Beauty Queen
"I've never been very good at this."
Cordelia's eyes narrow as she concentrates on getting her bell brush powdered with just the right amount of blush. Cordelia's eyes are impeccably lined and shadowed, the lashes perfectly curled, and they get a kind of mesmerized myopia when she's concentrating on this task.
"Well," she says slowly, "I have a merit badge in glamour, so you're in luck."
Cordelia gently blows the excess rouge from the brush and then swipes the brush across Fred's cheeks. Fred forces herself to be still; she hadn't expected the sensation to be so gentle. She was used to harsh dime store implements and cosmetics, not the expensive fare Cordelia had; she was used to her own clumsy application and not . . . not this.
"You are so in need of a makeover," Cordelia says, her voice still detached by her Avon lady daze. "Pylea didn't really do much for your . . . well . . ."
Her mouth twists into a sour bow. They are perfectly lined, perfectly colored, perfectly glossed. Perfectly kissable.
Fred blushes beneath her rouge. She doesn't know where that thought came from; sometimes her mind goes so fast, she can't keep up.
"Just wait till the boys see the hot new you," Cordelia chirps happily.
"Right," Fred echoes obediently. She wants to fit in; this is the first time in her life she's been anywhere with the pretty girls, and she'll get a makeover, go with the boys if that's what she needs to do to stay. "Right. The boys."