Summary: A darker more poetic way of seeing how Marcy faded into none existence, Cordelia's views. One shot.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss Whedon and co. apart from the song which is Mr Cellophane from Chicago.
And even without clucking like a hen
Everyone gets noticed, now and then,
Unless, of course, that personage should be
Invisible, inconsequential me!
Cellophane
Mister cellophane
Should have been my name!
Mister cellophane
'cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I'm there!
I tell ya
Cellophane
Mister cellophane
Should have been my name
Mister cellophane
'cause you can look right through me walk right by me
And never know I'm there. . .
The empty Vessel
She flitted she fluttered she laughed she muttered. She was an on going giggle in the back drop of skimpily clad girls and rock star boys. Her lips cupid bow of red cherry shine, her eyes smokier than an ally cat, her clothes glittering and shimmering but desperately far from the real inn thing.
She was an empty vessel she was paper, transparent and elusive. Her laughs were fake her significant gaze never matched by a friends. Her hair had more volume than a speaker and was silkier than silk but it looked lank and dirty.
She wanted so badly to fit in to be one of them, she looked the part but never made the show. She was so alone so empty she was a vessel urgently needing to be filled. She was never apart of any secrets never let into any surreptitious games, she was just the background, and she was just paper flimsy and breakable.
She strutted she strided she sashayed she glided. Cordelia new she was alone new she had no friends and she should take pity on her but instead she wanted to shake her. She wanted to shout at her for being so stupid being so fragile and intangible.
As she tried to join in the witty conversations with droll remarks she seemed to fade even more into the background, her fixed smile faltered and her smoky eyes seemed sad. No one seemed to see her no one seemed to care. Cordelia didn't want to see her she wanted her to go away.
The group of popular rock star boys and scantily clad girls moved over to Queen Cs table, the empty vessel tagging behind. As she laughed with her friends the vessel clamoured for attention, Cordelia had had enough she sneered at the vessel told her to fuck of like gawed.
And the rest of them jeered but only for a second before their infinitive time was turned back to each other. The empty vessel, the transparent paper, the elusive figure faded and broke she was cling film she was vanishing and breaking until she was gone.