Scenario: A character is undercover
Words: Fishnets, crisis, discarded, rascal
The song goes well. I love this feeling. It's the feeling that I've surprised someone. Not with something stupid, like hooking up with Draco Malfoy over the summer or making a first year cry, but for something real, something good.
Today's locale is a pub, which is not where my parents thought I was going for Christmas break, but whatever. Screw them. Apparently this weren't above hiring young women like me under the counter.
I'm dressed revealingly, with fishnets and a low cut top, my usual unflattering blouses discarded.
I take a bow, tipping my top hat at the crowd. Secretly, I take a little pleasure in the fact that the audience is entirely made up of muggles. My father would have fits, seeing like this. Not because of the outfit, oh no. My father couldn't care less about that. He's mostly worried about 'muggle contamination'. Apparently that's a thing.
I think that's another reason I come. My father is so prejudiced that he'd be willing to overlook an inappropriate outfit to lecture me about Muggles.
But it's not just him. Even my friends casually drop Muggle-inspired insults. The sad thing is, though, that I used to do that too.
My first performance was, ironically, on a dare. I've long sung (yes, me. I know, how unlikely) but last summer, when I was still reeling from Draco's rejection (after we hooked up, actually. What an arse), Daphne and some other friends found me singing to myself and tried to distract me by teasing me with it. It worked, in a way—I embarrassed myself so badly that first time that I cried from embarrassment rather than heartbreak.
I walk offstage, blowing a kiss as I leave. I'm such a diva here. It's funny—everyone at school thinks that I'm really confident, going out with Draco and all. I mean, obviously they don't know the truth, but still, I'm much more natural here than I ever am there. I'm playing a role at school, is all.
The backstage crew slap me on the back, and I head to my dressing room to change. Before I have my top over my head, however, I hear a knock at the door. I hastily throw a robe on, and open the door to my manager, Mr. Abrahams. He smiles. He hasn't got all of his teeth left, but those that are are badly crooked. He's the kind of man that young (ish) girls like me ought to be afraid of. But I don't worry about him. He's seen me punch the men who try to turn rascal on me as well as anyone.
He hands me a stack of bills, and leaves. He's like that. He never talks unless absolutely necessary. I stash my pay in my bra for later disposal (I don't need it. I'm rich, after all) and finish undressing. I'm about to wipe off my makeup when I hear a boom from outside. I ignore it.
I'm good at ignoring things. Draco says so. That's why, he says, it'll be easy for me to pretend he likes me and not some idiot he's making out with in the corner.
Okay, full disclosure: when I said that he rejected me, that was only half of the truth.
Here's the other half: he knows about my singing excursions. He said we were in a position to help each other. I date him so no one finds out he likes snogging boys, he doesn't tell. I'm pretty sure that's not the average post-hookup chat, right?
I hear another boom. I pick up my clothes from the floor and slip on the shapeless pants my mother seems to think I adore, and button up a matching puke-colored blouse. I slip out through the back door, only to spot a full-blown crisis on the street corner. Obviously, that was where the booms were coming from. I turn to go the other way. My car's parked that way, anyway, when I hear a familiar voice.
I whip around.
"Idiot muggle!"
"Draco?" I whisper in a strangled voice, a walking literary clichè. Of course he can't hear me. I'm not dumb, despite all appearances to the contrary.
I hear another boom, and I make a split-second decision to run towards him. I suspect the worst, and yes, the worst arrives.
Draco stands there, wand pointed at an unconscious muggle, and I gasp, pointing at the prone Mr. Abrahams.
Which is when Draco spots me. Even with my full makeup on (I like to wear it almost all the way home) I'm easily recognizable. He smirks, then pockets his wand.
"Come, Pansy, let's talk." He pulls me to the side, deftly rolling Mr. Abrahams to the side. I cringe.
"Pansy…" Draco sounds dangerous. Is he drunk? I pull away. I still have my makeup on. I retain some of my power.
As if reading my mind, he pulls out a handkerchief, and I spot a flask in his pocket. He pulls me closer.
"You should take off that makeup, Pans," Still I fight him. I elbow him in the face, which stops him for a moment, but he manages to smear my makeup, and he gets the rest on the next swipe.
My anger propells my hand, and I punch him in the face, once, twice, three times. I reel. My anger depleted and my power removed, I run to my car and drive home.
Review! Please! Here's a bribe: fictional oranges for any character in any fic. (I really want oranges right now.)
-Mo