Writer's note:
WHY HELLO THERE
I don't write fanfics often
but when I do
they're pretty bad
So consider this oneshot my revenge against the internet, and all Gorillaz fanfic writers (particularly 2D/Noodle and Noodle/Murdoc writers)
love, Cat
Now that you're standing closer
Don't wanna run, don't wanna leave
- Little Dragon
It was evening. Sunlight cascaded through the uncovered window of Paula Cracker's bedroom.
She didn't care to keep it tidy. Dirty and clean clothes carpeted the dusty floor. The ashtray on her bedside drawer hadn't been emptied for weeks. It was a disturbed and chaotic residence, very well suited to the disturbed and chaotic mind that lived in it.
Paula stood in front of her mirror, lighting a cigarette. She blew the smoke out through her nostrils. The act in itself seemed to pacify her. She stood very still, blinking perplexedly at her own languid reflection, lost in her own thoughts.
Noodle sat cross-legged on the floor, watching her.
So this is Paula. She thought, observing the pallid ex-guitarist from behind her mask. She turned away from the mirror and dropped herself into the chair next to it. She rubbed her forehead wearily, flicking her cigarette in no particular direction with the other hand.
This was Paula Cracker. Infamous temptress; femme fatale baker of scones.
This was her predecessor, the one who provided the chords for Ghost Train, the one who may or may not have been talented.
The one topic Gorillaz couldn't discuss altogether. She who must not be named. The liar. The cheat. The minx who shagged both 2D and Murdoc- or the one who shagged them.
The disowned family black sheep.
The dead sister no one ever talked about.
The dead sister who was very reluctant to make friends.
There she was, Paula Cracker, creature of legend and lore, perched dejectedly in front of her, kneading her aching temples. She sighed.
"Cor." She muttered. Her voice sounded husky and corroded, as if it came from a tape recorder. "Now that we've found somewhere quiet, would you mind telling; the fuck do you want from me?"
Something about the way she spat her words out made Noodle think of an American actress- Joan Cusack, was it? Paula was so spooked by her visit, Noodle almost felt bad for coming.
But she came for a reason, she assured herself.
"I came," Noodle said, "For answers."
"Answers." Paula mumbled. "She came for answers. Well, then, china doll, what's it that you're so desperate to know?"
"My friends…" She began, her thickly accented voice shaking. "They… I can't find them. I returned to Kong only to find it in ruins. I could not find Murdoc, or 2D, or even-" Her voice hit a tremor. She'd heard rumors of where Russel was now. She didn't want to believe any of them.
"Well, how would I know?" Paula exclaimed, outraged. "I disassociated myself from that monkey tribe years ago! Why should I know where they are? Why would I even care-" She stopped abruptly, staring at Noodle.
"Would you at least take that bloody mask off? It's hard enough trying to understand your accent."
Noodle seemed to stiffen. Slowly and silently, she shook her head.
"Fine then. Be difficult. Just another stupid, difficult person in my life." She crushed her cigarette on the arm of the chair, leaving a tiny burn in the wood. There were a lot of them, Noodle realized.
Tossing her useless fag bottom aside, Paula lit another cigarette. She sniffed.
"Everyone thought you died."
"I can assure you, I am alive."
"You haven't changed much." Paul muttered, more to herself than to Noodle. "Still short. Still flat. What are you now, thirteen?"
Noodle felt her cheeks grow warm.
"I'm nineteen."
"Nineteen." Paula repeated with a small chuckle, not taking her eyes off Noodle's diminutive figure. "When I was nineteen, you couldn't get me out of the pub. Used to shoplift from department stores when I was broke. Make-up and sunglasses and cigarettes and gum, hidden in my jacket. Nothing mattered back then. Nothing was serious." Her eyes brimmed with nostalgia. She almost smiled. " It was just drink and weed and music and Stu…"
Noodle blinked.
"Stu?"
A shadow seemed to pass over Paula's face.
"Beg pardon." She sneered. "Two-Dee." She bit her cigarette, pausing.
"But you've never done any of that, have you? You're a straight sort of kid; you don't sleep around, don't do drugs. You're… pure. Not like me. Maybe that's why they like you better." She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, taking a long, thick drag from her cigarette. Noodle couldn't help but stare.
For as long as she could remember, the name Paula Cracker had been thrown carelessly about Kong Studios. It used to fly right past her head when she was small, but she began to notice as she got older.
It wasn't until 2D told her about her himself that it registered into her head; there had been another girl in Gorillaz before her, one that everyone avoided talking about.
At least, around each other.
"Paula…Paula wos different." 2D had said, smiling sadly, fondly. "Not like any othah girl I'd evah met. She liked… black and white movies. Wiff, like, Errol Flynn, or Rudolph Valentino. Only films she'd evah sit fru. And she hated pop music… boy bands, Britney. She had all these ideas about the mass media manipulating the music industry. You would've liked her."
Murdoc had a very different view of her.
"2D's girlfriend. (Snort) More like his nanny. Real rubbish, she was. You couldn't walk for her tits all over the place. She only joined because 2D roped her into it. Of course, she came to her senses and realized who the better man was in the end."
Russel description was far less detailed, but no less helpful.
"She was just a girl who didn't fit in with the rest of us. She left in the end. We haven't heard from her since."
Noodle had imagined Paula Cracker as some mysterious, dangerous seductress. In her mind, Paula Cracker was a dark, beautiful woman who wore tight clothes and smoked out of a quellazaire. Cat Woman, or Irene Adler. A character from a film noir. She had even written the lyrics to Every Planet We Reach Is Dead with that image in mind.
But it was hard to imagine the stressed woman before her- with sloppy make-up and bandages covering her fingers- in a steamy love affair with Murdoc behind 2D's back.
She had been wrong about her.
Paula discarded her second fag, resting her chin on her palm.
Noodle felt sympathetic towards her. Some strange twist of fate had made Paula leave the band, and in turn brought Noodle to their doorstep. If it hadn't been for her, Noodle had realized many years before, she may have been terminated by the Japanese government. Because of Paula, Noodle had a family.
A family she missed.
Absentmindedly, Noodle removed her mask and held it in both hands, staring down at the butterfly shaped cat face. She didn't notice Paula gaping at her.
"Noodle."
She jerked her head towards Paula, further revealing the ugly scar covering her right eye.
"What happened to your face?"
Realizing her mistake, Noodle held the mask back over her eyes.
"Nothing." She mumbled.
"Okay. Don't tell me."
Paula had gotten up and was now standing at her dresser. She grabbed her make-up kit.
"Please, no…" She protested weakly.
"Just sit up on the bed."
"You don't have to."
"So you're just planning to wear a mask for the rest of your life? Sit down and I'll fix it."
Noodle silently obeyed, sitting at the edge of Paula's unmade bed. Her cat was asleep on a pillow. He didn't budge at the sudden movement, even when Paula had flopped down beside her. He twitched his whiskers, curling into a tight, fat, fluffy grey ball.
What had Paula called him earlier? Charlie. Like Charlie brown, she thought. It suited him. The ghost of a smile crept over Noodle's face.
A hand rested on her jaw, drawing her face forward and tilting it back. Paula examined her eye, her expression determined, her lips taut.
She was so close.
Close enough for Noodle to smell. It was the sweet smell of cosmetics; face powder and eye shadow. Cheap shampoo. There was hair fixative too, she realized, even though she wasn't wearing any. Her breath smelled of nicotine- and strongly of some kind of spice. Like cinnamon. She had been chewing cinnamon gum.
The make-up on her face had a faded, worn out look- she had probably put it on days before. It stood out, though, on such pale skin. Too pale, she thought. Was it her fault?
She had soft, watery eyes.
"How long have you had it?"
Noodle found herself shivering, for no reason she could understand.
Paula smiled at her, revealing two rows of crooked teeth. It frightened Noodle. There was something familiar about it, something mirthful and wicked and roguish, something brazen.
Murdoc Niccals, she realized, had probably smiled at Paula the very same way, so many years before.
"Calm yourself, kitten." Her voice was different now, tender. "You're shaking like a leaf."
Noodle swallowed.
"B-be gentle."
"Don't worry. It won't hurt."
But it did. Noodle winced as the cold foundation soaked cotton pad touched her skin. Though the bruise was old, it was still sensitive.
Gently, Paula daubed on, trying hard to avoid making it sting. It was a difficult task, her face was so marred. It didn't look much like a shiner- more like a burn.
She powdered it, even though it was the wrong color. But they could worry about that later.
"There." She wiped the edges with a napkin. "Good as new, yeah?"
Noodle looked at her reflection in the mirror across the room.
It was true; she could barely see it anymore. But as she moved closer, she could pick up the dark outline of it, the shriveled skin.
"It doesn't really blend in, does it? Maybe find something closer to your skin…" She paused, looking at Noodle's face.
"You look so young." She sighed.
She went back to her dresser.
"Here now, close your eyes."
Noodle did, feeling her heartbeat quicken.
"Pucker your lips."
Paula tilted Noodle's face back, uncapped a tube of lipstick, and applied a thin, waxy layer over her lips.
Noodle blinked.
"No one can mistake you for jailbait now." Paula grinned at her, smearing it over her own lips and smacking them. Noodle turned back to the mirror. Her lips were now shade of bright, hot pink. She looked different. Older. Not a child anymore.
It didn't look like her. But she liked it.
She paused.
"Paula…"
"Yeah, doll?"
"You don't, um…" She spoke very softly. "You don't really think that… Russel killed himself."
Paula frowned.
"Do you?"
Noodle was looking straight at her, dark green eyes piercing.
Paula bit her lip. She avoided the young guitarist's eye.
"Well, I…" She sighed. "…can't see him faking his own suicide."
Noodle turned her face away, disappointment welling up inside her.
"But-but wherever he is," Paula spoke up quickly, "he'll be alright, yeah? He's either… either with Del, or… still out there. Looking for you."
She gently nudged Noodle's cheek with her knuckle.
"Keep your chin up, china doll."
The thought wasn't comforting. It was the last thing that Noodle wanted on her mind.
But Paula had tried.