The Interview by intergalelactic

A STAR IS BORN: AN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH SEREN FAIRCHILD
By Malory Danell

The first thing you notice about Seren Fairchild is the eyes. His neon pink irises are so bright they trick the brain into believing they glow.

They’re natural, apparently, from what he’d told me and just about every other news outlet that had ever commented on them.

The gaze he sets on you, too, is just as striking. Memorable. It’s the subtle tilt upwards of his brows and the ease of the smile on his lips that tells it all: he’s the most important one in the room, and he knows it.

The man who has been number one on the charts practically since the day he debuted, the man who just released his own limited edition bubblegum pink hair dye so his millions of fans could match his signature look, the man whose penthouse apartment takes up so much space it has two floors and could fit a dozen smaller apartments inside it. Certainly, you’d think a man like that would be insufferable…and he is, but he isn’t.

His energy is electric; mystifying. There’s an allure to him that is hard to place and makes you want to stay to talk with him even when it’s clear he’s patronizing you. You know he’s looking down at you, you know he thinks he’s better than you–but you don’t care.

Seren Fairchild is a narcissist, but the line between genuine obsession for himself and the elaborate kayfabe for his image is blurred. His entire brand is contingent on presenting himself as being, in the literal sense of the phrase, “larger than life”. When he sings on stage, his image is blown up and projected to make it seem like he’s a giant crooning down at his adoring fans. His albums, his music videos, his merchandise, all of it features a similar motif of being big. Such commitment to the theme is what’s made him particularly popular.

It was this brand of his that was the basis for the first question of the interview as we sat in his opulent living room and sipped gingerly at delicate flutes of champagne.

Seren, from the get-go you seemed to have a clear, cemented image of who you wanted to be on the stage. The Giant Star. Where did the inspiration for that come from?

FAIRCHILD: I suppose it’s a bit of a tongue and cheek thing for me. In the industry, they all talk about “making it big”, or how you might never be made a “big time” name. I just figured, why not be big from the start? Huge and in your face so I can’t be ignored.

Makes sense. It’s certainly worked out for you–nobody’s ignoring you, I should think. Though, because of its nature, your content has been making the rounds in fetish circles online. How do you feel about that?

FAIRCHILD: I’m fine with it. Don’t see what the fuckin’ deal is, personally. I know a lot of people have sticks up their asses about that sort of thing, but so long as they’re happy and enjoying what I do, why should I complain? Besides, those folks editing videos of me so I’m rampaging through the streets like Godzilla, or drawing me naked as the day I was born and miles high–they’re making better content than the people I’m paying to do it right now! I need to go hire these perverts!

There’s genuine appreciation in his tone. A fondness, even.

Some critics have raised concerns over the content of your music videos and concerts before, likening it to softcore porn. Do you think by not disassociating yourself with the fetishists, you’re encouraging that viewpoint?

This question sparks a change in his demeanor, ever so slightly. His jaw clenches, his head tilts in my direction. Offense is taken, and the air shifts uncomfortably. His attention is focused on me more, like I’ve suddenly become something mildly important to him rather than a fascinating distraction.

FAIRCHILD: Does any of that matter? Like, does it really matter? It’s an aesthetic. It can be whatever anybody wants it to be, I really don’t give a shit if people are seeing it and jerking off to it–so long as they like it, and so long as I like it, that’s all I care about.

So in that same vein, you really don’t care if you’re portrayed as deriving pleasure from mass murder? Cannibalism? That these things are beginning to be directly associated with you and your brand?

FAIRCHILD: I’m sorry, but I thought this was supposed to be an interview about my career, and you’re trying to give me the goddamn third degree. Can we focus?

He looks like a lion in his pride, the way he languidly sprawls against his seat, looking down his nose at me. There’s a sneer pulling his lip up, his grip on his champagne has tightened. I’ve annoyed him–and the glare he’s sending my way makes me feel distinctly small. Like it would be better for me to run and hide rather than continue the interview.

Well I’d say this all still pertains to your career, but if you want to drop the subject, we can do that.

FAIRCHILD: Thank you.

Your rise in popularity is almost completely unprecedented. Some people are calling you the definition of an overnight success. What can you attribute to your sudden fame?

FAIRCHILD: Who can say, really? Maybe I’ve got one of those faces. Maybe it’s my charming personality. Or maybe…I’ve got that X Factor. I’m what the people have wanted, even before they knew they wanted it. I’m the first icy cold sip of water after years baking in the sun; I’m satiating your hunger for something more. Something better than all the rest. You wanna know why I’m a star? I was born to be one and everyone knows it.

…And the sudden disappearances of popular artists recently has nothing to do with it?

FAIRCHILD: No, not at all.

From the tone of his voice and the way his lips pursed together into a thin, frustrated line, it was clear that this was to be the end of that train of thought. I drank my champagne, the thin flute that held it feeling heavier than before as Seren continued to glare down at me.

This topic wasn’t something I was particularly inclined to drop, though.

Some have decided to label you an “industry plant”, Seren. That maybe others were pushed out of the spotlight to make way just for you. Do you have any comments on that?

At this, Seren heaved a great, dramatic sigh. Whereas before he had been laid back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, I now had his full attention. He leaned forward, both feet planted firmly on the ground as he loomed ominously over me. Even here, away from prying eyes, his insistence on being “larger than life” was evident–like he purposefully positioned himself to be the literal bigger man, to always be the imposing force.

FAIRCHILD: All the morons calling me that are just upset that their favorite, cookie-cutter little popstars were proven to be bland, uninspired pieces of trash and subsequently thrown out like it. It’s not my fault their egos were dependent on their musician of choice winning a Grammy.

That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? Some of these people have been missing almost an entire year now. Tarri Faye’s family recently declared her deceased in absentia after her investigation reached another dead-end. It wasn’t like she and the others stepped out of the public eye, they just…vanished.

FAIRCHILD: I fail to see how their theatrics are relevant to this interview, Mr. Danell.

Many of them worked for the same label that signed you on.

Seren clicked his tongue.The sun had begun to set, leaving the living room in night’s growing shadow. His eyes seemed even brighter than before in the low light, like the glow of a cat’s gaze in the dark. The look he gave me was profoundly unsettling–there was the slightest upturn of his lips, a smile that did not reach the eyes.

He offered to refill my champagne in lieu of responding to my statement. I accepted, and when he took the flute from my grasp, his hand completely dwarfed mine.

I suddenly felt very…inadequate, compared to him. Him, in his tailor made designer clothes that hugged every tight curve of his body. Me, in my thrifted fare that barely fit right. Self conscious, I found myself trying to roll up sleeves that kept slipping down my arms no matter how hard I tried to keep them up.

Seren returned from his liquor cabinet and a fresh, shining glass was handed back to me. Heavy with the sparkling wine and so overlarge that I needed to hold it with both of them like it were a chalice. I thanked him, but did not take a drink.

Do you have any anxieties about potentially disappearing yourself?

FAIRCHILD: No. I don’t plan on getting out of the spotlight anytime soon. What about you?

What about me?

FAIRCHILD: Are you scared about vanishing, too?

It was here that I realized Seren hadn’t sat back down. He stood in front of me, still looking down at me with that nasty edge to his gaze–a king acknowledging a peasant, a man fascinated by a bug on the ground. I had to crane my neck to meet him where he was.

I suddenly found myself feeling very agitated. The gaudy pieces of furniture Seren had bought were too big to sit comfortably on–my feet weren’t even touching the ground. My sleeves were still bothering me, and I was suddenly very conscious of every inch of exposed skin on my person. I began trying to cover that up, too, just to find my clothes failing me further as they slipped and draped awkwardly off my body.

No. I wouldn’t say that I am, Seren. I’m nobody.

FAIRCHILD: Yeah, but…They were nobodies, too. Tarri Faye. Harvey Shannon. Flux. Nobody important. Not anymore.

Seren Fairchild’s a nobody, too. He isn’t even a real person. No record of him anywhere from before he “made it big”, nothing. Who are you, really?

He didn’t react to this the way I thought he would. I expected a tantrum, maybe some diva-like shouting at me. An order to get the fuck out of his apartment. None of that happened.

Seren knelt in front of the chair, put his forearms on the seat next to my thighs, and rested his head on them. For the first time, he was looking up at me–but it didn’t change anything. I still felt distinctly cornered by him. Engulfed by him. If I tried to move, there’d be no way to get past him without an altercation. Especially not when one of his arms was as long as half my entire body.

FAIRCHILD: You aren’t a reporter, are you? California’s a two-party consent state, yeah? You need my permission to record me. What better way to do it than to stage an interview with some bogus magazine?

It’s not bogus.

FAIRCHILD: Mate, d’you think I’m too stupid to use Google? Besides…What journalist contacts me directly? I’ve got an agent for a reason. Unless, you’re…I don’t know…Some other sort of snoop?

He had reached into his pocket, pulling out a slip of printed paper and unfolding it to show me. An advertisement for Malory Danell, Private Investigator.

My body reacted first before my mind could catch up. Having been made, I tried to bolt. I found myself hindered by clothes several sizes too big for me, so much so that they almost literally tangled me up inside them–and the towering form of Seren blocking my way. I felt a huge hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me up like I weighed nothing. My clothes finally slid off me in their entirety, leaving me completely exposed.

As he held me, I continued to dwindle.

What the fuck did you do to me? What was in that champagne?

FAIRCHILD: You’re a dim one, aren’t you? If it were the champagne, don’t you think I’d be shrinking too?

Then what happened to me?

FAIRCHILD: I’m just one of a kind, is all. Talented from my head to my toes.

Is this how you’ve done it? How you’ve gotten rid of all your competition?

FAIRCHILD: Oh, no, they all just fell off the face of the Earth. By coincidence. Isn’t that so lucky for me, Mr. Danell?

Let me go.

He dropped me on top of the coffee table where my laptop stood, now almost as big as I was, my recording software still running.

FAIRCHILD: Oh, no, I don’t think I can do that. After all, Mr. Danell, you’ve got my interview to write. Don’t be shy, now. I want all the juicy details.

Typing on the now-ginormous laptop would be a chore, but even without looking behind me I could feel Seren at my back. Watching me, amused by my predicament. I’ve had no other choice but to write.

I’ve been at it for hours now.

Every time I stop, he makes me smaller. I’m barely bigger than a doll now.

Please, if you find this laptop in a dump somewhere or you scrape the data from somewhere, anywhere, don’t ignore this. I’m begging you.

I’ve attached the audio recording of our session to this document.

The last thing you notice about Seren Fairchild is that he is a monster.

And you have to stop him.

It was well into the night when Malory finally stopped writing. After getting rid of all of his possessions, from his clothes to his phone and his wallet and putting them God-knows-where, Seren had moved a chair to sit directly behind Malory to observe him as he wrote–like some sort of enormous jailer watching over his prisoner. The air had been thick and quiet, broken only by Seren’s occasional warning to keep typing, or the humming of one of the bastard’s own songs.

When it was done, Malory stepped aside so that Seren could read it. He was so exhausted that he didn’t object when a gigantic hand wrapped around his torso and lifted him off the ground, holding him uncomfortably tight in Seren’s grasp to keep him from slipping away while the musician's focus was elsewhere.

“Hmm…” Seren intoned thoughtfully, bright eyes trailing back and forth over the word document. “You’re more used to filling out investigations, aren’t you? This is pretty crap. You can’t even write in a cohesive tense.”

“You said it yourself: I’m not a journalist. I don’t know what you expected.”

Seren ignored him.

“And that cry for help at the end really took me out of it, you know. You went and made my interview all about yourself.”

“You’re not gonna keep getting away with this, you sick fuck.” Malory retorted, just to get all the air squeezed out of his lungs almost instantly as huge fingers squeezed tighter around him. Trying to get air in felt like sucking in through a straw–he could breathe, but just barely. Seren didn’t even look at him, his eyes squarely focused on the screen.

“Who hired you to look into me, anyway?” Seren asked, nonchalantly, as if he weren’t suffocating a man in the palm of his hand. “They must not have a lot of money if they could only afford to hire an idiot like you, Mr. Danell.”

Malory could respond, he could wheeze out a name, but he didn’t. With all his strength, he leaned forward and sunk his teeth into the flesh of Seren’s finger, biting so hard that he could feel the thick skin break and give way to the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He was light-headed from lack of air, but still managed to remember to steel his ears against a shout of pain from above, to brace for a fall as he was dropped–

But the fall never happened. He still remained in the hand of his captor, teeth locked into the skin.

Seren finally turned to look down at him, but his face wasn’t that of someone in pain–he was just amused by him. He loosened his grip, just barely, enough to let Malory suck in a much needed gasp of air and spit the blood out of his mouth.

“D’you think that’s the first time I’ve been bit by a rat?” Seren asked, cocking his head to the side.

At this scale, Malory was afforded a look at Seren’s fingers that the average person couldn’t get–every crease in the skin, the grooves of his fingerprint. His pores, what little of them there may be. And the scars–tiny, barely visible marks on his skin. The remnants of so many others who have tried to attack Seren, and clearly failed to do anything more than inconvenience him.

“So. Are you gonna answer me? Who hired you?”

“Devin Winters.”

This got a reaction from him. Seren let out a peal of disbelieving laughter, waving his hands (and by extension, Malory) around in an exaggerated fashion as he began to rant to his captive audience..

“Are you fucking serious? Devin Winters? That one hit wonder hack? Oh, I know what it is, his precious little Tarri goes missing and it’s got him all upset. Her folks say she’s dead and he just can’t handle it. Boo-fucking-hoo. I should’ve grabbed Devin up, too, but he’s just so…unremarkable, I didn’t think I had to!” Seren rolled his eyes, finally ceasing his incessant gestures to bring the little investigator up to his billboard sized face.

“At least he didn’t hire anyone competent, I mean, this was the best he could do? Some jackass who couldn’t even think of a fake name? Gimme a break."

The fleshy cage that imprisoned him shifted. Malory was no longer being held, he was being shifted. Shuffled around until his world turned upside down and there was a distinct pressure against his ankle. Seren was pinching his leg between his fingers, dangling him tauntingly. It was nauseating. All he could do in resistance was twist his body around or yelp each time his stomach flip-flopped.

Seren leaned back in his chair, going a bit cross-eyed as he stared down his victim.

“You got what you wanted!” Malory attempted to reason with him, his voice shaky and breathless. “Please, just let me go!”

All he got in response was a laugh, a madman’s giggle giddy with sadistic pleasure.

“Let you go? Go where? Oh, did you think I could turn you back? Sorry, it just doesn’t work that way…”

He lowered Malory above his lips, so close his hair was rustled by the air exhaling out his nose–and soon, washing him in breath as hot as the fires of Hell.

“You’re not leaving. Come on, you have to have known that.”

Seren’s face was getting bigger–or more accurately, much more distressingly, Malory was getting smaller. Down he went, from the size of a Barbie doll to about as big as a pointer finger, still locked in the musician’s grip around his leg.

“What are you gonna do when Winters knows I’m gone, huh? When I don’t report back to him? You’ll be fucked!” Malory cried, desperate, clinging to anything to give him some kind of leverage over the smug titan before him–all he received in response was a scoff.

“Oh, no…What a pickle.” Seren replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, I’ve got your phone, your car keys, your wallet…Oh, yeah, and the laptop with like half an hour’s worth of your nasally little voice on it. I mean, I’m not a stranger to audio mixing, it can't be too hard to lure Devvy somewhere with your voice…”

Malory felt all the color drain from his face. Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshitshit–

“But before all that, you’ve got to go.”

Seren’s plush lips opened wide, revealing the damp, hot cavern framed by pearly white teeth. Malory could hear the drip of his saliva pooling in his mouth, the gurgle of his monstrous stomach from far below. He immediately began to protest, screaming himself hoarse as he was lowered slowly, tauntingly, into Seren’s mouth.

“NO! NO, NO, PLEASE–”

The first thing to greet him was a giant, hot tongue lapping against his face. He felt Seren’s lips press down around his waist, pinning him halfway inside the giant man’s maw and trapping him in the dark. The air was wet, so hot and thick that breathing brought him no reprieve or relief. All he could do was thrash and writhe as he was licked all over by the monstrous muscle that he couldn’t even see, and therefore was left unable to brace for its constant barrage.

Screaming did nothing for him–every time he tried, he’d get smacked by the tongue, or risk choking on Seren’s spit.

“Mmm…”

Seren’s pleased moan rumbled all around him, and he could feel a shudder pass through the star’s entire body. Malory’s body felt battered and bruised, sopping wet like a dog left in the rain. His ears popped, and the pressure around his waist tightened as Seren began to suck until, with a ‘pop!’, he found his entire body pulled into the giant man’s mouth. It was cramped, unbearably so, and he could feel himself being twisted this way and that as Seren treated him like an overly large piece of hard candy; licking and savoring him for all that he was worth. He felt dizzy and disoriented, and at one point he could feel his head crack against a rock-hard tooth. The impact dazed him even more, briefly lighting up his vision with sparks and stars until he came back into focus.

Now and again, the saliva pooling all around him would flow to the back of Seren’s throat, and all around him he’d hear the sickening sound of something massive swallowing. He didn’t want to be eaten–he desperately, desperately didn’t want to be eaten, but this limbo-state of being toyed with almost made him wish that Seren would just get it over with and finally swallow him instead of the Malory flavored spit.

Even though he couldn’t see it, he could feel them moving. The shifting of weight and distinct sense of weightlessness as Seren got up from his chair, the rattle of each footstep as it reverberated through his enormous body with each passing step. Malory felt his center of gravity shift, and he yelped as he began to slide backwards. He tried to find a handhold on the tongue, but there were none to be found on the giant, slippery mass…but before he could fall down into oblivion, the tongue wrapped around him. It re-oriented him like he was a cherry stem, and Malory was granted his first breath of fresh air as Seren opened his mouth.

Immediately, he scrambled for the lips, poking his upper body out and coughing as he took in the chilly air. His eyes burned from the sudden light, and Seren’s muffled chuckle almost had him tumbling out of the mouth entirely.

When his vision cleared, he was able to see where Seren had gone, and it only made his heart drop.

From his vantage point, he could see the musician’s entire body as it laid on a comfortably soft bed. He’d unbuttoned and unzipped his ridiculously tight pants, shimmying them just past his waist so as to comfortably slide his hand under the band of his underwear. Though he couldn’t see his fingers, the careful swirling motions underneath the tent of his briefs told Malory everything he didn’t want to know.

“You perverted fucking freak…” Malory panted in disbelief, unable to comprehend how Seren could possibly be trying to jerk off to this. How his suffering was, in any way, hot enough for it. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, and his thoughts quickly turned elsewhere when he was surprised by the tongue pushing hard against his back, sending him tumbling out past Seren’s lips and into the giant man’s free, waiting palm.

There was a faint blush to Seren’s dark-skinned, freckled cheeks above him. His colorful eyes were glassy, slightly unfocused. Beneath him, Malory could feel the giant man’s pulse, he could feel as it began to quicken in excitement.

“You know…” Seren murmured. “You tasted pretty good. Shame it’s so late–I’d love to gobble you up, but I get the darndest nightmares when I eat someone before bed.” He laughed softly, without a care in the world. “Ain’t that a bitch?”

His hand surged backwards, carrying Malory down and down until he was right above the waistband of Seren’s underwear. As exhausted as he was, as beaten up and broken as he felt, he still tried to make a run for it–feeling more like a bug trying to scurry across skin than a person fleeing his aggressor. It didn’t work, Seren was so much bigger and faster than him that he couldn’t run away or fight back when the waistband was lifted and Malory was shoved inside.

Seren’s fingers, the ones that had been playing with him before, quickly took hold of him now. This prison was similar to his old one–just as humid, just as claustrophobic, but different in that he had a bit of light as it shone through the woven cotton fibers above his head to see what was happening around him.

There was a veritable forest of dark hair. Seren’s fingers were coated in something wet and warm that he knew was a far cry from the saliva that Malory had been drenched in. He felt sticky, overwhelmed, and miserable–and it could only get worse from there on out..

Eventually, his body wet slick flesh once again, as he was pressed down against the shaft of a thick, swollen clit that was only a head or two smaller than he was. It was a monstrous thing, firm to the touch and so hot Malory could have sworn it was a few degrees away from scalding him. It pulsed hard with Seren’s fast heartbeat, making sure that Malory couldn’t enjoy even a moment of stillness. Whenever he pushed against it or tried to slip out from the huge fingers pinning him down, it would react eagerly to his touch–twitching with desire as the labia below him grew wetter and wetter with need.

Seren began to slide him up and down against his clit in a steady rhythm. Malory, at first, tried to wriggle his way out until he realized that his ineffectual squirming had only served to pleasure his giant captor even more if the happy little groans he heard from above were any indication.

He was nothing more than a sex toy for a lunatic.

The flesh under Malory grew harder. He could feel it stiffen up underneath him as the head of Seren’s clit began to poke out from under the hood. Around him, the world shifted and shook as more light began to shine, and eventually the clothed ceiling above him was removed entirely. Far away, he could see Seren gazing down at him.

“I just had to look at you.” He said softly, crooning down at him. “It’s big, yeah?”

He pushed Malory hard into his clit, so much so it knocked the wind out of him.

“Bigger than you, and getting bigger still.” Seren exhaled, as if relishing in that fact.

With each slide up and down the length of his clit, Malory could feel it growing–or more accurately, feel himself shrinking against it. Smaller and smaller he became, and yet even as he was covered in slick and only about an inch tall and going down, down, down, Seren did not loosen his hold on him. Clearly, horrifyingly, he was adept at being able to keep a tiny person stuck to him as he jerked himself off, putting just enough pressure upon Malory to keep pleasuring himself without outright crushing his puny victim.

Seren’s delighted groans filled Malory’s ears, they rattled his body, they filled him with dread. The steady movements of the fingers holding him down grew more intense, swirling his tiny self harder and harder into the ravenous clit. Maybe the goal was to drown him? Or, put him deep inside Seren?

He wished he’d just been eaten.

There was a great shudder, and from above he could hear Seren exhale a breath he’d been holding. All movement stopped, save for the incessant pounding of the giant man’s heartbeat in his sex as it slowly wound down. The pressure against Malory alleviated, and left altogether, but even then he realized he couldn’t move. Covered in Seren’s juices, he was glued to the bulbous head of his clit.

They sat there, Seren coming to terms with his bliss and Malory with his own impending doom. After what seemed like an age, the miniscule man felt himself being pried off of the clit. He was so sticky that Seren didn’t even need to pinch him, he could just rely on him being adhered to the pad of his enormous finger.

Being pulled hundreds of feet through the air was like being on the world’s worst rollercoaster. Malory’s exposed skin quickly chilled as the wind whipped around his damp body, and kept him glued even harder against Seren’s finger. He was brought before his eyes, the two great big pink, otherworld orbs whose gaze scrutinized him. Judged him. Deemed him unworthy, and unimportant.

“Sorry that was so quick.” Seren’s voice rumbled, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “I want to get to bed, you know how it is.”

For dramatic effect, he yawned, nearly blasting Malory’s eardrums out with the force of it.

“It’s been real…”

He was getting smaller again. Shrinking, diminishing–the surrounding bedroom became a blur. If he craned his neck around, he was unable to make out the rest of Seren’s body down below. Smaller, smaller…Until only Seren’s monumental face remained in focus. Smaller, until the distant sound of the giant breathing became like hurricane winds. Smaller, until he was a tiny, insignificant speck on the landscape of his finger.

“And it’s been real fun. At least, for me it has.”

The sky darkened. Seren’s mountainous thumb loomed overhead. There would be no question as to what was going to happen next. Malory wished he could be defiant in these last moments, he wished he could brave his coming doom with honor and dignity–but he just screamed. He screamed, and he screamed, until he could no longer push any sound out other than the exhaling of air through his damaged throat.

“Don’t worry, Malory.” The booming thunder of the God above him said, in his best assuring voice. “I’ll make sure Devvy meets up with you soon.”

Seren’s thumb lowered, and everything went black.

So much to do. Seren thought to himself as he washed his hands in the bathroom sink. Maybe I shouldn’t have wasted so much time on that guy, or maybe I shouldn’t have fucked with him at all

He shook his head. No, that had been fun enough that it was worth having to stay up all night to deal with the consequences.

The plan had been to go straight to bed since he had an “important meeting” tomorrow–his agent’s words, not his–but there were a few problems. There was the car down in the apartment complex’s lot that he needed to get rid of. A phone that he needed to break into, maybe drive around town with the damn thing so that the GPS isn’t stuck with his penthouse as its last known location…A laptop harddrive to copy before he smashed it with a hammer. There was, as it turns out, a lot of work that went into covering up his tracks.

At least in a big city like this it was substantially easier to do. Where he was from, that podunk little slice of nothing, he could only do this sort of thing once in a blue moon on someone people wouldn’t think twice about should they vanish. Now, he was pretty sure if he could shrink a whole busload of people and get away with it.

Wow. Now that was a idea

For later. Much later..

Seren sighed, his train of thought turning back to the matter at hand. He had to figure out the best way to get Devin Winters to him, how best to dispose of him. It should be easy enough–the man became a recluse after his partner went “missing”. Kept to himself. When he retired, at the time Seren just thought it meant that he didn’t have to waste his time with him.

This was a lesson, he supposed. No half-measures and all that. If one goes down, so must the other, lest he have the remaining party trying to dig up all of his dirt.

He looked at himself in the mirror, splashing some cold water on his face to help wake himself up. The bags under his eyes were a look, but he could pass it off as intentional…Or maybe cover it up with some makeup, if his agent decided he wanted to have a spine tomorrow and protested to his artfully disheveled appearance.

Seren gave himself his best smile, felt in his pocket for Malory’s keys, and left to clean up his mess.