getting CLOSE }

[Brigitte Babineaux]

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what keeps you so far away ?
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Sometimes, a girl just needed to shop. And if that girl happened to have recently moved to New York freakin' City then perhaps she "just needed to shop" more often than most. Especially if she had the money to afford the clothes she wanted and the waist to fit into them. Which she did, merci, beaucoup. Brigitte allowed herself a tiny little smile at that, smug as all hell. But hey, she had every right to be. She had a brand spanking new pair of size 0 skinny jeans by True Religion- Well, the number was what mattered the most. Sure, she'd been fitting into that size for a while now but it still gave her a little rush of adrenaline everytime she picked up a pair of jeans with that number on tag, every time they slid easily up her thin, thin legs and settled comfortably against her flat stomach, every time she walked out of a store with a new bag swinging from her hands that contained concrete proof that hello, world! Brigitte Babineaux was skinny! And who cared if it probably shouldn't have mattered quite so much to her. She'd spent the majority of her life feeling worthless and inadequate and unattractive and now she could fit her skinny little butt into size 0 jeans, and she straightened her hair, and she always, always, always wore make-up and she was, well, dare she say it? Pretty. Brigitte was finally pretty, merci, Dieu! Well, supposedly. She had all the factors - she had it all. Everything she'd disliked about her appearance had been fixed, checked off one by one on a personal checklist. And yet there were still days when she looked in a mirror and saw her dull-haired former self staring right back at her. Ugly Brigitte. But like hell did she want to think about something like right now, when she was riding the euphoria of her latest purchase. No, she was happy, she was happy, she was- Her stomach growled. Cringing, Brigitte laid a hand against it, as if to cover the sound up. Ugh. It was more embarassing than anything. She wasn't hungry. She'd had a cup of black coffee this morning and she was good to go. She was fine. Hello, she'd just bought a pair of size 0 jeans. She wasn't going to celebrate by eating, that was just... Completely against the point. Ugh. But mon dieu, she did feel hungry all of the sudden. Like... She just needed something in her mouth. Food. Something filling, something good, something she could eat, something- Brigitte swallowed, stepping off to the side of the sidewalk and leaning against a building, too distracted to worry about what that might do to her leather jacket. She hated when this happened, her dizzy spells. It was okay. She was going to be okay. She just needed to get back to her apartment. It wasn't like she had much food lying around there. Once she got there, she'd be fine. She could try on those jeans again and feel happy about being skinny and yes, she was going to be fine. Fine, damn it.

She just needed to get there. She needed to make her way through dieu-only-knew how many delicious smells and go past a Starbucks every other block, it sometimes seemed, and sure, she could go in and get another black coffee or a tea or something with next-to-nothing calories but then they had all those frappucinos and lattes and cookies and scones and sandwiches and sandwiches that they roasted for you, so they were all nice and warm in your mouth and... Okay, so Starbucks was not going to be an option. Swallowing, Brigitte forced herself to straighten up before she drew any attention to herself. Normal girls didn't get sudden headaches and space out like that. And she was normal. She was more than normal - she was Brigitte Babineaux and she was magnifique. Je suis Brigitte Babineaux et je suis magnifique, she repeated to herself, nodding as she continued down the sidewalk, unzipping her jacket a little and crossing her arms over her floral dress, which was belted tightly around her little waist. Black nylons and black ankle boots completed the look. And it was a good look. She looked good. She was hot shit. Put it however you wanted. Je suis Brigitte Babineaux et je suis magnifique. She just needed to keep reminding herself. She'd come so far from the days of being a pathetic loser. She'd recreated herself, she'd moved across the ocean, and she was an entirely new person. The person she'd always wanted to be, the person she was always supposed to be. Those past years had been some sort of mistake. That girl was not her. She could barely even think about her without wanting to cringe or distract herself immédiatement, merci. She did think about her, of course, all the time, but it was a painful process. She just didn't get it. She didn't get how she'd let herself be so unattractive and so not skinny and such a... Yeah. A loser. Sometimes, it honestly felt like she wasn't that girl. The old Brigitte Babineaux? That had never been her, not the her that she was now. Because current-her would never let that be herself, would never let herself look so gross, or eat so much or- Mon dieu. Oh dear, oh dear. Stupid, rumbling stomach. Je suis Brigitte Babineaux et je suis magnifique, she started to chant to herself again in her head, not caring how ridiculous it was. Those bitches had always said stuff like that and now, hey, look! She was just as magnifique. More magnifique. Je suis Brigitte Babineaux et je suis-

Well, fuck.

Had that hot-dog stand been there when she'd come this way originally? Had it?! Well, it wasn't like that mattered now because it was here now and it smelled like hot-dogs and ew, she didn't even like les hot-dogs - on principal, at least, she'd never actually eaten one in her life, as her mother had deemed them unhealthy and everyone knew they were just made up of animal guts or something equally disgusting but fuck it, she wanted one. She was disgusted with herself, she needed to just get back to her apartment and she'd be fine, but the stupid vendor was selling his hot-dogs right here, right in front of her and oh, there went her stomach grumbling again, perfectly on time. But no. No way. She was not going to have a hot-dog, there had to be like... a thousand calories in there. And she knew exactly what she would have to do later if she ate it but, fuck, it was right here, and it smelled warm and foods that were warm were always the hardest to resist because there was something so filling about warmth and right now her stomach was screaming that it was empty, but it wasn't even so much that it hurt or anything, she just had this craving for food, any sort of food, and- Swallowing, Brigitte pressed her lips tightly together and turned away from the hot-dog stand, re-shouldering her purse voilently and- "Merde!" The exclamation escaped her automatically as the contents of her purse spilled out onto the sidewalk. "Merde, merde, merde," she continued to bitch, as she was forced to bend over and reach for lip-sticks and her favorite perfume and her sunglasses and her Blackberry and some stray bracelets that had gone rolling- Of course. Of course her almost-brand-new bracelet had rolled off the sidewalk and through the grate in the road into the sewer and- Mon dieu, this wasn't fair, just a minute ago she'd been excited about her new skinny jeans and now she was scrambling for her things and what the hell! "Fils de pute," she muttered angrily, swallowing. She could feel people staring at her and her things were flung all over the sidewalk and people could have been stealing from her that very moment and all she'd wanted to do was get home but no, she'd had to be enticed by that stupid hot-dog stand and lose focus and get distracted and now this had happened and well, she certainly wouldn't be having any hot-dogs after all. She just wanted to get her stuff and get out of there as fast as her skinny, little legs could carry her. People had definitely noticed her and they were looking and mon Dieu, this was humiliating. And humiliating moments? Were not something that Brigitte dealt well with. "Fuck," she mumbled as she started stuffing lip-sticks back into her bag. Oooh, look at her, swearing like a true New Yorker now! Whatever, she was pissed and it all boiled down to the same thing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

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TAGGED ! luke shaw

[Luke Shaw]

_{I PROMISE YOU KID,}
( wherever you are, whenever it's right,

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"Jordan, relax. It's not the end of the world. In two years time, you'll look back at this and think, "why was I such a tightwad?" And hopefully you'll laugh too." Luke listened to his sister on the other end of the line, switching his phone to a new ear as he crossed the street with a back of fellow native New Yorkers. The light had already changed and the big rand hand was up on the crossing sign, but in New York the pedestrians ruled. If you ever wanted to get across you had to follow like a rat in a maze. When Luke stepped up onto the curb on the other side, he nearly stomped on a homless man's hand with a carboard sign. Luke fished in his pocket to drop him some spare change, when he actually paused to read what the sign read. "Repent! The end is near!" Ohhh, one of those. Yeah, no. Luke took his hand out and continued walking without missing hardly a beat in his step. He'd been told to repent every day of his life and he was still alive and thriving. Begging was one thing, but when you were trying to get a point across as dramatic as "the end of the world?" You might want to wear some decent clothes and at the very last, get a microphone. Speaking of the end of the world, Jordan was still prattling on the phone to him. "Blah blah blah....-and I take great pride in my grades, it symbolizes my hard work and determination. The fact that you failed most of your classes doesn't make me feel any better! Honestly Luke, who would look back years down the road when they're stuck at a community college instead of going to Harvard like they wanted to, and think ohh, gee, isn't it funny I got a B IN BIOLOGY!" Her voice had hit a level of hysteria, screaming at Luke as if she'd hit someone and he said killing a person wasn't a big deal and it happened all the time. Luke winced, pulling the reciever away from his mangled ear. The business woman walking in tandem next to him gave him an irritated look. What, it was New York, you hear everybody's conversation.

"Oh gee, isn't it funny I have to listen to you whine about getting a B in biology when I didn't even call for you." "Jordan, put Desi back on the phone." More yelling and anger. Really, and she called herself a religious person. She did have the psycho part down pat. Luke would have driven his motocycle to the library but right as he was about to put on his helmet and start the engine his older/almost the same sister Destiny called him. They didn't get to talk a whole lot and she was the one Luke actually liked. Jordan gave him nightmares. "She's really upset. Jordan's never had a B before. Try to understand Luke." He paused on his side of the conversation, before he breathed out deeply and replied, "I tried. Nope, can't. Anyway can we get back to the reason you called me? You were about to explain and then Jordan ripped the phone out of your hand and delievered that wonderful message to me." It was Destiny's turn to sigh. "Yes, um. I have something to tell you actually. It's quite - well at least I think it's wonderful." Silence. Dead air. Static. She sounded nervous and anxious to tell him new she loved, but assumed he wouldn't like. Surely, she was correct and that really narrowed down the possibilites of what this was. "You're pregnant." He took a guess which he didn't find to be so wild, but apparenty Destiny was rather offended by. Her voice sputtered out, "N-no Luke! How could you-..you know I don't...I'm getting married, Luke. To Corbin." That was worse, much worse. If she were pregnant she could still get out of this situation of being with Corbin but if she was married to him....well, there really was no way of avoiding him every day. "Please say something. I hate when you get quiet and I can't see your face." When they talked in person, she was one of the few people who could read her brother like an open book. "Sorry, I'm just....distracted. Have you ever had a real New York dog? When you see one you have to go for it. I'll call you back." Destiny began protesting so Luke gave the phone a huge kiss and then flipped it shut. He couldn't deal with that right now.

Luke Shaw had almost wished is seventeen-year-old sister Jordan had came back on the phone and proceeded to rant about every other mundane item in her life. Married? To Corbin. He remembered him. He went to school with that guy. Always wearing those polo shirts with the popped collar - totally tacky. He had a prize winning horse and spent his afternoons a the golfing lodge. That guy? Sadly he knew she wasn't kidding. He was a very devoted Catholic who had a lot of wealthy friends. It was the perfect choice if you were the member of the Shaw family. They weren't anywhere close to being rich, but his own father had grown up that way and he knew his mother, try as she might to not "care for the material things of this world" lusted after them anyway. Luke shoved his phone into his pocket and ordered a hot dog from the saliva-inducing stand. The man serving it was the classic hot dog server. He had a dirty apron wrapped around his beer gut, he was probably Italian, he had shaggy hair and there was a cigar sticking out of his pocket. Luke knew this was going to be one hell of a good dog. After putting on the toppings he turned it sideways and took a bite. Some of the juices slid out the back but he didn't mind - there was plenty to this thing. Luke had taken a few bites, and then he heard something clatter on the sidewalk, even in a noisy city like this. Luke turned around to see a girl scooping up her things that were strewn across the pavement, and several New Yorkers stepping over and on her things. Aww. Sad. He took another bite in typical, I'm-too-busy-to-help-anyone New York fashion, but now she was swearing in French and soon following, in English. Luke understood that word loud and clear. "Hold this," he handed his hot dog to the stand worker and bent down, grabbing the closest thing at his foot - a nail polish bottle. One of those girls. Luke picked up a few more things, moving a couple paces in his crouched position. "Here." He held out his hand to her, both of them crunched on the dirty street. Dropping them into her purse he decently looked at her face for the first time and then it hit him - it hit him he did not know her. Was that strange? It was strange because he knew he should know her. The French girl's face wasn't really all that recognizeable, and.....huh. Luke had to know her because he just got this weird feeling crouched next to her like that. No, besides the tingling in his legs indicating they were going numb. He couldn't explain it, just like he couldn't explain most of these weird things he was drawn to in his life. Shit. Shiiiiit. How did he know her? Any second she was going to say "Hi Luke" or something and he was going to put on this big dopey smile. No he'd just tell her the truth. He didn't remember who she was and they'd laugh about it and that was all. And yet, as Luke began standing up, he grabbed her elbow to help her and the first thing he said was "Hey..you!" With a big, dopey grin on his face. Oh, great. Let's play the guessing game.

"I'm talking!"

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"I'm thinking!"

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WORDS! 1,343
STATUS! Complete
NOTES! Those hot dogs are a menace to society.
TAGS! Bree
INSPIRATION! SILENCE. As In I was listening to absolutely nothing while writing this haha.
TEMPLATE CREDIT! Arro @ Caution 2.0
PICTURE CREDIT! photobucket
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[Brigitte Babineaux]

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we can swim in silence
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Okay. It was okay. She just... No tears. Brigitte could feel them starting to tingle in the back of her eyes and mon dieu, non, she could not cry right now. Because that was completely and utterly ridiculous. Because everyone would see her and wonder why in the world she was crying over the fact that she'd merely dropped her purse and then they'd laugh at her and then she'd just more and they'd laugh more and it would be this vicious, vicious cycle and- Breathe. She needed to breathe. She needed way more oxygen getting to her head right now because she was panicking and she needed to calm the fuck down. But people were having to walk around her now and oh gosh, she was causing such a scene and not in a good way and she felt horribly exposed all crouched low this and people were probably staring at her and thinking she looked fat and- No! She had the bag and the jeans to prove them wrong! But oh gosh, those jeans had felt a little tight when she'd tried them on in the store, maybe she was getting too fat for them, of course she was, if she could barely keep herself from eating a hot-dog. And now look at her. She hated embarassment, despised it more than almost anything else, and this? This was pretty embarassing. She would have gone with humiliating but she'd known true humiliation before and this didn't even come close. So it was okay. It was truly okay. Tout est d'accord. It was just so easy sometimes, to nearly let it all drop. She was feeling vulnerable as it was because of her grumbling stomach and the stupid smell of hot-dogs and her weakening willpower and she was tired and she just wanted to get back to the apartment right now and have some coffee and calm down. She still needed to e-mail Antoinette back too. Fun. See? If she could muster up sarcasm, it couldn't have been so bad. Swallowing, Brigitte continued to fumble for her things. Breathe. In and out. Un... deux... trois... quatre... You were supposed to count in your head when you were frustrated, weren't you? So you didn't make a scene or do something else as horribly embarassing? Well, she was pretty sure that ship had sailed. Made a scene? Check! Horribly embarassed herself? Check, check, check!

At least there was no one here that she knew. That was one silver lining to this situation, the one reason she didn't want to just go curl up in a ball and die. But as she reached out for another tube of lipgloss, Brigitte noticed the guy picking up her things. "Excusez-moi?" she snapped angrily, too annoyed to remind herself that she needed to speak English. "Ces sont-" she started to continue, when he held out a hand and dropped the offending items into her purse. ...Oh. Well. That wasn't embarassing at all. He'd been helping her, not trying to steal her things. Why would a guy want her nail polish, anyways? Then again, you never knew with these New Yorkers. Ugh. "Mer-" she started to say, then caught herself and flushed. "Thank you," she said slowly, glancing up at him sheepishly and- Hey. Wait a second. Who was this guy? She'd thought he was a stranger but no, she definitely knew him. There was something familiar about his face. Like when you're watching a movie and you see an actor or actress and you know you've seen them in something before but you can't remember what. Brigitte blinked, narrowing her eyes as her lips parted slightly. Who...? Mon dieu, this was embarassing. She didn't recognize him from Paris, did she? No, of course not, he'd spoken English to her. Well, that was a wave of relief right there. He wasn't some guy from her old school, oh, Dieu merci, truly. That was the last thing she needed right now. But if she didn't know him from there... Was he in one of her classes here? No, he didn't look a freshman, but the ages did vary a bit. Huh. Did he live in the same apartment building? Who was he? Okay, whoah, she needed to relax. She blushed slightly and let him help her to her feet. Maybe she was just dizzy still from a lack of food. That was probably it. And now she was imagining that there was something familiar "about his face" in this guy she'd probably never met before in her life and mon Dieu, there really was something wrong with her, wasn't there? Re-shouldering her purse awkwardly, Brigitte swallowed, unsure what to say. Mainly because she didn't have a clue if this guy was-

"Hey... you!" She frowned. Yes, her? Oh, but he sounded as if he recognized her. Stupid English. "Oui-" Oh for the love of God, she was in New York. "Yeeees," she corrected, drawing it out a bit. But okay, no, this would be even more embarassing if he thought that she didn't remember who he was. I mean... she didn't. But it would be easier to just pretend that she did. "Me!" she joked with a little laugh. "And... you!" Big smile. Even if it had to be forced. It almost hurt from how badly she was trying to smile. Just act as if this was normal, as if she had a clue who he was, as if she'd just bumped into someone she knew. She could do that. Of course she could do that. Toning down the smile a bit to something more natural, she found herself wracking her brain for something else. But... what? She couldn't remember who this guy was - and honestly, that was more than a little disappointing as she liked to think that she kept pretty good mental tabs on people she knew, and also a little bit suspicious since you'd think she'd remember meeting someone so attractive before but no, apparently she just... sucked - so she couldn't mention anything about that or ask about any mutual friends or any of that stuff. She just had to wait for him to do that and then maybe she'd remember who he was or... Well, she could hope for that at least. But mon Dieu, she hated awkward silences, she really did. It just left her wondering what the other person was thinking about her and was something wrong and oh god, she needed to say something like right now. What was something simple and normal and conversational? That she actually knew how to say in English. Um. Um. Pense, Brigitte, she admonished herself, biting her lower lip slightly. Okay. Now... she just had to formulate the sentence. Think of exactly how New Yorkers talk. English. Make sure it makes sense. Is the grammar correct? Does that sound right? Does that sound like- Oh, vraiment?! Talk about overthinking something. Come on. Forcing her lips up into another bright smile, Brigitte managed to somehow find her voice. "It is good to see you again." She fiddled with her bag and then dropped her hands when she realized that the last thing she needed was for everything to go spilling out again. Ummm. Something else, something else, something- "How've you be?" she asked politely, and somewhat hopefully. Hoping that first of all, this guy would say something to give away who he was or how she knew him. And secondly, that although her French accent was about as subtle as a punch in the stomach, she was still making sense. God, she hated this language sometimes. I mean, mon Dieu. Come on.

[Luke Shaw]

----- Those eyes are so familiar -----

"Excusez-moi? Ces sont-" Whoa, that was not English. Had Luke known what he was getting himself into - guessing how he knew her which was only worsened by the fact that she spoke French, he wouldn't have helped. Well actually, to be honest Luke would have, because it's hard for him to watch a girl close to tears scooping her things off a sidewalk. Helping was what any normal human being would do wouldn't it? Thus, this was proof that he was normal. Except nobody had budged an inch as though they were moving to help, or even waited to see if anyone else offered first. People stared and walked around, or pretended they hadn't noticed. New York thrived by being home to interesting people, but it was also known for housing self-absorbed pricks who almost all believed in fending for themselves. As a true New Yorker, you would think Luke would do the same, but his brain didn't tick like that. Did he remember any high school French? "No problemo sen-" wait. That's right, he had taken 1st and 2nd year Spanish and looked over the French, German, and Italian options. He thought Spanish would have been the most useful to him, considering how many people of hispanic descent were beginning to populate the country. But, no. He goes out of the country for a runway show and where is he? Milan, Italy. He should have taken Italian. He runs into this girl on the street and what language comes from her lips? French, he should have taken French. Lastly, Fredo (though his name suggests otherwise) speaks German and probably is German if he had to guess one. He should have taken German. He could have taken any other language besides Spanish and he would have used it by this point, and Luke was only twenty-three. Instead, he took Spanish and he hadn't used a lick of it yet. What a very good choice there, Shaw. "Nooo problem. This happens me all the time, we just don't like to talk about it." Luke dropped her lipstick in her bag and, on second thought, added "Well, except for the lipstick part. I've never dropped that before." Uh, good thing. There was no reason why Luke would ever have a tube of lipstick or any other kind of makeup supplies on him, unless Fredo dropped it in his pocket as a practical joke. He couldn't quite picture that.

It was probable that Luke was looking at her far too much, but he couldn't avert his eyes, not until he figured her out. How would he forget her face? She was pretty, gorgeous even, and Luke didn't hand out compliments likely. Then it hit him on the head like an anvil - model. This girl was a model and the only time in his life that he was actually in that career was in Europe - Milan. He had met her in Milan, she had been a fellow model. Oh, god. Luke hoped his face didn't show what he was feeling, because he recalled his behavior then and it wasn't pretty. He'd done a few things in America and they brought him over for the runway and, Luke hated what he did. He didn't want to be a model and yet they were throwing it at him. He knew how many people would kill for the chacne, which was why it was so frustrating. He wanted to take the pictures, but he wasn't goo enough. He had just dropped out of a university and they felt he wasn't skilled for that kind of work. But, Luke was and had always been very pretty. In Milan, Luke had a meltdown and thrashed the back room behind the runway, getting both himself and Fredo fired. He must have had a charming personality for Fredo to still speak to him. On top of that, that was the location where his embarassing nude incident took place. Ah, fond memories. Maybe she dind't remember him - it could have been a one-way recognition. She'd give him a weird look and Luke would say he was sorry, he had been mistaken. "And..you!" But life didn't work that way. Luke grinned, sharing his perfect teeth with her. Both names slipped their memory but the face was still firmly in tack. Perhaps she did not know how they had met, and had yet to put two-and-two together as he had. Of course, Luke didn't think he as the fastest thinker in the world so she was likely already ahead of him. "What are the odds....that we'd meet.....here." He had a hard time getting the words "New York" out of his mouth in case it wasn't Europe where they met. Not an ex-girlfriend, Luke wasn't such a player that he couldn't remember the girls he had dated. He remembered each one of them and she wasn't it. After they had collected all her things he stood back up, forgetting about his hot dog. Luke followed her eyes, which were set on the sewer drain in the curb of the street. Something must have rolled.....ew. Oh, well, the rats probably had it by now. They made better use of things than the people who owned them.

They were both so obviously faking their enthusiasm that to an outsider, it would be clear to see. The pair of them were anxious at being caught in this situation and didn't notice that the other person was as frazzled as them. Luke might have a bit, but even then he passed it off as her embarassment from dropping everything all over the ground and being in a state she wasn't used to. "Great, oh I've been great. Really fantastic actually. Just, you know, taking photographs now. Moved in a different direction from modeling." There. Easy as pie when you laid down traps. If they knew each other how he thought they did, she'd start going off about her own modeling career, or at the very least, show some interest in the topic. Bring up Europe - something. He felt he was grasping at air. "What about you? What are you.....doing now? Same deal?" As...whatever it was she was doing before. Luke felt like he needed to properly greet her, but here is where the line got really blurry. How well was he supposed to know her? She was quite familar, but Luke didn't think his memory was that terrible. He was only twenty-three, how far back did he have to go? Luke held out his arms and directed his right hand toward her, so that she could either grab for the one and shake it, or go for both and take him in a hug. This would tell him a little bit more about where they were at. Luke basically wanted to just walk away right now and go back to whatever it was he was doing. He put his hand in his pocket and fiddled with his motorcycle keys. Son of a gun this was going to be a hell of a long conversation at this rate. "I was just about to go get some coffee, do you want to come? We could catch up." Luke grinned again, thinking to himself that if he wasn't getting out of this than he might as well get something done at the same time. He was being a rather boring person wasn't he? That's because he didn't know what kind of person he was around her. Yet. He didn't even know who the hey she was! Oh, god. Please don't tell him it's from their childhood, because Luke really didn't want to associate with any other god-fearing individuals. Except, she had sworn. In that case, lead on.