Rimelion: The Exploiter

Riker led me into a backstage room that was as chaotic as a battlefield—and just as noisy.

The air buzzed with a symphony of voices calling out instructions, the hum of equipment, and the occasional sharp laugh from a stressed technician.

Makeup artists flitted between cosplayers like caffeinated hummingbirds, their hands moving in a blur. Garment racks crowded the walls, filled with glittering costumes and absurdly over-the-top outfits that looked like they belonged in an Imperial jester fever dream.

He guided me to a chair in the corner, directly in front of a vanity mirror surrounded by blinding bulbs.

Before I could protest, a bubbly makeup artist practically danced into view, her cheerful energy radiating like sunshine after having ten whiskeys.

"Hello, darling! I'm Mia, and we're going to make you sparkle today!" she trilled, snapping open a ridiculously cute pink briefcase plastered with stickers of bunnies, bows, and motivational quotes. If a unicorn exploded, it would look like that case.

First Riker, now this...

I barely had time to react before she gestured for me to sit. Riker, of course, was already grinning like a proud peacock at my obvious discomfort.

"As you're likely aware, my schedule is quite demanding," Riker began, his tone full of smug self-importance. "To ensure you receive the attention and guidance you deserve, I'd like to introduce you to someone from my team who will assist you throughout the day. Would you prefer that arrangement with someone specific?"

"The only one I know on your team is the brunette at the side door..." I muttered under my breath as Mia gently nudged me into the chair.

"Splendid!" Riker declared with theatrical flair, clearly having heard me. "She's on her way as we speak!"

Mia, undeterred by my sour expression, pulled out a hydrating primer from her arsenal of beauty magic. "Close your eyes, sweetie," she instructed in a voice so sweet it should've come with a dental warning. The cool gel spread over my skin, refreshing but oddly invasive, as if I were being spritzed by an overly enthusiastic gardener.

"Mister Riker! That's..." I started, my words muffled by the brush she was now wielding like a painter attacking a canvas. "Very well..."

The primer wasn't even dry before Mia moved on, dabbing foundation across my face with rapid, precise movements. "You have such lovely features," she cooed, blending expertly. "This'll just even everything out. You'll look radiant, darling!"

Before I could form a snarky reply, Riker's roaring voice sounded over the chaos. "Ah, behold, the woman of the hour!"

I groaned inwardly and glanced at the mirror.

Standing nervously in the doorway was the brunette from earlier, her wide eyes darting around the room as if expecting an ambush. She clutched her tablet like it was a shield, her knuckles white.

"You need me, Mister Riker?" she asked timidly, her voice almost a whisper. It was like watching a rabbit trying to negotiate with a lion.

"Yes, my dear!" Riker called out, his arms spread wide as if addressing an adoring crowd again. "Lady Charlie herself has personally summoned you to be her manager! Can you rise to the occasion and bask in the glory of her request?"

Mia, meanwhile, moved on to powder, setting my foundation with a flurry of quick pats. "Look at you! Perfect already," she said, dusting off her brush dramatically as if she'd just sculpted the imperial queen herself.

"Manager?" I muttered under my breath, glaring daggers at Riker through the mirror. But my glare softened when I saw the girl's expression—equal parts terror and disbelief. "You'll do great," I said, surprising even myself.