Disclaimer: You guys all know that this doesn't belong to me. K.O.N.A.M.I...There.
Author's notes: I decided to cut 'Career Choices' into three categories, mainly because it would be less confusing and jumbled up. This is the first installment. This was inspired by a story from the Gundam Wing section (whoever you are, tell me so that I can give you due credit!). Warning: some OOC-ness may appear.
Career Choices: Stars of (In)famy
Cameras flashed.
The crowd inside Chateau de Budehuc was trembling with anticipation for the commencement of the activities. The hotel, renowned for its select group of patrons (only the elite of the elite were able to afford a few night's stay), was thrilled to host this very prestigious event.
Amid the celebrities and the millionaires were the keen-eyed reporters, taking note of items such as who-was-with-who (the president of the world was there, along with the young sports star) and who-wore-what (Gasp! Versache. Here?) . Indeed, tonight was going to be a very important night for the fashion society of the world.
In the Grand Ballroom, an elaborate runway was set up, and the stage glittered with too-expensive paint. This was the epicenter of all the milling socialites. The throng's din faded as the lights dimmed, and then swelled into applause for the man who stood in the center of the platform. The beams focused on him, and he began to speak.
"I am pleased that so many of you went to view my latest creations," the clothing designer (from whom the brand derived its name, "tonight, we at Silverburg are going to introduce the latest and brightest fashions, the best among the bloom, the prettiest garments in the north, the most posh and glamorous..."
This went on for quite some time-as evidenced by the increasing restlessness of the audience. Noticing this, the strategist-turned-designer went for plan B; he stepped down and the fashion show proceeded without any difficulty. Yet still, the crowd was waiting for them...
Backstage...
There was only one thought running through his head.
Damn you, Albert!
Back to the show...
"And now," Albert said with much relish, "I give you…our underwear line!"
The music became upbeat, and a bevy of scantily-clad girls paraded themselves on the runway. Then they gracefully left the stage, and the moment that the elite horde was waiting for came.
I hate this…
The two top male models in the fashion business appeared. One of them was clearly embarrassed; the other was just as evidently enjoying himself. A gaggle of socialite young girls, who came with their wealthy parents just to catch a glimpse of them, went ballistic at their choice of attire. It took quite a lot of guards to restrain them.
Anyway.
Boxers adorned the body of the first. Sasarai walked as fast as dignity would allow, then turned tail and headed backstage. The audience was pleased to note a pink blush staining the handsome young man's cheeks. Luc, on the other hand-donning briefs, and not much else-did not so much walk as strutted, bestowing a few I-am-sex-on-legs smirks on the besotted spectators. The girls broke their restraints and chaos enfolded.
It was at this point that the models and assorted managers wisely decided to withdraw.
Albert: clothing designer
Luc: model
Sasarai: model
Viewers watched.
There was a couch, a table, and a plasma TV on the set. As the theme song played, the camera zoomed in to show the rapt faces of the live audience. An off-screen voice issued as the song faded.
"This episode, you're in for a special treat!" the voice promised. "We have an interview with the two of most famous models in the world, a heart-to-heart talk with a rising popstar and a surprise guest host!"
The camera zoomed in on a question mark head.
"Featuring Mercenary, all coming up on Blank!" And with that, the voice scurried away.
The audience waited expectantly. The neon APPLAUSE light appeared, and they clapped energetically. A man, clothed in a tasteful but concealing-identity ninja garb, walked out and sat on the couch. He stared.
They stared.
He stared.
They stared.
He stared.
"Hello."
Watari: talk show host
"Mr. President!"
"Please, Mr. President!"
"Sir, what…"
The reporters had no chance of getting close to the president of the world. The bodyguards, fanatically devoted to the well-being of their leader, let no one go within a foot for fear of assassination attempts. Not that the President (or Prez as he was affectionately called by the masses1) was incapable of defending himself. Indeed, in his younger days his prowess on the battlefield as well as in politics earned him a grudging respect even from his most lethal enemies.
Ah, the good old days.
As he and his phalanx of bodyguards neared the building-he was scheduled to hold a conference with the costumed heroes2-he mused on his achievements since the time he was elected. He supposed that he did some good. He had constructed laws on the care of the environment (no oil spills have occurred in the past five years since the coming of his term), increased the world literacy and health rate, focused on the welfare and education of the masses-yes, he did do some good. Heck, countries even stopped warring with each other.
It was amazing what one could do with a hawk-eyed stare.
Yet even with all the improvements he affected, there were still some rough spots in the land. One of the reasons he was going to the meeting with the Fire Bringers was because there were some minor disturbances lately erupting all over the world-some forest fires, earthquakes, seemingly natural calamities. But his special investigation force had unearthed evidence that the disasters were anything but natural. There was something going on here, and he didn't like the look of it. He was so immersed in his thoughts that only the shrill warning snapped him to awareness.
"Mr. President, look out!"
He turned his head to his bodyguard and just narrowly evaded the bullet. Several bombs exploded around them, and the President was forced to watch his loyal men die in his defense. As the danger grew, he was forced to flee.
Shrieking a curse, he spread his wings and took to the skies.
Fubar: President of the World
"You're on."
The stunningly beautiful woman looked up in surprise. The producer had some qualms about hiring her, but was gratified by the increase of the ratings. He supposed it was due to the huge amount of male fans.
"I'm on? Oh, ok. Um…there have been some blastings-blastings isn't a word? Oh, bombings, then- in the vicinity of the northern grasslands. Fubar was the target of these bombings, and, um, was able to escape unharmed. Er…he was scheduled to have a discussion with the Fire Bringers when these attacks occurred…am I still on?"
The producer nodded, off-screen.
"Drat. All right. Um…In other news, the 'Kid3 scored a goal, won the big tennis match and did other sporty stuff. This is Silver, on ZNN." A pause. "Can I go now?"
The producer sighed.
Chris: Newscaster
Ok. That's it, so far! Hmm… I've got 6 stars of destiny in here. There'll be more, I promise! Next off: sports star, pop icon and rock band, just to name a few!
The other two installments, 'For Lack of a Fire Hero' and 'Average Jordis', focuses on superheroes and normal jobs, respectively. There is going to be a plot when I establish their roles. You won't be able to guess who the antagonist is. ^_^
Any comments, questions, suggestions or flames, go ahead. I don't mind flames, as long as they're constructively written.
Footnotes:
1: 'Prez' was a name I got from Sandman of Neil Gaiman.
2: The 'costumed heroes' are in the second installment, 'Career Choices: For Lack of a Fire Hero'
3: No, it isn't Kidd. The apostrophe stands for something. It will be too obvious if I wrote it down.
