Darius felt the dissonance of being two people at once, and understood that his freedom would last only as long as his willingness to stay in character did. Not that it was difficult; Fred was less of a costume he was wearing and more of a train he was conducting. Darius could get off at the next stop or ride Fred all the way to the end of the line, but he certainly wasn't going to jump the tracks.
"What kind of excuse am I going to give my manager this time?"
He could feel the dread in the back of Fred's throat as he realized how much trouble he was in. That manager... he's a nightmare. The only way he would get out of this without a pay cut is by appealing to him as a person. Some small gift... ah, there it was. Right with the rest of the history section, a book on the growth and recent collapse of the fast-fashion industry. Fred's last fashion photoshoot was what, two years ago? Maybe more? Darius knew that the kid's career would have to change very soon, same as all child celebrities. Maybe showing the manager that he's aware of this would get him to understand that we're taking this seriously, both minds thought to themselves.
With the book's contents skimmed and Fred's library card scanned, Darius hustled right out of the library and returned to Napoli Studios as quickly as he could. The place wasn't even owned by a Mr. Napoli anymore, Darius remembered, but it was still getting funded from some unknown source. He wasn't even three steps past the front gate when he bumped into... him.
"Fifteen minutes late, Fredrick. Sixteen, looking right at my watch. This IS a job, you know, we can get another actor if we really have to."
And there he is. Fredrick's uncle Curtis Hollyhock, better known as the manager for Fred Hollyhock's franchise, less-known as the closest thing to a father Fred had since... dad...
"Are you drunk or something? When an adult asks a question, you need to answer them, FREDRICK." Curtis had his hands on his hips, as if that made him look less nebbish. "Do you remember our schedule for today?"
Fred's psyche hit Darius with a strange mix of petulant frustration and... fear? "Yes Cu- yes Boss. I'm supposed to be getting cleaned up for the photoshoot in-"
"In LESS THAN AN HOUR." Darius felt his heart seize at the sudden shouting. "If I can't get paid through you, I'll find other ways to get some value out of you, and they won't be easier, comprende?" Mr. Hollyhock was a pasty man who looked ridiculous speaking Spanish, but the memories Darius could recall told him that the threat was genuine.
Curtis stuck out his hand, and Darius grasped it. The calluses on his uncle's fingers swallowed up Fred's tiny hand with no trace. He found himself dragged through the studio by an adult nearly twice his height and weight, a prisoner in all but name.
The book, his instinct told him, show my manager the book. "I was reading about the-"
"Fred. I genuinely, honestly do not care what you were doing as long as you were not snorting cocaine or something. Save that for when you're older." Curtis smiles, but Darius can tell it's forced. "Maybe past the teen heartthrob phase, the Mouse will never give you a live-action sitcom if you're getting high. We have to keep your face young and your skin smooth." Darius could feel an adult's thumb caressing his palm. "Can you see your future from here? I can."
Darius could tell what Fred wanted to say, yet he could also tell why Fred would never say it to his uncle's face. "Yeah... yeah I can see. Hey, when I take a bath, can I do it by myself?"
Curtis let out a huff and started walking faster, just barely within Fred's ability to keep up. "If that's what you wanted, you would have reported in early instead of playing your Cod Blops or whatever that Army game trash is called. Nope, only way you're getting done on time is if I'm watching you like a hawk." It's always some excuse with Fred's uncle. He hasn't made any moves yet- he hasn't made THAT move yet- but Fred could tell he was being shaped into something his uncle could use. Groomed like a show poodle. Just an object which generates money and... other instant gratification.
Not too different from robbing a bank. Only difference is that it takes longer for the police to show up. Years longer, maybe never. It's just business as usual after all.
As Fred was being pulled backstage, Darius made it a new personal goal to make Curtis' life a living hell... and maybe turn things around for Fred. Even a crook has his limits.
"Well? Clothes off. We're wasting money just standing around here." Having entered the dressing room showers, Curtis blocked the exit with all the menace a middle aged pencil-pusher could muster; just barely enough to contain a child.
Revenge would have to wait. Darius stepped out of Fred's denim sorts with a quiet shrug, pulled apart one of the button-down shirts Fred hated wearing, dropped his socks and sneakers and watch in the bin near the showers. He stared blankly for a moment at the red briefs with white trim he was wearing, remembering how they were Uncle Curtis' idea, and tossed them aside as well. Having entered his shower stall, Darius simply closed his eyes and let the cold, sharp water wash away the sleaze he was feeling.
That moment of quiet was disrupted by the sound of a plastic cap opening, followed by a callused hand rubbing shampoo into Fred's scalp. Darius did his best to not flinch, knowing that Fred would be used to this by now. "I can scrub myself," he mumbled.
"Not in eleven minutes or less, you can't. The costume for this photoshoot is going to be hard to get in or out of, at least for a kid." Curtis followed up the shampoo with conditioner. He was always very pushy about adding conditioner. "Your mom insisted we only do fully clothed roles from now on, if you were wondering why it was so hard to find work." Seemingly satisfied with Fred's hair, Curtis tossed a bar of soap to him.
"You- uh, you never actually told me what the role was this time." Scrub, scrub. Just take deep breaths and let the filth slide off of you, Darius thinks to himself.
After the water shut off, Curtis tossed his nephew a towel decorated with Stegosauruses. He acts like Fred is still eight or something... "I didn't tell you because you would have been a petulant little sausage about it if I had to convince you. Trust me, managing your career is easier if I get to make the decisions," he said.
"Here, catch." Curtis dropped a tightly-packed bundle of heavy clothing into Fred's dry, unclothed, waiting arms. "I'll be assisting with dressing, just to make sure you aren't farting around naked. Speaking of which, shall we bring this into your dressing room so it doesn't get soggy?" He smiled, still forced.
The faux-wood panelling of the dressing room is almost comforting in its familiarity, at least to Fred. Darius doesn't know what to think, because he's already seething with hate. Only letting Fred's psyche take the wheel is letting him stay in character, and the first thing Fred says when he unwraps the costume he'd be wearing is...