Character studies of Adelaide. Part of a challenge on deviantART.
:What I Want:
Introduction
Adelaide staunchly believed that no vampire could, nor should, rely solely upon their glamour to walk unnoticed among the living. Too easily, one could neglect the peach fuzz tinting of the skin; the dulling of too-white, too sharp teeth; the concealment of cherry-red eyes behind another, more natural color.
Like brown, for instance. Warm, dark, honey brown, with just the right amount of green flecks to really keep your new best friend's attention away from the coolness of your skin. She was very fond of brown eyes, and coordinated her makeup accordingly.
Makeup, in her opinion, was a mandatory accessory for all vampires, regardless of gender. The right blush could keep your cheeks lively enough to forgo wasting the energy doing the same thing with a glamour. Eyeliner and a steady hand could give your eyes an exotic tilt that would otherwise slump awkwardly at the edges if you became distracted by an arched jugular. The right mix of foundation and concealer could mar flawless, poreless skin into appearing like human, living skin.
It was both very much a precise science and an abstract art, and Adelaide considered herself both a scientist and an artist of the highest caliber.
But a vampire couldn't get by with just a pretty face. You could have the face of a goddess and it wouldn't get you anything if you failed to frame it right.
Now, hair was by no means ever naturally purple, but subtle tints of color in the right lights could do wonders for turning the right heads. Purple was an old favorite, but she had had interesting results with deep blues and even greens as well. But that was just the glamour talking; any shade of dark hair with just the right amount of tousle and curl—time well spent with a hairbrush and mousse, in her opinion—did the job just fine. More than fine, really.
As for clothes? Well, every vampire ought to have a few good outfits.
Tonight she opens a closet in an apartment that isn't hers and, standing naked and unperturbed by the chill coming in from the open windows, she studies the line of good outfits that had been bought by others for her.
A few is nice, but if you can get others to burn their paychecks away on you on just a kiss, why not?
Ah ha.
She's feeling red tonight.
She selects a sleek little number, tight, sleeveless silk, stopping just above the knee, a swirl of subtle design on the left hip and across the right shoulder. Nothing too ostentatious, but just eye catching enough to draw attention to her best curves. She—of course—has the perfect shoes to go with this decision.
Dressed now, she gives her best smile to the mirror, and watches her makeup move accordingly, perfectly, neither a smear nor a smudge to be found. Being what she is, the mirror reflects nothing but her dress and her makeup, a red-lipped clown face, empty beneath the surface. It's an ugly comparison, to be sure, but luckily only a short-term one; in minutes the floating face fades away, leaving only a slinky red dress hugging invisible curves.
She hums to herself as she sprits expensive perfume on her neck and wrists, fluffs her hair again, and laughs like she's been tickled. "Be a dear and clean up, won't you?" she says to the corpse slouched on the couch, mouth open in an idiot smile.
And she laughs again, accompanied by a puff of sweet-smelling smoke, and flies out into the night.