Kelsey Rose: Yeeesss. This is a mixture of the musical and the 2007 movie musical. I kept some of the aspects from both, as you'll probably notice. Before anyone has a cow: yes, in the musical, Penny has red hair and chews gum instead of eating lollipops. :) I liked her better in that; thus, here you go! If anything else confuses those who've only seen the movie, it's probably just a musical aspect. I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: Hairspray isn't mine. Boohoo.
It was just another day on The Corny Collins Show, with there honestly being nothing special about it. The Council members were all present (black, white: it didn't matter, for the show had been integrated almost a month ago now), and were gathered for their common cause of presenting the dance of the day, or week, and, of course, dishing out their regular performances. Nothing, on an outward surveillance, was different. It was the same, exact experience of almost every other day of being here. The schedule was, simply put: arrive, perform, break, perform, break, perform, sign off, gather belongings, and go home to rest up for yet another, agonizingly identical day.
Boredom wasn't the proper word for it. That didn't offer nearly enough justification. No, in fact, the more appropriate term seemed to linger around the word duty or perhaps a coupled phrase such as pleasant requirement. All the same, if there were one person who milked her fame from this show for all that it was worth, it had to be the young and ever-so haughty, Amber von Tussle. This was practically a chore to her, a place where she could grace so-called commoners with her presence while 'dazzling' them with her pretty smile and shameless talent. Little rhyme or reason was enforced when it came down to why she continued to force herself to do this even after she had finally lost her claim to Miss Teenage Hairspray. Truthfully, Amber couldn't have even clarified that herself. She had, more or less, assumed it to be a very minor blemish on her otherwise perfect, albeit superficial life. Soaring above it all, as she feigned triumph was her only option, especially now that her mother was no longer present to baby her most prized possession. This little bird was flying solo now.
But, even so, today had been different, and Amber herself had refused to even acknowledge it, for the most part. With the presence of Tracy Turnblad and her African American friends on the soundstage, she had become painfully aware of a frequent tagalong. That dorky, redheaded friend of hers and supposed girlfriend of one of Motormouth's kids (Amber hadn't even bothered to keep up with how many that woman had, as it had never seemed important to her in the slightest) had made quite a few appearances to support her friends. Her being there was hardly significant, and typically annoyed the life out of Amber when she thought about it. The way that she would always smile, those looks that circled between her and that dark-skinned boyfriend of hers, her fascination with gum-chewing, her evocatively pale eyes, those ratty things that she called clothes--it made Amber's blood boil.
She hated her, even while hate seemed illogical for a pair that didn't even suitably know one another. Amber could still remember on all those walks with Link down the hallway, when the two of them would imitate something that appeared to be affection, how she would, from time to time, catch sight of the Pingleton girl on the arm of Tracy or Seaweed, or, on rare occasion, alone. Maybe it was how she delicately handled each and every situation with care, or that tender smile she always portrayed when someone clearly above her social status walked by and gave her a dirty look, but Amber could not stand her. Her goofy poise was enough to make her retch; and she didn't even know why, for it was a fair assumption that the two of them had barely even said more than ten words to one another.
That girl was so imperfect, so disgustingly bland and unfortunate. Her status had only lowered in the public's eyes when she began dating that colored boy. Rumors flew frantically around their school, but Amber found that she herself only spoke about it when among a few select Councilettes. Otherwise, the subject infuriated her. Amber, a girl who inwardly had no issues whatsoever with people of color, was infuriated. Logic had flown in one ear and out the other whenever she had tried to reason why; everything was suddenly way over her head. She was slipping beneath the surface and losing all control of the situation, and that, and only that, was what lead her to the conclusion of hatred. Amber von Tussle could never lose control, especially to another girl. That was simply and utterly ridiculous, and something that she would not let happen.
Commercials breaks came and went, but concentration had long since awarded Amber with the brand of incapability. When she wasn't scowling or whining to some other Council member about how they had stepped on her foot, screwed up her dance moves, caused her to go off-key, or looked at her the wrong way, then she was glaring viciously at the gushing redhead who, each time she saw her, was either flirtatiously chatting up her boyfriend or giggling to Tracy about something unknown to her. It was then that the blonde knew she had a serious problem on her hands. She could already feel the loss of power, that dripping sensation of it slipping straight through her fingertips. Her eyes unconsciously narrowed.
"Amber."
She couldn't force herself to look away. It was only when she felt a swift and abrupt thump against her shoulder that she turned to her newfound shadow. Her eyebrows wrinkled against her forehead.
"What do you want?" She barked, vaguely realizing the arrival of one of her on-and-off sidekicks, Shelley. The other girl decided not to take offense, if only because this wasn't exactly the first, or last, time that this had or would happen.
"What's your deal today?" The russet-haired girl's face lacked any sort of nameable expression as she pursued her inquiry. Shelley was, and always had been, an enigma, one that Amber hadn't even bothered to even begin to understand.
"What are you talking about?" The blonde stared at her as though she had sprouted an extra head. Where her gaze went was really none of this girl's business, and Amber made a point to show her that with each scathing blink of her eyes.
"You've been staring at that girl," Shelley rethought the sentence, glanced in Penny Pingleton's direction, and then looked up to Amber once more. "Tracy Turnblad's friend, or whatever, ever since we got here. What's up with you?"
Amber had to keep herself from cringing again, out of disgust or of what, she was uncertain. She didn't quite know how to respond, and that irritated her to the ends of the earth. After all, she was a Von Tussle, therefore ensuring her a grade A performance in the art of communication. To be at a loss for words was frightening to her, and only added on to the list of reasons she had been silently constructing for why she loathed that redheaded harlot's very existence.
"She's disgusting, Shelley," She larked suddenly, her voice rising in pitch as she forced one of her malicious giggles. "Just look at her!" Amber knew that anymore laughter for dramatic effect would just worsen her friend's suspicion, so she just kept her performance at a single, manipulative smirk. Shelley just soaked it all in with a similar look of spiteful delight.
"Don't I know it," She scoffed lowly, a snickering 'humph' escaping her lips. Amber saw this as her chance to take the conversation by the horns and just go for it.
"I can't believe her, thinking that she can come along to watch her Negro boyfriend and fatty best friend like that," She began, her voice lowering significantly, which brought Shelley closer to her to better listen. "She should just go home and wait around 'til it's time for her to be his whore again." The second-to-last last word brought a gasping round of giggles from the pair of them, but mainly Amber. "Am I right, or am I right?" Amber balanced the back of her right hand against the appropriate hip, and then sighed heavily as her ego clutched ferociously onto her newly acquired success. See? She knew she could do it. The balance of control and charm had been doubly rewarded to her yet again.
In spite of this, at that very moment, Shelley's response had gone completely unnoticed. For, in a flash of the heated state of affairs, that same girl whom both of them had just verbally slaughtered, turned and unintentionally established eye contact with Amber. Both of them had paused, and for a few, precious seconds, Amber actually feared that her jaw had dropped open slightly in shock. The suggestion of reddened cheeks on Penny's behalf only amplified Amber's worry of lost composure; as a result, she quickly averted her eyes to the floor.
Her heartbeat had quickened tenfold, and from the metallic taste in her mouth, she knew that her teeth had clamped on to the inside of her lower lip a bit harder than she had initially intended. She felt the need to choke, writhe in disgust in the corner, go and tribally launch herself at that stupid girl for doing this to her. Or, of course, just all of the above. The breath had been hitched in her throat, and she was aggravated by the concept of having to force herself to part her lips somewhat to draw in a few, good breaths in order to gain the color back in her now pale cheeks.
Hazy awareness wasn't the only thing that hit her when she pushed herself to glance back at a rambling Shelley. Her set and usual, angry pout was immediately and purposefully glued to her face.
"… and she actually went for it!" Shelley had concluded, a patronizing sneer twining with her features. Amber's focus had dipped dramatically, and there was nothing to be done about it. "Anyway, hon, I'll leave you to…" She stared at her oddly. "… do whatever it is you're doing." Shelley rolled her eyes, took one last look at Amber, and then excused herself to more gossip. Amber and she weren't exactly 'friends,' but when your occupation was being a thorn in the entire population's side, you had to be coupled with someone who shared the same morals and aspirations.
As soon as she was gone, Amber turned her back to the others and stared blankly at the floor. What had just happened? Her heart and stomach both lurched at once, and she had to quickly steal a few steps forward and then casually drape her arms across her chest before she gave in to the idea of losing her breakfast or succumbed to the notion of having some sort of heart attack right on the edge of the soundstage.
Hatred brimmed in the corners of her eyes as she fought back the thought of ripping morality to shreds. Words wouldn't even begin to illustrate how much she absolutely despised this girl right now. How she so carelessly and, in Amber's mind, intentionally stole her control and composure from her really grinded her gears and set the fire in her eyes aflame. She had no right, no right, to do this to her. Amber was better than her, and she knew it. She knew it so well that she would have no problem on the face of the earth ruining what was left of that whore's high school career. With all the connections that this blonde had, it was damn possible, and she would sleep soundly at night even after doing so.
But, something still violently tugged at her. It tugged, and tugged, and eventually Amber felt as though her throat could close at any moment, and that would be it. Something about that dimmed look in the Pingleton girl's eyes, a hidden sort of sentiment that few or no one knew about her, forced the image to stay in Amber's mind. It was enough to make her scream at the top of her lungs in anger, frustration, and confusion.
She hated every aspect of how she moved, how she acted, what she did, who she associated with… and yet, it was that one look that held her captive. It reared a completely different part of her personality that she was not about to submit to.
You hate her, Amber recited to herself over and over again as a glare fastened onto her appearance. She turned about on her heels and found Penny's eyes wandering the studio pointlessly.
Quietly, and with a look of pure repugnance on her face, Amber watched as she blew a bubble with her gum and waved goodbye to Tracy, Link, and Seaweed. While that was a generous enough sign to Amber that they were close to going on air again, she stayed where she was, as if anticipating something that she herself didn't fully understand.
Standing there with her eyebrows weaved precisely, the corners of her lips turned downward, her nose scrunched up, and her forehead creased rather unattractively, she knew that she must look absolutely unappealing. And, for once, she didn't care. For, as she took another few steps towards where she would soon join her fellow Council members on the soundstage to perform once more before they signed off for the day, she caught another one of that nauseating redhead's stares. It was then that she knew that she was condemning herself to a world that she had no desire to be apart of at all; and she suddenly felt a rush of sickness come upon her.
It was repulsive how she knew that she could supposedly despise someone so much, and yet still, at the same time, find them to be so hauntingly beautiful.
It made her all the more disgusted with herself and, more appropriately, with her.
