Succor
Olmarq was surprised; Facsimile was a big deal in Cloudbank. Honestly, he expected a swarm of suits around her at all times – to be a replacement, while an honor, seemed to be difficult considering the importance of the celebrity’s welfare.
“I – sure! Erm… I guess, if you want me to. It’s either this or just mope around in my house…”
He caught her hopeful stare with a hint of suspicion, like she was planning something. But the fact that she was a woman in need pushed him into validating his answer; he will help this woman.
Wiping his palms on his trousers, he considered what would happen should her managers discover her seemingly rebellious escapade. All he knew is that he had just pledged loyalty to Facsimile – he intended to keep his word.
“I… don’t suppose you have a name I could call you by? Unless – unless your real name is Facsimile.” He rubbed his elbow nervously, hoping he wasn’t treading in grounds he shouldn’t be. “I’m Olmarq, by the way.“
He decided he would not mention his previous status as star quarterfielder; should she not recognize him, it might make the whole process a little more less awkward.
Pausing mid-turn, he looked back at the singer with an inquisitive expression. “Where are we going, anyhow?”
“Oh, thank you!”
Facsimile beams. Her smile lights up her entire form, like plugging in a glass lamp. Her expression only falters slightly when the man asks her her name. She laughs it off however, waving one hand airily.
“Oh no, of course not! It’s my stage name. But you can call me… Milly, if you like.” she grins inwardly, suspicions correct. “Olmarq! Well, isn’t this an honour for me!”
She gives him a large and -surprisingly sincere- bow, turns in the opposite direction, then quickly turns back.
“Just a few groceries and such! Please wait here a moment, I’m going to go change!”
With a flash of silvery earrings and a whirl of indigo silk she’s gone. She’s away for about five minutes, and then the sound of running footsteps signals her reappearance.
She appears quite different in street clothes. Even with her extravagantly styled hair and extra makeup, the fuzzy purple sweater and long blue skirt give her quite a different look. She shoulders a brown canvas bag and smiles pleasantly at Olmarq.
“Well then, Mr. Olmarq. Thank you ever so much in advance for helping a poor songbird do her chores.”
And with that, she takes Olmarq’s arm and leads him off.









