Lights, Camera, Orc-tion!

2: Hoof It

"Avicia Thorn, xir. She/her pronouns."

For a breath, they seemed to consider this. Avicia couldn't begin to decipher the look in their eyes, and that made her chest ache with uncertainty. Finally, they gave a curt nod and muttered, "Kahdreg Vidaroc. ...He/him."

And that was it. Mr. Kahdreg Vidaroc strode from the lobby, not even throwing Avicia another glance.

With as much grace as she could manage, Avicia stumbled after his moderate gait, her high heels clacking against the marble like an angry cicada.

She had barely managed to race out the front door without twisting her ankle. As soon as she exited the air conditioned lobby, nature's heat flared in her face. Overhead, the sun blazed, edging closer to the zenith of the sky. She surveyed the lot, her heart sinking into her stomach. There were so many obstacles to stagger over in heels: throngs of busy bodies, tourists in their caravans, hefty props hauled to and fro. Vidaroc was already so far. Her feet ached at the very notion of catching up to him.

"Wait!" She called after the director. He spun on his heel, annoyance morphing to confusion. Leaned against a door jamb, Avicia struggled to unclasp her less-than-functional heels. Professional attire wasn't worth a broken ankle.

At Kahdreg's expression, Avicia growled, "I wasn't planning to hoof it across the lots, sir."

A less-wily part of her cringed at the venom in the last word. Then again, she was about to dance across a cement lot, already baking in the heat of the morning sun. It'd be like walking barefoot across a hot beach, if that beach were in a volcano.

"That's ridiculous," sighed Kahdreg, pocketing his phone as he closed the distance between them. He held out his arms, like someone waiting to be loaded down with fresh linen. "I can carr-"

The look Avicia shot him made the words wither on his lips. He huffed and rolled his eyes, dropping his outstretched arms. She returned her attention to unbuckling her heels, not even managing to undo one before a commotion caught her ear. Glancing up, her heart stuttered at the scene. Vidaroc menaced over a random person, presumably not possessing a director's clout but definitely holding keys to a golf cart. Passerbys gawked, some whispers being exchanged behind hands. Before she could even bumble over to him in protest, the opponent sidled away from the director.

She caught their eye, an apology on her lips and sympathy in her eyes. They merely spun away and charged through the crowds, shoulders hunched in mortification. An ache of pity shot through Avicia, before Kahdreg's whistle broke her thoughts.

A frown caught her lips as Kahdreg whistled again, motioning for her to get on already. Trying not to feel like a dog, Avicia gave in. Protesting wouldn't matter now, anyway. The battle was fought and Kahdreg Vidaroc was the victor. No point in letting his spoils go to waste.

She climbed in and, as gracefully as she could, sat next to him. Kahdreg didn't even wait for her to settle before gunning the cart. The little machine buzzed as it wove between clusters of people and objects. Odd stage props sped by; an anchor, suits of armor, mechas made from foam, a large black hand, Victorian furniture. Flanking the perimeter of the film lot, hulking film sets - like airplane hangars - loomed and blurred on the ride.

In vain, Avicia attempted to spot some way to discern one from the other. A name, a number, anything.

Just as motion sickness gripped into her gut, the golf cart suddenly stopped. She gasped, thrown forward in her seat with a yelp. The cart creaked and shook as Kahdreg bounded off, leaving the keys in the ignition.

Avicia snagged the keys - it wouldn't do for a tourist to go on a joyride, would it?- and raced after the orc. At the doorway, Kahdreg charged in, demands and questions echoing as soon as he set foot inside. Beyond the threshold, Avicia could feel the dark waters of apprehension taunt her. Inside, a cacophony of voices and movement came to life with Kahdreg's entrance.