TITLE: "Indelible"
FEEDBACK: Yes please - but be gentle with me, I'm new to this!
ARCHIVE/DISTRIBUTION: Wherever, just ask.
SUMMARY: Cordy gets that tattoo.
SPOILERS: Pre-Season 1 AtS.
CONTENT/WARNINGS: This is just a doodle, really - a vignette-type thing.
RATING: (British System) U
DISCLAIMER: I am not now, nor have I ever been, Joss Whedon. Not mine. Just playing. Don't sue.
She'd turned her back on Sunnydale once and for all. No more vampires, no more zombies, no more evenings spent in dusty libraries researching ways to save the world from the latest Big Bad. No more loser boyfriends who cheated on her with their little nerd buddies. No more low-budget Remington Steeles. Cordelia Chase was going to be a star. It was only a matter of time before her innate fabulousness was noticed by some big movie producer and she was back on top again.
She wasn't intimidated by how big LA was. Not at all. She wasn't intimidated by how *beautiful* everyone was - even the guys on the hotdog stands, even the *bums*. Queen C knew her own worth and she didn't get intimidated - she did the intimidating. Of course, Queen C also had a car, a coterie of adoring wannabes, a wardrobe bigger than some of her schoolmates' houses and an infinite amount of money...
OK, so maybe Queen C was dead. Well then, long live Cordelia-Chase- International-Film-Star. She was bound to be discovered any day now.
("I am somebody. I matter. People will be drawn to my positive energy and help me to achieve my goals. I am right where I am supposed to be. . .")
Walking through the sunlit streets Cordelia could believe all this whole- heartedly. Or at least believe that she believed it, which was almost the same. She carried herself like a princess and directed a dazzlingly white triangular smile at all comers. It was only when she had to return to the ratty little bolt hole that she'd rented, when she sat down and counted out the pitifully small number of dollars she had left and wondered where on earth she was going to get the money for the electric bill - when she allowed herself to know that *nobody* cared where she was or what was happening to her - that the fear and the loneliness welled up and she asked herself why she had ever come out here at all. And it was OK to cry herself to sleep sometimes, because it wasn't like anyone was going to know.
One of these bright LA mornings she found herself lingering outside a tattoo parlour. It would, of course, be completely insane to go and spend half of her worldly assets on getting a tattoo. It wasn't like she knew where her next meal was coming from.
Queen C would never have dreamed of having a tattoo - but Queen C was dead, and maybe Cordelia-Chase-International-Film-Star was exactly the kind of seize-the-moment girl who sported a tattoo. Nothing tacky, nothing especially badass. . .just something sexy, something unexpected. Something meaningful.
Cordy was a little shocked at her own daring, but hell, she was walk-on-the- wild-side gal and some of the designs were cool.
Her eyes lingered on a pretty little stylised sun. She liked it.
The idea of a permanent symbol of turning her back on Sunnydale really appealed to her at that moment. Cordy smiled. Perhaps a sun inscribed on her back, just above her dimpled little derriere. Something that metaphorically said 'Kiss my ass, Sunnydale.'
//After all, who needs food? The camera always adds at least ten pounds.//
Even if nobody else ever knew that was what it meant, *she* would know it was there. Wouldn't be able to see it, but it would still be there. A lucky charm. An indelible reminder of Sunnydale; a reminder that she'd turned her back on all that - on blood-sucking monsters and geeky loser boyfriends and withering trust funds. A reminder that she was going towards brighter, better things. Cordelia Chase, International Film Star.
Cordy walked through the door of the tattoo parlour with her head held high.
FEEDBACK: Yes please - but be gentle with me, I'm new to this!
ARCHIVE/DISTRIBUTION: Wherever, just ask.
SUMMARY: Cordy gets that tattoo.
SPOILERS: Pre-Season 1 AtS.
CONTENT/WARNINGS: This is just a doodle, really - a vignette-type thing.
RATING: (British System) U
DISCLAIMER: I am not now, nor have I ever been, Joss Whedon. Not mine. Just playing. Don't sue.
She'd turned her back on Sunnydale once and for all. No more vampires, no more zombies, no more evenings spent in dusty libraries researching ways to save the world from the latest Big Bad. No more loser boyfriends who cheated on her with their little nerd buddies. No more low-budget Remington Steeles. Cordelia Chase was going to be a star. It was only a matter of time before her innate fabulousness was noticed by some big movie producer and she was back on top again.
She wasn't intimidated by how big LA was. Not at all. She wasn't intimidated by how *beautiful* everyone was - even the guys on the hotdog stands, even the *bums*. Queen C knew her own worth and she didn't get intimidated - she did the intimidating. Of course, Queen C also had a car, a coterie of adoring wannabes, a wardrobe bigger than some of her schoolmates' houses and an infinite amount of money...
OK, so maybe Queen C was dead. Well then, long live Cordelia-Chase- International-Film-Star. She was bound to be discovered any day now.
("I am somebody. I matter. People will be drawn to my positive energy and help me to achieve my goals. I am right where I am supposed to be. . .")
Walking through the sunlit streets Cordelia could believe all this whole- heartedly. Or at least believe that she believed it, which was almost the same. She carried herself like a princess and directed a dazzlingly white triangular smile at all comers. It was only when she had to return to the ratty little bolt hole that she'd rented, when she sat down and counted out the pitifully small number of dollars she had left and wondered where on earth she was going to get the money for the electric bill - when she allowed herself to know that *nobody* cared where she was or what was happening to her - that the fear and the loneliness welled up and she asked herself why she had ever come out here at all. And it was OK to cry herself to sleep sometimes, because it wasn't like anyone was going to know.
One of these bright LA mornings she found herself lingering outside a tattoo parlour. It would, of course, be completely insane to go and spend half of her worldly assets on getting a tattoo. It wasn't like she knew where her next meal was coming from.
Queen C would never have dreamed of having a tattoo - but Queen C was dead, and maybe Cordelia-Chase-International-Film-Star was exactly the kind of seize-the-moment girl who sported a tattoo. Nothing tacky, nothing especially badass. . .just something sexy, something unexpected. Something meaningful.
Cordy was a little shocked at her own daring, but hell, she was walk-on-the- wild-side gal and some of the designs were cool.
Her eyes lingered on a pretty little stylised sun. She liked it.
The idea of a permanent symbol of turning her back on Sunnydale really appealed to her at that moment. Cordy smiled. Perhaps a sun inscribed on her back, just above her dimpled little derriere. Something that metaphorically said 'Kiss my ass, Sunnydale.'
//After all, who needs food? The camera always adds at least ten pounds.//
Even if nobody else ever knew that was what it meant, *she* would know it was there. Wouldn't be able to see it, but it would still be there. A lucky charm. An indelible reminder of Sunnydale; a reminder that she'd turned her back on all that - on blood-sucking monsters and geeky loser boyfriends and withering trust funds. A reminder that she was going towards brighter, better things. Cordelia Chase, International Film Star.
Cordy walked through the door of the tattoo parlour with her head held high.