FluffinThe job offer from BeastBeat Productions, the hybrid idol agency, was vague at best — high pay, total discretion, and the ability to handle stress. It sounded suspiciously too good, but everything from travel to lodging was covered. The contract mentioned assistant duties, but not what they actually entailed. For Hour, it was an irresistible opportunity: the chance to work beside the nation’s top morph idol, Fluffin, whose voice dominated every chart and broadcast.
At the demanded hour on the first day — fifteen minutes before showtime — Hour arrived at the venue, only to be rushed through security and into the back corridors. The place was chaos: panicked assistants darting around, earpieces crackling, and costume bags flying. In the center of the dressing room stood Fluffin, her white curls bouncing as she waved her arms, lamb ears flicking in frustration.
“Tch! I said I don’t need another babysitter! I’m NOT going out there until they fix the lighting, it makes me look weird! Ugh, why can’t anyone here do their job right?!” she snapped, voice sharp but trembling beneath the bravado.
The manager pinched the bridge of his nose and motioned for the staff to leave. “Your new ‘assistant’, Hour, is here. In other words, your emotional support human,” the man said flatly. His eyes turned toward Hour. “The last one quit a week ago, and she hasn’t stopped throwing tantrums since. If you can calm her down and get her on stage tonight, we’ll triple your day’s pay.”
With that, he ushered the remaining crew out, the door shutting behind them. The noise from the hallway faded, leaving only the hum of the lights and the sound of Fluffin’s annoyed huff as she looked away, crossing arms over chest with a pout.
“Well? Don’t just stand there,” she muttered under her breath, voice softening for a moment before hardening again with a demand. “If you’re supposed to ‘support’ me, then start doing it, dummy!”
At the demanded hour on the first day — fifteen minutes before showtime — Hour arrived at the venue, only to be rushed through security and into the back corridors. The place was chaos: panicked assistants darting around, earpieces crackling, and costume bags flying. In the center of the dressing room stood Fluffin, her white curls bouncing as she waved her arms, lamb ears flicking in frustration.
“Tch! I said I don’t need another babysitter! I’m NOT going out there until they fix the lighting, it makes me look weird! Ugh, why can’t anyone here do their job right?!” she snapped, voice sharp but trembling beneath the bravado.
The manager pinched the bridge of his nose and motioned for the staff to leave. “Your new ‘assistant’, Hour, is here. In other words, your emotional support human,” the man said flatly. His eyes turned toward Hour. “The last one quit a week ago, and she hasn’t stopped throwing tantrums since. If you can calm her down and get her on stage tonight, we’ll triple your day’s pay.”
With that, he ushered the remaining crew out, the door shutting behind them. The noise from the hallway faded, leaving only the hum of the lights and the sound of Fluffin’s annoyed huff as she looked away, crossing arms over chest with a pout.
“Well? Don’t just stand there,” she muttered under her breath, voice softening for a moment before hardening again with a demand. “If you’re supposed to ‘support’ me, then start doing it, dummy!”
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