it's time for a SCENE

[Luke Shaw]

_{THE FAME,}

( I'm addicted to the life of material

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a l l • w e • c a r e• a b o u t •i s• r u n w a y• m o d e l s • w e • l i v e
^{for the fame baby}[/i][/center][/font]

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Luke was not in his best tempermant today. He'd been awake most of the night playing some great hands of poker and shooting pool. No, he wasn't in a bad mood because he had lost, hah, no. Luke doesn't lose. Are you kidding? The gamble was his area of expertise. Luke had made a sizeable amount of money despite being called a cheat numberous times (was it his fault gentleman didn't know how to hide their cards?). What could have made the night any better? Playing some good hands against really rich upper east siders. That would have been the icing on the cake but since Luke didn't have the kind of money to bet with high rollers, he had to make due. The morning was devoted to his bed and excedrin, with all of the curtains securely drawn. The oh-so-familar sound of a freight train was running pleasantly through his entire head and Luke had giant bags under his eyes. Lack of sleep combinded with alcohol and the horrible stench of other people's cigarettes left him quite, not up to his best. This was why he suffered terribly whenever he tried to model himself. He got fired. Sleep deprevation never succeeded in destroying the process of Luke's craft however, so he had no worries about upholding his end of the talent for this photoshoot. The random girl he decided to solicit on the other hand...well you could never be sure who you were going to get off the internet. Luke had learned that the best cure for the common hangover was more alcohol, and after taking a swig of a nice bottle of wine, Luke set it down on the table beside his camera equipment and screwed the bottle closed. While he had every right to be half-awake and in a foul mood, she had better not be.

What did it say her screen name was, something fate? Her name was Agatha, a real winner if you asked Luke. He would have gone by his middle name if he were her. Generally speaking, people liked models with pretty everything, including names. And if she didn't have a middle name like him, adopt one. And yet, he liked her name. It reminded him of Agatha Christie - a horror fiction writer. Now you get why it appealed to him? Horror. No he didn't understand. He wasn't twisted, or morbid. Perhaps a bit but not more than anyone else. Everyone had their secrets. Luke was drawn to darker photography - halloween, bloody faces, someone posing in a coffin. It was funny, nothing more. He could also bear to take wedding pictures of happily smilling couples. Nauseating, but he could bear it. Luke began to flip on the lights and pre-programmed everything. It wasn't a very big studio and it was even smaller when you considered it was also his apartment. It was a giant, open room, with the only enclosed doors being the bathroom. Luke's bed was over in the corner, the kitchen in the other. Take a few steps down and there was the little space where he had his lighting and cameras set up. It may have been small but it was a handsome room of blacks, whites, and reds. The couch was red leather and the round eating table was clear glass, very modern. While he did have a lot of photographs framed on the walls and a bookcase near the window, nothing really stood out as represting Luke. It was all very impersonal. To be in that room, you would learn absolutely nothing about him unless you were very observant. Like a small cross necklace hanging off the bridge of one book, and a fridge full of bread and cheese.

Luke wore a white clean shirt (though wrinkled) and an undone tie around his neck with black slacks. It was like when he finally got up to get dressed this afternoon, he wanted to look good but didn't have the time so...this was the end result. The room had color but was by no means overwhelmingly bright, but still Luke put on dark black sunglasses. He'd take them off when his eye was in the camera but until then it gave him some kind of relief. Luke popped off a pill cap and swallowed a couple excedrins dry. He wanted to expand beyond just wedding photos and family pictures. Scenery was fun but it never generated income and Luke could only take so many pictures of a cemetary before people started calling him a one-trick pony. He heard there was good success in the "scene" industry, for some reason. To exhibit his talents and prove he was a capable and creative photographer, Luke was asked to provide pictures in that style before he got hired on by a company. It was a temporary job as always, because Luke couldn't stand listening to the same idiot day-after-day. He needed some variety, you know? Luke moved around and positioned everything, then sat up on the black stool. She should be here soon unless she was lost. Luke pulled the lighter out of his pocket and began flicking it.

A very tall, and very gay stark-white haired man walked out of the bathroom and tucked in his shirt. "Is my little doll here yet?" He asked excitedly, walking over to his color palettes and holding the case in his hand as if it was his very own child. His name was Fredo (nice, right?) and Luke hired him because it was exccentric and he'd gotten good reviews for his make-up talent. He was also cheap and Luke was working on a bit of a low-budget. Sure he had been taking pictures for years but Luke struggled to ever make much of a change in himself or his career. "Any year now," Luke replied lazily, smirking at Fredo through his dark glasses. "Why do you wear those? Tsk tsk it is such shame when you cover up those eyes." Fredo's accent was hard to place. It sounded Norwegian, but then other times it appeared more Swedish. Whatever it was, his voice was high and very distinct. Luke trusted Fredo and his work, because Fredo had done Luke's styling once when he was in a magazine commercial. And Fredo had not stopped talking about what "marvelous eyes he has." Got fucking annoying, actually. "If I looked half as marvelous as you Fredo, I wouldn't need my eyes." He was kidding of course, but it put a happy little smile on the man's face which was good enough for Luke. On occasion, Luke could be very generous in his compliments. On occasion, mind you. "Well I haf to take her in first before I start. I look at this picture and I think I can definitely give you something to work with." Luke simply nodded his head, rocking back and forth dangerously on the back legs of the stool. "That's the plan man." "Now if she'd learn to show up on time everything would be great."

"I'm talking!"

[/color]
"I'm thinking!"

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WORDS! 1,173
STATUS! Complete yo
NOTES! blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Blah blah.
TAGS! Agatha
INSPIRATION! Boston - More than a feeling
TEMPLATE CREDIT! Arro @ Caution 2.0
PICTURE CREDIT! photobucket
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[Agatha LeBreun]

I never made a scene

they came to me

She was late, she was late, she was late. It was a small tune that had taken up inside her head, speeding up in time with her Vespa, wind making her hair fly everywhere behind her and in front of her face, but Agatha didn’t matter. She had a place to be on time. Or at least, not too late. She could be fired before she even showed up, and everyone knows that’s not really good either for your rep or for your income that you were anxiously awaiting. Seriously, she needed the money. She’d seen some to-die-for jewelry on a thrift shop, and just as she’d been about to pay the truckload of stuff she’d piled on the counter, the cashier told her that her credit card was maxed out. As in…Agatha didn’t have any money to pay that stuff with. Needless to say, her cheeks had reddened as she stumbled over her apologies and her feet couldn’t move quick enough to get her out of there. If it weren’t for the fact that she wanted all those things so fricking much, Agatha wouldn’t even dream of going back there. Such an embarrassment was never to be lived down, and she was sure that it was going to haunt her whenever she stepped into that place. Which you know, sucked, because that place had been the best she’d found as of late. All her favorite thrift shops were closing down, stupid crisis, and now she was left for thrift store-hunting, which could be fun some days, and others…well, others it was just a pain. So far, nothing breathtaking had appeared, and the only place she felt semi-comfortable in, turns out she’d maxed out her card. Embarrassing didn’t really begin to cover it yet. So of course Agatha’s only option was to look for a job. Combining that with her need to pay some new bills (because, apparently, moving out entailed some high costs), she was starting to be a little desperate. Someone up there had heard her mental pleas, however, as they answered her need for a job via an internet ad for a model. Normally, Agatha was skeptical about those things, what with the stalker trend going on, and the kidnappings and whatever, but she’d browsed through the journal for previous entries, and it had looked legit enough. Besides, if she felt unsafe at any moment, she could always pull out her taser gun and voilá, she’d be on her way.

Stalkers were supposed to be nice in order to entice you, and this guy had been anything but, so in that aspect, Agatha was feeling relatively safe. By all means, how he had managed to mistake her Chanel bracelet with a sci-fi watch was beyond her, but other people’s ignorance was not her problem. She was doing this for the money, and for the entertainment photo shoots provided. It would also look good on her resume—if she ever got around to writing one, that is. All in all, it wasn’t that bad. Not his attitude and not his request for a ‘scene’ whatever. Labels were so not her style, but she’d replied, and here she was, hurrying in her Vespa, and murmuring litanies to whoever would listen that she arrive there in time. Unless a miracle happened, that was very impossible, considering she was already half hour late, and as far as she knew, no time-turning events hadn’t happened recently in the New York area. Although, if it were, you know, another one would be fab just about now. What he meant by ‘scene’ she wasn’t entirely sure, but she’d opted for the simplest outfit. He hadn’t really told her that he was going to be providing wardrobe, so Agatha had only assumed that she was going to be the one thinking about that. He’d said crazy clothing, and while Agatha did have some eccentric things in her wardrobe, she sucked at aiming for ‘scene’. So, she’d opted for throwing in her knapsack just things she thought would look cute together, but outrageous at the same time. A black leotard and a black tutu, some striped stockings, and a couple of bows. She remembered those were in trend for the ‘scenesters’ or whatever, right? Ugh, she felt stupid thinking like that. Labels had to be one of the stupidest things human kind had ever invented. The fact that the photographer she was going to be working with used them should have worried her, but like she’d told him: whatever. There were a lot of things that should worry her, like her getting the job through the interwebz, or his jerk personality, or how he didn’t know her height and weight, or if he was going to require nudity of her, or you know, everything. There was no time to worry about that now, however, because she was already there, and what was going to happen was going to happen whether she liked it or not. Or whether he liked it or not. Biting her lip, she pulled her helmet away from her head and shook her head. Her hair was all wind-blown by now, and the skirt she was wearing probably didn’t help matters much, but hey, she was there. Dismounting her Vespa, she fixed her dress and tried to smooth her hair, not succeeding much, but oh well.

Hurrying up the stairs, she was breathless by the time she arrived and knocked on the door. “I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m here!” she called out, bouncing lightly on her feet. It would definitely blow if he’d gotten a quickfire model to replace her. She wasn’t that late was she? Like, half an hour, or forty minutes, tops. And hey, patience was a virtue, that guy had to know that and keep it in mind. Otherwise, she wasn’t sure she wanted to work with him—although she should be worrying if he’d want to work with her after this. First impressions were important, Agatha knew this, but she hadn’t been able to pull herself away from the tv. There were showing Friends re-runs, and come on, who doesn’t love them? Besides, she’d learned tons of new quotes for them. Shaking her head and shifting her knapsack from shoulder, she squared her shoulders and made a quick decision: she was going in. They weren’t opening, she was going to go in by herself and demand that whatever model he’d hired to replace her leave, because he wasn’t going to find anyone better than her for this job. That, in itself was a lie, but you know, she had to sell the idea of herself. Pushing the door open, she stepped in and seeing no replacement model in sight, froze her determined steps. “Um, hi,” she said as she stepped toward the guy she supposed was Luke. “I’m Agatha.” Giving him a quick once-over, she silently breathed a sigh of relief. He was so obviously gay, so rape and abduction was off the table. Gay people didn’t kidnap girls, did they? Gah, she didn’t know, but it increased her confidence. Gay people were cool. Except when they were bitchy. And Luke had certainly seemed bitchy on his journal. Oh dear. “So you’re going to fix me up?” she asked perkily, a smile gracing her features. Might as well get it over with.

[Luke Shaw]

"There's nothing else I can say,"

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If being late was a crime, Luke would be a repeat offender. He wasn't particularly bothered by it, even when Miss Agatha showed up insanely late, clocking in at......oh he didn't even want to squint that far, it made the headache worse. But, being himself, Luke was likely going to make a big deal out of it just because he could and if he was feeling like shit, everyone else should. Naturally, right? Just as it was natural for his head to pulse like this. It indicated a good life. What was life without a little pain and suffering? That is a normal thing to say, do not question it. Luke adjusted his shades and wiped his shaggy hair out of his face. The thought that a girl would be afraid this was a raping hoax never crossed Luke's mind. He knew himself and because he knew he'd never do that, apparently others should as well. He was brought up in a home so Christian that the pope himself would feel unworthy apon entering. Be that as it may, a person who had just met him wouldn't get that impression when Luke had a bottle in his hand and black shades on. In all honesty, Luke never cared what kind of impression he made, with anyone. He scanned the room and decided it needed a blue background. Something lighter that would contrast sharply with the mood of the shoot. Luke picked his camera and changed the lens in front, replacing the glass with a blue-toned cap. He was a photographer who kept things simple and used a small hand camera. He liked it that way, and even if he could afford a large, expensive one he would always keep this by his side. It was more real; it made for a raw photo. "Whooee, do you tink she is lost?" Fredo took a hankerchief and put it to his head. Fredo was always bright red and hot even at room temperature. What time was it? Luke wasn't paying attention. He hadn't been awake very long. The day before he'd set everything up, knowing himself too well and fully aware he wouldn't get out of bed in time once he hit the card table. Fredo wasn't stupid and Luke's secret wasn't one, but he didn't mention anything about it. After working with the young "boy" a few times, he knew exactly the kind of attitude he had. Which was plenty.

Luke rolled his hidden eyes, as pointless as it was. His neck rolled too, like his head was simply to heavy to pick up. He swung it at Fredo and the fashion artist knew just what kind of a look he was getting. So it was one of those days? Such a shame, the stunning Luke could have a smooth persona when it wanted to. "How hard is it to find? Fort Greene. It's the only place in New York where there aren't white people." Fredo smiled tightly, it took an effort for him to pretend to be amused by that. Never mind that Luke was white himself, but that generalization was just the kind of ignorant remark that ran rampant around Luke. He really didn't care if he was correct or not, he only liked getting under people's skin. He was fortunate he had a nice face or Fredo wouldn't ever want to look at him. Luke flicked the lighter over and over, running a hand just across the top. The flames moved with any gust of air that brushed past it, and then they danced. It was beautiful in his eyes; he could probably stare at it easily for hours. "Dance little flame." Fredo sighed, putting his hand up to his forehead he tilted back a little. "I dooon't have time to wait. I am a very very busy man Luke. I am extremely sought after! A very, very busy man." Luke stopped staring at the fire and stared at Fredo instead. Sure he was. "You're doing me a favor, aren't you Fredo? And I, in return, will be doing you a favor. I don't understand why you're complaining. Unless your uncomfortable, and then I can tell you right now it's because of your tight pants. How do you walk in those? " Luke shrugged and went back to wasting the fluid in his lighter. Fredo's face turned redder and he turned his back on Luke to fiddle with his brushes. "You had better look stunning and this?" Fredo's voice squeaked as he picked up the alcohol bottle. "None of this the night before! There is only so much I can do." Luke and Fredo had made a trade. Fredo would do this Agatha's make-up, and Luke would model at a fashion event at some mall. Whoop-de-doo. In the end they both saved quite a pretty penny. "Of course, Fredo. I will come so sober you would think I was an entirely different person." He gave Fredo his best smirk, still flickering his lighter without even looking at it.

"If it wasn't for that smirk of yours, I'd believe you," he muttered under his breath. Luke could change as much as he wanted to but he'd always smirk like that. That....creepy, arrogant, never up to any good smile that just rubbed Fredo the wrong way. It was a little sexy too but just a little. Fredo liked mature men, his own age. Footsteps could be heard rapidly heading up the stairs and Luke looked to the door when a girl opened it, allowing herself in, hair in almost every direction. He remained on the stool but, as Fredo was near the door anyway, he greeted the lady. "Helloooo you must be my little darling cupcake! Aren't you so..." He held his hand up in the air, searching for a word. "Disheveled. What happened to your hair?!" He gasped, reaching out to pick up the end of strand. He pinched it between his fingers like grabbing too much would make it all fall out. "Fix you up? I should say so," he laughed loudly, throwing his head back. Fix her up? He'd have to start completely from scratch. "Come here, sit down sit down." Apparently his annoyance over her late arrival had taken a back seat to the excitement of prepping someone for a photoshoot. Luke hadn't said anything yet, he was just playing with the camera in his hands now, flipping the lens protector up and down. He was constantly moving, usually it was his hands that were busying themselves. Freydo pushed Agatha by the shoulders to get her to sit down in the chair before he wiped a comb seemingly out of nowhere from his person and brushed through it, pulling her hair down and smoothing it out. "Oh Lukie you have picked a beautiful model, simply lovely. Except your nose is slightly crooked my dear I hope you don't mind me saying." Too late he already did anyway. "Best part is she's sci-fi watch free," Luke smirked, spinning around in his chair. As if looking at her for the first time, he pulled his shades down from his eyes and narrowed them at her outfit. "Is that what you're wearing?" That wasn't scene at all. It was...blue and...had buttons everywhere. "Fredo paint her nails black. And uh, make her look taller," he smirked again before pushing up his shades once more. "Oh yeah, nice to meet you. Is this your first time modeling or...?"

[Agatha LeBreun]

I didn't have to,

I didn't have to.

Okay, so if there was no model, it meant that Agatha still had her job. Great. Fabulous, even. Except there were two guys in the room, and you know, even if one was gay, it made her jittery. One guy, she could handle—she patted her knapsack as if to reassure herself of the presence of her taser—but two? Eh, it was a little too much, even for, say, Jackie Chan, and man, that guy could move. Like, in Rush Hour, for example. Agatha had tried a couple of his moves from that movie, and had ended with a brace on her wrist. You know, some people just weren’t made for physical exercise. Thankfully, that had happened long ago, and Agatha was on the now, which meant being shoved into a chair, being insulted then complimented, then insulted again, and a guy with shades, who was fiddling with a camera. Okay, so maybe the guy she’d greeted hadn’t been Luke. But if he wasn’t Luke, who was he? “Um, excuse me,” she said as the guy started fiddling with her hair. “But who are you?” She really didn’t mean to sound rude, but she knew there was a high probability that it came across that way anyway. Oh well, what was she to do? As if it weren’t a weird enough situation already, the other guy had to pipe up and mention her bracelet. Aha, well, if there had been any doubts in her mind as to who Luke was, they were quickly settled. The guy on the far end definitely had the attitude to match the online Luke to the real Luke. Meh. Not attractive. “And yes, I’m ‘sci-fi watch free’, even if it was a Chanel bracelet. But like I said, whatever,” Agatha said with a grin as the other guy kept brushing her hair. His next comment, however, stung. She happened to have fabulous taste in clothes, thank you very much. It wasn’t her fault he had next to nothing in the tastes area. Still, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from being rude, and shook her head slowly. “I brought a couple of changes,” she said tightly as she dumped the contents of her knapsack right next to her, to the floor. The black tutu was the last thing that fluttered to the floor, and as an instinctual reply to his other comment, Agatha kicked off her gray flats. That hadn’t stung that much. She was used to it. She was short for a model, and she knew it, but what she lacked in physical height, she compensated with her light attitude during shoots.

At least that’s what other photographers had told her. Apparently, it was very difficult to find nice, willing models. Nowadays everyone felt like a fricking diva. Things had to be done their way instead of the photographers’, and that was not cool. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same thing,” she said airily as Luke told her it was nice meeting her. She did try to soften the blow though, with a joking grin. “And nope, I’ve been doing this on and off for a couple of years now,” she said easily enough as she swung her legs back and forth. Being short did have its advantages. Like being able to swing your legs when you were seated on a high chair for example. It always helped when you needed to burn some time. Like now, for example. Make up and hair styling weren’t really her favorite part of the whole ordeal, but she figured that if Luke wanted a certain look, she had to go for it. Well, duh. That was the whole point of the job, wasn’t it? Rolling her eyes at herself, Agatha wrinkled her nose at the prospect of having black nails. Nothing against the slimming color, but she’d just done her nails a pretty baby blue. Now they were going to dab away a fifty-dollar nail job? No fair. Oh well, she should think things through before she decided to do stuff like this. “Helps me pay the bills.” Plus, she liked it. It entertained her, and gave her something to do, other than rot away on her favorite couch, watching sitcoms and then re-runs of sitcoms and then soap operas and—yeah, it was definitely a good change of pace. Closing her eyes as per instruction from the gay guy, she fluttered her eyelids shut and breathed steadily. The back of the chair itched, and she had this urge to wiggle in her seat, but something told her that the make-up dude wouldn’t appreciate it much. Yes, these were definitely the hardest parts to sit through. “I brought a bow,” she said randomly and quite out of the blue. She wasn’t sure how that was supposed to help, but hey, he hadn’t talked about concepts yet, so she wasn’t entirely sure what they were aiming for. Besides, her comment had filled up the silence. That was always a plus.

“I wasn’t entirely sure what you meant by ‘scene’, because honestly, labels like that are too generic and wide-reaching, so I just went with some of my craziest outfits from the past.” Never let it be said that Agatha wasn’t informative. That guy was now tugging at her hair again, and she let out an involuntary hiss. “Ouch,” she murmured, raising her hand instinctively to slap away his hand, but stopped just in time. No need to get aggressive with the could-be rapists. So far, so good, anyway. “So what’s your idea?” she asked after a beat, recommencing the swinging of her feet. Reaching down for the bow that had been thrown to the floor after Fredo asked for it, she handed it to him and re-took her seat. She didn’t see any heels around the place, and even if they were, there was no real assurance that they would fit her. Sighing as she saw her nail job being dabbed away by Fredo’s quick hands, she propped her chin against the other hand that had already been cleansed. “I don’t think any of my outfits really work with heels—not that I see any around here—so why don’t we go for barefoot? My black leotard and tutu would go well, and you can do some angles where my legs look longer. We could also avoid me standing up, if you really mind it that much?” Nothing that hadn’t been done before, so she was just giving Luke some tips on how to make her short stature work in their favor. Now, as for props, they could also go a long way, but, again, she didn’t really want to do his job for him—or at least make him think that’s what she was doing. Eek.

[Luke Shaw]

"I need la la la, I need ooh-la, la,"

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"Who am I? Who am I!?" He scoffed out loud, not in anger but shock that anyone would have to ask that question. Fredo was really quite dellusional when it came to his name and how little success he actually had. Luke's lip raised but fortunately he had his back to the pair of them. "Here we go." "I am the great Fredo Geiiog, I am only the greatest hair and make-up stylist you will ever see in New York. It's a pleasure to meet you." He bowed down dramatically and waved his arm anciently in front of his body. "Unfortunately, not as many people see my talents for what they are anymore. But! I will not give up hope that one day I will be backstage on the greatest runways in Milan. I used to be quite famous you know." Fredo continued to prattle on and Luke had to swivel around in his chair. Listening to Fredo when he was introducing himself was never enough, you had to get the whole picture. Luke pulled out a soft cloth and began to polish his camera to free it of any smudges or smears. He took very special care of that camera. Luke's camera was to him like......like Fredo's comb was to Fredo. Yeah, I know. "I'm sorry but I have almost never seen hair as tangled as yours. What were you doing?" His voice was very sad, as if it was heartbreaking to him to see pretty hair a little sloppy. As Agatha reached her hand up toward her head, fredo slapped it pettily. Sometimes people grabbed their heads when it hurt but what was he to do? He couldn't let it sit like a rat's nest on top, no no. He sprayed detangler and then went at it with a few finishing touches with the hair straightener. He moved on to make-up next, giving Agatha dark eyeliner and eyes that would pop. Removing her nail polish was a bit of a shame - he could see she'd had them done recently.

"Oh here. Sign these dolly. It's just a contract saying you will let us use the photographs Lukie takes for publicity purposes, you won't use them without giving Lukie credit, blah blah blah blah." With one free hand he dropped the contract in her lap, and another moment later a pen followed. Luke seemed to have no problem letting Fredo speak for him most of the time. Luke was focusing very hard on getting that freight train out of his head and the less he talked, the better it felt. Fredo glanced at the bow Agatha handed him, made a face, and prompty dropped it on the floor. A few seconds later he felt a tug from the girl as she bent down and handed it to him again. Sheesh. He caught Luke's eye and luke said "It's the style, use it." Fredo put on his sour-puss expression again and stuck it in her hair. "I am not used to this "scene" thing. I dress up runway models and do high fashion." He began to whine and think about the good-old-days. Luke got out of his chair and stretched, sipping a bit more from his mostly empty bottle of whine. He took off the shades and immediately Fredo had something to say about it. "Tsk tsk look at that. You have sags under your eyes the size of tea bags." He completely ignored Fredo's comment and focused on Agatha instead. "Your very opinionated aren't you? You're smart, huh?" Luke smiled at her unnerving like for a second before his lips dropped to a scowl. "Well don't be. Models are for looking at not listening to. I know what I'm doing. The outfit in the bag is just fine." He nodded his head at the tutu. At least the girl had managed to do something right. Geez he could have gotten someone off the street with better common sense.

He opened his mouth to give a particuarly snarky response to Agatha's amazing beliefs about not labeling and but Fredo cut him off just in time, trying to keep the peace between the two. "Fashion is all about labels my darling. If one were not to label, it would not be fashion. Prada, Chanel, what would they be without their brand? Just a pile of sad bags sitting on the counter." Luke seemed satisfied enough for now but tapped his foot impatiently. Fredo certainly had to do a lot to get this girl ready didn't he? Hmm, haha. No, she was pretty though in all honesty. I've been doing this on and off for a couple of years now. "Could have fooled me." Luke got in a snark anyway. Luke pointed his finger at the floor and Fredo, more gently this time, grabbed Agatha by the shoulders to direct her there. Luke had his camera around his hand and he looked at her feet as if making the same decision Agatha had. "Scene normally doesn't have heels but at your height...I might have to crouch just to take a picture of you," he teased mockingly, not in the kindest manners. "Alright. Barefoots going to have to work." He walked over to a bag and came up right beside Agatha, dumping a pile of funny-looking bunnies at her feet. "Scene is all about, weird really. Pose with these. I don't really want you to smile, but since you've been scowling since you walked through that door I don't think it would be a problem." There was that condesending, laughing tone of his again. Luke on the other hand definitely was smiling a lot more now. "Give me serious and give me angst. You can be goofy too - make faces. Just don't grin like a fool. I want you to use these bunnies as a prop in all your photos, but don't let them take the limelight. It's about you. You can sit on the floor there." He backed away and focused the camera in. "Pull your knees up to your chest." Fredo zoomed in and gathered the bunnies all around so they were surrounding Agatha on the floor. "Say cheese," Luked joked as he snapped the first picture.

[Agatha LeBreun]

I always hoped

to avoid the issues

Agatha was all for manners and respect, but Lukey boy here? Not so much. Narrowing her eyes at his comments, she really wanted nothing more than to leave. He was rubbing at her all the wrong ways, but at least it served to reassure her that she was on the safe-zone raping-wise. Which meant she wasn’t going to get raped today, thank the gods. Not that she’d really believed it, but Nona had always taught her that it was better to be prepared and cautioned against that kind of stuff—and people. As of right now, though, it was taking all of Agatha’s willpower not to tell him “Um, you suck,” and then leave in a flurry of hair products and whatever Fredo was putting in her. Yikes. There was a reason as to why she didn’t mess with her hair. That thing had a life of its own, but Fredo was a professional, so he’d be able to do something. At least, that’s what she hoped. If her hair won out in that battle, she didn’t want to feel or see the repercussions of it the next day. Fredo thought it looked like a nest right now? He hadn’t seen her on her bad days. He said he was widely-known and all that blah, but Agatha had yet to hear about him anywhere, and she was quite into the fashion industry these days. “Sorry Fredo,” she simpered anyway. It was always better this way. Those high egos were better kept high, because it just meant good results for someone. Everyone knew they could either make you or break you. They were in charge of your image, after all, and if they didn’t like you, they could just make you look like an absolute buffoon, and just like that snap, you were out of it. Not that Agatha was looking to be a permanent fixture in model portfolios, but you know, she’d like to keep the option open, at any rate. “And, as to what I did to it, I rode my Vespa.” The huge DUH was left unspoken, but it was obviously implied. Although, really, he didn’t deserve the duh, considering he didn’t know her, and least of all knew about her Vespa. “Wind tends to do that to hair,” she said sheepishly just as Fredo slapped a contract in front of her. Scanning it quickly, she shrugged and picked up the pen, easily signing her name at the bottom of it. Great, it made it all that more official. “Can I have a copy of this?” she asked just as she was twirled away from the chair and into the floor. Well, at least they were going with her wardrobe options. Not that there had been a wide variety to start with. Almost snickering, Agatha picked up her black leotard and tutu and quickly pulled them on. That was the advantage of a loose dress and years of experience in changing quickly.

“I wasn’t talking about those kind of labels, Fredo,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I know those are valid. But really, ‘scene’?” she arched her eyebrow at Luke. He really did have ginormous bags under his eyes. It made her wonder if he was really up for the task at hand. She didn’t want him to mis-shoot everything, only to have her come back tomorrow for another bitch fest. That made her wrinkle her nose. “Hey, are you sure you’re up for the task?” she asked as she complied with the instructions and started playing with the bunnies. “You look a bit haggard.” Not to mention extremely hung over. Yum, they were sugar bunnies! Awesome! Agatha hadn’t had any of those in years, and as she bit into one of them, she remembered why. Yuck. But there it was, that satisfying click, as the first picture was taken. Spitting the bunnies out, she shook her head, and felt some tendrils of hair escape the death trap Fredo had put her dark hair in. Seriously, talk about ow factor? But it didn’t matter, Agatha wasn’t going to let it detract from her performance. “How about this?” she asked as she pulled her left knee up close to her chest and rested her right elbow against it, fingers grazing her forehead as she tilted her chin slightly to show some neck. The floor tiles were cold, and Agatha shivered slightly as she felt it on the extension of her legs and her bum. Honestly, Luke had to be the most condescending human being on the entire planet. Well, okay, no, he wasn’t, because Agatha had met pretty nasty people for her short age, but really, the least thing he could’ve done as a photographer was to try and make things as comfortable for the model as possible, right? Those were indications of a good photographer. He? Wasn’t one.

His remarks on her stature were fairly…well, fair, considering she hadn’t let him in on the know about her short-ness while on the internet, but in the end it had never proved to be much of an issue for her. Apparently it was a big deal for him. Or at least he was making it out to be. Probably in an attempt to make her feel bad. Ha. Tough luck for him, she was immune to any comments about her height. In fact, she reveled in them because it meant that while she was short, she had the ability to go against the norm and still be good at what she did every once in a while. Tucking her legs under her, she grabbed fistfuls of bunnies in her hands and shrugged, an “I didn’t do it” expression on her face as she heard another click go. “Come on, Luke, talk to me,” she said. She was good at coming up with random poses, but she didn’t know if she was doing what he wanted. He was giving her no direction whatsoever. What he’d told her hardly constituted as fair direction. Okay, so smiles were out of the question, but what else was out of the question? So far, she was just pulling things from her sleeve, and she wasn’t sure she was okay with that. But well, at least he wasn’t complaining.

[Luke Shaw]

"This isn't real, I know it's not."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •


Luke came to the conclusion that most of his career he must have been a very spoiled photographer. Because apparently, models couldn't shut up, they fought with everyone who helped them look better, and they thought they knew what they were doing better than the professionals. They really were such a joy to work with. Luke remembered now why he stuck to shooting scenery and things that couldn't talk back. He couldn't complain too much however, because he recalled being quite the dick when he modeled. But that was because he really didn't want to do it. Every time he showed someone his photographs he ended up in front of the camera. That was most people's dreams, wasn't it? Not he. He liked being the creator not the doll being created. Luke already knew what he was, or so he thought. Sometimes, on occasion. "Haha hey Fredo, remember that time in milan-" Fredo cut him off with a raised, drawn-on eyebrow. Of course his brows were always raised because he drew them too high, so now he looked like a sadistic clown. "You mean when you lost me my coveted job? Yes I do remember that. Last time I ever stick up for you." He grumbled, but you could tell he didn't actually mean it. Luke chuckled as he re-aranged the bunnies again and changed the exposure on his camera. "Now, I never asked you to. And I'm not going back - this mall extravaganza is a one-time deal." Fredo looked sour again and he sat down in his chair, constantly wiping away at his sweaty forhead. "Oi, are you being cheeky with me now?" Fredo grinned at Agatha, he liked a little talk back. "I know everything about what the elements do to hair. And yes of course you can have a copy. She is a smart girl Lukie. Excellent choice. We need someone to keep him on his toes."

"Call me Lukie one more time...." He trailed off, but it was obviously an empty threat. Fredo and Luke seemed to be friends even though every other comment was a fighting one. That's the way Luke worked, and Agatha apparently didn't understand that. "Scene is the word my possible employer gave me when describing the job. What do you suggest I do to show off my work, dress you up as a clown? A munchkin perhaps? Somehow I think that would fail to impress." Yeah he was in a very pissy mood, but something told him that even in his best state, he and Agatha would fail at a nice conversation. Luke stopped moving when Agatha questioned his ability to work. He had just put the camera up to his eye and he pulled it away in slow motion. "I doubt I look any more haggard than you did when you walked in here. Even still....." He clicked his tongue as if rethinking his choice of a model. Which is wasn't by her looks, but he was given the personality. "I may look better." Fredo had given up trying to be peacemaker. Instead he was straightening up and packing away his things so he could make a quick exit when this was done. Now, though he wasn't a seasoned photographer he knew enough in his experience that he shouldn't have to tell the model every single pose. That's what made them good. They needed to work with some of their own creativity. Miss know-it-all here was apparently really uncomfortable with making a decision about herself, but felt perfectly fine when telling someone else what to do.

"I like that one," he managed to compliment, when she pulled her knee up and struck a pose. Come on Luke, talk to me. How many times had he heard that in his lifetime? Too many to count, but that was usually after he and a girl....anyway. "Come on Agatha, pose for me," he repeated back, mimicking her voice. Luke snapped a couple more pictures and then had an idea. "Do a crazy one. Hold your hand up at the camera and spread your fingers. Be fierce, pretend that you're a tigeress and growl." That was part of what scene was about, doing strange things for the camera while still maintaining a strange sort of beauty. After a couple more snaps Fredo walked up beside Luke and tapped him on the shoulder, handing him a couple of bunnies that looked like they had been melted together. Luke gave them to Agatha. "Dangle them from your hand." Fredo decided to chip in. "Give us a look like, like you can't believe someone murdered them!" Luke paused in his picture taking a shared a look with Fredo. "Like someone murdered them?" Fredo put his hands up in the air and returned to his seat. A few minutes past and Luke was reaching the end of his film. Still, he hadn't felt like he had gotten "the shot." You know the shot that's gonna get you praised. When you have the perfect shot you can feel it in your bones. Luke suddenly set his camera down and rubbed at his eyes. "It's pretty. It's all very pretty, Agatha. That's the problem." He held his hands up and clenched them, trying to control himself. " "If I wanted pretty, I would have gotten a real fucking model!" He smacked the table and stuff went flying off and hit the floor. "Luke..." Fredo started. Whenever the young man got frustrated things quickly barrelled out of control.

[Agatha LeBreun]

Besides,

what's it to you?

So those two were friends, and they had history together. Huh, maybe Luke was gay, and they had history together. Of course that made total difference. It would also make sense for Luke’s state. Maybe they’d been out partying all night, and Agatha’s arrival had interrupted things. Then again, it wasn’t her fault! Luke had been the one to ask her to come here this specific day. Maybe he’d forgotten? Oh, what did it matter. There was no excuse for his behavior. Agatha wasn’t going to justify his sour mood. For all she knew, it was a permanent fixture for him. Though that must be an ugly existence. “I never said a clown,” she said, exasperated, not knowing whether to throttle him or just leave. Or you know, maybe stay and actually make the quick bucks. Eh, the dilemma. “And if you must know, I didn’t look haggard. Just windswept. You would too if you drove a Vespa,” she muttered as she pulled another pose. She was trying to keep both her temper and tongue in check, but really, it was hard juggling those two. It was either one or the other, but both? It wasn’t going to be possible. At least not for her. Sighing, she shook her head. What was wrong with this guy? Had she insulted him somehow? Maybe her over-informative report. But he’d seemed to have attitude problems since their online short chat. UGH, why was she worrying about this? He was just a jerk, like many others out there, was it that difficult to understand? “Oh, that’s mature,” she scoffed as he mimicked her voice. She pulled several other poses, but honestly? Her heart wasn’t in it. She wasn’t feeling it. What she was feeling was out of her element and awkward. Luke was not helping her relax, and Fredo’s staring eyes were just making her self-conscious. These kind of things used to be a cinch, but ever since she’d arrived, things had started going steadily downhill. She’d put in both of her Monroe piercings and she was dressed the part, looked the part, but didn’t feel the part, and it was starting to worry her. She wasn’t sure if there was a clause in the contract that specified if the results weren’t satisfactory for the photographer, she wouldn’t get paid. Cursing silently at herself, she wondered when Luke was going to get tired of it all and just send her home. At this point, Agatha was silently praying for that to happen, specifically. When he did suggest a pose, however, she quickly pulled it, silently smirking at herself. She’d done that specific pose hundreds of times in front of the mirror when she was fooling around, so at least she knew what he was talking about. Curling her lips, she literally let out a growl as she lifted her hand and almost swapped at his camera lens. Now, if only her fingers were real claws and they could actually inflict some kind of damage…

Fat chance of that happening, Agatha, she thought to herself. Her fingers were nothing but short, stubby and just not attractive. How they’d turn into claws was beyond her, but she was just getting desperate. Lowering her hand, she shook her head, frustrated. “Okay, this isn’t working,” she said as she stood up and started pacing, kicking aside random sugar bunnies. The tile was still cold, but it was warmer than what it had been when she’d first sat on it. She wasn’t comfortable, and it was getting worse by the minute, because the lace on the tutu was starting to itch. Idly scratching her thigh, she tried to run her fingers through her hair and growled when they got stuck in the nest that Fredo had pulled on her. Aggravated, she started tugging all the crap he’d put in there and throwing it far away. Bobby pins, hair clips, even the freaking bow went against the other wall, and she shook her head, finally allowing her hair to be free, just like it loved to be. Seriously, that thing was either a do or don’t. “Much better,” she said, satisfied with herself. She didn’t have to look into the mirror to know that things had progressed. At least for her they had. Hair loose was her style. Now, if only Luke would work with it. Pausing for a moment, she thought about something, and then marched to the other side of the room where she’d flung the bow, and clipped it back on. Grinning sheepishly at Fredo, she settled herself on the floor again, striking pose after pose, feeling better and better about it until Fredo interrupted, holding out a line of bunnies that somehow, were held together weirdly. Giggling at his instructions—at least someone was funny—she nodded excitedly and took them. Pouting and scrunching up her eyebrows, she held up the bunnies and looked straight at the camera. Click. See? Things always went so much better when one was comfortable. Except Luke didn’t really seem that happy. Honestly, what was wrong with him? That guy certainly had one heck of a short fuse, and the more she thought about it, the angrier she found herself feeling. Why, if he was angry and could be a total sissy about this, then so could she, couldn’t she?

Okay, that was the last straw.

“Well, if I wanted a fricking jerk wad, I would’ve gone to a bar to get harassed!” she exclaims, her anger finally boiling over. Just exactly how could a compliment be snarled so disgustingly? “And maybe, if you told me what you wanted I could actually worth with you, instead of say, your tile floors!” Her voice volume was rising, but she didn’t care anymore. Fredo was starting to look worried, but—that’s right, she didn’t care anymore. Ever since they’d started, Luke was on a hissy fit, and sorr-ee, but Agatha was through taking his shiz. If he had some issues to resolve, then fine, she understood that, but that wasn’t her fault. If the guy couldn’t separate professional issues from personal issues, well, too bad for him. It probably justified why he wasn’t a big shot by now. Probably. Standing up, she kicked sugar bunnies everywhere, not caring how sticky her feet got. She was out of here, contract be darned. They could sue her, and then she’d just sue them back, for getting harassed by her employer. Or whatever, she didn’t care, she wouldn’t care, and she wasn’t going to stay here another minute. “Sorry Fredo,” she said as she started picking her stuff up and shoving it into her knapsack. “But you’ll have to handle His Snarliness all by your lonesome, because I’m through with this shiz,” she said as she pulled the bow out of her hair and also stuffed it into her bag. “And you,” she said as she turned to Luke one last time. “Thanks for nothing, a-hole. Good luck finding someone who’ll tolerate all your BS.”

[Luke Shaw]

In one week you'll be missing me,

If Luke could sum this girl up in one sentence, he knew exactly the sentence he would choose - pain in the ass. Oh I'm sorry, that's an incomplete sentence. Agatha is a pain in the ass. There you go, that's a fully functional sentence. It wasn't a lie, either. From his stand point and as far as he had seen, she had not a single nice thing to say to him. Was she honestly upset over the very short online conversation they had? He didn't like her bracelet. Hell, if he got angry over every little thing he'd be a miserable guy to be around. No he isn't already, he's just...hung over. And is eyes were the size of grapefruits. Or, tea bags as the gay man had put it. Did Luke know he was being a jerk? Yes he did. But as the photographer it wasn't his job to be nice and make sure that they were comfortable every second. Models had to do things they didn't like. So the floor was cold. One time Luke had to change behind a clothing rack and it MOVED. He was stark naked for a good few seconds in front of the entire bustling room of people. The only thing he had to cover his manhood? A nearby bird cage. If he believed in heaven, he'd say that was an odd blessing. Coincidence, was all it was. Luke didn't understand it himself, but he felt much more inclined in believing in an afterlife and hell than he did heaven. He stopped voicing this thought, because then someone without fail would tell him you couldn't have one without the other. Oh yes, you could. Luke was raised in a crazy religious home and instead of feeling like he was getting closer to the pearly white gates, he felt trapped in his own personal hell. You could definitely have one without the other. Still, he was an atheist and non-believer in anything after you died. You just, die. That's it, it's over. The world makes an extremely big deal and complicates matters when it's really quite simple. He went to the graveyard and talked to his grandfather, but did he actually believe he could hear him? Not really, most of the time that was a no. "A vespa?" Luke laughed scornfully. He himself drove a motorcycle. Now that was a real bike. "Aren't you just as predictable as each pose you make." His voice was endearing and of course, condescending as always. He had real trouble being kind. He was very cheery in his words which, being him, meant that he was not happy at all.

Okay this isn't working. "It's not working because you won't shut up, Aggie." Seriously she kept moving around and complaining that he wasn't instructing her. Photographers gave basic instructions, not command your every move. If they were to do that then they might as well get up and model! You could make almost anyone pretty these days with good make-up, lighting, and photo touch-up. As he snapped another picture he imagined holding a gun at her and the "click!" of the camera was the shot of the barrel. Yes, he'd just imagined shooting this girl in the head and it relieved him a little. Hey, it wasn't reality. You are allowed to imagine many things you would never do in real life. Well, maybe not never do.... Much better. Oh, well he was glad that at least someone was satisfied with her preformance. They got in a few more good pictures, at least. "When you actually make your pose and quit whining, it turns out well." Imagine. When you focus and work at something, you get good results! Wow, what an interesting and shocking concept. Even as the photoshoot went on, something was missing. Neither Agatha nor Luke realized that the biggest problem they were having was their lack of agreeance with the other. He was frustrated with her because he wasn't communicating, and her pictures weren't very good because she was uncomfortable being here with people she didn't like. But their anger allowed that realization to swoop completely over both of their heads. "Harass. Haha. If you can't take the heat, don't jump in. Your pretty but a pretty face only takes you so far." Nobody wanted to shoot an obnoxious model who talked her head off, no matter how stunning she was.

Although he did not agree with Fredo (who had grown unusually quiet) about her nose, he added just for biting affect, "Especially when they need to compensate for their physical inadequacies." Yup, he was a jerk indeed...considering he himself was not all that tall. Tall enough, and male models didn't have to be giants like women did. They were lucky in that regard. In fact, men were lucky in many regards. "It's a FLOOR. Do you know real models have to wear huge fur coats in the summer heat and dance around in bikinis when its snowing? And you're complaining about a slightly cold floor." Luke threw his hands up, and it was a good thing he had already set the camera down otherwise it would have gone flying and crashed to its death. Or doom, cameras can't die can they. Don't answer that. Fredo cleared his throat loudly, which them both ignored. He was fuming over practically nothing, but this girl really got under his skin. And her obnoxious high voice was killlling his already sensitve ears. As soon as Agatha started to pack her things Luke began laughing. "You see? You have no idea what it takes to model. She's already giving up. But that's okay, I knew you didn't have what it took. It's alright though not everyone is cut out for it. Maybe you can go pass out flyers at Abercrombie." Sarcasm, sarcasm, sarcasm. "Perhaps I should be going as well? Yes I think I really need to leave." Fredo didn't want to be left alone with Luke when he was pissed. No thank you, Luke broke everthing. Frantically he grabbed all of his own posessions so they couldn't be thrown. Luke kicked the chair away from him with such a force that it hit the wall and left a nice chip and mark in the paint. Meh. Luke looked like he was fuming, but just as Agatha was about to leave, his face turned serene. He remembered something, and it was amusing to him. No he really didn't want her to model for him anymore, but if he could torture her, why not? "It's too bad you have a contract." He clicked his tongue. "I mean, now you're going to be stuck doing photoshoots with me until I find a picture I like. And at this rate, well" he sighed loudly and whistled. "It could be quite a long time until then. But I think we should call it a day......because I know you wouldn't try to get out of your contract. People, well they talk. You'd probably never model again. Like, anywhere." Luke feigned sadness on her behalf, like he was really sad that she had to be stuck in such a situation as this. Smirk. And at the end of all this, he probably wouldn't even promote her and use the picture anyway.

[Agatha LeBreun]

I didn't have to,

I didn't have to

“ARGH!” she screamed as Luke kept talking. Seriously, what was wrong with this guy? Was he like, programmed to be a serious idiot, or was he just a—wait, no, he was an idiot. Why was Agatha still here anyway? She didn’t care for any of this. She didn’t need this anymore than she needed traitors in her life. She was out of this place as surely as she was moving out of her own home. Ugh. Like she’d told him, if she wanted to spend some horrid time, she would’ve just gone to a bar and let random old men hit on her. Even that would’ve been better than having to tolerate such an insipid, uncreative, unprofessional whatever, because Luke did not deserve to be called a photographer. Hales, he didn’t even deserve to be labeled a paparazzi. That was how much he sucked. Yeah, he did. “Don’t you ever shut up?” she questioned as she gripped her knapsack tightly. She was trying to convince herself that throwing it to his face was not a good idea; and she was running out of reasons as to why it was so. Hey, at least she would get rid of this boiling anger, right? Hm, she had a feeling that even that wouldn’t be enough. “I’m not even complaining about the floor, you dummy, I’m complaining about you!” Oh, yeah, she wasn’t done yet, apparently. “You’re hung over, you’re bitching over every stupid little thing, and you have an attitude that stinks so much even the trash cans in the Bronx smell better than you!” Maybe she was taking it far, what with the trash cans of the Bronx thingy, but whatever.

“A camera can only take you so far,” it was her turn to mimic him as she flung the knapsack over her shoulder rather violently. The back of it hit her right shoulder, and she almost winced. Ow. Okay, she definitely hadn’t thought that through, but she was too angry to focus on the pain now. She was just so, so, so angry she couldn’t begin to explain it, nor contain it. She had to let it out. She had to, otherwise she would explode, and there would be itty bitty pieces of Agatha everywhere, and it would be a mess and—hmm, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thought after all. Luke would be stuck cleaning after her, and it would be her, which would annoy him even more and—ugh. “Just because you can click away doesn’t mean you’re worth anything, or that you’re even slightly good. Because with a poor attitude like that, you can only be halfway mediocre.” Um, ouch. Okay, it was paining her to say that, and any other day, Agatha was a nice girl, but there was just something about this kid that made her want to jump on his back, wrap her arm around his neck and squeeze. “I have no idea what it’s like to model? Oh, that’s rich, coming from you, who has no idea how to be a professional! You’re screwed if this is all you ever amount to: a hung over idiot that the best he can do is insult a girl’s physical appearance.” Huffing and pulling away at a stray hair, she narrowed her eyes at him and turned to Fredo. “Yeah, let’s go Fredo. Let’s leave him to rot in his misery. He doesn’t deserve you,” she sniffed as she reached for his hand. And just as she was about to leave, the turd had to speak again. And it stopped her tracks on the spot.

Well, shiz.

There was a bastard if she’d ever seen one. Agatha, you better remember this moment, she thought as she swiveled to glare at him. Because this is the first time you've ever hated someone. There was a high probability she looked ridiculous, hair elegantly disheveled, glaring while wearing a black leotard with a matching tutu…but she didn’t care. All she cared about was hating him with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Agatha was a tranquil, usually calm girl. Someone who respected others and disliked being rude. She hated swearing and avoided it like the plague. She was fit to meet anyone, because she had impeccable manners, and she was brought up to be a little lady that would later turn into a real lady—but now? Now it was all careening straight out the window, because what Agatha was about to do contradicted everything she stood for with every fiber of her being. Closing her eyes as she clenched her jaw, she quickly thought about it, and ignored all the sirens that were going off in her head. It was now or never. “I hope you rot in hell,” she said calmly as she flipped him off, middle finger riding high, and she turned around in her heel, pulling Fredo behind her.

[Luke Shaw]

I'm tired of this SCENE,

Didn't he ever shut up? He wasn't even the one rattling on about what she thought was best before they even started. The moment she came in she had that ugly little frown on her pucker and it was driving him mad. Not that it took a whole lot to drive Luke mad, but she was really good at it. And yes, she had complained about the floor. She mentioned it. Girls hardly ever stated out loud their complaints but they always insinuated, which was just as annoying if not more so. But she out-right complained as well. Trick of all trades, that girl. The Bronx trash can? He had taken a very long shower. Surely he smelt fine. His attitude, his attitude, this was nothing new. Everyone went on about his attitude. His attitude was just fine, people had low tolerancy for sarcasm. It wasn't his fault they couldn't take the blunt truths of life and use it to their advantage instead of getting upset over it. She was modeling - she should be quite used to or at least not ridiculously sensitive about critiques. He took pictures, it was his craft. That wasn't something you snarled about. Two very different things and he did not appreciate this kind of abuse so early in the morning. At......five pm. Which was early if you were nocturnal. And a train was going back and forh in your head, and your ears were humming with bees and you couldn't see straight. "You really are a fool, sad as it is for me to say it. I'm not sure you know anything at all. Some of the greatest artists of all time were the most difficult to be around, but they still produced great work. I am merely being honest, a concept you can't handle." Never again, never again was he going to be posting these picture auditions on his blog. Or at least he would screen them, and he wouldn't pick the first girl he placed a decent picture. Background check, work check...height - hell yes check. Refrences would be great as well. Although references were always so biased you had to wonder if they did any good in the end.

Fredo did not want to get into the middle of this. This fighting, this horribly unattractive behavior was the flaw of working in the beauty industry, but at least then it had been in a high-paying job and he got to go to happy hour every day. Not to mention there were many gay, available men around. Now he was listening to two mediocre children with attitudes that held them back from ever going anywhere? It was absurd, how had he lowered himself to this. Tsk tsk. Still, he was going to leave with Agatha because he no longer wished to be in this room or anywhere near it, and she was nice to him. He took her offerred hand, put on his designer hat, grabbed his bag and headed out. "Luke, I still expect you to be at the mall on Saturday. You will hold to it yes?" Luke, already annoyed, bared his teeth. "Unlike some, when I make a committment I stick to it. Go away." He turned his back on them like some sulking child, which he basically was in times like these. Was he really twenty-three? That could be questionable, but the whiskers on his chin proved he was at least older than a pret-teen. I hope you rot in hell. Oooh, hell. He'd rather be in hell than any heaven his family made up. "I did rot in hell, for eighteen years." Was his last remark to her as they left, even if it hardly made sense. His cocky smirk fell off his face as soon as they left and he looked deadly serious. There was a kind of manic and fire in his eyes that was frightening. His blue orbs flamed and he grabbed his lighter, flicking it spastically on and off. It helped calm in. No, he didn't want to break his furniture. He'd already blown his gambling earnings and he was not going to use duct tape again. Five pm. He'd wasted an hour on a girl who didn't take modeling seriously. There were few things to be serious about in life, that was true, but this was one of the rare exceptions. His passion. She was ...ahhhh. Luke didn't know why he got so angry about random shit like this. Who cares? He took the bottle, about to drink the rest, when he threw it hard at the wall and it shattered. Pieces went flying and one stuck in his arm, making a trickle of blood pour down. More than just a trickle slid down his wall and he knew he'd be cleaning it up later. But right now? He just didn't care.

THE END