Chapter Text
Mic adjusted the makeshift valkyrie helm sitting on his head for what felt like the hundredth time. It was a prototype for a new model that P. Buckét had made for him for a new and upcoming Phestival, one that he couldn’t wait to host. He drummed his fingers on the table in front of him, groaning as it slowly slid down his forehead once again. He pushed it up again, but Paint Buckét pulled it off of his head before it could fall off again.
“Listen- I know this Phestival is going to be themed off of stars and whatnot- but I think we should definitely have a moon themed one next.” Mic offered. “Think about how cool you’ll make my costume!”
“I don’t mean to be harsh, Mic, but blues and purples would not look good on you. Oranges and reds do. You know what else has fiery colors?” Paint Buckét waved a finger at him. “Stars. You’re as pale as a ghost, shine a light on you and you’ll glow anyway.”
He sputtered in place while she chucked to herself.
“I think it’d be cool to see the little moon stuff the phighters would have on them!” He grumbled as he leaned backwards into the foam chair. “Y’know how creative they were with the theatre theme.”
Paint Buckét started remodeling the valkyrie, crushing the soft clay in her hands. “Eh. What matters is that you look good. Even if we did paint your horns to match, purple is not your color.” She flattened the ball of clay, shaping it back into a valkyrie. “I mean, you with purple would be just as crazy as me with neon colors. It does NOT work.”
Mic grabbed a handful of the soft material from beneath her hands. Maybe he wouldn’t actually look that bad with purple. “Yeah… I guess that is hard to picture.” He pretended to not notice the glare she sent him. “But I can’t let Umbrella be the only purple inphernal I know.” The clay in his hands was formed into a crude replica of a ring, and he dropped it onto one of his horns.
“Do I at least look good with a horn ring?”
“Honest opinion? No. You look horrible. No wonder why Flipside hired me to manage your looks.” She lifted up a differently styled valkyrie, taking off his clay ring and put it onto his head.
This time, it didn’t slide off. He gave her a thumbs up while she made minor adjustments.
“Can the valkyrie this time at least have something moon themed?” He attempted once more.
Paint Buckét groaned in annoyance, rubbing between her eyes before she forced out a response. “Sure. Fine. As long as it gets you to stop asking.” He grinned.
“I knew you’d budge a little. I’ve got to announce the theme soon, don’t take too long.”
It wouldn’t be long before she showcased a few basic designs for an eclipse-like design on the front. Mic ended up picking one that looked like a near total eclipse. The sun was still visible, but the moon was in front, blocking out a majority. It wouldn’t be long after that where she seemed satisfied with her prototype, packed her things, and left the room with nothing more than a “see you later.”.
It wouldn’t be long after that when a group of inphernals made their way in. One of the many groups that Mic had quietly nicknamed “the recorders”. They were nothing more than one of the film crews that would have him record something for the camera. These ones wouldn’t get as close to poke at him like Paint Buckét did, but they still got close. They set up their cameras, taking a moment to angle everything right.
Mic slipped his signature valkyrie on and neatened up his shirt. He was quickly handed his own wire microphone- Microphone with a microphone- and the crew slid out of view of the camera. He sat upright, attached the little wire microphone to the side of his head and nodded at the crew.
The one by the camera, giving a three second countdown before that familiar red light blinked on.
With his TV smile on, he started the live broadcast.
“What’s up everyone? Valk here, welcome back to the Flipside! Now, I can release what the next Phestival theme is and when it is going to be held.” He pretended to do a drumroll with his hands on his knees, before throwing his hands to the side dramatically. “It’s going to be space themed, but not just any part of space. It’s going to be themed off of the stars in the sky!”
He put his hands back into his lap.
“All participating Phighters are suggested to wear at least one item to represent the stars. Whether it be just a golden sticker on a gear, or a pin attached to a shirt, as long as it’s not harmful, Phighters can do what they wish.” He held up one finger. “But! For those of you who wish to join in on the Phights who aren’t in currently, there is only one requirement. We’ll post a form soon where you can sign up to join. At first, you may have to wait, but even if you get in, you still have to get past the many starter rounds to be able to phight alongside our current reigning champions.”
He pointed at an invisible watch on his arm.
“The Phestival will start in only a few week’s time. It will be closer to the beginning this time, so a majority of participating inphernals can chip in to it. Remember, whoever cashes in the most points during this year’s Phestival will be subject to their very own prize- including the possibility for a handsome stack of bux.”
He did mock finger guns at the camera.
“And with that, the announcements are done. Valk here, and I’ll see you on the flipside!”
Mic held his pose for a moment longer after the red light on the camera cut out. He relaxed into the foam chair again, watching the crew pull away. There they went, with all of their cameras and microphones. Back out of the room, leaving just Mic and his thoughts in here.
A brief moment of silence without an endless array of inphernals near him. It felt nice, having time to himself. Mic rhythmically tapped his fingers on his knee, looking around the room for something to do. The chair was so comfortable, maybe a nap? No, he wasn’t tired. Go bother Paint Buckét? No, that would disturb her work. He was still paying her anyways. Bother Umbrella instead? They were probably elsewhere.
The next thought made him pause to think.
Paint Buckét had too many shades of paint, most from her gear, and some from cheesy gifts. Maybe he could grab himself one while she was distracted. He wouldn’t look THAT bad in purple after all. Maybe.
It was a good plan according to him. He would grab a thing of purple paint, paint his horns in his private bathroom, and see how Umbrella and Paint Buckét thought of his new look. You know, accidentally stroll past her working office with a new color to him. Point it out to Umbrella during their foster parent and child dinners. There’s no way purple wouldn’t look that bad on him.
He stood up and stretched with a quiet pop of his back, shaking out his wings before pushing the door open and walking out of the room.
It was quiet in the tower at this time. Once the late day broadcast was done, a lot of the Flipside staff left. Except for a few inphernals here and there, the halls were empty as Mic walked through them. He would admit the peace was nice.
The walk was short as he knew these winding paths well. How one hallway curled into another, which spots in the floor made the most noise late at night. How to not bump into unaware inphernals.
The window panes gave view to a section of Crossroads at each time. Some held directions to other regions, some led nowhere. It all looked like doll playhouses from the top of the tower. Like some that he’d used to see in advertisements, made to stop newspawns from getting into fights. It didn’t usually work.
He ended up finding his way to Paint Buckét’s working space quickly. A quick glance into the room revealed that she was busying herself with a mannequin shaped like himself, her back to the door. She was currently draping fabrics over it, throwing some aside while trimming down others.
Cool and all, but not what he wanted to find.
Her gearsake paints were… not too far from where he was now. He carefully crept in, inching towards the bottles of color. Mic was so close when it came into focus.
None of the bottles had labels.
Of course they didn’t. Just like singing felt natural to him because of his gear, P. Buckét probably knew which colors were in which bottle through scent. He had to examine them all by hand.
So, one by one, he had to lift up the bottles. One by one he had to open them up, and look at the crusted paint to see what color it was. Reds, grays, blues, a lot of yellows, pinks. In one of the farther paint bottles that he lifted, the cap lifted to reveal a medium purple. Finally!
He tip-toed out of the room, bringing the bottle with him. Perfect timing too, since Paint Buckét walked past him right after he left, carrying the mannequin with her. She was going to get the rest of it finely done, all she did was make an extremely rough base and make the tiny decorations. And, of course, the makeup. Better to already have a design created for the makeup and an outfit before deadlines threaten creativity.
Mic waited until P. Buckét’s footsteps had faded into the distance before continuing onwards towards his bedroom. The soft click of the door opening for him was good, and he closed the door behind him. He ran over to the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom, dropping the paint bottle onto the counter next to the sink. He took off his shirt, throwing it out of the bathroom through the open door. Just in case the paint dripped.
Mic leaned onto the counter, studying the bottle. It would be a minute before he lifted the bottle up and unscrewed the cap. What’s the worst that could happen, after all? Purple wouldn’t be that bad on him, inphernals were just overreacting.