Perigee
An entry for LJ Idol, season 8, week 8: "A traveling travesty." First in a series.
It wasn’t as hard as she’d thought it would be. Once she’d made some adjustments - brighter makeup, bigger jewelry, and of course shorter hemlines and higher heels - the rest was child’s play.
Well. Child’s play at home, not here. Here, children could barely speak before their third year, much less craft a perfect glamour.
And that she’d done. Slimming the right lines of the figure, expanding others. Going against the obvious to darken the hair to a gleaming brown-black, tone the warm peach skin to cool ivory. She’d decided against changing the height to enhance the desired effect.
That effect? Perhaps her best work yet. There were two or three famous actresses swirled into the facial features, the voice, the mannerisms. The mix of well-known beauties added a whiff of mystery - while just the right individuals would quickly recognize the base note...though she would make them struggle to put their finger on it.
She tossed the waterfall of hair over a shoulder, trailed a perfume stopper across the pulse in the neck. The cacophony of jewels didn’t make a sound as she stepped back to admire the reflection.
“My dear,” she whispered, a smile cold as ice crossing the lips, “you have outdone yourself.”
She reached for one last bauble - a silver bracelet set with a large opal - and fixed it to the wrist. The stone pulsed with warmth from within, and she caressed it gently.
A hum in the ears was scarcely an annoyance to her by now. She ignored it, slipping a clutch around the wrist as she made her way out the door.
~~~
The buzz in Sam’s ears never seemed to go away in one of these places. The world’s most reliable wingman, he thought wryly, and wondered again why he never brought earplugs - it wasn’t as if they would decrease his ability to hear.
“Slim pickins tonight, man,” hollered Brett, even more loudly than he absolutely had to. “We should find a better hunting ground.”
For fuck’s sake, Sam thought. I’m too old for this. Club 3009 was one of the less problematic nightspots on Brett’s list - but following his little brother on the nightly search was preferable to the 3:30 am phone calls from the side of the road, lockup, or the long end of some dude’s fist.
Sam agreed, at least, that they should find somewhere less objectionable. “I can’t even think in here!” he shouted toward Brett’s ear.
Brett cocked his head slightly - in a way that reminded him of a chicken considering a piece of corn - then grinned and nodded. “You’re right. They do have better drinks in here. Be right back.”
Stellar, Sam thought, turning to watch his brother trot toward the bar.
Then the next thing he saw stopped them both in their tracks.
The dark-haired woman was a type, though Sam wasn’t sure which one. She was dressed in a higher-class version of short, tight, and revealing - a little less skin, a lot less spandex. The jewelry, the makeup, the manicure - all a perfect image of rich-girl clubwear, but somehow - not quite the same.
She was gorgeous, no doubt. And familiar. Like that girl in the new TV show? Or maybe someone from an old job. Sam was intrigued, but her cool expression told him she was here with something on her mind.
In any case, Brett was staring at her, agape - which made him grin in spite of himself. Reeeeeal smooth, cowboy. Sam wouldn’t rescue him this early, not with such great potential for his brother making an ass of himself - harmlessly. He sensed that the dark-haired woman could take care of herself.
Brett finally managed to close his mouth and reaffix a smarmy grin across his features. The woman looked up to watch him approach; Sam was waiting for the inevitable eye roll and half-polite smile Brett usually got.
It didn’t come. To his surprise, the woman’s shoulders dropped, and one of her stiletto-clad feet slid ever so slightly to the side. A tiny smile played at her lips, and her eyes looked away, then back, then away.
That didn’t add up. Any woman even in the neighborhood of being a class act could see his brother coming from a mile away; the bolder ones would brush him off at 20 paces with a wag of a finger.
So why did this one look pleased at Brett’s approach?
He reached her quickly, started speaking, laid a hand across his chest, then gestured in her direction. This was Sincere and Sensitive, Brett’s method for introducing himself to the wallflower friend or the recently-dumped brainy girl. The dark-haired woman, comfortably holding a glass of white wine, spoke briefly and smiled a bit more warmly.
Step two in 3...2...1...
Brett leaned forward, spoke a sentence or two, and directed a slight glance toward him. Too damn predictable, tiger, Sam thought with a smirk. That was his cue to meander over and provide his comforting, sensible-older-brother presence.
But something about her. Something played at his memory, almost as annoying as the damn house music. She turned her gaze Sam’s direction, and his sight went watery for a split second. Who...where?
He shook it off, smiling politely as he edged toward the bar. Just as quickly, another fleeting thought ran through his head: the closer he got, the more beautiful she was. Bright green eyes, perfect silky skin, and an undercurrent of something...magnetic.
Sam had all but forgotten about Brett until he felt the clap on his back. “Sam! Brother!” he shouted, gesturing grandly. “I would like to introduce you to my lovely new friend.”
Following his lead, Sam nodded, hands in his pockets. “It’s a pleasure,” he said, but his mind reeled with - confusion? recognition? déjà vu? - as he searched her face.
If Sam was taken aback when she extended her hand, he was nearly floored when he took it. Suddenly he wasn’t sure he wanted to let Brett anywhere near her.
But was it to protect his little brother from harm? Or to keep her all for himself?
Then she spoke, and he knew. Or thought he did.
"Hello, Sam. I'm Elara."
It wasn’t as hard as she’d thought it would be. Once she’d made some adjustments - brighter makeup, bigger jewelry, and of course shorter hemlines and higher heels - the rest was child’s play.
Well. Child’s play at home, not here. Here, children could barely speak before their third year, much less craft a perfect glamour.
And that she’d done. Slimming the right lines of the figure, expanding others. Going against the obvious to darken the hair to a gleaming brown-black, tone the warm peach skin to cool ivory. She’d decided against changing the height to enhance the desired effect.
That effect? Perhaps her best work yet. There were two or three famous actresses swirled into the facial features, the voice, the mannerisms. The mix of well-known beauties added a whiff of mystery - while just the right individuals would quickly recognize the base note...though she would make them struggle to put their finger on it.
She tossed the waterfall of hair over a shoulder, trailed a perfume stopper across the pulse in the neck. The cacophony of jewels didn’t make a sound as she stepped back to admire the reflection.
“My dear,” she whispered, a smile cold as ice crossing the lips, “you have outdone yourself.”
She reached for one last bauble - a silver bracelet set with a large opal - and fixed it to the wrist. The stone pulsed with warmth from within, and she caressed it gently.
A hum in the ears was scarcely an annoyance to her by now. She ignored it, slipping a clutch around the wrist as she made her way out the door.
~~~
The buzz in Sam’s ears never seemed to go away in one of these places. The world’s most reliable wingman, he thought wryly, and wondered again why he never brought earplugs - it wasn’t as if they would decrease his ability to hear.
“Slim pickins tonight, man,” hollered Brett, even more loudly than he absolutely had to. “We should find a better hunting ground.”
For fuck’s sake, Sam thought. I’m too old for this. Club 3009 was one of the less problematic nightspots on Brett’s list - but following his little brother on the nightly search was preferable to the 3:30 am phone calls from the side of the road, lockup, or the long end of some dude’s fist.
Sam agreed, at least, that they should find somewhere less objectionable. “I can’t even think in here!” he shouted toward Brett’s ear.
Brett cocked his head slightly - in a way that reminded him of a chicken considering a piece of corn - then grinned and nodded. “You’re right. They do have better drinks in here. Be right back.”
Stellar, Sam thought, turning to watch his brother trot toward the bar.
Then the next thing he saw stopped them both in their tracks.
The dark-haired woman was a type, though Sam wasn’t sure which one. She was dressed in a higher-class version of short, tight, and revealing - a little less skin, a lot less spandex. The jewelry, the makeup, the manicure - all a perfect image of rich-girl clubwear, but somehow - not quite the same.
She was gorgeous, no doubt. And familiar. Like that girl in the new TV show? Or maybe someone from an old job. Sam was intrigued, but her cool expression told him she was here with something on her mind.
In any case, Brett was staring at her, agape - which made him grin in spite of himself. Reeeeeal smooth, cowboy. Sam wouldn’t rescue him this early, not with such great potential for his brother making an ass of himself - harmlessly. He sensed that the dark-haired woman could take care of herself.
Brett finally managed to close his mouth and reaffix a smarmy grin across his features. The woman looked up to watch him approach; Sam was waiting for the inevitable eye roll and half-polite smile Brett usually got.
It didn’t come. To his surprise, the woman’s shoulders dropped, and one of her stiletto-clad feet slid ever so slightly to the side. A tiny smile played at her lips, and her eyes looked away, then back, then away.
That didn’t add up. Any woman even in the neighborhood of being a class act could see his brother coming from a mile away; the bolder ones would brush him off at 20 paces with a wag of a finger.
So why did this one look pleased at Brett’s approach?
He reached her quickly, started speaking, laid a hand across his chest, then gestured in her direction. This was Sincere and Sensitive, Brett’s method for introducing himself to the wallflower friend or the recently-dumped brainy girl. The dark-haired woman, comfortably holding a glass of white wine, spoke briefly and smiled a bit more warmly.
Step two in 3...2...1...
Brett leaned forward, spoke a sentence or two, and directed a slight glance toward him. Too damn predictable, tiger, Sam thought with a smirk. That was his cue to meander over and provide his comforting, sensible-older-brother presence.
But something about her. Something played at his memory, almost as annoying as the damn house music. She turned her gaze Sam’s direction, and his sight went watery for a split second. Who...where?
He shook it off, smiling politely as he edged toward the bar. Just as quickly, another fleeting thought ran through his head: the closer he got, the more beautiful she was. Bright green eyes, perfect silky skin, and an undercurrent of something...magnetic.
Sam had all but forgotten about Brett until he felt the clap on his back. “Sam! Brother!” he shouted, gesturing grandly. “I would like to introduce you to my lovely new friend.”
Following his lead, Sam nodded, hands in his pockets. “It’s a pleasure,” he said, but his mind reeled with - confusion? recognition? déjà vu? - as he searched her face.
If Sam was taken aback when she extended her hand, he was nearly floored when he took it. Suddenly he wasn’t sure he wanted to let Brett anywhere near her.
But was it to protect his little brother from harm? Or to keep her all for himself?
Then she spoke, and he knew. Or thought he did.
"Hello, Sam. I'm Elara."