Mini Author's Note:
I think Edward and Rosalie's assignments are were the funnest to do, but Jasper's is the only one I edited. The others are done, but not checked for spelling mistakes yet. Will update soon.
-thestrangeone (mizz)
P.S. Any requests for the fiction or suggestions or any of the likes are welcome. It's experimental, so anything that will make it funnier or anything that you, the reader, would like to see within the story, will be welcome and incorporated in. TY for taking the time to read my author's note.
Enjoy.
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Mary Alice Brandon
City: New York City, NY
Age: 19
Immediate family: Mother, President of Virtuous du femme French female fashion line. Father, Head of Brandon Corporations Inc.
School: Attending part-time classes at NYU.
Part-Time Occupation: Dress/Tie designer
"This isn't so bad," I pursed my bottom lip, putting the card in the back pocket of my pants. "Not as far as I can," I sighed, "tell. I just wish I would have read the card before I decided to go punk-rocker meets homeless hippy look. What's a daughter of the fashion business going to think to see me in torn and worn pants and a white t-shirt?"
It always made me laugh how we would always be transported to bus stops and subway stations after we got ready for our missions. It's not as if we had the extra money to spend, so running would make for a better option. But who can run in NYC? I'd look like a white torpedo breaking through a dark cloud of exhaust and fumes. I shouldn't let this get me down right now; I had too much to worry about.
If I didn't find a job or find my assignment in time, I wouldn't be able to buy new clothes or beers. Or an apartment for that matter, especially in NYC; it's the busiest, and one of the dirtiest, cities in the Northern United States. I think I was petting a cat earlier by the ticket area, only it may have been a rat. Definitely a rat. Cats don't have pink tails and fat, dirty, gray fur.
Now, how do I go about finding this Mary Alice? Aro is ignorant and oblivious with currency. We always complain it's not enough and he always says the same exact thing. "I'll look into it."
I counted the bills and their values, then lay down on the bus stop bench and ran my hand softly through my hair, rubbing my temples. New York City is expensive. No one could possibly survive on $500 dollars. I suppose our fates would have to entwine at one time or another. At least I don't need to eat.
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-One week later-
Whoever said New York wasn't a wilderness of savages is wrong. I tried running at night, only to fall and trip over oxidized trash cans. Don't get me wrong, it didn't hurt. At least not me; my clothes were so dirty and ripped that passing by a shop window or looking at myself in the mirror in those sleazy motel rooms every night became a twinge on my self esteem. My skin looked like milk against white goat cheese with my t-shirt. Good thing I have the sensibility to wash it in the motel bathrooms every night.
I walked through the narrow alleyway and made my way up the sidewalk towards a bar and grill. Want overcomes need. I need this money, but I want a beer. Who knows, maybe some whiskey on rocks too.
Yesterday I got some leads on Mary Alice's mother's company locations, but the closest one is in the outskirts of NYC. The biggest one is in Hamptons, VA. I had two-hundred twenty-two dollars left in my back pocket. Maybe the beer isn't such a good idea, for now. I have to sit down and think for a while. What would Edward or Esme do?
Let her come to you.
Well, Edward was never the logical type.
Relax.
Esme, on the other hand, was always the best at giving reasonable advice. I'm not even going to think about what Rosalie would say to me.
Go **** yourself.
Rosalie was always more of an angry, tall dwarf than a genie.
Third Person POV
Jasper was stumped and out of leads. He was sure it would take an absolute miracle to find one girl in such a large, populous city. He considered trying the phone book, but there were too many Alice's. He didn't know how to call through public phones either, so trying is futile.
He sighed and looked around. He was close to a park, so he decided to call it a day and spend the rest of his last hours of the afternoon grazing in a nice spot underneath an oak tree. What else was there to do?
Alice's POV
I desperately tried to hold in the tears. My heel broke in the middle of rush hour traffic; my new line of spring dresses was rejected by Mr. Brandon, A.K.A my stiff of a father. How could he say it wasn't as good as my mother's Autumn collection? Her dresses aren't suitable for anyone under the age of fifty.
I will always be his failure; I'll never amount to anything or measure up to the ghost of my dead sister whom I've never met. The sister who was exactly what father always envisioned; an uncanny, intelligent woman with the face of a runway model and the heart of a lawyer, and she was exactly what mother could never see in me; perfection in absolution, apparently just like her.
So I was short. So I had inky, dark hair that contrasted drastically against my milky, pallid skin. I was not the ideal vision of the head of a major fashion empire, but I was their daughter. I am that no longer.
I sighed. My Java Chip frappuccino was murky coffee water by now. The cream was dissolved and that satisfying hazel-nut aftertaste was replaced with a tart coffee-bean savor.
Things couldn't get worse. I puckered my lips and sighed, trying to blow my hair out of my face without using my hands. I was unsuccessful and instead spilled the murky coffee all over my white overcoat. Great.
I still haven't found the right model for my father's men's clothing campaign, and everything depends upon my doing this right. Who would do it, though? All our candidates have walked away after being five seconds in a conference with my father. He's not such a likeable guy when he means business. I don't even think he likes me. Actually, I know he abhors me.
Where can I find the perfect candidate for this? It doesn't feel right hiring an ex's of mine, though I'm sure some would make the cut. Well, I'm in the park. I might as well enjoy the afternoon and watch the sun set before heading back to my suite. As much as I'm looking forward to a lavender /vanilla oil sponge bath and a glass of red wine, there's nothing more beautiful than twilight. If the sun can have the courage and strength to rise and fall every day, I can afford to have my ups and downs. Of course, the sun is competing against the moon. I'm competing against a ghost.
I removed my stilettos and enjoyed the feeling of my toes rummaging through the soft, warm grass. It sent chilly goose bumps down my spine; I had to close my eyes to favor the moment.
After a few moments of a pleasant spur of the moment org-fest, no pun intended of course, I spun around under the soft warmth of the sun and skies, dropping my purse, un-eaten lunch, portfolios and stilettos to the ground. I would always do this when I was a child. I always felt like I grew up too fast.
My parents think I'm insane and rumor has it that they want to commit me, but so what. Pssh.
I was giggling uncontrollably, spinning until I felt as though I was drunk.
Just then, I heard a soft chuckle. I turned toward a bundle of trees, close to where I had dropped my possessions, and spotted a silhouette.
The nerve. I don't very well appreciate it when people watch me, well, be myself. I was venting! "Excuse me!"
I approached the figure, an obvious bad idea, and reached for my purse for a bottle of body mist. This stuff is deadly for the eyes.
"What the hell is your problem!?" I crouched, trying to get a closer look at the person. When I finally did, I thought I saw a Greek god. Ooohhhh, my…
I kept my guard up nevertheless. He was positioned with his back to an old oak tree, his knees bent and his hands behind his head. He had such gorgeous eyes. I took a close look at what he was wearing. Not much of anything close to presentable. His clothes were dirty and torn.
"I was trying to get some sleep." He whispered, then hesitated, "I didn't mean to disturb you in your fairy frolicking. You're so graceful, it'd be a shame to interrupt you." He stood, then reached for the heaven's in a stretch that lifted his shirt to reveal a perfect abdomen. He was tall. About two feet taller than me. Model material.
He might be homeless though… and his shoes as so worn and dirty…
I was reluctant to react in his presence. I didn't realize I was blushing, nor that I was smiling. I've been called a pixie and a fairy, but never have I been so moved. I felt like a real ballerina, dancing for the wrong crowd. "No, no. You were probably here first, stay." My voice was especially tingling.
He grinned. "You're glowing." He shook his head softly, chuckling.
I shrugged my shoulders, then reached inside my tiny purse. "Wait," I hesitated, grabbing my card and a few hundred dollar bills. "Here."
He raised an eyebrow, unsure of what my actions meant. Typical.
"I'd like it if you gave me a call. I work for a modeling corporation, I mean, for a fashion corp," I smiled, putting on my stilettos, "You'd be perfect. I need you."
I do sound desperate. Oh well; desperate times call for desperate measures.
He frowned. "You don't need to do me any favors."
I tried to smile. "You'd be doing me a favor. I'm Alice, and I'm representing Brandon Corp. Please consider it? You're my only hope."
He looked shocked.
I turned to walk away after forcefully putting the money and card in his ripped pockets, but then I heard him hesitate. "Wait, I'll do it."
I turned around, and looked him in the eyes. "Really?" Life saver. "When can we get together, I mean, to talk about the pay and—"
He ran his perfect hands through his blond locks then walked forward to me. "Do you have dinner plans?"
With my bathtub.
"No."
He smiled. "My treat. Anywhere you like. By the way, here's your money back. I'm not homeless."
I batted my eyelashes and raised my eyebrows, then began laughing. He had trouble understanding my reaction, but threw in a small chuckle to entertain me. Good man.
"We'll need to do something about those clothes of yours…"
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