Chapter 5
Kyoko: OO My GOD. It's been so long. I don't even wanna remember how long it's been since I've updated this fic. I have been on one of those "god-awful, OMGWTFIHAVENNOCREATIVITYLEFT!" kind of Writer's Blocks. I cannot apologize enough for my long absence. So I'll just make Terry and Bruce do it.
Terry: (glares at Kyo) I hate you so very much…
Bruce: Likewise.
Kyoko: Too bad. Now read my apologies or I'll use my 3VOL Authoress powers on you l13k w04.
Terry: (grouchily)
I'm sorry for the absence
I know it makes no sense
For such a great story
To be gone so long
And not here for all the fame and glory
Of joy and song
Bruce: …
Kyoko: (clears throat)
Bruce: (glares at Kyoko) …
Kyoko: (waves Blackmail picture in front of his face) Do you WANT this released on the Internet?
Bruce: This is coming out of your paycheck.
Terry: Just don't pay her. She doesn't deserve any money for doing this to us-OW! (rubs back of head after Kyo whacks him)
Bruce: (sighs angrily)
You readers are great
For waiting patiently
As my plot finally fell while running
Away from me
Hopefully it'll get better
And you'll keep reading 'til the end
Or else I'll die of loneliness
Because you're not my friends.
The End.
Kyoko: There. My apologies. I hope this chapter can make up for how long I've been gone. I'd also like to thank my reviewers for beating about the face and neck until I updated. I needed that. (puts ice pack on neck) Even though it was extremely painful...Hope this can compensate for your waiting!
…
The Gotham City Model Association. The GCMA. I never thought I'd be here. Actually, I hoped I'd never have to be here. Figures.
The building was about 8 stories high and on a lonely street corner between Old town Gotham and the New town Gotham. The parking lot was a couple of blocks down so Terry and I had to walk down the sidewalk past a couple of the few remaining flower shops and candy stores. So many people just bought all their stuff online that they could barely stay open any more.
We approached the glass doors and Terry opened it for me, smiling mockingly as he quipped, "Ladies first."
I rolled my eyes and stepped inside, the first to feel a blast of cold air as we entered the lobby. It looked like the building had formerly been a hotel; a check-in counter was between two hallways leading to rooms and elevators slowly rising up to the top floors. I dug in my jacket pocket for the paper of directions and approached the counter at which a skinny kid with jet-black hair was on the phone and putting people on hold. Ah, minimum wage jobs. Society couldn't function without you.
"Excuse me?" The kid looked up boredly, moving the mic on his headset to answer in a flat voice,
"Yes? May I help you?"
"Um, we're looking for Pete Wilkinson? We have an…appointment." I answered, gesturing to the paper. He sat up and eyed me from head to toe, a skeptical look on his face.
"You really wanna be a model? Looks like you might have too much body for it."
I arched an eyebrow, wondering if I should be offended or flattered. I chose the former. Terry, however, wouldn't stand for it.
"Regardless, what floor is Room H256 on?" He cut in, stepping forward to stop the kid before he could say anything further. The kid's eyes widened and what looked like an uncharacteristically wide smile spread across his mouth.
"The 8th floor. You, however, have the face to be a great model. I could get you a private interview…" The guy offered. Terry's face contorted with the effort not projectile vomit into his face. I coughed into my hand to avoid laughing.
"Uh, no thanks. Let's go, Max." He grabbed me hand and headed for a elevator. We found one going up and he let go of my hand, crossing his arms across his chest. I finally allowed myself a giggle.
"What is it with you and gay guys? They all love you."
He glared piercingly at me. "Hey, it is not my fault. I must be cursed or something."
"Or maybe they think they can convert you because you're so delicate and pretty…"
His glare intensified but the elevator door opened and we stepped in it, Terry monotoning, "Level 8" to the system's computer. The doors closed and we were elevated slowly up to the 8th floor of the building.
I sighed, moving back the sleeve of my jacket to check the time. "So, what d'you think we'll encounter?"
Terry shrugged moodily, hands in his pockets. "Half-naked models, cameras, and probably lots and lots of celery."
I grinned in spite of my nervousness. "Sweet. Maybe I can get some male models' numbers," I teased, waiting for his reaction.
He leaned against the wall of glass, hands stuffed in his pockets, and tossed me a mild side-glance, then relaxed into a mischievous smile.
"So could I."
"Is that a challenge?"
He shrugged carelessly, joining in on my intended game of cat-and-mouse. So much for taking it slow.
"You're no competition for me."
I rolled my eyes again and the elevator stopped, the doors opening to expose the 8th floor. The walls were painted a normal, office sort of white, and the two elevators across from us separated the hallways. We exited and after scanning door numbers posted on the center or each one, went down the left hallway, finding our room number near the end of the corridor.
I inhaled deeply after side-glancing furtively at McGinnis, then opened the door.
The room was massive and had a charcoal gray floor, as if someone had ripped up the carpet and only concrete was left. A runway was placed about 10 feet from the door with rows of simple blue chairs on both sides, like a recreation of an actual model scene. A wall separated the stage from the photo shoot going on next to it, automatic cameras whizzing through the air as they took pictures of the pouty-lipped princesses and metrosexual-looking males.
The door shut behind me with a slam making me jump, and a huge man with sunglasses and the basic bodyguard black outfit walked towards Terry and I, a clip board clutched in his massive paw.
"Names?"
"Terry McGinnis and Maxine Gibson," Terry interjected for me, since I was still a bit speechless from the room itself. The guy, "Timothy" his shirt tag read, scanned the clipboard and looked up, nodding.
"Mr. Wilkinson is in the photo shoot area."
We nodded and walked past the runway, watching the models practice walking up and down it and pivot. Pete was encouraging a blonde model, decked out in fox fur and 4-inch gold heels. Interesting.
He looked up at us and that painfully familiar 100-watt smile blazed in our faces. "That's good enough, Tiffany, you can go take a five minute break." He called to the blonde. She stood up from her former crouching position and smiled slyly at Terry as she slinked past us towards a small table set up with fruits, vegetables, and water. She was around 5'8'', long, bouncy blonde hair, lithe, curvy body, and deep blue eyes. Every girlfriend's worst nightmare. He watched her saunter away and I eyed him sarcastically as Pete talked to the photographer manning the hover cameras. Pete turned back towards us before I could retort something scathing.
"Thank you for arriving on time! This is the model shoot you're going to be working on for the rest of the week. This is Harvey Mace, our main photographer," The mentioned waved a hand at us while fiddling with one of the cams, "and that delicious little morsel at the snack bar is Tiffany Welling. She's one of our best models."
"I'll say," Terry muttered under his breath, watching her slim form as she hovered over the fruit plate. I rolled my eyes.
"Anyway, first you will be instructed how to walk, talk, live, and breathe like a professional model. You will be graded on effort and execution of what you have been taught. I will occasionally stop by to check your progress and there will be a test on your last day. But first, I'd like you to meet one more person."
Timothy the security guy came barreling towards us, removing his sunglasses to reveal bright green eyes. He had a shaved head and face, strong cut cheekbones, a hooking, pointed nose, and was apparently trying to appear nonchalant, though it went over as harrowing and scary.
"Timothy Malcolm, one of our best trainers." Mr. Malcolm shook our hands firmly with his enormous grip. Surprise, surprise.
"Mr. McGinnis," Pete continued. "You'll be working with Ms. Welling," Tiffany reappeared beside McGinnis, who grinned triumphantly at me. "And Miss Maxine, you'll be working with Mr. Malcolm."
I almost flinched, resisting the urge to lift an eyebrow. This hulking mass of ungainly man was going to teach me how to be a model? He looked as if he should be coaching the Gotham Knights football team, or heck, a linebacker for them.
Pete patted us both on the arms. "Do your best. I know you'll do great. Be gentle with her, Tim." He turned heel and headed away behind the camera equipment, going towards the exit. Maybe I should follow him.
Tiffany took Terry's arm and led him away, thankfully changed out of the fox fur and golden lingerie to a clingy red dress and black heels, speaking in a sinfully honey-sweet voice, "This way, sweetheart. We'll start with your walking."
I heard Terry wondering, "What's wrong with my walk?" before the towering man known as Timothy caught my attention with his deep, gravelly voice.
"Maxine, is it?"
I nodded too many times, a more than a little nervous. This guy could give Mr. Wayne a run for his money as far as creepy voices go.
"Have you ever had any modeling experiences?"
I shook my head. "This is my first time doing any of--"
"That's enough. You answered the question. That's all I need to know."
He stalked past me to the area where a sheet had been laid against the wall and on the floor and started to unroll a blue leather mat that had been leaning against the wall. I watched him a bit apprehensively, not very surprised at his attitude. He stood up straight, beckoning me. I met him on the mat, wondering if I should take off my shoes, hands crossed under my chest.
"Modeling is the art of silence, beauty, and deception. You will need poise, grace, and obedience to be able to handle it. Do you possess such talents, Miss Gibson?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. Anything else?" I quipped, grinning confidently. He frowned at me.
"Yes. Did I not mention that silence is a key point to modeling? Let your body do the talking. Now, down on the mat, legs spread."
I blinked. "What? I'm not working on my walk?"
"It would seem apparent since you are not over there on the stage now, isn't it? You aren't ready to walk yet. You haven't even crawled." Malcolm replied with cold indifference. My temper flared slightly.
"I'm more ready than he is." I retorted, jabbing a thumb towards McGinnis, who had what appeared to be a dictionary on his head and was attempting to walk with it staying that was and failing miserably.
"No, you are not. Either you do this my way or you do not do it at all." He answered, crossing his huge arms.
'Great. Piss him off. That'll improve your grade a lot. Better do what he says before he snaps you in two with his pinky toe,' I scolded myself. Rolling my eyes, I plopped down on the mat and pried off my Chucks, spreading my legs like the great white sergeant had instructed me to.
"We're going to start with leg stretches and then move to upper body exercises…"
…
Kyoko: That's all for now. Gotta leave room for more chapters. Hope this makes up for my loooong absence! More to come ASAP! Thanks for hanging in here with me! I appreciate it so much. Don't forget to review and tell me what you think! Bye!