Title: Phothief
Summary: "We have twenty-eight days, Kinomoto, twenty-eight days. One thousand, six hundred eighty hours and that's it. I swear if you don't make it, I will kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand?" She nodded. SxS
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter One
December 4th, 1999
"Do it again."
She twisted her nose in a most queer manner before obeying the command. "Again." She gritted her teeth.
"Again, again, again! With your eyes, not with your lips, you dimwit!" Resisting the urge to break down sobbing in frustration, she tweaked the corners of her mouth up and bared her teeth ferociously like a dog.
He slapped her. Once, twice, back and forth. "Do you want this deal or not?" He said in a deadly whisper. "We have twenty-eight days, Kinomoto, twenty-eight days. One thousand, six hundred eighty hours and that's it. I swear if you don't make it, I will kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand?" She nodded. "Good. Now do it over." He leaned back into his chair and folded his hands in his lap to stop his fingers from fidgeting.
It was a deadly deal that they had made, one out of desperation for power and the other out of desperation for acceptance. One meant that you would be on the top of the world, dominating all that lay beneath you, while the other resulted in a friendly embrace of all groups and all demographic parties of mankind, equality in the truest form. Power was to control; acceptance was the lack of it. When you have power you are feared, but when you are accepted by your peers you are loved.
Syaoran Li's deepest desire was to become that lonely little point on the apex of the pyramid while Sakura just wanted to mingle with the others at the bottom. It would take months, years, maybe even forever to achieve such a miracle... they had less than thirty days.
On January 1st, 2000 the new millennia would arrive.
That New Year's Day, there would be an audition for a movie. And not just any movie, but THE PHOTOGRAPH THIEF.
THE PHOTOGRAPH THIEF, or "phothief" for short, was a supernatural mystery, a romantic tragedy, and a thriller action movie all rolled into a two-hour roll of film. Not to mention, also based on the award winning book THE PHOTOGRAPH THIEF by Eriol Hiiragizawa, and everyone knows that anything Hiiragizawa writes sells like hot cakes.
Oh, and let's not forget the millionaire producer that had snatched up this money-maker. Yukito Tsukishiro, Academy Award winner and Oscar nominee, reached the height of his career at the tender age of only thirty-five, astonishing all of his contemporaries and enemies. A Japanese Steven Spielberg.
All in all, this was an unprecedented opportunity for young aspiring actors and actresses around the world. Whoever managed to snag the lead roles Jackson and Clara would be guaranteed with brand name commercial sponsors, clothing line endorsements, and wide open doors to star in virtually any television show. We're talking photos plastered on grade schoolers' lunchboxes, new paparazzi target, and an all-expense paid entrance to Hollywood.
When Sakura heard of all this, she literally jumped at the chance to finally prove herself. No more crappy magazine modeling; this was the real deal. So she began plotting how to win.
First of all, she would need an image. Not that she wasn't physically attractive; no, Kinomoto needed that extra spark to separate her from all those other skinny bimbos out there. She needed individuality, something that would make people gawk at her face and be mesmerized by her smile.
Then she would need an agent. Sure she'd taken a few acting classes when she was younger, but this wasn't some church Christmas play. If she wanted to get her hands on that million-dollar deal, she would need a teacher to show her the ropes of show biz. Acting was not just limited to the stage after all; it was imperative that one knew how to smile, blush, and cry within a moment's notice.
Consequently, this was where Syaoran came in. In our world, he would be considered in the prime of his life, but as an actor, thirty-four was practically an old man. He was no longer able to pull off the cute, boyish charm look and had to settle for the 1970s dark, mysterious inscrutable stranger persona. Also he had been gaining some weight around the stomach lately, and a beer belly was beginning to appear over his designer belts.
Once upon a time, he used to be famous. Only a few years ago the mere sight of his face could send unsuspecting teenagers into a swoon, and fangirls would pay big money just to take a whiff of his cologne. Now his career was stuck in a downward spiral, and he was left with nothing but a box full of old photos and dusty DVD covers. Some would say that his decline started with the drinking, but really, it had more to do with a certain female whose picture that he kept in his wallet at all times.
Then on one fateful day both of their fates took a sudden serve out of course. On December 3rd, Syaoran Li became Sakura Kinomoto's mentor. Their contract was simple: for twenty-eight days until 12:00 am PST 1-1-00, she would live in his flat, and Syaoran would literally teach Sakura everything that he knew in regards to performing onstage. In return, if Sakura won Syaoran would get a forty-sixty percent split on all her future earnings.
It was a crazy gamble. Once Sakura won they would have everything, but if she lost… then it was over. Sakura would be left jobless after having quit her previous occupation, and Syaoran would have to declare bankruptcy due to the growing pile of unpaid bills stuffed in his desk.
Due to the reasons mentioned above, it follows naturally that we find our main characters awake at 2 am in the morning in a nearly insane state from the caffeine in their system. Nearly empty coffee mugs dotted the breakfast table along with the scattered remnants of Chinese takeout.
Flushed face against flushed face, blood shot eyes against blood shot eyes.
"Kinomoto," Syaoran glared, "this is the most basic thing that I will ever show you." Rubbing his temples meditatively, he took a deep breath before continuing. "All right. I am going to explain this one more time, so Get. This. Right."
She gripped onto the handles of her swivel chair so tightly that her knuckles almost turned white from the intensity. Her green eyes stared back at him in response, but she kept her mouth shut.
"Okay. What we have been trying to do for the last twelve fucking hours is to give you The Look. The Look needs to be sophisticated, yet innocent. The Look needs to captivate your audience and make teenage males get a hard-on by just looking at you. Can you do that?" She began to open her mouth, but he rolled his eyes and answered before she could say anything. "Ha."
"You are a nothing but a poor little girl trying to scrape a living by showing off your ass in jeans advertisements. And you know what? That is all you will ever be if I didn't come along. You can smile at the camera all you want, but you would never, NEVER, be able to make people want to be you. Sure, they might have wanted to look like you and have your waist size, but no way can you provoke any feelings of admiration." He sneered coldly and grabbed her chin. "This pale, thin face is all you've got."
"I need to transform you, lowly Sakura Kinomoto, to the elegant and poised Clara O'Brian."
She could feel her blood pressure begin to rise, but instead of feeling indignant, Sakura knew that he was right. Every single world uttered out of those foul, detestable pair of lips could not have been more true. Her cheeks burned, and she wanted to just smash that pretty boy face against the wall.
"Aw, have I hit soft spot there?" He patted her head mockingly. "Poor, poor girl. Mummy's died and now she has nothing left in the world except for a 20-inch waist." He laughed contemptuously and took a swig of coffee.
During all of this, Sakura kept her eyes to the ground. In a little over twenty-four hours she had already learned what to do in situations like this. Finally, after waiting a few seconds she raised her eyes, "I'll do it again."
"Obviously." Syaoran returned his cup to its place on the table, and instantly his entire demeanor changed. "You know the drill; look at me. Lift your eyebrows slowly." Teacher Syaoran paused a moment, scrutinizing her face. "No, bring the left one down a bit. Ok, freeze that and begin bringing up the corner of the left side of your mouth. Thicken your lips; pucker them just a millimeter to get that 'full' effect." Tilting his head to the side he let his eyes roam around the contours of her face, careful not to let anything escape from his inspection.
"Ok." Sakura almost breathed out a sigh in relief but restrained herself just in time. "Now for the biggie…are you ready?" It was a rhetorical question. "Easy girl, caution is the key here." He brought the digital camera to his eye and paused. "I'm assuming you know what to do, so just sit tight and wait for the flash. Don't do it a second before; it won't come out as natural." He positioned his finger on the button. "Here we go."
Click.
A millisecond later, Sakura's face materialized onto the screen. Syaoran stared at it blankly, but as much as she was dying to ask what he thought of it, she knew better than to interrupt him when he was thinking. She watched as he gazed at the pixels, wondering what was going on under his black hair. Then after what seemed like an eternity-
"Perfect." He whispered unbelievingly.
"A-what?!" Sakura widened her eyes in shock. "No way, lemme see it." They both stared at the image together. "No…"
"Yes." He leaned forward and grabbed her hands excitedly. "YES! You got it, Sakura! It looks wonderful, superb, fantastic- this is what we're looking for. No make up, no fancy jewelry, no nothing. This Look, this is what's going to catch the judge's attention."
She could feel the beginning of a smile forming on her face at his childishness. "Y'know, I had my doubts about working with you Sakura, but after seeing this I feel- no." He shook his head furiously. "No, I know, that we're going to win. We're going all the way baby!" He laughed maniacally and pumped his fist in the air.
Sakura smiled tiredly in response.
He paused in his victory dance and frowned. "You must be exhausted, love. How 'bout you go get yourself some rest? Tomorrow, I'll let you get a few extra hours of beauty sleep before we drop this picture along with your resume off at their office."
"Office?" She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Can't we just fax it to them?"
He chuckled and ruffled her hair affectionately, "Elementary, my dear Watson. How are they going to remember us if we don't introduce ourselves first? Oh and stop rubbing your eyes, it'll create wrinkles." Syaoran pursed his lips disapprovingly for a moment before letting the jolly, charming grin slip into place again. "Now off to bed, Kura! It's a long day tomorrow."
Too tired to even bother trying to figure out his mood swings, Sakura just smiled, glad that he was happy. He was always like this, misanthropic one moment and optimistic the next. After a whole day trying to decide which was the real Li, she finally gave up and decided to just go with the flow.
"Mkay, 'night Li." She made to rise from her chair. Too busy stretching out the kinks in her muscles, she didn't notice Syaoran slowly reaching up to her face.
Her body froze.
"What the hell was that?"
He grinned. "What, your parents never kiss you good night before?"
Approbation is appreciated, flames are forgiven, constructive criticism is coveted, and reviewers are revered.