#nobody actually does the die this is not angsty (in case you're reading tags before clicking readmore)

[magistralucis]

-face barely concealed with groucho glasses- uh yeah can i get 1 with votez? ty 💟

01: “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you?”

—————

This is an account of an average morning at the set of Votez.

Scene 1: The President awakes on his bed. Blinding white greets his vision, and he winces away for a brief moment, burying his face on the pillow for approximately ten seconds before he musters the courage to face the light. After all, those bulbs have been on all night; nothing about his situation ever changes, only his moods from day to day and hour to hour. This will be the only sign of weakness, and therefore of humanity, that he will demonstrate for the next twenty hours.

He gets up. Looks around for a moment, then immediately pads his way to the screens on the other side of the room, showing off the view from a dozen surveillance cameras around the palace. He checks if any switches have been tripped, doors picked, or alarms raised during the night: none. Rewind and fast-forward the footage from one camera: nothing for the last eight hours.

He is satisfied. Pulls on the nearby headset, mussing his boyishly dark hair, and tugs the mic close. He speaks quietly, but the mic is set to amplify as much of his voice as possible, and the result echoes through every room in the palace with exceptional vigor: “GOOD MORNING, DISGUSTING RIVOIRE. AS YOU HAVE FAILED TO ESCAPE DURING THE NIGHT, YOU MUST SUFFER ANOTHER BRUNT OF MY EXCELLENT NARRATIVE PROWESS. AND DON’T FORGET, MY DEAR: WE’VE A SPECIAL EPISODE COMING UP IN THREE DAYS‘ TIME, JUST FOR YOU, TO CELEBRATE YOUR MONTH-LONG ESCAPADE! - DON’T DIE BEFORE THEN. GODSPEED.”

Then he shuts the mic off and heads for the bathroom. On his way he passes the towel rack, upon which two fresh towels are prepared: both are embroidered with a letter of the alphabet, each a different letter, his and his. He snatches up the former, S for Sebastian, and also a bathrobe with his bag of makeup spilling from the pocket. The owner of the other towel will come along to help him out soon, but for now: honey oats and vanilla, with bubbles to boot.

Thus begins his day.

—

Scene 2: Breakfast, as well as the makeup session. Sebastian has long since blurred the boundaries between the two.

Bacon and eggs today, cooked and served with much love by a murderous friend of his. They’re all right. Sebastian eats his eggs and monologues to the opposite wall as Vincent, his silent co-host, dusts white powder beneath his hairline:

“We have to figure out how to get a camera down there. That if, if either Rivoire or the artist don’t bolt from us first. They’re so sensitive to those things, aren’t they? They’re good. Really good. I confess maybe I underestimated how good they’d be, it’s not like we’ve had escapees on the set other than those two. Not a bunch of good hunters, we are. Did Xavier pepper these eggs? What do you think, Vinco, aren’t you curious about what those two get up to down there? Isn’t it the loveliest thing? The most heart-rending twist? - God knows how that Mike survived down there for so long, but it’s fine; it was God’s will, it was fate, it was my will that had them find each other. Love in the labyrinth. Special episode title! Jot that down for me.”

Vincent jots it down for him in eye pencil. Sebastian finishes off his eggs and dabs his mouth with a napkin. He knows what’s coming now. Only a minor inconvenience, but he’s still talking a million miles per second to get around it, eager to cram in as much content as he can think of in this precious time alone with his lover. “But let them do their best for now, was that the plan? I need them to be okay for the next three days, don’t I, maybe throw some Evian and a bag of animal crackers down there every now and then so they don’t starve, guess we need filler in the meanwhile how about-”

“If I may briefly interrupt the Monsieur.” Vincent cuts him off expressionlessly. Sebastian stares at him, one eyebrow twitching. In Vincent’s right hand is a mirror, and in his left, a glint of silvery steel under the light.

He gulps. Vincent brings the steel close to his face, then twists one end of it, popping out a fresh wand of cherry lipstick.

“It is time for the final touch.”

“Ah. Yes.”

For a second, Sebastian might possibly have wanted a touch elsewhere.But he forgets about it soon enough. There’s a time and place for everything, and such desires can not be permitted to impede on his art, no sir.

So he lets Vincent lather on the lipstick and is forced to keep quiet. While they’re at it their two friends enter, one wheeled in by the other; they’re active participants in Votez, and the hosts of the side segments, the contents of which vary day by day.

Scene 3. Sometimes they’re barefaced, and sometimes they’re dolled up. It’s the latter today. Sebastian has not seen this makeup before, so they appear to have come up with a new segment: nothing wrong with that, except today they appear to be flirting with copyright infringement. Gaspard’s is fine, it’s the one in the chair who’s in trouble; Xavier is made up like a ventriloquist’s dummy, the high-end sort with rosy cheeks and a suit and a monocle. He flashes Sebastian a brilliant smile and Sebastian is so enamoured that he wants to gouge his eyes out. Xavier’s, that is, not his own. Why would he do that. Seriously.

Oh, that magnificent fucking bastard. He wants nothing more to love his head under seltzer water until the bubbles stop, and given that it’s seltzer water, they’re going to be in there for a while.Xavier already gets to dress up however he wants. It’s not really fair that he also gets to copy off Sebastian’s makeup, and wear it more handsomely, at the same time. “How was the breakfast, Sebos?” He asks in an entirely normal way, not even in character.

“About what I expected.” Sebastian frees himself from Vincent’s motions long enough to answer. “The food was terrible, the service was shit, and I’m killing your boyfriend later.”

“I am sorry, Monsieur le Président. I will strive to do better next time.”

“I will send you the footage later. Of me. You know. Killing the boyfriend. It will replay on your bedroom TV every three hours.”

“I am sorry, Monsieur le Président. I will strive to do better next time.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you?”

“I am sorry, Monsieur le Prépffffffffffff-”

It is only then Sebastian realizes that Xavier hasn’t answered past the first question. He and Gaspard have been alternating voices, the latter speaking through the former like a dummy, completely indifferent to Sebastian’s building agitation. When they see the jig is up, they look at one another - and turn away, laughing hysterically, as they wheel down the corridor.Sebastian sighs and sinks into his chair. Vincent offers him a lollipop and he takes it, smearing cherry lipstick all over it. While it doesn’t help with his friends’ shenanigans, it sure leaves a taste in his mouth that isn’t, well, egg.

Such is life. It has only been this way for three thousand mornings.Well, barring the Rivoire. Closer to thirty, in that case. Over thirty, very soon.

Something to look forward to, Sebastian supposes.

There always has to be something.