Private The Devil Wears Prada

[Efren Rizal]

"Nah, we're good. Old Reshit deals with shoplifters all the time and his mind's as dull as a rusted spoon. He drove me out once when he caught me stealing. Came back wearing pink hair dye instead of red and he didn't even in blink my direction."

He threw his arm over Jayce again. "I doubt he remember we even existed."

He lifted his chin to the sky. Neon lights blared and speeders roared overhead, a sound and sight some might've found overwhelming, but for Efren, he felt at home. It'd been so long since he left the temple's confines. Trapped there like he'd been trapped in that detention center. Here, he was free, and in good company.

Well, mostly good company.

Efren pouted at the other boy at his rejection. "Boo. I mean, you are right though, I totally would use it to steal again, but for a good cause! We're Jedi, man. On to do Jedi things. Like infiltrate a fashion magazine and track us down a Sith. Isn't that exciting?"

He squeezed Jayce's shoulder and gave him a firm shake. "I honestly don't have a clue about what more we got to do, but hey, the hardest part's over. You look slick as hell and there's no reason they won't think we're fit for the job." Efren continued marching down the boulevard. "Pretty sure we're already hired. We just gotta attend orientation at eight."

"Speaking of which, do you happen to have the time? I've got four watches but they've all got different time zones on them."

Jayce Rotsu​

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[Jayce Rotsu]

Jayce blinked and wasn't sure if he found the air-head next to him endearing or annoying. Those two wires frequently crossed in his head. His cheeriness was almost cute. Jayce wished he could operate with the level of nonchalance Efren did.

He switched on the holographic display of his own watch and checked. "We have ten minutes."

He should've sounded panicked. He was panicked. They were so far away, and Coruscant traffic was so bad. Yet, in light of everything that had happened so far, Jayce was no longer surprised.

A thought occurred to him, then, and the panic really did begin to set in. "Es'tella Wyntur always arrives at the magazine early. She'll beat us there at this rate! And those jobs are no good if we're fired the instant we walk in the building!"

Jayce scoured frantically for a cab, then remembered he didn't have any money. Would he really have to mind trick another person? Man, Master Organa was going to to hang him from the highest spire of the temple at this rate.

"Tell me you know another way," Jayce barked, almost willing it into existence. "There has to be a shortcut, there just has to!"

Else, he just stole for no reason at all.

Efren Rizal​

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[Efren Rizal]

"Ten minutes," Efren said smoothly, then frowned. "Wait, ten minutes?"

Now they both were panicking. If Wyntur headed into the office early, before either of them got there, then she'd no doubt bite their heads clean from their shoulders. The woman had a severe reputation in the fashion world. And Efren—being as talented and skilled as he was in it—knew that arriving late on their first day would spell the end of their brief fashion careers.

He couldn't fail on his first mission outside the temple. Master Noble would probably never let him off his leash again. He'd be stuck in training forever like the boy at his side.

"Chit, clit, shit," Efren cursed under his breath. He ran a hand through the neon-bright fuzz of his hair and thought hard. There had to be a way to cross a dozen blocks to get to Vogue Magazine's headquarters without a) stealing a speeder or b) leaping onto the back of one.

At this rate, he'd just have to settle for the next best thing. Stealing a hoverboard.

Catching sight of a nearby skater, Efren sprinted up to them. In order to distract them, he pulled out a form of payment—the bundle of thrifted jewelry he'd stolen—and threw it at the man's face. "Gah!" they shouted, staggering to the ground as Efren plucked their hoverboard away and switched it on. Green light burst from underneath it.

Steadying his balance on the board, he revved it up once and gestured madly at Jayce to join him. "Come on, Rotsu! Get on or get lost!"

Jayce Rotsu​

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[Jayce Rotsu]

Jayce didn't really have time to state the obvious absurdity of what he was seeing. Where had those stollen jewels come from? How long had Efren been concealing them? More importantly, how did he expect to get to the magazine on a hoverboard?

There was no time to think. He leaped on the back of the board, throwing Efren into what amounted to a rough bear hug from behind. There was nothing else to hold onto, and the other Padawan was hauling ass. A wall of cologne assaulted his nostrils. Efren smelled... good, which was an insane observation given their situation.

"You're going to get us both killed!" Jayce shouted over the roar and whir of the board.

All around them, speeders honked and swerved to get out of their way. Morning rush hour still dominated the skylanes. A simple hoverboard was slim enough to slip through the gaps between the speeders, but Efren's driving was atrocious, and Jayce just knew this story would end with him flatter than a flatcake at the bottom of the city.

But then they were free of the traffic and speeding down towards the entrance of the magazine. The gold-studded skyscraper that served as its headquarters loomed overhead. Not that it mattered. They were late. Already, Jayce's watch read a minute after the hour and they still weren't even inside the building.

Jayce didn't have time to scold Efren or chide him. He only waved his hands frantically as he tore off towards the glass doors that led inside. "Come on!" he shouted. "Or we're going to be even more late than we already are!"

Efren Rizal​

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[Efren Rizal]

"The risk of death is what makes it fun!"

Efren wore a fat, wide grin as he soared into the sky. Luxury airspeeders and transport shuttles flew past them. More than once they were almost caught in the grill of a shrieking freighter or flattened into steaming hotcakes, but he'd always been a talented skater with a knack for defying the natural laws of the universe. Fortune favored the bold. And boy, was Efren bold.

He spun, twisted, turned. As Jayce clung to him like chewing gum at the bottom of a shoe, Efren wove between the traffic, offering many furious drivers a choice gesture that relied heavily on his middle finger. Sadly, the rush of adrenaline didn't last long. In moments—or what might've felt like an eternity for Jayce—they'd arrived at their destination.

The headquarters of Vogue Magazine.

Efren leapt from the hoverboard and chased after the other boy. Forget about parking. He let it continue flying away, sputtering as it circled back into oncoming traffic, sure to cause disaster. But the real disaster was how late they were, and just how close he was failing this mission.

He broke through the glass doors shortly behind Jayce. Slicking back his neon hair and adjusting the collar of his forest-green jacket, Efren dashed for the elevator. Whether pure luck or mercy from the Force, one of the lifts stood empty and open, as if beckoning them to enter. He did without hesitation.

"Wait, shit, uh," he said and looked at the vast panel inside the elevator, not sure which button to select out of two-hundred. "Which floor are we supposed to head to?"

Jayce Rotsu​

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[Jayce Rotsu]

"Seven," Jayce snapped and punched the button himself.

The elevator doors swung shut and it was all Jayce could do to keep from heaving. There had been no time to use the Force to ease his aching muscles before they arrived; and now it would be ill advised, since it might tip off this so-called Sith the Council seemed to think was in hiding here. Jayce knew from his history lessons that the Sith liked to disguise themselves, but as a magazine editor was ridiculous.

"I've never been to a job interview before," he confessed. He wasn't sure why. Efren was the source of his anxiety, and yet, it was quickly shifting to the task ahead. A task they might fail before even beginning. "Hope we don't fuck this up as badly as we did our timing."

It was generous to use the word 'we'. Up until now, it had been Efren's efforts that had slowed them, made them late. But Jayce could see that he was genuinely trying. He wanted to make a good impression. To help. As much as Jayce wanted to strangle him, he also understood where he was coming from. Besides, Master Noble was sure to strangle him, so what use had the job for Jayce?

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing an office that was so clean, Jayce doubted anyone actually worked in it. He could see his own reflection on the floor tiles; and the walls were so white as to be blinding.

A woman whose hair was jarringly blood-red in a place so white, and who was wearing a purple pant suit sat behind a desk and a plaque that read AEMILY. The glance she gave them could have scalded the hair from their heads. "Hello gentlemen," she said in a tone dripping of venom that said she didn't consider them welcome or gentlemen at all. "Are you lost? Clearly, neither of you belong here."

Efren Rizal​

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[Efren Rizal]

"Pft, we'll be fine. It'll be fine," Efren said, but the words were meant for him as much as for Jayce. Force only knew what Vogue Coruscant would think once they stumbled into the office, more than a minute late. Perhaps the universe would be merciful enough to have delayed Es'tella in traffic, but if the stories were true, she was probably waiting in her office now, chewing glass and sipping a cup of hot poison.

As mechanical music played overhead, Efren slanted a look over to Jayce. He squinted and raised a hand to the far side of his cheek. "Wait, man. Stand still. You got a lil smudge of dirt there." He licked his thumb and wiped it away. "Aha, perfect. You look perfect."

His eyes drifted to the mirror in the lift and observed them both. "We look perfect."

The doors rang open. As they approached the front desk, the receptionist gave the two of them a withering glare. But Efren didn't seem to notice. He was busy dusting his shoulders and checking his breath, keeping a close eye out for Wyntur, wherever she was.

"Thanks, Em, but we're actually here to see Es'tella Wyntur, Editor in Chief at Vogue Magazine. We're interns, you see. At least, here for the positions being offered."

He leaned over the desk and flashed the woman a charming smile. "Mind pointing us in the right direction? I believe we had an appointment. Just got a teensy sidetracked downstairs. Ya know, another model vomiting her lunch out in the lobby. Very unpleasant stuff."

Jayce Rotsu​

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[Jayce Rotsu]

The woman named Aemily did not budge. She didn't even crack a smile. Her face was still and droid-like, her voice calm but cutting. "You must be joking. You two? Interns for Madame Wyntur? She'd sooner hire a Hutt."

Jayce recoiled as if he had been slapped. This was somehow going worse than he had expected. Es'tella Wyntur's secretary was unflinching, though, and continued her assault with practiced poise. "Even if I believed you were here for the two openings, the deadline was three— Five," she adjusted, glancing at the time on her nearby computer screen, "minutes ago. Madame Wyntur does not tolerate tardiness." She leveled a sharp expression at Efren. "No exceptions."

"Unfortunately," a colder voice said, cutting across their conversation. Jayce whirled to see a much taller woman standing in the doorframe of the nearby office. "We will have to make do with them Aemily." The voice belonged to Madame Wyntur herself, and she was every bit the shark in an ocean of blood Jayce expected her to be. "Seeing as no one else is here."

Only then did the secretary falter. "Madame Wyntur, please," she said. "Let me find you other candidates. These two—"

"—are here. Unfortunately." Es'tella Wyntur glared at them and beckoned them with a nod. "You two, come."

Jayce stammered and quickly moved to obey her. He urged Efren to hurry; neither one of them could afford to piss off their host more than they already had.

"Forget the editor," he whispered to Efren. "That desk lady is more likely to be the Sith than her."

It was the first amicable exchange they'd had.

In the end, they were planted on one side of Madame Wyntur's desk, she seated firmly on the other, watching them the way a vulture observed carrion. "Now, your qualifications—tell them to me. And let us hope, for your sakes, they are more impressive than your tardiness or..." She glanced them both up and down, "whatever it is you're wearing."

Efren Rizal​

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[Efren Rizal]

Efren slanted Jayce a sly grin. What had he said? Nothing to worry about.

Despite the secretary's nasty attitude, Madame Wyntur herself had decided to overlook their tardiness and see them through. It was a kindness he hadn't expected from the damned Witch Queen of the fashion world, but shit, he would take whatever he could get.

"Nah, seriously," he whispered back to Jayce and glanced over his shoulder back to Aemily or whatever her name was. "Even if she's not Sith, she better hope she didn't pack a lunch, because I'm gonna leave her a nice little farewell gift once we're outta here."

He left the gift in question up to Jayce's imagination, but it sure wouldn't be pretty.

As they were led into Es'tella's tidy office, Efren watched as the unreasonably tall woman settled into her seat before she started interrogating them like suspects in a line-up. He didn't like it. Reminded him too much of the fat fucks back in the detention center, but he kept his cool and gave the Witch Queen a pretty smile, trying to work his charm a second time.

"Well, Madame Wyntur, we may not look the complete part, but we're good. I know my whole way around fashion—I mean, look at me—but my boy Jayce here?" He patted the other Padawan on the back. "He can make a mean cup of caf and I can say from experience he's an excellent runner. So if you're needing a delivery boy, he's totally your guy."

Jayce Rotsu​

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[Jayce Rotsu]

Jayce glared at the back of Efren's head hard enough to bore a hole into it.

Delivery boy? That's what Efren thought of him? He was supposed to go fetch some rich woman's caf and clean her chamber pots, wiping down every seat her ass graced? All while dressed like this? He opened his mouth to protest, but Es'tella cut across him, leveling them both with a withering gaze as she spoke.

"So, your qualifications are... you," She fixed her stare on Efren, her lips curling in slight revulsion, "and that he can make a cup of caf slightly better than the average droid?" She jerked her thumb in Jayce's direction for that last one. "Still, your confidence is... impressive, if nothing else. This office has been sorely lacking it in the past months."

The fashion matron looked between the two boys and her existing assistant, who looked ready to jump out of her own skin. Aemily wanted nothing more than to escort the two Jedi out, but she could sense, as Jayce could, that Es'tella had made up her mind.

"Fine," the editor said. "The positions are yours. But to liven things up," She smirked then, and Jayce though it might be the most awful thing he had ever witnessed. A chill ran down his spine like a spider chasing prey across its web. "You—" she pointed to Jayce "—will assist in the beauty department. It's clear fashion is not your forte and you could benefit from the training you would receive there." Which left Efren, whom, upon viewing, Es'tella's smile only grew wider. "And you—you shall be my new assistant. Second assistant to be precise, because I find it funny, and because my caf went cold an hour ago and I'm in need of a new cup."

For the first time, Jayce's smile was broad. He almost laughed.

Es'tella dismissed them with a wave and a "That's all."

And then it was official. They were both her new interns.

Jayce waited until they were outside her office and clear of Aemily before he spoke up again. "Well," he said triumphantly, "I guess it falls to me to look for proof since you just got made Es'tella's errand boy. Unless you think taking her caf orders will somehow reveal she's a Sith."

Efren Rizal​

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[Efren Rizal]

"Uh, what? I think what you meant to say was—"

Too late. With a dismissive wave, Es'tella returned to paging through her fashion catalogue. Efren was rendered speechless. As he turned to leave her tidy office, he rubbed the back of his head, speaking again only once they'd fallen out of her earshot.

"Man, this sucks."

Efren resisted the urge to pout. He barely even knew how to work a caf machine. A delivery boy he could be, but taking calls? Playing secretary? It sounded monstrously boring and disgustingly sad. He wanted to be on the catwalk. A model, or stylist, or something like that.

"Oh, whatever," he said. "I'm adaptable. Ya hear what she said about me? She thinks I'm confident. Pretty enough not to need training, either." He nudged Jayce with one elbow. "But hey, man. Lucky you. You got assigned to the beauty department. Maybe next time I see ya, you'll be drenched in blush and mismatched foundation. Who knows, maybe we'll even have matching hair dye?"

His laugh was almost taunting before he turned towards the break room, expecting them to part ways. "Nah, you can leave it up to me to find our Sith. Hell, if Madame Wyntur takes her caf black, she's definitely the one we're looking for."

Jayce Rotsu​

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[Jayce Rotsu]

Adaptable, huh? Jayce arched an amused brow. I suppose we'll see about that.

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" he said. His victory with Es'tella had emboldened him. "Well, sorry, Rizz master. I have no intention of getting prettied up for you." Jayce turned back towards the beauty department. Quietly, he was terrified about what waited for him there; and he didn't have the first clue how he was going to find a hidden Sith there. But he wasn't going to let that dampen his mood. Not yet. Not while Efren could see. "Now, I believe the boss wanted a new cup of caf. You'd best be off."

He waved as he departed, but found setting himself to the task at hand to be... somewhat impossible. He found the beauty department easily enough. The entire chamber—because calling it a room felt diminutive—was a giant closet. Jayce counted dozens of rows stacked on top of each other, each so full of clothes he couldn't guess how they made it all fit. Every boot, every shoe, every belt or purse a being could want was there. It was like looking at the Jedi Archives of fashion.

What the hell did they even use all of these clothes for?

Suddenly, Jayce realized how lucky he was. Sith had a certain style to them. Symbols and brands only they would recognize. There might be proof, then, in plain sight, if he was willing to look hard enough for it. But there were people buzzing around. Dozens, rushing between the aisles, some carrying piles of clothing several heads taller than themselves. He needed to duck them for a moment to get his bearings.

Then, the hunt could begin. He chuckled imagining at what Efren could possible do to aid their hunt from the break room.

Efren Rizal​

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