A/N: Here we get a good look at Cal's life as a beauty show presenter. Think 'Get It Beauty' with Eugene, Minyeong and Jungmin but she's the only host. I feel like going through her experience as a show host helps expose more of her thinking and attitudes towards life. Serves as an afterthought on today's pressures and values. Tiny language warning. Let's all remember for a moment that Cal is completely bonkers and that the Doctor is a melodramatic old man. Enjoy :)
The TARDIS
He opened the door and froze at the expression planted on her face. One look and he understood. "Come here, you," he murmured before pulling her close. She shook violently in his arms. "I'm so sorry," Cal whispered.
"I hate it when I get like this, but I just can't... I can't control it, I wish I could."
All the anger had dissipated from the Doctor's face and heart. "Whatever happened doesn't matter, okay? You're safe now, and I think you can be happy on the TARDIS. Just be happy. What I did before... I regret now. It's not your fault. You said just now that you can't control it – I know what that's like. I had a little Cyber Planner inside my head once. It was awful, I tell you. He made me do things – and say things – that I never want to hear of again. So in a way, I think... What I'm trying to say is that on some level, I understand you. I accept you, Calamity. And I forgive you."
She almost laughed in disbelief. "Are you always this dramatic, Doctor? I killed Clara, I don't regret it, and you're just going to give me a hug and forgive me? God, I know you've lost a lot of people, but that is sort of... irrational. That's me telling you."
He frowned. "You don't... regret it?" he replied uncertainly. Cal grinned somewhat creepily.
"Of course I don't regret anything. Jealous people like her deserve to die. Why would I regret getting rid of her?"
The Doctor had trouble breathing at that point and called out for the TARDIS. He shook his head, refusing to process anything that had been said between them.
"I'm taking you back to Hedonia, and I never want to see you again. Clear?"
"Crystal."
"Don't wink, it doesn't suit you. You'd have to be charming for that."
"Don't breathe, it doesn't suit you. You'd have to be worthy of life for that."
After punching in the coordinates for about five minutes after they first met and shoving her unceremoniously out of the TARDIS, he dropped to the floor like a brick and wheezed for breath helplessly while he cried harder than any other time in this regeneration. Cal was worse than the Impossible Girl had ever been. What Clara did, she did through the kindness that she always gave everyone. She'd saved him millions upon millions of times, as different people, but always the same intent. But Cal made no sense at all. She didn't even know who she was, let alone the poor Doctor. Neither of them had any idea where their - you probably couldn't even call it a relationship – was heading, or when they'd see each other again. But that was okay, they both decided. They needed to settle down for a while, and let life take them where it would.
Face Perfection Live Studio, Clemency, Hedonia, 2016
Calamity's POV
Briefing is boring enough to make me want to cry. Many welcome me back, some even offer gifts. I acknowledge them all with the same fake smile with just enough teeth to seem genuine. I still remember how to chat people up the wall, it seems. Applying to host Face Perfection was probably the best thing to happen to my people skills. I love the job, I always have, but some of the procedures are downright dry, I'll be honest with you there. The name of the show is sort of brilliant though. To look beauty standards boldly in the eye, and also to alter one's face to recreate it. The most honest and also pathetic portrayal of today's women. And yet, it's all true. We tell each other that internal beauty is all that matters while buying concealer in bulk to fake a good night's sleep and a good diet regimen. That's why I applied. To try to erase that horrible abuse of makeup and bring it back to its original uses on Earth – to draw attention to how beautiful you already are. Like that was going to happen.
"Cue entrance in three, two, one..." The 'now airing' light flashes red.
I strut confidently into the studio set, relishing the bold clicking noises of my signature red patent stilettos.
"Hello everyone! Welcome to Face Perfection, the show where beauty of all kinds is embraced. I am your host, Cal Aima. Hopefully your Sunday has been good so far."
Wink at the audience. Make them think you're charming.
"Last week our lovely substitute host Angela focused on the romantic appeal of intelligence in young women - please turn your attention to the screens as we show a brief recap."
Polite applause follows my usual intro, and I allow myself to be seated in my makeup artist chair, silently enjoying the comfort it provides my leg muscles. It's been three months since I last presented anything for Hedonian television. Three months since the Doctor left me again. No doubt everyone would be watching at home. I quickly unpack my 25-piece brush set and my four setting-appropriate makeup kits. It's been too long since I've done this, and I run a hand through the bristles of my ridiculously soft large fan brush affectionately. Normal people would never understand the relationship I have with my brushes.
The intro for today's show starts to play – something I consider worth paying attention to, as it involves me.
"Let's face it, ladies – everyone wants to look like a red-carpet star. Today's show will have one lucky volunteer from the live audience be completely transformed within the hour by our very own and very dear host, Calamity Aima! She has been on long service leave for the past three months, enjoying a holiday on Earth. Please welcome her back to the show."
Hooray, I'm back. No doubt the producers have already picked someone ridiculously gorgeous already. Ah, I am correct, as Lucy tells me through my earpiece. I search through the audience for a pretty young strawberry blonde woman with blue eyes – it doesn't take me long to find someone that distinctive. "Ladies and gentlemen, today's volunteer is... Carmen Hayes!"
Much applause is given for the woman with a model's proportions. I suppress the strong urge to roll my eyes as I smile and politely gesture towards the volunteer's seat. A thin flame of resentment burns within me as her hips swing all the way to the leather stool, but I somehow manage to keep displaying my teeth with a somewhat bright expression. "Now, as you can see, today's volunteer is already naturally very beautiful," I begin pleasantly, earning the agreement of the forty other twenty-somethings in the room, "so all we want to do here is enhance the features of the face in a distinctive manner, and avoid looking like a cake face as much as possible."
Polite laughter fills the room at the use of colloquial. It wasn't meant to be funny. After looking her over, I briskly map out a simple but memorable glamour look, deciding on her skin shade and undertones before popping the caps off the bottles of Make Up For Ever HD Foundation and a mattifying primer. The focus is entirely on me as I pump twice on that precise spot on the back of my hand, mixing it with one pump of the Etude House primer and using neat circle motions to blend them together. A few sharp intakes of hopefully pleasantly astonished breath are all it takes for me to start feeling self-conscious about choosing only Earth products for this show. "Now what I've done here is I've mixed two pumps of liquid foundation with one pump of a mattifying primer on the back of my hand, just like so," I explain in calm tones, briefly showing the mix to the camera sitting in front of the table. Numerous 'ooh's and 'ah's fill the room. A devastatingly thin brunette sitting in the front row sticks her hand up. I stop to address her question and wonder silently if I should address her obvious nose job too.
"I was wondering if the primer and foundation had to be the same brand and finish? It's just that the foundation is a satin finish and the primer is a matte finish. Surely that just cancels out the need for a matte anything?"
I grit my teeth hard as I smile at her. Why is there always one smartass in the live audience?
"No, they don't. In fact, the foundation is from a French brand and the primer from a South Korean one. I used a matte primer to help control the natural oils in her skin, the result of her oily and acne-prone skin type. The oil-free, satin finish foundation adds just the right amount of glow to make it look like her skin is naturally that way, without clogging the pores. Let's be honest with ourselves, ladies – as much as I advocate that makeup is only for embellishment, more often than not, it is deception."
It feels good not to constantly blab through my teeth about 'the wonders of makeup' and finally be a bit more honest. Although I still probably shouldn't have said the last bit. More sounds of agreement echo through the studio and I let out the breath I was holding. I continue by patting neutral colours on her eyes, explaining my actions as I blend it all away into perfection. Sometimes I wonder if men actually notice how much colour you have on your eyes. Is it even attractive? Who even decided that colouring your face in makes you beautiful? The makeup already seems familiar to me. I daresay I've done it enough times on clients back in my freelance days. Add a touch of sparkle. Only fill sparse areas in the brows – of course her eyebrows have been tattooed on, so I'm basically just darkening them further with red-brown brow powder. Contour and highlight facial features to emphasise them - not like she actually needs help with those damned supermodel cheekbones. Add glitter pigment to the eyes to make her look special. Good God, if I roll my eyes any more when the cameras are on the audience they will pop out of my head. Then the standard-issue, clean-cut red lips to bring out the red colour in her hair and her delightfully unattainable porcelain complexion. Set with facial mist or translucent powder? Mist, she's got enough bloody makeup on already. Lord, the things I must be drilling into the minds of teenage girls. All of them addicted to watching me make pretty women even prettier, something they'll never become no matter how many eyeliners and highlighting powders they buy. Things that have always been there for the drilling, I suppose. After applause is given and close-ups taken, the lights go out and I slip back into my 'normal person' clothes. I can't remember a time where shows didn't end with me feeling depressed over the messages I must be sending through something I sort of used to enjoy. So naturally I need to make a list of those things we teach girls in this society. To feel like I have control, just like my therapist said. I snatch a paper and pen from front desk and sit back down in my dressing room again before scrawling my hate for the world.
Things we teach young girls:
1. Cover yourself up with modest-yet-still-exposing clothes, but take it all off if we say so.
2. Wear makeup, you're hideous without it. Look good without it though, but it you skip the makeup routine and go outside we'll call you poor and/or ugly.
3. If you have sex before college, we'll judge you. If you don't, we'll judge you even harder.
4. If you have had numerous ex-boyfriends we will assume you are a wanton whore, if you haven't we will assume you are undesirable.
Things we teach young boys:
1. If you are skinny without much in the way of muscles you are pathetic and weak.
2. If you are well muscled we will accuse you of taking steroids and other completely unrelated drugs because we have not the slightest clue what we're even talking about.
3. If you've had numerous girlfriends you are a heartbreaker and a playboy, if you haven't had any you are a forever-alone freak who plays video games instead of heartstrings. (Which is, of course, completely unforgivable. God save us from ourselves).
4. In order to get a somewhat long-term and meaningful girlfriend, you need to be talented but plain enough for her to look good, intelligent but definitely not nerdy, kind but assertive and ready to fight for her, good-looking but not too handsome so she can look good with you and you need to have money. A lot of it. Women here like to feel financially secure. Like that's all that fucking matters.
I slam my pen down in disgust. Who have me a right to think this way about people? Like I'm seriously any better. Jesus, the enjoyment killing dear Clara gave me was near unbelievable. My head tells me it was wrong, but it definitely doesn't feel that way. It feels like she didn't matter at all, that I just killed her and it's all just so simple. Maybe it is that simple now. We've seen so many people die and get killed on the news that it's not sad anymore, it's just... whatever.
Now that makes me sad.
The Doctor's POV
I let the breaths slam weights in and out of my lungs. When did a natural bodily function become so difficult? The usual flashbacks, nausea and cold sweat return and I find myself consumed by emotions. Anger, crushing sadness, and so much fear. Too much fear. I know logically that I'm very safe in my TARDIS, but everything else feels so... fragile. Like the universe is a thin sheet of glass being hammered into oblivion. One day the smith will beat it a little too hard, and we'll all shatter into a million pieces. In my absolutely-not-humble opinion - Calamity Aima certainly lives up to her name.