[log] Halibel, Vicki Vale
Title: Holy Things, Unholy Thoughts
Characters: Halibel imladra, Vicki Vale some_scribbles
Timeline: July 27th, 1949
Rating: G
Summary: Vicki's luck shows true in more ways than one as the wind plays with Halibel's scarf.
Halibel usually gave no more thought to her scarves than she did to the colour of her eyes or her hair. She had spent so many years behind one each day that arranging them was completely automatic. As a result, when she took her hands away one morning and her scarf slipped, she frowned and paused. Just a tiny slip, a slight shifting. Halibel studied her reflection. No eyes but her own would notice the difference. She glanced into her closet, at the rows of scarves hanging carefully in exact order. None of them would match her outfit as precisely as the new one currently draped around her throat, and it wouldn’t do for her appearance to be anything less than just right. She would keep it.
The day was kept from being too warm by the wind, which blew her skirt around her legs and occasionally swept her hair forward to hang over her shoulders. Halibel ignored it as she walked, thinking instead of all she planned to do during the day. Place orders. Change the window display. Meet for a business lunch. Leave the shop early to deal with a small problem and then place a couple of phone calls before returning home. Nothing particularly taxing.
As she headed down Amsterdam Avenue, her train of thought slowly passed from her to-do list to the church she would soon be walking past. St. John the Divine. Some would call it beautiful. Some would call it a refuge.
Neither of those words occurred to Halibel.
She didn’t believe in life ever-lasting, she didn’t believe in the words that came from the church. Halibel believed in what she had and did now, alive. All that she did was for one man - one who she could see, who she could hear, and most importantly - who had given her purpose. Halibel needed no church to serve him.
You would think that Vicki would be tired of taking photographs - after all, it was a major part of her job. But Vicki lived and breathed behind the lens of her camera; she never felt so alive as when she was catching a new perspective or a trick of the light on film.
So it wasn’t for practice that she was strolling the streets of the Big Apple with her lens cap off, it was because she had some free time. She took pictures of whatever caught her eye; architecture, flowers, people…
Because New York City did have some of the best architecture in the world. And it did have some of the most interesting people. And it looked like she just might get a chance to catch a little bit of both. That was the mysterious philanthropist Halibel walking down the street, her trademark scarf in place.
The doll was striking, a real babe, with great cheekbones--all the right combinations for a great shot. Vicki shamelessly moved into place to get the shot, crouching down by a tree off the sidewalk, so she’d get it just as Halibel moved by the door so she could catch that hint of a pattern in the background.
Halibel’s eyes were drawn to the church as she walked. It looked solid and strong - qualities she could appreciate. Despite its stable appearance, however, she knew it offered those inside no real protection. She had killed countless men who had called for God, who had told her she would burn in hell. Their words didn’t bother her. She didn’t believe in heaven or hell.
Of course, if there was no hell, then sins wouldn’t be paid for after you died…which is why she made certain people paid for them before they died.
Trespass, betrayal, failure, interference, weakness…she dealt with them all. Punished for them all. The thought of how she did so and why caused her to smile, the memories leaving their cold, dead mark on her face. Those moments were truly hers, those moments were why she existed. They were beautiful.
At that moment, the wind picked up and caught her scarf, tugging it free. It was swept up in an instant, leaving her face open to the world. The scarf was trailing behind her before she could even register what had happened. It was unthinkable. Halibel was frozen for what felt like an eternity but what was surely no more than a few seconds. She then reached up and snatched the end of the scarf out of the air, bringing it back across her face to cover her mouth. Her smile was gone, quickly erased by the chance any eyes were on her to see it.
Halibel fastened the end of the scarf tightly, irritated that she had kept it on this morning after its first transgression. It would never be worn again after this.
Perfect. Vicki zoomed in to take the shot - first a close up of her face, and then a distance shot - and caught her breath when just as she clicked to take the shot a gust of wind blew Halibel’s scarf away from her face.
She’d always known she was lucky with her pictures but this was something she’d found completely unexpected. Quickly, Vicki refocused and took another picture - careful, don’t lose the light, wait one second and - there. Perfect. That picture, she just knew, even as Halibel - Halibel - readjust the scarf around her face with an annoyed expression, would be a keeper. She couldn’t wait to go home and develop it.
She was also keen on avoiding the confrontation between the wealthy woman and herself. A Jane didn’t go through that trouble to remain mysterious to hand out free pictures of herself to the press. The rush of a good shot, of a story, adrenalized her and made it difficult to stand casually and cross the street, but Vicki managed.
Running through the rest of the film on the way home would be eggs in coffee. Smiling, Vicki began to walk towards her apartment.
After ensuring the scarf was not going to pull free again, Halibel quickly looked around. Aside from a woman across the street and a couple of men ahead of her on the sidewalk, there was hardly anyone else around. She couldn’t be certain no one had seen her, but the chances were good they hadn’t… Halibel thought she would have most likely been on the receiving end of a terrified look or two if they had.
She started walking again, putting distance between herself and the moment. She decided to pick out a new scarf once she was at the shop, and that was all the thought she gave to the matter.
Back at her apartment, Vicki was sequestered in her private dark room. She placed the paper into the fixer, prodding at it carefully with her tongs until an imagine began to appear. This was the one, the close up of Halibel’s face just as the wind had chosen to blow her scarf away. Under the red light, Vicki was able to make out the expression on the woman’s face, and her fingers tightened on the tongs.
Halibel was smiling. Her face, far from disfigured, was cold. Her smile was as cruel as it was delighted. It was a harsh, cold face, and the eyes gleamed with an unholy internal light. And that smile… lips spread wide, teeth bared in almost unnatural enthusiasm…
A fragment of something she’d read once surfaced in her mind, 'The gaping maw of death smiles.'
Vicki was suddenly very glad that Halibel did not know she had taken that picture.
Characters: Halibel imladra, Vicki Vale some_scribbles
Timeline: July 27th, 1949
Rating: G
Summary: Vicki's luck shows true in more ways than one as the wind plays with Halibel's scarf.
Halibel usually gave no more thought to her scarves than she did to the colour of her eyes or her hair. She had spent so many years behind one each day that arranging them was completely automatic. As a result, when she took her hands away one morning and her scarf slipped, she frowned and paused. Just a tiny slip, a slight shifting. Halibel studied her reflection. No eyes but her own would notice the difference. She glanced into her closet, at the rows of scarves hanging carefully in exact order. None of them would match her outfit as precisely as the new one currently draped around her throat, and it wouldn’t do for her appearance to be anything less than just right. She would keep it.
The day was kept from being too warm by the wind, which blew her skirt around her legs and occasionally swept her hair forward to hang over her shoulders. Halibel ignored it as she walked, thinking instead of all she planned to do during the day. Place orders. Change the window display. Meet for a business lunch. Leave the shop early to deal with a small problem and then place a couple of phone calls before returning home. Nothing particularly taxing.
As she headed down Amsterdam Avenue, her train of thought slowly passed from her to-do list to the church she would soon be walking past. St. John the Divine. Some would call it beautiful. Some would call it a refuge.
Neither of those words occurred to Halibel.
She didn’t believe in life ever-lasting, she didn’t believe in the words that came from the church. Halibel believed in what she had and did now, alive. All that she did was for one man - one who she could see, who she could hear, and most importantly - who had given her purpose. Halibel needed no church to serve him.
You would think that Vicki would be tired of taking photographs - after all, it was a major part of her job. But Vicki lived and breathed behind the lens of her camera; she never felt so alive as when she was catching a new perspective or a trick of the light on film.
So it wasn’t for practice that she was strolling the streets of the Big Apple with her lens cap off, it was because she had some free time. She took pictures of whatever caught her eye; architecture, flowers, people…
Because New York City did have some of the best architecture in the world. And it did have some of the most interesting people. And it looked like she just might get a chance to catch a little bit of both. That was the mysterious philanthropist Halibel walking down the street, her trademark scarf in place.
The doll was striking, a real babe, with great cheekbones--all the right combinations for a great shot. Vicki shamelessly moved into place to get the shot, crouching down by a tree off the sidewalk, so she’d get it just as Halibel moved by the door so she could catch that hint of a pattern in the background.
Halibel’s eyes were drawn to the church as she walked. It looked solid and strong - qualities she could appreciate. Despite its stable appearance, however, she knew it offered those inside no real protection. She had killed countless men who had called for God, who had told her she would burn in hell. Their words didn’t bother her. She didn’t believe in heaven or hell.
Of course, if there was no hell, then sins wouldn’t be paid for after you died…which is why she made certain people paid for them before they died.
Trespass, betrayal, failure, interference, weakness…she dealt with them all. Punished for them all. The thought of how she did so and why caused her to smile, the memories leaving their cold, dead mark on her face. Those moments were truly hers, those moments were why she existed. They were beautiful.
At that moment, the wind picked up and caught her scarf, tugging it free. It was swept up in an instant, leaving her face open to the world. The scarf was trailing behind her before she could even register what had happened. It was unthinkable. Halibel was frozen for what felt like an eternity but what was surely no more than a few seconds. She then reached up and snatched the end of the scarf out of the air, bringing it back across her face to cover her mouth. Her smile was gone, quickly erased by the chance any eyes were on her to see it.
Halibel fastened the end of the scarf tightly, irritated that she had kept it on this morning after its first transgression. It would never be worn again after this.
Perfect. Vicki zoomed in to take the shot - first a close up of her face, and then a distance shot - and caught her breath when just as she clicked to take the shot a gust of wind blew Halibel’s scarf away from her face.
She’d always known she was lucky with her pictures but this was something she’d found completely unexpected. Quickly, Vicki refocused and took another picture - careful, don’t lose the light, wait one second and - there. Perfect. That picture, she just knew, even as Halibel - Halibel - readjust the scarf around her face with an annoyed expression, would be a keeper. She couldn’t wait to go home and develop it.
She was also keen on avoiding the confrontation between the wealthy woman and herself. A Jane didn’t go through that trouble to remain mysterious to hand out free pictures of herself to the press. The rush of a good shot, of a story, adrenalized her and made it difficult to stand casually and cross the street, but Vicki managed.
Running through the rest of the film on the way home would be eggs in coffee. Smiling, Vicki began to walk towards her apartment.
After ensuring the scarf was not going to pull free again, Halibel quickly looked around. Aside from a woman across the street and a couple of men ahead of her on the sidewalk, there was hardly anyone else around. She couldn’t be certain no one had seen her, but the chances were good they hadn’t… Halibel thought she would have most likely been on the receiving end of a terrified look or two if they had.
She started walking again, putting distance between herself and the moment. She decided to pick out a new scarf once she was at the shop, and that was all the thought she gave to the matter.
Back at her apartment, Vicki was sequestered in her private dark room. She placed the paper into the fixer, prodding at it carefully with her tongs until an imagine began to appear. This was the one, the close up of Halibel’s face just as the wind had chosen to blow her scarf away. Under the red light, Vicki was able to make out the expression on the woman’s face, and her fingers tightened on the tongs.
Halibel was smiling. Her face, far from disfigured, was cold. Her smile was as cruel as it was delighted. It was a harsh, cold face, and the eyes gleamed with an unholy internal light. And that smile… lips spread wide, teeth bared in almost unnatural enthusiasm…
A fragment of something she’d read once surfaced in her mind, 'The gaping maw of death smiles.'
Vicki was suddenly very glad that Halibel did not know she had taken that picture.