The Manager
By icecreamlova
Part Three

- : -

At the tail end of November, Sandrilene fa Toren was the principle designer for her fashion show.

Unsurprisingly, the media, the critics, and the audience adored it.

Tris thought she ought to be ecstatic, but she wasn't. She was pleased, even happy for the client she had come to think of as a friend; she was pleased that her name was slowly becoming synonymous with success. And, yes, she did enjoy the money, just as much as her (perpetually absent) parents, both of whom had been business owners before retiring, would have. But... the night after the hailstorm of congratulations, Tris stared up at the sky.

It was so bright it obscured the stars.

Once, she would have hated it.

'Or maybe,' said her voice of common sense, which had begun to sound more and more like Daja Kisubo (ironic, considering her chosen career path), 'You still hate it and just won't admit it.'

"I don't hate it," Tris said, to the empty air. "I just don't care about it either way."

A flash of light blazed, suddenly, followed by a torrent. Tris had been in the business long enough to know the cause - the press.

Hastily, Tris withdrew from her balcony, fighting the nagging question of how presentable she looked, because her hair was not acceptable without at least twenty minutes of fighting and wrangling.

"You win, Briar," Tris muttered, pausing beside the ornate glass dragon her client/friend/former burglar had once attempted to steal. "I didn't know what it was like to be famous until now, and I don't enjoy it."

- : -

There was a tentative knock on her door.

"Tris? Are you in there?"

Tris groaned, attempting to block out the voices. Why hadn't she realized that Sandry could sound so shrill when she was upset, or worried?

Morning sun filtered hazily into where she had fallen asleep, on the couch - awake one moment, and her three days' worth of sleeplessness catching up to her in the next.

"Tris!" Sandry sounded considerably more worried this time. Tris became aware of someone pounding on the door - the rhythm keeping pace with the pounding in her bed.

"Lemme do this," someone who sounded very much like Briar Moss said. There was a scraping sound, a few moments of silence, before Tris's door swung open to reveal three figures. Stupid lock; Tris reminded herself to change it as soon as possible. Three clients, in fact, and Tris wondered what to make of the fact that those closest to her worked beneath, or for, or with her.

"Daja," Tris muttered, instinctively picking the most clear-headed of them to address her words to. "If you, Sandry and Briar do not leave, I will get up and chase you out myself." She motioned at the ornamental class dragon on her coffee table, nearly hitting the bin full of used tissues that squatted beside it. "With that. It's very painful. And heavy. Just ask Briar."

Daja shook her head, slowly, making her braids shake. The sight made Tris blink; how had she not noticed that Daja's hair was long enough TO braid?

"We're you're friends," Sandry said. "So maybe we're your clients too, but still..."

Daja and Briar nodded.

- : -

"Don't think I didn't notice," Briar muttered beneath his breath.

Tris stared at him, blankets tucked around her body, still reeling from the fact that her three main clients had showed up together to keep her company while she was ill. "What do you mean?"

Briar's eyes were decidedly unimpressed. "Three nights without sleep. That's why you got so sick."

"I didn't do that on purpose, you know," Tris snapped, irritated. She lowered her voice as Daja and Sandry's quiet chatter floated in from her kitchen. "It's the cameras outside at all hours of the night."

Tris hated attention, especially like this. Growing up, her parents had been well-to-do, but hadn't been successful enough to claim the limelight. She had pushed herself and done very well at Lightsbridge University, but there had been purpose and reason behind the attention she got then.

It was much more uncomfortable being known for successful clients, successful friends. She was happy for them, and maybe it would have been enough for someone else, but in the depths of sleepless night, she wanted something more.

"So go find more," Briar said, and Tris realized she had been speaking out loud.

- : -

Once upon a time, Trisana Chandler was on the verge of a great discovery.

"Of course we'll keep in contact," Sandry sniffed, hugging her. "I'm flying down every summer anyway."

Once upon a time, she had been afraid of that knowledge.

Daja said quietly, "And the race course near Lightsbridge University's becoming pretty popular." They all knew what she meant.

Once upon a time, because of that fear, she had settled for second best.

"Go show that stuffy Vice Chancellor of yours why you were offered a scholarship," Briar told her.

Most people wouldn't call successfully managing (although not mentoring) future legends and celebrities a failure, but because it wasn't what Tris wanted, it had been settling all the same. Now, a few hours away from returning to researching at Lightsbridge University, her closest friends in her years as a manager had come to see her off. Promises were exchanged about keeping in touch; they all meant them.

And because of that, despite the time it took away from her research into parallel worlds, Tris couldn't regret her years working as a manager.

- : -

(Some days prior...)

"What... exactly... are we doing?"

Sandry raised her finger to her lips, frowning at Tris. "Watching a movie. We can do that too."

"This is for teenagers," Tris said flatly. "I'm thirty-three."

Sandry shrugged. "So am I. But half the population of New York seems to be obsessed with it..."

"And vampires," Daja supplied, expressionlessly, "have been in stories for centuries."

Briar leaned closer to Tris, and murmured, "I'm betting you find your research into parallel worlds more probable than this."

Tris glanced at Sandry, warily.

Sandry just shrugged, again. "I'm only watching it because everyone else is."

Abruptly, Daja stood up, turned, and marched out.

"Daj'?" Briar called, shoveling hand of popcorn into his mouth and leaning against Sandry's couch. "You can't leave us here alone!"

"By definition," Sandry said, poking his knee, "there's three of us. We're not alone."

The words were barely out of her mouth when Daja reappeared, a set of ear plugs in her left hand. She plopped cheerfully beside Sandry and popped them in.

"At least my parallel world didn't have sparkly vampires," Tris murmured to Briar.

- : -

End of The Manager

Well?