PoI Said Seduce the Camera, Not Me.
Title: I Said Seduce the Camera, Not Me
Pairing: KidOC. SoulMaka. Black*StarOC.
World: AU
Summary: "He's an insufferable nabob prat, that's what."/"She is an infuriating little parvenu with no capability for symmetry."/"I despise her and her idiotic camera."/"He can go die, for all I care."/"Goddamnit, woman, I love you!"
.ooOoo.
Sometime during the course of her journey back home on the metro, (did she mention she lived in Paris? Probably not. She was crap at French. It was a wonder how she survived, actually) Phoebe 'Pippi' Stefanov had an epiphany.
Suddenly sitting up from her sprawled position on one of the benches (eliciting her more than a few glares and is-she-okay?! looks from standing passengers,) eyes wide and hair a mess, Pippi proclaimed her revelation to the world.
"I'm free!"
Standing up (and randomly clutching a little boy's hand ecstatically to her heart,) she proclaimed again.
"I'm free! Finally freaking free! No more schooling! No more nagging teachers!"
Upon conveniently spying the next train schedule, the deliriously happy girl grabbed her satchel and jacket and danced her way out of the robotic train doors and onto the station, which, unconventionally, uncannily and almost with a hint of destineh!, in dear Nova's words, the train had stopped at just as Pippi was about to waltz her exit out of the train, singing 'no more homework, no more homework!" to herself in a slightly crazy way.
It wasn't until well past eight that she got home.
.ooOoo.
Effectively kicking open her apartment door, the happy Pippi stormed in, dumping her shopping bags on the couch and heading towards her kitchen for a glass of strawberry yogurt drink, humming about long, steamy baths with her ultra-cool, RayBan-wearing yellow plastic duck.
Only to stop right in her tracks.
Slowly, very slowly, her head turned, an imaginary beeping, broken arrow shooting from her gaze to the manila envelope on her coffee table. After a while, she came up with—
"Hmm? Whazzis?" and proceeded to walk over to the couch, plop down, and with as much care as a bulldog who had sighted (and smelled) a piece of lovely filet mignon, ripped off the top of the folder and shook out the contents.
What fell on the glass of the cocktail table were two pieces of paper, and a small black box with a small button on it.
In curiosity, Pippi picked up the box and after finding nothing particularly interesting about it, placed it beside her, on the sofa.
"Dear Ms. Phoenix Stefano," Pippi read aloud, frowning at the name. "All preparations have been made and you are scheduled to appear at the airport in fifteen minutes, where you will be flown over to our headquarters in London for your official meeting with your employer and Death World Modelling Agency's C.E.O. Simply press the button on the black box and the driver will be there to escort you. Considering lodgings and possessions, all living conditions have been taken care of. A luxury condominium has been provided for your use as long as you are in the position of Franken Stein's apprentice, furnished as necessary. Your current belongings will be flown over as well, two days prior to your official instating of your position on Wednesday. Thank you for your cooperation.
"Sincerely, Medusa Gorgon."
Medusa Gorgon? Seriously?
Pippi snorted. Who the hell names their child Medusa Gorgon? Pippi looked down at the little buttoned box beside her, "Right. Fat chance I'm ever going to press…that…button…"
Oh, shit.
Right there, lodged between her thigh and the leather of the couch, was the pressed button box.
Wide-eyed, pupils dilated and mouth open in horrified realization, Phoebe (not Phoenix) Stefanov (not Stefano,) was effectively escorted to the sleek black limousine waiting outside her house (much to the delight of the gossipy old birds in the apartments surrounding hers,) wherein it spent next to no time speeding off to the jet where she was to endure five of the most frustrating hours of her life.
And realize she had left her camera at home.
Oh, shit.
(Again.)
.ooOoo.
"FOR THE LAST TIME, MY NAME IS PHOEBE! PHOEBE STEFANOV!"
The leader of the squadron of men and women escorting her replied, "Of course, Ms. Stefano."
Pippi held back the urge to bash the guy's head in the wall.
And then dunk his head in the nearest toilet she could find and press 'flush.'
Ahh, the good ol' swirly.
God, she could not wait to get to that office, go apeshit and go home.
Her camera…
God, she could cry.
.ooOoo.
It was safe to say that Pippi left the office with absolutely nothing accomplished and even more frustrated than before.
But, aside from the occasional swear word or two, it was pretty mild. (Her ass.)
Except for the fact that she was stuck, there, for eight months as apprentice to the Creep of all Creeps.
It was supposed to be only six, except for the C.E.O's son, Sir Ponce himself and his irrational need for symmetry.
God, why couldn't it have been zero?!
I mean, look at the number— 0— nothing gets more symmetrical than that!
For God's sake, it's fucking round.
At any rate, many a person passed the building to find a pretty LatinAsian girl writing the most vulgar and demeaning words she knew on the front entrance walls, as well as decorating each panel of the revolving doors with very rude little phrases using a bagful of mini-cans of temporary hair dye and spray.
(She wasn't stupid. She knew she would eventually end up cleaning it. No sense in making things any worse for her.)
Right after the meeting, she had emptied her wallet (kept in her brassiere for less chance of being pick-pocketed) of all its contents and proceeded to the nearest convenience store, emerging triumphant as she outbought the store's entire supply of spray-canned, hair-colouring products.
She was just in the middle of creating an elegant 'Screw you, fucking dick' in cursive, pink and violet.
Huh.
Well, at any rate, the conversation with the company's CEO, Mr. Death (who, she was mighty peeved to discover, was the father of Sir Symmetrical Ponce and living proof that yes, Death the Kid was actually a real name,) his right-hand man (and Pervert of the Year) Spirit and her supposed employer, Professor Stein, went a little something like this:-
.ooOoo.
"But I'm not Phoenix Stefano!"
"Oh, really now?" scoffed Spirit. "Then what is your name?"
"It's Pi- Phoebe! Phoebe Stefanov! It's a 'be,' not a 'nix'and there's a 'v!'"
"Oh well," shrugged Mr. Death. "Same thing!"
"It is not!" fumed Pippi, very close to actually stomping her foot (and hoping that she brought the building down along with it, mercifully and effectively ridding the world of the most unreasonable men on the planet.)
"Oh, pipe down— is it really that bad? Are you honestly that depraved that you would go back to your 'no-life' rather than accept-" Stein waved a hand full of lit cigarette (gracing Pippi's nostrils with flicks of ash and smoke) to indicate the agency. "-all this?"
"Yes!" Pippi shot back. "And I do have a life, thankyouverymuch! You suck, Mr. Stein, and so do you!" she promulgated loudly, pointing an imperious finger at the redhead.
"And by the way," Pippi threw over her shoulder as she stomped (she finally gave in) to the door. "Your son-" she told Death. "-is a ponce!"
Slam.
"And an asymmetrical one too!"
.ooOoo.
"Well, this certainly is fascinating."
A very fascinated and impressed head corporate executive watched the security camera's feed through his Mac, accompanied by his trusty man Friday and the famed lensman.
A low whistle sounded in through the room courtesy of the redhead.
"Yes, no?" agreed a transfixed Shinigami (he much preferred his Japanese name to its English counterpart.) "You'd think after all that, she'd run out of insults."
After a particularly original malediction showed up on the screen insulting one of the triad of men (leaning considerably more in Spirit's direction,) a sputtering was heard, as well as deep chuckle and gales of fullblown laughter.
"Oh!" Shinigami slapped his thigh, all the while convulsing in the hilarity and accurateness of the statement of the girl's neon orange insulting phrase, accompanied by a mini-caricature of the man (by George, it actually looked like Spirit!) "You really can't argue! Ha!"
Beside the caricature, a fluorescent green arrow pointed to it, a print describing exactly who and what the caricature was.
It said 'prinky, shtuping manwhore.'
.ooOoo.
Okay, I know. It's like 500 words shorter. I'm sorry, guys, I kinda hit a roadblock these days.
+I'm officially partially deaf and my lens power has gone up to 800.
+I'm supposed to prepare for three songs to sing in church on Christmas and I'm already exhausted.
+Oh, and I have to get a bodyguard or helper or something.
+Godammit, he at least better be hot!
+Oh well, at least I've still got you guys, I suppose.
+A little critique would be appreciated.
+Might some ideas be sent in?
+Yeah, see you guys in a bit!
+Review please!