Chapter 83: The Pilot Episode
It had been a long but productive day at the defense hall. Between that and all the well-intentioned yet profoundly obnoxious neighborhood women bringing them food after Candy’s bathhouse incident got out, Candy felt she’d earned some relaxation time. Currently, she found herself stretched out across the sofa, one leg draped over the armrest, the other stretched long along the cushions, bare skin catching the lamplight as she absently sipped tea while the scry crystal projected The Gilded Gaggle across the sitting room.
She’d changed into her Ministry-issued evening teddy after dinner. It was pale green with white lace around the neckline and considerably less fabric than she’d have preferred, leaving her legs almost entirely bare, the thin material hugging her midriff and dipping low enough to show more cleavage than she found comfortable. Her breasts were so naturally, or magically if one were to be fully accurate, perky that she didn’t even need her apparel to lift them. The one plus she’d discovered though was that boobs were hot, physically, and cleavage helped air them out. Boob sweat was real.
At any rate, it seemed Paddlewick believed wives should spend the day dressed like nuns and the evening dressed for their husbands’ appreciation. She still thought the contrast was ridiculous. Marcus had once explained the reasoning behind that law. Candy had replied that whoever wrote that law had probably owned a lace company.
“Oh my gods!” She squealed, forgetting herself. It was the long-lost pilot episode! She’d heard rumors about it. Well, technically it wasn’t lost. It only aired in Paddlewick once. After that it’d been banned. How was this on now?! She grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume as the film danced across the surface of the magic mirror.
The Gilded Gaggle Episode One: “Blow Jobs (Our Producer Insisted)”
The crystal resolved from swirling colors into an elaborate studio decorated in polished oak, velvet curtains, and brass goose statues. A live audience applauded as enchanted lights swept across the stage. A cheerful theme song played while the show’s logo spun into view.
THE GILDED GAGGLE
Three Kingdoms. Four Opinions. One Very Concerned Producer."
The applause grew louder. The camera floated across the panel.
Sylvie Caprine-Moo, hucow and Velvet-Tailwind native, leaned comfortably back in her chair, soft cow ears occasionally twitching, her enormous milk filled teats straining her blouse while her boots rested where they absolutely weren’t supposed to be, on the table in front of her.
Marionette Bellchime of Bellefemme smiled elegantly behind an ivory lace fan.
Penny Spankswell of Paddlewick sat with perfect posture, hands folded neatly in her lap, smiling and waving enthusiastically at the audience.
Fiona Threadwrite from Cleavendale Capital was already rubbing her temples.
A magical title card shimmered beneath them:
"Live from Velvet Tailwind, Cleavendale!
TONIGHT’S TOPIC:Blow Jobs (Our Producer Insisted)"
The audience erupted into whistles and laughter. Sylvie slowly looked toward the ceiling.
“…Let’s be perfectly clear.” She pointed somewhere off camera. “Our dear producer—yes, you, Gustav!—is the one who insisted this be our very first episode.” The audience laughed. “So if anyone writes angry letters, address them to him.”
A tiny crystal in the corner flashed.
"Producer’s Note:Please stop encouraging that."
More laughter. Marionette unfolded her fan with theatrical grace.
“Oh, darling, there are two kinds of people in Bellefemme. Those who proudly know their way around a proper blow…” She smiled sweetly. “…and those who pretend they don’t.”
The audience applauded. Penny blinked.
“Oh! You mean glassblowing? My uncle does that! He makes beautiful flower vases. He says the key is in the lips—”
Sylvie threw up both hands. “Nope.” She leaned across the table. “No, no, no. You don’t want to finish that sentence.”
The audience burst into laughter. Penny looked genuinely confused. “…I don’t?”
“No.”
“Was I close?”
“Worryingly, yes and no.”
Fiona sighed. “I cannot believe this is our first topic. This show’s never going to make it off the ground.” She looked directly into the camera. “Cleavendale. Bellefemme. Paddlewick. We have an entire world full of fascinating history, magical discoveries, political intrigue, and cultural traditions…” She gestured at the glowing title behind them. “And somehow we landed here.”
A fresh wave of applause thundered on. A crystal bell chimed. The logo spun into one corner.
"LIVE CALLER"
The center crystal rippled before revealing Lady Coriander Canklewick smiling brightly from her sitting room.
“Oh, what fun! I do love a good topic about hard jobs! My husband always says a job well done is what keeps a marriage strong.”
Penny nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, absolutely! That’s why Paddlewick wives always—”
Sylvie lunged across the table and clamped both hands over Penny’s mouth. “I SWEAR TO DEMI-GODDESS AREOLA, YOU STOP RIGHT THERE.”
The audience roared. Marionette calmly sipped enchanted champagne out of a flute that had rainbow colors rolling across it. Not as a colorful turn of phrase, the glass was enchanted to literally do just that.
“Oh, darling, let her continue.” She smiled wickedly. “I adore hearing about domestic traditions.”
Fiona closed her notebook. “I already hate all of you.”
Another explosion of laughter. The magical call board lit up.
"CALLS WAITING: 147"
One crystal after another began flashing. A baker from Cleavendale. An heiress from Bellefemme. A fisherman from the Floatsome Isles. A treacle minor from Plumpudding. Three Paddlewick wives calling from the same parlor. Someone identifying themselves only as “Definitely not a Dryad.”
A stagehand hurried out carrying a silver bucket packed with enchanted ice.
“Oh no,” Fiona muttered. “Not the demonstration.”
Marrienette grinned.
“Oh yes.”
The audience applauded as four brightly colored fruit pops were handed to the hostesses. A magical graphic shimmered into the corner.
"Producer’s Educational Demonstration #1: Cold Things: Easier Than Hot Soup.”
Fiona glanced at it. “Well, what the hells wouldn’t be?”
Marionette accepted hers with a graceful smile. “My, Gustav. Practical education already?”
Penny’s face lit up. “Ooh! Popsicles!”
She happily gave hers a long, slow lick, her tongue starting at the base and slowly sliding upward. When she reached the tip she swirled her tongue lightly around II. Sylvie stared .
“Uh... Penny.”
“Mm?”
“…how do you know how to lick it like that?”
Penny looked at her for a moment, then burst into an utterly genuine fit of giggles.
“You are so funny!” The audience chuckled immediately. Sylvie frowned.
“…What?”
Penny tried to answer but laughed again. “I’m sorry.” She covered her mouth. “It’s just…” She looked at the other two hostesses. “She's asking why I’m licking a popsicle!” The audience erupted. Penny shook her head, still smiling. “Well… because it’s a popsicle!” She laughed again as though that explained absolutely everything. "In Paddlewick that’s just how all girls eat them.” She tilted her head at Sylvie. “...How do you eat popsicles?”
Sylvie opened her mouth, but words were slow to come, her face contorting from horror and humor all at once.
“…I… like a normal person!”
Marionette quietly hid behind her lace fan. “Oh my.”
Fiona slowly removed her spectacles. “I don’t believe this conversation is going where Gustav intended.”
Somewhere behind the cameras came the sound of a man gently hitting his forehead against a wall.
Penny looked around, confused by everyone’s reactions. “…What?”
“You’ve never questioned it?” Sylvie asked, pointing at her popsicle.
“Questioned what?”
“…Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why that way?”
Penny shrugged. “I just thought everyone licked popsicles. Do you not lick popsicles?”
“What? I mean, I do, but not like that!”
“Is it a therian thing to not lick popsicles?”
“Oh for-” Sylvie face-palmed.
“Well we Bellefemme women do,” Marionette cut in, moving the group past Penny’s social faux pas. “And our men. And our, well, every in-between and outside gender! I know I certainly do, though sometimes you have to eat a little more quickly. Like this.” She proceeded to take the popsicle deep into her throat, right down to its stick.
Sylve groaned, Fiona raised an eyebrow, and Penny smiled innocently while applauding her. The audience followed suite and broke into another round of applause as the magical call board lit up.
"CALLS WAITING: 314"
Fiona sighed.
“…Congratulations, Gustav. “You’ve accidentally started an international argument about frozen fruit eating.”
From there the discussion dissolved into interruptions, laughter, regional arguments, and wildly contradictory advice as every kingdom insisted their customs were obviously the sensible ones
Producer Gustav’s increasingly frantic notes flashed briefly across the bottom of the screen before disappearing almost immediately.
"Please stay on topic!"
Nobody did. Penny innocently wandered into conversational landmines every few minutes.Sylvie rescued her with sarcasm that, mostly, wasn’t pointed at her. Marionette encouraged absolute chaos and Fiona periodically attempted to restore order with facts before giving up entirely.
As the closing music began, Gustav’s exhausted voice echoed from somewhere behind the cameras.
“We were supposed to be educational!”
Sylvie gawked. “How was THIS supposed to be educational?”
“It was the network’s idea! But uh, Sex Ed can be educational! It’s right in the name! You learn things!”
Sylvie grinned at the audience. “Well, today we learned that Gustav was wrong.”
The audience leapt to its feet in applause. A polished announcer’s voice took over.
“Tonight’s episode of The Gilded Gaggle was brought to you by Velvet Tailwind Corsetry. Because confidence never goes out of style.”
The credits rolled beside bloopers of the hostesses continuing to argue while Gustav buried his face in both hands.
NEXT WEEK ON THE GILDED GAGGLE…
- Areola Olympienne: Divine Intervention or Fashion Disaster?
- The Royal Courtship Scandals: Who’s Getting Spanked in Paddlewick This Week?
- Therian Boody Calls Gone Wrong—When a Tail Is Too Much Tail.
- Boubourg’s Runaway Trousers: A Metaphor for Modern Dating?
- The Ghostly Stock Exchange: Your Futures are Haunted.
The show’s credits were rolling on when the front door exploded inward. Candy nearly dropped her tea. For a second she simply stared. Marcus stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. Candy set her cup down slowly.
“Marcus?”
“Candy.”
“Why’d you kick the door in?!”
Marcus glanced over his shoulder.
“No time!”
“Huh?”
He ignored her and crossed the room. There was something odd about the way he moved. Not aggressive or angry, but with swagger. He stopped in front of her, letting his eyes roll over her body, her legs, her breasts, her exposed middrift in her teddy.
Candy leaned back slightly.
“You’re… what’s wrong with you?.”
“I’ve got something important to discuss.”
“Is it door repair?”
“No.”
“It should be!”
“That can wait.” That wasn’t a Marcus answer for any number of reasons. Candy frowned. Then she noticed the bulge inMarcus’ pants. He offered her a hand. “Come on.”
“What? Where?!”
“Upstairs.”
“Why?”
“I think you know why.”
Candy's stomach lurched. What the hells had gotten into him? … Wait. He’d mentioned he’d try to get a potion to help him with whatever the ministry thought consummating the marriage meant, but that was for tomorrow's trip to the mage, after the zoo… gods did the dummy somehow take one already? When did he even…?
Off in the distance, as if to reflect the mood, the tip of Mount Belt in Beltforge began to glow red with magma.
To be continued…