Whenever Deborah found herself staring down the end of a microphone or into the large, intrusive lens of a camera, she would ignore it entirely. This behavior earned her a rather unflattering reputation, but what else was new? When was her reputation anything but? The press still asked, though. Why was she suddenly so cold and bitchy to the reporters? Wasn't this the same woman who used to love an excuse to talk about herself or show herself off? No. It wasn't. That was the point! That woman, the old Deborah, was dead. Enyo's words weren't a lie. Maybe they weren't literal, but with the death of her reputation, Deborah never felt more alive. She was a changed woman now, a phoenix reborn.

Besides, bad press wasn't exactly new to the Littlest Lavish. She took the next nosy tabloid in stride, threatening to crush the reporter's foot with her crutch if he didn't back off. "And realize, I've been using my arms to get around for the better part of the last month, so I am very strong!" She brought the crutch down hard on the ground to accentuate her point and the reporter took the hint.

That little stunt was probably going to end up as a headline, "Deranged, Delusional Debutante Threatens Innocent Reporter", but for once, Deborah didn't care. They weren't innocent so long as they kept nosing in her private affairs. She knew they had a job to do, but so did she. That was just how the world worked, an endless battle for survival. Deborah was still a fighter, even if she wasn't a monster. Besides, reporters who lacked honor were, in her opinion, not doing their job anyway, so she had no reason to feel guilty scaring them off.

"They won't leave when I ask nicely, so there's nothing else to do except turn nasty," she said to herself grimly.

They said I did something bad, then why's it feel so good?

"Well, Ms. Lavish, perhaps it's presumptuous of me to say this, but… I believe that I am not like other reporters, so if you would perhaps give me the chance, I will prove to you that I can play nice, and I won't ask for anything you do not wish to share."

A thick southern accent assaulted Deborah's ears and she turned to see a microphone inches away from her nose. Her nose crinkled.

"Dolores "Dee" Spatch of the New Evening World News!" the reporter introduced herself proudly.

"No comment," Deborah cut her off briskly, eyes cold and hard. What kind of name is that anyway? It has to be fake! How suspicious…

"Very well," Spatch nodded. "I just noticed you were coming into a new era of yourself, so I was wondering how you planned on introducing the New You to the rest of the world, but I understand if you aren't in the mood to talk right now…"

Deborah silently cursed the woman for piquing her interest like that. "New me?"

"I'm sure you get this a lot," Spatch sounded almost sympathetic, "but every eye of every paper has been trained on you—"

"—for years, I know. And it got worse after the family feud and car crash."

"But I see you have no more tolerance for it," Spatch said. "That is what I mean about a New You."

Her reply was cryptic, and Deborah found herself all the more annoyed. Did she demand Spatch be clearer and get sucked into an interview, or did she let it go and wonder what the devil Spatch was blabbering on about? For better or worse, Deborah didn't have to make that choice.

"Deborah! Aren't you com—? Oh!" The moment Angela saw Spatch, she nodded politely. "My apology, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You weren't," Spatch promised, smiling disarmingly. "I was just leaving."

Good riddance.

"Although…"

God damn it. She's going to ask Angela for an interview and Angela's going to say yes…

"Dr. Jekyll, if it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience for you, I would love to interview you as well someday!"

Of course, naive Angela was so surprised and flattered by the offer that, just as Deborah predicted, she quickly agreed to a future interview. The poor, stupid doctor had no idea that when the press came calling, it was never good. There was always an ulterior motive, no matter how kind or honest the reporter seemed. If anything, the nicer they were, the more desperate for gossip they were… Deborah didn't trust Spatch one bit, she had to be hiding something. For once, Angela's pure heart was a detriment to her. Unlike disillusioned Deborah, she took Spatch at face value.

"Thank you, sugar," Spatch smiled brightly at Angela.

Sugar? If Angela wasn't right there, Deborah might've finally brought her crutch down on someone's foot.

"Don't worry, Ms. Lavish," Spatch gave another disarming smile, misunderstanding the sudden glower from Deborah. "I won't use Dr. Jekyll to get any information on you that you wouldn't want me to know. Reporter's honor!"

"You'd be at the risk of being sued or fired if you did," Deborah replied coldly, crossing her arms. It wasn't illegal for reporters to interview people close to celebrities in order to find out more about said celebrities, but this wouldn't be the first time Deborah played fast and loose with the rules to get someone landed in jail.

"Now, now, Deborah, you know I would never tell her anything too personal or private," Angela promised, touching Deborah's arm.

"Well I know you wouldn't," Deborah scoffed, but her voice was infinitely softer when addressing Angela.

"Well, I look forward to our future talk, Dr. Jekyll," Spatch extended a hand and Angela shook it happily. Deborah narrowed her eyes and they only got narrower when Spatch extended a hand to her as well. She didn't shake it. Angela gave Deborah a withering look and Spatch an apologetic one, but Spatch didn't seem to mind in the slightest. She only gave them both a friendly salute before retreating back the way she'd come.

Long after she was gone, though, some of her words kept ringing in Deborah's head. The new me…?

ooo

"I would like to start by thanking everyone for coming out tonight," Deborah said daintily, raising a wine glass in the air. The others at Vine and Vinyl Recording Studios did the same. Angela, Ambrose, and the three other Lavishes were also in attendance. This was a dinner and a meeting, but little did they know, there was also going to be a show.

"I know it's been a… wild, crazy year, but I think I've finally found some level of peace, balance, and stability in my life again," she continued. Only Ambrose and Angela looked overtly proud and pleased by this. Everyone else seemed to be waiting for more…

That was just how the world worked. So cutthroat, there was no understanding, no excuses. Yeah, they all knew she'd been through it, but when was she coming back? That was all they cared about, the Dangerous Debutante. She'd kept them waiting for months, her music was so far behind! And modeling jobs were going to be rare after her car crash. Not only were legs still badly scarred, but because she spent so much time in the hospital, the rest of her body was out of shape, too. There was a lot to discuss, and they were all impatient to move forward.

For a time, the talks seemed serious and sincere, Deborah providing thoughtful responses to every question given to her. After a while, though, things started to go south when some of the pushier constitutes demanded to know how Deborah would make up for lost time and money.

"I'm so glad you asked!" Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure you all remember how, in the past, I'd throw big parties and do big things like jumping into pools from balconies for the sake of a good music video."

It was hard to believe that life had been hers just about a year and half ago. She remembered background dancers and fellow starlets alike, swimming in a champagne sea as her bass beats rattled the chandelier. It was a Lavish, year, but…

"But you just had to rain on my parade, so I'm shaking my head and locking the gates."

"What?" Only Ambrose, Angela, and Eleanor looked intrigued. The others' eyes seemed to say, "Don't you dare do anything dumb, Deborah!"

But what they didn't know was that she just didn't care anymore. That was truly what it meant to be Dangerous: to be untamable, and to finally demand that she be allowed to take control of her own life rather than always answering to their whims and wants.

"You are why we can't have nice things, darlings. Because you break them, I have to take them away! And did you think I wouldn't hear all the things you said about me? No, this is why we can't have nice things!"

Just as before, only Ambrose, Angela, and Eleanor looked intrigued. Ambrose's eyes were wide, but he was smiling. Angela, meanwhile, looked completely shocked, eyes and mouth gaping. Eleanor hid a smirk behind her hand. Everyone else in the room, though, looked so horrified and stunned that all they could do was gawk, eyes twitching. But Deborah wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

"It was so nice being friends again! There I was, giving you a second chance, but you stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand!" Her eyes darted accusingly around the room. This was in reference not to her past frustrations with her higher-ups, but present ones. Over the course of her stay in the hospital, not a single one of them showed her even a shred of compassion. Of course, she knew they were busy people with busy lives, and so did not have time to extend their fullest sympathies, but to give none at all? Surely a line had to be drawn somewhere!

If a young lady was in hospital after a fairly serious car crash and they only stopped by to demand to know when she thought she'd be able to work again, well, that made it hard for her to feel any sort of loyalty to them anymore. Of course, she was never naive enough to think she would be welcomed home like a hero, but they managed to still fail to meet her already-low expectations. The bar was on the ground, and they went under.

Now what could she do except shake her head and lock the gates? She'd throw them out and then throw a feast. She'd leave them before she got left, not as if they were ever hers to begin with. She'd put up with more than enough from them for the past few years already, the way they treated her in recovery was the last straw. And it was in such sharp contrast with how Angela and Ambrose treated her in recovery …

"And therein lies the issue. Friends don't try to trick you, get you on the phone and guilt-trip you! And so I'll take an axe to a mended fence."

"Deborah!" Finally, her father managed to say something. Their reputation was still on the rocks, was she really doing this right now?!

Mrs. Lavish put a hand on his arm to hush him. After seeing everything Deborah had gone through and become—both before, during, and after the family feud—her own worldviews changed somewhat. She didn't necessarily approve of her daughter's actions, but she approved of her husband's even less. She knew that, underneath, he was glad to see her again. That was why he was so confounded as to why she was ruining her chances of ever getting back into the spotlight again by doing… this.

But Mrs. Lavish's gentle chide was not necessary. Deborah was more than happy to finally stand up to her father.

"Shh!" She held up a finger and hushed him loudly. It stupefied him so much that he actually shut up. Then Deborah went on as if nothing happened.

"But I'm not the only friend you've lost lately," she shook her head again. "If only you weren't… so shady…" She shot them yet another dry smile.

The recording studio was by no means struggling, but Deborah knew full well that she wasn't the only star to grow weary of the sky they forced her to shine in. Others had come and gone throughout her time in the spotlight, and now she was going, and others were going, too. It was a natural ebb and flow, but if they weren't careful, there would be more ebb than flow. And not only that, but even those not directly affiliated with the company, like Angela, were starting to see just how ugly it could get in there. That was not good for publicity.

In fact, not too long before this meeting, Angela had expressed her support for Deborah and distaste for the recording studio.

"I can't believe they're so heartless!" the doctor cried.

"I can," Deborah smirked at her. That was yet another example of Angela's pure heart. Even though she knew how cutthroat this industry was, she was still floored by the lack of care they showed to anyone. Deborah was a far more disillusioned debutante.

"Well! Then! … F—… Fff…F—…Fuck them!" Angela's face screwed up and she clenched her fists. For a moment, Deborah's eyes bugged out, then, she broke down laughing. That had been the thing that gave her the courage to come to the meeting that night.

"S—sorry…" A second later, Angela looked sheepish and ashamed, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

"Don't apologize!" Deborah continued to roar. "Ah, that was the most refreshing thing I've heard all week! Do tell, was that a bit of Lola slipping through?" Deborah's eyes shined. She still didn't like Angela's alter ego, but the hatred between them was gone. Now, it was more of an exasperation than either of them wishing to kill the other.

"No," Angela replied, all of her shame suddenly gone. Even though Deborah was only making a jest, Angela considered the question and came to one, simple, yet concrete conclusion: No. That was not Lola. Not even a little bit. That was all Angela. That anger towards the place that brought Deborah so much pain, even if Deborah was guilty of some of it herself, that was all Angela. Deborah felt strangely flattered, knowing the peaceful and timid doctor would get so upset on her behalf. That was the second thing that gave Deborah the courage to go to the meeting that night.

Now she was leering all her employers and coworkers. She'd been scared at the beginning, but now that her anger was starting to bleed through, she became smarter and harder, braver and bolder. As far as Deborah was concerned, they dug their graves, now they had to die in them. It was clearly the fault of the record label if it was them who kept losing friends. It wasn't that she wasn't good enough, it was that they had unrealistic expectations. Eventually, that was going to corrode away everyone's spirits until nothing was left. And that was why they couldn't have nice things.

"So here's a toast to my real friends," Deborah smiled, turning to the table at which Angela, Ambrose, and Eleanor sat. "Yes, here's to my babies," she gave a toast specifically to Angela and Ambrose. "And here's to my sister, had to deal with this social Twister!" Then she turned to the rest of the room, her parents and her bosses alike. "And here's to you, because "forgiveness" is a nice thing to do…"

Then she gave an exaggerated guffaw of laughter before intentionally spilling her wine all over the carpet.

"HAHAHAHA! I can't even say it with a straight face!" she howled. The others, minus Angela, Ambrose, and Eleanor were flabbergasted. Had she gone mad?! Now even Mrs. Lavish winced. She was trying to be more understanding of her younger daughter, but this was a bit much…
But Deborah didn't care, free as a bird. She happily discarded the empty glass before she parading to the door, flipping everyone off and still belting her little tune. She gestured for Angela, Ambrose, and Eleanor to follow. Eleanor was the first to rise, looking darkly satisfied.

"Ellie?" Mrs. Lavish was surprised.

"Sorry, mom, but Deb's got a point. This industry's fucked."

A collective, horrified gasp. Mr. Lavish's eye twitched. Both of his heirs had totally lost their minds! Mrs. Lavish was at a loss for words, so Eleanor shrugged and turned to follow her sister out. Ambrose also rose, and once he did, Angela was quick to hop to her feet, too, though she still looked so stunned and confused by everything that was going on. But, underneath the confusion, she was proud of Deborah.

Barely a day later, the headlines were screaming scandal about Deborah yet again. This time, though, she was darkly satisfied.

"I might frame this," she said as she skimmed the papers. The headline only said, "Has she lost her mind?!" It wasn't very original, but it would do. "Hmm, maybe they should call me the Defiant, Deranged Debutante… a real She-Devil! I like the sound of that!"

ooo

"I must say, Ms. Lavish, that was a most impressive display of raw wit and nerve!" Spatch managed to find Deborah again only a couple days after the new headline. Her compliments were sincere, but the moment Deborah heard that annoying Southern twang, she grit her teeth.

"Stuff it, Spatch," she spat. "You're still not getting an interview out of me!"

"I was simply complimenting you, Mrs. Lavish," Spatch promised.

"I don't need it," Deborah replied frostily. The entire point of her little show was a rejection of external validation.

"I thought I might offer it anyway," Spatch shrugged humbly. Deborah might've found her enduring optimism endearing if it weren't so obnoxious.

"Oh, Deborah, do calm down!" This time, Eleanor was the one with Deborah. They were discussing future plans now that Deborah was out of a job, and Eleanor had made it public that she was going to stand by her sister no matter what their parents did next.

"Ah, another companion, Ms. Lavish? You sure are popular!" Spatch's eyes twinkled as she took Eleanor in.

"Can it, Spatch."

"I'm just the big sister," Eleanor shrugged with a half-smile.

"Ah! Eleanor Lavish! The famous author!"

"I don't know about famous," the half-smile grew dry. "I've always preferred to stay out of the spotlight." That was why Spatch hadn't recognized her on sight alone, precious few people really knew, or cared, what Eleanor looked like. She wasn't the pretty sister.

For a time, Spatch and Eleanor danced back and forth, Deborah growing increasingly frustrated and impatient.

"Stop encouraging her!" she finally whisper-snapped at Eleanor. Eleanor only gave her a smug smile.

"Ms. Spatch, I may not prefer the spotlight, but if you ever want to interview me…"

"Ellie!" Deborah complained.

"Why, I would love to!" Spatch eagerly stuck out her hand. Deborah groaned into her own. "A novelist and a journalist!" Spatch sounded awed.

"I'm sure we can come up with quite the piece," Eleanor nodded, still smiling smugly. "I could even, perhaps, write a book about all of this!"

"Oh, go to Hell, Ell!" Deborah snapped. "Any story you write about all this drama is sure to be forgotten by history! It'll be drivel! Barely even worth posting on some crummy internet forum!"

"Only if you're the first dead, Deb," Eleanor winked back as she continued to shake Spatch's hand.

"You know what? You are why I can't have nice things."

"Eh, that's what sisters are for. Anyway, I look forward to working with you, Ms. Spatch."

"And I, you, Ms. Lavish. And maybe someday, your sister will warm up to me, too!"

"Stuff it, Spatch." This was why they couldn't have nice things…