…," said Braun, head in hands. "I thought if I could just show them…"
"I had hoped as well. But with things in this dimension as they are..."
Braun had sighed, the soft cotton of the little deer plush patting his arm doing little to ease his despair. Not even Kim Soleum's supernatural abilities can fix a society determined to eschew all that is beautiful and artful in favour of the safe and sanitised.
"Perhaps… No. No, I'm sure there is something else we can try."
"What is it, good friend?"
"Perhaps a new band director? I heard that—"
"No. What were you thinking?"
Kim Soleum hesitated. "It's… It would be a rather radical solution. It would change everything."
"And yet?" Braun pushed.
"…It would give you everything you want. A show of your own, with creative control in your hands, and no executive overreach. A receptive and enthusiastic audience."
It had sounded too good to be true. But what did Braun have to lose, truly?
"And you, Good Friend?" Braun had asked. "Where will you be in all that."
"I will be yours, of course. As good a friend as ever I have been, right by your side."
Braun is unashamed to admit that that, in and of itself, had been enough for him to ask Kim Soleum to, "… Tell me more."
And all it had taken after that was one more bathtub full of blood for Braun to receive everything he had ever dreamed of, as his good friend had promised. The heat of the spotlight under which he thrives now never leaves him. The cheers of the crowd never stop. And Kim Soleum is right there with him, his executive producer.
The odd tingling sensation that still lingers over him after Kim Soleum had pulled them both through the nearest television screen, although a little painful, is exhilirating in his blood, like the sting of static electricity. And while his vision of his show had never been quite so… gruesome, Braun understands the deep, carnal desires of humanity, and the audience's hunger for a good show. He has embraced this new more bloody direction that Kim Soleum had suggested and made it his own.
For the first time in a very long time, Braun sees room for growth. His mind races to revise scripts and storyboard episodes. And yet his body…
Twice now, Kim Soleum had had to hurriedly cut to an extended commercial break in the middle of a segment after Braun had been unable to continue on. Twice now, Braun had had to acquiesce, a pounding pain in his head intense enough that he could not even read from the teleprompter.
His good friend had grown more and more concerned by Braun's frailty, and had taken to arranging Braun's meals. First, things like beef wellington and salmon en creute, things familiar to Braun and personal favourites of his. But even when the beef was tender and pink, the salmon a bright, fresh orange, Braun had only been able to stomach a few mouthfuls before having to excuse himself. His pain had distressed Kim Soleum, worried as he was that Braun was wasting away.
"I- I will make some adjustments to the food."
His good friend's distress over Braun's discomfort had made him smile and coo, even through the nausea and vertigo. It should not be possible for someone who stands at over seven feet tall to look simply adorable, but Braun is helplessly endeared nonetheless.
The next time they had sat down for a meal, Braun had cut into the flaky pastry and the most mouthwatering scent had puffed out with the steam. Savoury and rich, the slightest hint of wine-rich iron. Before he knew it, Braun had finished the entire dish.
Kim Soleum had been delighted, and the stage lights seemed to burn even brighter that day, the set dressings more vibrant. Braun could not help but throw winks at smiles in the direction of the wings all throughout recording that day, caught up in dear Kim Soleum's happiness.
From then on, mealtimes had become an absolute highlight of Braun's day. There were few delights in life greater than good conversation over good food, after all. Kim Soleum had been right that their network's chef did much better with more familiar cuts of meat. While Braun had not thought that he was partial to pork, the dishes had truly been much more delicious than anything he'd had previously, even when they come to him still bleeding. Kim Soleum had declared it all perfectly safe to eat, even when the plate of pasta they'd had one night had arrived twitching. But Braun knows that raw and even freshly killed proteins are relatively common in Kim Soleum's native cuisine, and the dishes were delectable besides. He has fully deffered to the expertise of the professionals in this field.
Why wouldn't he when the results speak for themself? The regular meals has allowed his body to build up strength. Productivity on set soared. No longer was he forced to cut to commercial during a live broadcast, or halt recording due to his health. The makeup department even complimented him on the new glow to his cheeks, even though they still put far too much powder on. Truly, he and Kim Soleum were due for a talk about the makeup department. They seem baffled by the very basics of the art, acting as though Braun's fairly standard complexion and the tautness of his well-maintained skin were completely alien to them. Why, one artist tried to take a scalpel to the slight bags under his eyes! As if their peachy toned concealer stick would not do perfectly fine!
His newfound strength also comes in handy for handling the more unruly guests. Some are just ungrateful for the opportunity they had been given, and sore losers on top of that. Braun's staff are perfectly capable of dealing with broadcast disturbances, but he can't deny that there is something satisfying about being able to more actively take action himself when a quiz show participant breaks the rules. One more thing to thank his precious Kim Soleum for! None of Braun's previous producers would have allowed him the creative freedom to define or redefine the punishment games on the fly!
Yet still that electric tingling remains, sharp and stinging. The longer he works, the more painful the stinging becomes, and while his body is strong now, his mind still stalls at times, still slows with exhaustion after extended recording days. He laments often to Kim Soleum about it, how he has finally making art that he could have only dreamed of before, only to be slowed by the banalities of living. He wonders if this is how Alexander the Great had felt, thirty-two, with the world and everything he has ever wanted on his feet, and yet bedbound by fever. He wonders if the great Iskandar too had cursed the mortal shell binding his too large aspirations into the form of a human, a being who needs to eat, to sleep. One that sickens, that crumbles, as all mortal things do, to dust.
But Kim Soleum as ever has a solution. It is at one of their regular lounge-room mealtimes, with reruns of their previous episodes playing on the television that Kim Soleum asks.
"Braun, you are enjoying your work, aren't you?"
"Why of course, dear! Never have I been so inspired. To see the hard work of the crew and cast come to fruition like this is simply splendid! And the positive reviews are simply icing on the cake!"
Kim Soleum smiles. Braun had thought that his good friend's toy form had been the most darling thing he had ever seen, but Kim Soleum's true form has its own charms. The point of those horns, his long tangled hair, and the softness of those cheeks, bound as they are underneath the leather muzzle around Kim Soleum's jaw. Braun wonders why the muzzle had been deemed necessary, who had fastened those buckles around Kim Soleum's soft face.
"…Braun, have you had a chance to think about how you would like to be remembered?"
Braun blinks. "Pardon?"
Kim Soleum's long fingers twist and wring together into impossible knots. "It's just… I have been thinking recently about what I should do when you are… gone. It occured to me that I do not know your preferences about the matter."
Oh. Oh dear. His poor, darling little good friend.
Braun rounds the table and takes a knee beside Kim Soleum's chair, reaching up to hold Kim Soleum's tangled hands in his. "My dear, I assure you that I should not like to be gone from here. I am much too happy."
"But it's not truly about what you would like, is it Braun?"
"Oh? How so?"
"You are an exceptional human, I did not lie about that. It's just, even as exceptional as you are…" Kim Soleum sighs, tired and mournful, as if already grieving.
Ah. Yes, as exceptional of a human as Braun is, he is still human above all.
Braun smiles feebly. "I would like very much to stay with you for as long as I can, nonetheless."
"But still," Kim Soleum twines their fingers together, still agitated. "Braun, what do you think about— about replacing some of your more… perishable parts?"
"Replacing my parts? Whatever do you mean, my dear?"
"Just as it sounds. Switching some of your organic bits with…" One of Kim Soleum's hands leave his to trace the curve of Braun's jaw. "Something timeless. Something everlasting. Something more worthy of you."
"Something… like?"
Kim Soleum's hand nudges his jaw to turn to the side. "Something like that."
Braun blinks, blinks again, eyelids flicking quickly like the shutter of a camera as he takes in the footage of himself, smiling widely underneath the stagelights. Even with the grainy resolution of the lounge-room's machine, he can see the sweat beading at his hairline, the way it runs down the side of his face.
Something like that. Something that will persist for at least a millenia, far beyond a mortal's single lifetime.
There is only one answer.
"Oh, my good friend, what a splendid idea!"
"Truly? You think so?" Kim Soleum gives him a wide grin. "Wonderful, Braun! We can start right away!"
And Braun realises, when Kim Soleum's hands go up to the buckles of his muzzle, when the leather straps are set down on the table, and when Kim Soleum bends over him jaw opened wide.
He realises that this too, the muzzle, the lights, the blood. Their sharp, tailored suits, and Braun himself, may be everything that Kim Soleum had ever wanted.
He can't help it. He laughs. He laughs, even as the darkness of Kim Soleum's mouth opens impossibly wide over his head, as Kim Soleum's teeth presses against the skin of his neck. He laughs and laughs, as the sound turns to gurgles through his own blood, then tinny through the speakers as his new parts are attached. He laughs through the hum of static settles in, arcing once or twice along his new antennae. He laughs as his body trembles, but the good food has done its job and his body takes to the new addition well enough that he is able to stand, laughing as Kim Soleum fastens his muzzle back over a bloody mouth.
"What do you think, Braun? What do you see?"
He looks at himself in the vanity mirror. His screen is bright, silver and reflective, the hum of the cathode tubes warming him with a wash of electrons. He acts as if to blink, and expressions flick quickly over the staticky surface. Happiness. Anguish. Jealousy. Mirth. A mirror to humanity.
What does he see?
"Ah, my good friend. I see the start of a truly beautiful friendship~"