2014.01.19 - Man In The Mirror

LOOKER, Inc.! The most fabulously supernatural of all modeling agencies, and one of the most prominent in New York City besides. The building is sleek, the agency itself taking up an entire floor of a luxury high-rise. The receptionist is a wan, waifish girl named Bethany, who does not smile and has the eyes of either a sociopath or a catwalk model.

It's the kind of place that sets Keith's nerves on edge, like a mouse tap-dancing on the edge of a wet sink.

A boy from Morrisania who always lived on the flat side of the poverty line, the young hero feels intimidated by the sleekness of the building and the luxury of its surroundings. The only place he's ever been to that was as sleek as this was the League's headquarters... and only twice.

"Um, hello--" he says, giving the rather unnerving receptionist a smile which, for all of his nerves, has its fair bit of cheshire charm. "Excuse me... I was wondering how one might inquire into the possibilities of a... er, modeling job?"

Bethany presses her thin lips together.

From behind the closed door behind her, a whoop of triumph goes up. "Yes, Melanie! Yes, that's *perfect*." The ostentatious and flamboyant tones that could only come from a fashion photographer. "Spin for me, girl! SPIN!"

Bethany stares. "Why are you a cat?"

Keith looks at Bethany, blinking for a second, before his mind slips into his usual defensive repartee. He manages to stop the retort before it comes out of his lips ("I don't know, why are you a bitch?"). He takes a quick breath and says, "Because the smallest feline is a masterpiece?" A Leonardo DaVinci quote is better than outright offending the receptionist. Yes.

"...Right," Bethany says. Clearly that quote is somewhere outside her personal wheelhouse. She leans down to press the intercom. "Miz Briggs? There's like. A giant purple cat here to see you."

"Does he have an appointment?" crackles a voice through the line.

"I don't think so."

"Well, ASK!"

Bethany rolls her eyes. "Do you have an appointment?"

Rising an eyebrow, the cat says "Not quite. I came to enquire, as I said earlier. Gar Logan mentioned I should come by... but there aren't exactly information pamphlets 'round here. So I came to the are where the receptionist is, to ask for a reception--- from the latin receptio, to receive. I can't exactly say I have been reeived as much as held at bay and glared at."

"Mmmk." Bethany hits the intercom again. "Miz Briggs? He says Mr. Logan sent him."

"Well for god's sake then, Bethany, send him in!"

"I just don't see what he could like, model for," Bethany says, eyeing Keith again. "Like maybe Meow Mix."

"That's why you're a receptionist and my name is on the door. Send him in." Click.

Bethany rolls her eyes so high they all but touch the sky. "Go ahead then, I GUESS."

Keith smirks and looks at Bethany. Suddenly, he looks exactly like her. Except with several improvements-- those little imperfections, however small, that kept her from being a Top Talent. And much better hair, too. "Gee, thank you, I GUESS," she says, giving Bethany a soft smile and a mixture of disdain and amusement that would make Audrey Hepburn weep. She walks away from Bethany after a toss of her hair, and slinks towards Looker's office.

~That wasn't very nice.~

~Let her have a taste of her own medicine. Let someone look down her for once. THAT wasn't very nice of her.~

The abject horror on Bethany's face is left behind in the reception area with the click of the door.

The open area beyond is a giant hallway with open air studios on either side; in the left one, a photographer is shooting new comp card stills for a girl who is presumably named Melanie.

Lia Briggs's office is at the end of the hall -- the door is open, and her phone conversation is audible. "Well, TELL Naomi that I want to be billed ahead of Lydia. What the fuck has Lydia done lately, anyhow?"

Tough cookie, Keith thinks. He dismisses the illusion as he comes near the door, and stops a distance away, hands in his pockets. He is visible enough for Lia to call for him when she's ready to see him, but just enough out of the way not to impose himself.

~Nevermind that everything in this industry is about imposing onselef.~

"Oh, Marie Claire, big fuckin whoop. I did Marie Claire ten times before I was twenty. Marie Claire is a joke." Lia Briggs looks even better than she did at her peak some years back -- being a vampire has done wonders in eliminating any signs of aging from her complexion. She's wearing a black dress with a gold statement necklace, her long red hair tied in an elaborate updo. "Yes, I REALIZE I haven't done them lately. If you forgot, Bowen, I can't be PHOTOGRAPHED."

Some chatter on the other end of the phone, and she shakes her head. "Look, I'm already doing that Investigation Discovery thing. If you want me judging on this too I need billing ahead of Lydia. Naomi can have top billing, I don't have a problem with that." More grousing on the line. "That's that, Bowen! Take it or leave it." The receiver slams down onto the phone, and Lia lights a cigarette. "Come in, Felix."

"I highly doubt Felix has these guns, ma'am." Keith says, walking in with his arms crossed over his chest. Perhaps showing off a little... but that run in with the Secretary of the Dead left him wanting to puff up his chest a little bit.

Lia looks faintly amused. She takes a long drag from her cigarette, seemingly not considering the fact that vampires are supposed to go up like newspaper if you spark on them. Maybe it's been overstated. "I think you're right, there, kiddo." She leans back in her chair. "So. Why are you here? What are you trying to do? I can't say I'll get you on the cover of anything with that mug, cute as it is."

"I figured. I guess I subconsciously came here to prove Gar wrong, in a way." The young man looks at Lia.

~I remember watching 'The Devil Wears Prada'. I wonder if she eats the tears of the unborn for breakfast.~

~She's probably very nice. Not every fashion person is an evil homunculus bent on the subjugation of others until they're hollow shells~

~I guess. Meryl Streep sort of stays with you.~

"Your time is pretty valuable, I'd hate to waste it."

~For all of Gar's speeches, he is wrong, though. There -is- an 'us' and 'them'... those of us who look like us... and 'them'.~

~Yeah, but you didn't tell him that when he was giving you the Inspirational Speech, did you?~

~... and upset him?~

"You need any delivery boys or whatever? I can teleport."

"Teleporting is good, definitely. I can always use more handy boys around here." Lia leans forward a bit, smoke roiling from the end of her cigarette. "Do you look like this all the time? I could probably sell you for some art shoots, but when you're an unknown the problem is you've got to blend."

"Put away the Joker and you're an unknown. I guess I should hang around more buildings and scare the shit out of people in between, that seems to get you noticed."

~Stop it. Bitchy doesn't suit you.~

"I look like this every waking hour. And the hours I'm not awake, either," he says with a tight smile. "Does wonders for the plumbing, let me tell you."

The Cheshire looks at the smoke, mesmerized by it for a second. "Art shoots... the Yoko Ono freak show route, heh." He rolls her words around his mind for a few seconds. "Blending in. Be just like everybody else and that's how your worth is defined..." in a blink of an eye, the Cheshire cat is replaced by a human version--- how Keith used to look before his transformation. By male standards, he's very handome... perhaps not as handsome as Booster, but not bad to look at at all, with red hair instead of a purple mane, and maybe a little bit too heavy on the freckles. "Like this?"

"You're an unknown until I say you're not." If Lia is at all fazed by his sarcasm, she doesn't show it. When he seems to shapeshift, though, that gets her attention. "Now see, THAT'S something. But can you do that for cameras? It's perception distortion, right? Not actual shifting." Her eyes emit a faint blue glow. "Good enough to fool civilians, but will it fool a Canon?"

"I'm a Cheshire Cat. My illusions are indistinguishable from the real thing, until you try to touch them. Cameras, video, robot cameras. I can fool them all."

And just like that, the illusion shatters. "I could fool everyone every moment of my life if I wanted to. But that's not what I do."

"That's all very inspirational," Lia drawls." But if you want to make it in this business, kid, you do what the photographer wants." She gestures vaguely down the hall, toward where Melanie is posing. "This isn't a place for iconoclasts. Not unless you earn it. You think I was on the phone kowtowing to Naomi Campbell because I like the bitch?" There's a brief pause, as if she's waiting for an answer, but then she provides it: "No. I'm doing what she wants because she's fucking fabulous, because she's been doing this for decades and everybody knows her name. You don't get to just show up purple with whiskers on and say 'this is me, love me or leave me.' Not until you've got a brand."

The vampire stubs out her barely-consumed cigarette in an ashtray on her desk. "Now, if you want work? I can get you work. If your pride won't let you look how a client is gonna want you to look, though, I can't help you with that. And if you want anything from me at all, you'll stow the attitude."

"I'm no giving you an attitude, I'm a cat." Keith looks at Lia. "It has nothing to do with pride. It's about waking up every day of my life and looking in the mirror. And seeing a monster looking back at me." He scratches his chin. "And then realizing that there's thousands like me. Maybe more, many of whom probably won't live too long because they can't live with what they've become."

He shrugs. "I'm not asking to be loved. But you'll understand if the thought of erasing myself because I'm different is hard to swallow. Oh, I know you've got a business to run, temperamental diva asses to kiss, all of that. I'm not aiming to be one of those divas."

"Jesus, I go on forever." He rolls his eyes, "The bottom line is that Gar tried to convince me that things weren't as I thought they were. But things are different for Gar... he's gorgeous. He's just green." He takes out a little bag "I did realize I'd probably waste your time, so I brought you some tiramisu. Don't knock it- you'd kill for the recipe. My grandmother did." He says with a perfectly straight face as he puts the bag down on a side table.

"Kid, I'm a VAMPIRE." Lia tugs her necklace down a bit to reveal the two puncture scars that were once a mortal wound. "Don't talk to me like I don't understand transformation, or stigma, or being a goddamn monster. Trust me, I get it." She shakes her head. "But if you think a sob story is gonna get you places, you don't know this business. I'm trying to help you, here." She doesn't comment on the tiramisu. "That doesn't mean I won't give you a shot, what with you coming on referral. But you're gonna need to be willing to compromise a little if you wanna get the platform to help little mutant kids or whatever by being a big role model someday."

"I can't tell someone it's ok to be who they are if I carve my way to that point by doing the exact opposite. I wouldn't be able to sleep." Keith's voice is very quiet. "And you misunderstand me. I'm not expecting sob story golden passes or anything. Like I said... I wanted to see things for what they were. Don't misunderstand me... you've done a wonderful thing here. And I thank you for trying to help me, I sincerely do-- even if it's not obvious, it's a cat thing."

"I can compromise on what restaurant to go to, or where to go on vacation... but the important things aren't things I can compromise on, and this is sort of a big deal. I mean... you didn't have to be something you were not- you've always looked like this, and then you admitted you were a vampire to Baba Wawa on TV and all. There's a stigma, yes, but you didn't run away from it. I hide behind illusions, and I'm the one running away."

He shrugs. "I need the money, because the B.S.A. pays peanuts, and nobody will hire me because they're afraid the villains I've put away will come hit me during work. If you have those messenger boy slots open, I'll gladly take those. Someday, if I end up saving the world, maybe I'll be considered good enough to be myself. If I get splattered along the way, no big deal." He shrugs. "... except nobody gets my tiramisu recipe."

Lia retrieves her cigarette from the ashtray, and relights it. She takes a long drag. "Be in on Monday with a spring in your step. I got shit I need done around here, and a teleporter will be helpful."

"Sure thing. I've got a cute messenger bag I've been dying to wear. Thanks, Miss Briggs." He starts to turn around before stopping, as if a new thought had reached his head. "Ma'm? Can I ask you a question?"

"I've got a feeling you will regardless of how I answer," Lia says, though her tone is amused rather than irritated.

Keith smirks at the reply. "... what does it feel like?" he asks, yellow-green eyes fixed on Lia.

"Dying?" Lia blows a plume of smoke into the air.

"No... I did that. It's how I ended up like this. I mean... being looked at like, like... " he tries to find the word. "... like you're not a monster."

A red-lipped smile, at that. "I wouldn't know."

"Righto. See you on Monday, miss Briggs." Keith nods and walks to the door.

~Well, a job's a job. Maybe now I can start saving for that motorcycle.~

~Dude, you're an errand boy. The only way you're going to get that bike is if you go Nine to Five and rat poison the boss~

~...Have I told you I hate you lately?~

~That's my boy.~