"It's Friday night and we're at the dress rehearsal. Helen said if you vote us through this week she'd do a handstand on InstaLive on Monday. So vote for us!" Nikola beams at the camera, eyes bright and alert.
"I never said that!" Helen faux complains, looking at him then the camera. Her hair is in curlers, show make up already on. "But vote for us, please." She winks. "We might even get Nikola to show us his tutu again."
They wave, hands in front of their faces.
Kate's head met her desk. "What the hell crap you pulling on me now, Magnus?" She knew the doc and Tesla were doing videos for social media, but winking like that? Mentioning his tutu?
Wait. Maybe she could do something with that. Hashtag TeslasTutu? crossed her mind. Shaking her head, she brought up her Twitter feed. The video had only been up twenty minutes but already there was an uptick in TeamTeslen tweets, as well as the aptly named HelensHandstand hastag. With an odd, almost sinking feeling, Kate moved onto the Instagram feed. The comments there were usually brutal, and not something Kate liked reading. The only saving grace was that Tesla had disabled comments on his video. Scrolling through the activity feed, the likes on Magnus' three pictures were up, as well as an influx of comments on the most recent.
They weren't all bad Thank God and Kate didn't even need to use the ban hammer, the TeamTeslen fangirls dogpiling on any negative comment. Memo to self: keep an eye on the fangirls.
Maybe they wouldn't get voted through?
Her phone pinged. A video, from Magnus. There, in Kate's hand, was footage of their Quickstep, recorded by God knows who. The video itself was juddery, but the dancing? The moved like a school of fish: fast and effortless, swerving this way and that, all in perfect synchronisation.
Kate knew, right there and then, come Monday morning, Magnus would be upside down on her hands, Tesla would be giggling away in his tutu, and Kate herself would be running even more interference regarding their personal affairs. "Should've stayed with the footballers' wives," she muttered, tapping away at the keyboard. "Way less complicated."