Screwing With the Stars
All
that glitters is gold
Only shooting stars break the moldWe
all have our problems.
For some, it's a tendency towards stealing,
causing trouble, and generally acting like a spoilt annoying brat.
For others, it's a severe need to lighten up and a cynical outlook on
life that comes from a troubled past, not to mention a case of
pervertitis
majorus.
And
sometimes... our problems are each
other.
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"God,
Monique, hurry up! I'm HUNGRY. "
Somewhere in Beverly Hills,
USA, a lithe asian eighteen-year-old lay in a cucumber mask, awaiting
her breakfast. A fluffy towel was wrapped around her short black
hair, and a similarly colored (greenish white) bathrobe was tied at
the actress/singer's slim waist.
Monique, a nervous
twenty-year-old with mousy brown hair and glasses, hurried to her
side. "Sorry, Miss Kisaragi. I had to go buy strawberries for
the smoothie."
Yuffie rolled her eyes, sitting up. "It's
not like I change my breakfast every day or anything. You should make
sure there are strawberries in the fridge before morning. I don't
like waiting."
"Yes, Miss."
"Good. You can
leave now."
Monique departed from the teeny tyrant, breathing
a profound sigh of relief. And then her eyes widened.
"Oh,
right..." She turned and tapped meekly on the
door.
"Yes?"
"Miss, I forgot to say that the
company found you a bodyguard. " Yuffie had been receiving odd
threats lately, more and more frequently. Stuff like I'm
coming for you, I'm going to kill you, Bitches like you deserve to
die, I can't wait to see you bleed, and
finally, LOOK
FOR ME OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW, all
typed, printed, and delivered by mail from an unknown address. Her
record company was starting to get concerned, and they had hired a
bodyguard for her tour. "Oh, really? What company does he work
for?"
"He's independant. He's very rich, and he's very
young. He also has a very good reputation."
"What's his
name?"
"Vincent Valentine."
"Cool. So, when
do I meet him?"
"Umm...well, in
about...uh..."
"Mon-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-que."
"Thirty
minutes."
"SHIT! Monique! You could have told me! Get my
clothes ready!"
"Yes, miss,
sorry!"
Vincent
stood in front of the mirror, professionally putting on a tie. His
calculating eyes swept over his reflection once, judging himself to
be presentable in an almost detached manner.
His dark hair was
neat; tied back into a ponytail with a black elastic. His complexion
was clear and smooth, and slightly pale, as if he spent too much time
indoors.
Underneath the slacks and dark red dress shirt, his
body looked fit and well-proportioned- not too muscley or big, not
too small or lean. He made it a point to go for a run and do a few
(meaning over thirty) push-ups and sit-ups every day at precisely
seven o'clock if possible, in addition to his usual workout. Vincent
liked routine.
Right
now, he was getting ready to meet with a young actress. He'd heard
that she was somewhat unmanageable and hardheaded- not to mention
troublesome- but he was convinced he some way or another, he could
deal with her. Hopefully this job would be over soon- he was
beginning to regret booking it. After all, one shouldn't be in
contact with brattish primaddonas too long. It just isn't healthy.
At
least, that was his
plan.
Ding-dong.
Oh
boy, Monique
thought, and rushed to open the door. "Mister Valentine? Please
come in."
"Thank you...Monique, is it? Her agent?"
"More
of a personal assistant most of the time, but yes, that too."
Monique smiled. Vincent stepped inside, eyes scanning the tasteful
decor. It looked expensive, but wasn't overly pretentious. Plus,
there was no pink. Just a lot of green.
"Monique, is he here
yet? He better not be late on the first day. That would be
irresponsable and idiotic and man
that's
a lot of long i-words, isn't it? Hey, Moni, you didn't answer me, is
he here yet? Can you hear me? Moniiiiiiiii- Oh, hi!" Yuffie had
just zipped down the stair railing, out of breath from all the
rushing about. a starlet had to be presentable, after
all.
Presentable meaning make-up, good hair, and a
skimpy-but-fashionable outfit.
"Miss Kisaragi."
"Yeaaaaaah
what?"
"Isn't it a little cold for that?"
"Shush,
Moni, it's fine. I'll be inside all day anyways until we go to the
beach. Oh, and I forgot to say hi. What's your name, anyway?"
Yuffie peered at Vincent, her nose scrunched up in concentration.
"I'm pretty sure Monique told me, and it was one of those
special names or whatever, like Leon Lionheart or Jack Jackson or
Rick Randalls...no, wait, the first name was normal, last was
special... Carl Strife? No, the first and last name began with the
same letter and it was kind of mushy or something...don't tell me...
Hmmm... Luke Love? No...Hank Heart? No...hum....Mark Makelove? No,
that's not it... Sammy Sex? Ralph Relationship? No..."
"Vincent
Valentine."
"OHHHHH! Vince, you shouldn't have told me!
I would have guessed it eventually!"
"..." Was it
just him, or were pop stars REALLY that stupid?
"So, what's
your middle name? Ike? Ian?"
"No. It's Orion,
actually."
"Oh. That's too bad..."
Now he was
just confused. "Why?"
"Because I could have called
you Viv if your middle name started with an I... Oh well. Anyways,
I'm Yuffie Kisaragi, and if I die I'll fire your ass. "
Vincent
resisted the urge to laugh bitterly and nodded. "I'll do my best
to protect you."
"Great! Now, I hope you have like,
shorts or something, 'cause we're going to the beach
today."
"Joy."
"What was that?"
"Nothing,
Miss Kisaragi. Nothing you need to worry
about."
"Man,
Moni, we should go here every day." Yuffie whispered,
sparkly-eyed with happiness.
"I thought you said the sand was
too itchy?" Moni asked, raising both eyebrows in surprise.
Yuffie grinned, winking cheekily.
"Yeah, but have you seen
Vinnie in a swimsuit? Just look.
I mean, I would sit through an entire speech on the economy of
Siberia if I could see that
during
the presentation."
Monique laughed, charmed by the little
devil. She could be a brat sometimes (mostly in the mornings), yes,
but Yuffie was rather good-natured as people go, and a happy little
spirit. It was one of the reasons she worked for her- Yuffie had a
unique attitude that you tended to miss when you were away.
Vincent,
meanwhile, was not so lighthearted. He took his job seriously-
actually, under one leg of his baggy swimsuit shorts he'd strapped a
small gun. Vincent liked guns, and he was somewhat like Mad-Eye Moody
in work ethic; CONSTANT VILIGANCE!
Constant Viligance meaning not
being
unprepared...or distracted by a hot actress jumping around in a
bikini. That was actually the only part Vincent really found hard in
his job. See, he hid it well, but he was kind of a pervert. When he'd
been growing up, he'd been fairly popular, thus getting more than his
fair share of innuendo jokes and
action.
So
with Yuffie running around half-naked after some guy who had stolen
her towel yelling "GIVE IT TO ME" was kind
of...distracting.
And he couldn't fail again.
His eyebrow
twitched in annoyance, and he turned to the laughing pair of
troublemakers. "Yuffie, could you be quieter? I need to
concentrate." His eyes were flinty, and his face was
serious.
She rolled her eyes. "Gosh, it's a BEACH. No one's
gonna shoot me or anything, okay? What got up your ass, anyways? Quit
being so uptight."
"I'm trying to protect you,"
Vincent reminded her. Yuffie frowned, sticking out her
tongue.
"Well... lighten up or I'll fire you! So
there!"
Vincent rolled his eyes, an action not unnoticed by
Yuffie, who blew a raspberry at him.
"Fiiiiiiii-ne,
be
that way!"
"You can count on it," Vincent muttered,
and the conversation ended there.
