– Limelight –
'welcome amber to the stage'
here she is at last
Written By? CloneGirl
Cast & Premise? Amber-centric, mentions of the rest of the Largo clan, extremely brief reference to Graverobber. Post!movie. Drabble/ficlet.
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Repo!. That would be the coolest frickin' thing in the world.
A/N: Leik oh em effing gee Repo!fic. 8D I originally didn't really like Amber…you know, her being a slut and all. But after a while, I was all like, "Hey, she's pretty badass". Yeah. Plus, according to the quiz I took on FaceBook (ths r leik ssooooo relliabl), I am Amber Sweet. Funny~
Here she is at last – larger than life, gritty-sweet exultation coating her tongue, every astonished eye on the youngest and most ineligible for inheritance. Irresponsible and incapable, the druggie, the slut, the airy-stepped daughter.
Who else were they going to look at?
Not Pavi; he hadn't banished the women who clung to his arms, not even as the siblings had arranged themselves with bowed heads and wept before the dark messiah's grave.
Not Luigi; all that he had bothered to change was tossing melodramatic wails of grief haphazardly into his rants.
Not Rotti; the media couldn't work up eternal interest over marble monuments that would darken with time and "sacred" plots of dirt that would soon be choked with weeds.
They had another old thing (old made anew, to be accurate) to look at now. A dusty rhinestone found again within the littered alleys. Except now it was polished up properly to reveal the diamond (so pure and beautiful and perfect) unnoticed before.
Here she was, rescued from the scourge of society to boldly take up the mantle her brothers were hesitant to touch, the papers proclaimed. Here she was, to preserve the intimidating legacy left behind by their saviour.
The least expected, the most changed; they painted her name in rich violet and vermilion now. The poster girl of grimy walls and floundering help groups – now all that could be overlooked as she stepped forward, the scandalous past behind her (it's amazing how much she's grown up now, they said, the tragedy of the opera must have smartened her up, they said).
Little Carmela Largo was gone forever now, because she was too bland and small to fit in the footsteps of all the men before her. And now she was finally fixed and made perfect, after years of knives after scalpels after needles sliding through her skin, after sojourns after journeys after tours into the realms of blissful haze and the dealer's addictive sugar-smiles.
Now she could smile without a lie (that they could recognize, at least), step forward without slinking back into the shade (with this kind of power at her fingertips, she had no reason to hide anything anymore), and welcome herself into the flashing lights and technicolour spotlights.
Welcome Amber to the stage.
Here she is at last.