Tales from the Multiverse

The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage

I wake up to my mobile ringing loudly. Half-conscious, I fumble wildly for it on the bedside table before realising that it's on the pillow next to me.

"He...hmm?" I mumble into the receiver.

"Astrid, I'm glad you're awake." It's Ben Cook, the guy who hired me to come out to this event. He's a friend of my cousin Ciaran, and when he'd asked if I'd help him with a new project he's working on, I said yes in a heartbeat. Of course, it doesn't hurt that the event is in sunny Orlando, Florida.

I sit up, rubbing at my heavy eyelids. "'Awake' is relative," I remark. "What is it you need at - " I check the analog clock on the little table. " - five o'clock in the morning?"

"I wanted to get some shots of the convention before hours. I thought if you were up, it'd be nice to have you, but if you're sleeping - "

"No, no!" I interrupt, already swinging my feet out of the plushy hotel bed. "I'll be down in five." I catch a glimpse of my disheveled reflection in the mirror across the room. "Make that ten."

Sit tight, I'm gonna need you to keep time.

Come on, just snap, snap, snap your fingers for me.

The sky is just beginning to lighten as I leave the lobby of the hotel to find Ben, but already a couple of sleepy-looking girls are poised at the barrier in front of the entrance, mobile phones in hand. They look up eagerly as I walk outside, but lose interest when they fail to recognise me. The sympathetically tired smile I offer them goes unheeded; the girls are already sucked into the tiny screens of their phones.

I pause, footsteps faltering as I eye the scene. After a moment's consideration, I raise the professional-grade camera from around my neck and snap a few photos. I'm in the middle of catching a nice silhouette of one of the girls against the pale orange skyline when a man with brilliant red hair steps up next to me, watching the shot I'm lining up.

"Good one," he says, sounding impressed.

I capture the picture and look down at the screen, examining it with a small, proud smile. "It is my job."

"Touché." He extends one hand towards me, smiling lopsidedly. "I guess we haven't actually officially met in person before. I'm Ben."

"I guessed as much," I say, returning the grin and shaking his hand. "Astrid. Nice to finally meet you i-r-l."

He laughs quietly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jean jackets. The gesture has an oddly endearing effect even though I've just met him. It makes him seem less like a punk-rock, cool, untouchable adult and more like a really sweet, kind of shy teenager. "Same," he agrees. "Is it weird that I imagined you with dyed hair?"

I touch the tip of a lock of my ice blue hair absently. "Great minds think alike, I suppose."

Ben raises his own camera from around his neck. "Let's see if we can extend our likemindedness in hair to photography, yeah?"

I nod in agreement and not even the early hour can keep the excitement from my voice when I reply, "Let's do it to it."

Good, good, now we're making some progress.

Come on, just tap, tap, tap your toes to the beat.

Ben and I set up a few tripods around the empty convention floor, calling to one another across the spacious, echoey lobby to discuss shot angles, lens types, and other dorky photography things. We entrust the security of the filming cameras to Ciaran, who met us on our walk over to the main building, and a couple of merch people that Ben knows who are already setting up their booths, and then go on our way to get a few shots outdoors before the crowds get bad.