"Five motorcycles. A UFO frisbee. A semi-automatic toilet paper launcher. Need I go on?"
HP gave little sign that he even heard the reporter's droning, but Sanderson couldn't hold back a strained frown. They stood side-by-side behind two podiums – HP's being slightly taller, of course – with an ocean of reporters and various officials before them. It was the largest press conference HP had attended in his long career as ruler of the pixies' corporate empire, and that was certainly saying something.
"Not to mention," another reporter chimed in, "the excessive displays of emotion. Unruly smiling and... frowning." He squinted at Sanderson behind his sunglasses. The young assistant clenched his teeth and cast his gaze off to the side, unable to meet the reporter's eyes even through two layers of tinted plastic. Most of the others in the pit had discarded their sunglasses and reverted to the black-and-grey suits of the previous administration in a display of noncompliance. Even their hair was slicked back, in stark contrast with the pompadour trend Sanderson himself had set all those years ago.
If there was one thing that stood between HP and the popular vote, it was Sanderson himself. They both knew it, but neither of them was willing to get rid of him, and so it became a thing to work around over the decades. They had always succeeded before. This time, though, Sanderson was having his doubts.
HP, for his part, hovered behind his oh-so-tall podium, stolid as ever. He hadn't even broken a sweat.
"How are you going to answer for what you've done, Mister Head Pixie?" A higher voice called from the middle of the crowd. Everyone knew what they wanted.
Sanderson had been confirmed as having what the pixies called an "emotional defect" early on in HP's reign. It had been a point of contest for several years before HP had firmly slammed the door on the discussion and left the bolder reporters to sniff around the sidelines. While he could never function among humans or – Powers That Be forbid – fairies, Sanderson was still too emotional to fit in among his own kind. If not for his political skill, he would've been banished to wander between worlds for eternity or placed in a reclamation facility, instead of being taken in as HP's lead adviser and personal assistant. To this day, nobody but the two of them knew why HP had decided on Sanderson for the job.
But now, everyone was sick of him: the older generation was certain he'd influenced HP somehow and that was why the ruler's plans always failed; the younger generation figured HP for a sloppy leader and a potential emotional defective himself, and lampooned for his resignation and Sanderson's reclamation. Everyone else was varying shades of disgruntled. Public support for the current Head Pixie had plummeted after the failure of what was now being called "The Clown Plan".
And so, HP found himself before every important figure in the pixies' political body, being asked to answer for what he had done. That meant so many things it almost, almost made his head spin. Answer for the failed plan. Answer for the fun you had a direct hand in creating. Answer for your assistant's weakness. Answer for the rumors of your own weakness. Answer answer answer. It was mind-bogglingly infuriating, but HP kept his cool, as always. He noted Sanderson's discomfort out of the corner of his eye and felt something well up in his chest, something that had no name but "defective" and "unnatural" in pixie society, and he thought wryly for a moment that perhaps the rumors weren't so far off the mark.
Finally, HP spoke. The crowd collectively held its breath.
"What I did was for the furthering of Pixies Inc. Sacrifices were made. The plan failed because of the unpredictable nature of human emotion. And as for the allegations of unruly emotion..." lavender eyes practically burned a hole in the last reporter's head, "They are baseless. My only mistake was trusting in the ability of humans to be manipulated. The rest was the result of variables that could not be controlled."
The crowd roared, and HP hovered offstage, clearly finished discussing the issue for the day. Sanderson followed close behind as their hired guards closed in to protect them from the crowd. They arrived at Pixies Inc in one piece – just barely. The building was nearly empty. All employees had been sent home for the day in light of the current unrest. It wouldn't do to have dissidents lurking where the Head Pixie slept. The only ones who remained were the security guards and the janitors.
The door to the building's penthouse suite clicked shut softly and HP finally let down his guard. A tap of a button on the wall caused the suite's massive window to tint, so the crowds on the sidewalk below could see nothing. HP sat heavily in a cushioned chair and rubbed at his temples. Sanderson hovered anxiously by his side.
"It might get dangerous," the younger pixie said quietly.
HP offered no response, which Sanderson knew was his equivalent of a grim "I know". The two sat in their living room for several hours, saying nothing. They went to their rooms with the weight of the day on their shoulders.
...
The crash sounded at 2am Pixies Inc standard time, and HP woke instantly. Not bothering with the halls, he snatched his phone from its place on his bedside table and was about to "ping" to Sanderson's room, but the younger pixie beat him to the punch. One look told HP that his assistant hadn't slept. One look told Sanderson that it was time to go.
Before the flood of dissidents and revolutionaries that had been building up for two decades could enter through the shattered window, and before the hired guards could reach their charges, the two most powerful pixies in the multiverse had already "pinged" away, with their phones set to "untraceable".
And so the reign of the first lavender-eyed head pixie fell in a day and a night.