I.

Dreadfully hard to wrap up the measuring tape. In truth, though it would have sounded a little too silly when said out loud, Shannon had been surprised when it had been handed to her. It was a pale yellow with black marking and numerals on it, and seemed extremely unsuspecting in its aesthetically unappealing normalcy. If it knew just what the measurements it took would be used for it might shrivel up—as though suddenly ruffled, and then it might look a little like one of Angel's necklaces.

No; Angel was walking through the room now. Shannon paused, her head dropped slightly, and reached her hand up to smooth her own hair off of her shoulders and neck with the hand not clasping the stream of coiled paper. Slowly; a tiny, impish smile upon her little lips, the curve continuing up, rounding her cheek, up to her eyes, which turned in a flash torwards Shannon's, the smile apparent even there; red hair falling into her face, her hand propped against her chin in a little dainty fist, a large cocktail ring with what was either a real or a false red gemstone set into it upon her slender finger. She looked like the maddest of all little dolls; no one could possibly make a porcelain doll to look like Angel, and yet there she was, resembling one. Shannon had once had a collection of them. Little things, really; some of them painted to look like Victorian cherubs, some to look like Venetian jesters with masks. Shannon hadn't ever liked them as much as the little girl dolls, the ones she got for Christmas all the time. But now, she thought, would Angel possibly like them? Shannon got a sudden image of red hair dye in her clumsy fingers, covered in plastic gloves as she attempted to turn blonde plastic into red plastic without getting it upon the fair paint on the doll's face; then she heard, as a memory, "Welcome, Shannon! Welcome to Bijou Music…" And then, the fist real image to show up, though she did not know it at first and it disoriented her…Angel, pausing beside the desk.

'Good morning, Shannon,' she said, with a little grin and a tilt of her head, setting down her flapper pochette onto the desk. Shannon dropped the hand in her hair suddenly so that it lay at her side, uncomfortable; and Angel suddenly reached over with the one hand, her red-nailed index finger outstretched. Shannon held her breath suddenly, nervous, but not wanting to step away for fear of upsetting the chair behind her, or making herself look a fool in front of Angel. The fingertip found its mark on Shannon's hand, then traced a line past her knuckles, white from clenching the tape, and then followed the curve of the measuring tape, in and out, through a good deal of its length; then Angel straightened her back, and placed the hand on her hip suddenly, grinning widely at Shannon.

Shannon exhaled.

'Well,' Angel said, beaming, lifting with her ring-bearing hand the pochette from the desk. 'Are you going to take measurements to-day, Shannon?'

'Yes,' replied Shannon truthfully.

Angel's smile widened, her eyes sparkling as her eyelids lowered slightly, creasing at the corners from the smile. 'Are you going to measure me?'

'No,' replied Shannon, now sounding slightly doubtful and anxious. 'Have I got to? Yours are already in the file.'

Angel giggled slightly, and took a step backwards. 'Then you haven't got to,' she said, and turned to walk away.

Shannon followed out from behind the desk, watching her, and then biting her lip. 'Are you saying—should I do it anyway?'

But she pulled her head back slightly, taking a step away, as Cooper came into the room at the same time Angel left it, pulling her hair gently as he did, and causing Angel to jerk her head back with a funny expression, shoving him in the side gently. Cooper stumbled the rest of the way into the room, except it wasn't stumbling; he finally came to a halt beside Shannon, folding his arms across his chest, and pressing his lips together, then looking at her.

'I haven't got to do yours either, if you want to know,' she said automatically, now holding the long paper in both hands, clutching at it even as most of it was on the floor. Cooper made a face that suggested he was going to laugh at something, then shook his head once, looking down, and looked her in the face again. 'No,' he said, and then paused, shifting his position slightly and tilting his head up. 'How's Sibyl?'

Shannon blinked. 'Wh…what?'

'How,' Cooper repeated word-by-word, unfazed, 'is, Sibyl?'

'Vane?' inquired Shannon, her lips parted slightly. The name seemed familiar, but at the moment she only dimly remembered the story.

'Don't worry,' said Cooper, reaching forward with one hand and patting her once on the shoulder, his expression one of concealed laughter once more, 'you'll know her.'

Shannon didn't say anything even as he walked over into the next room, raising his voice to call, 'Hey, Jerry!'

And then Shannon blinked, not even noticing that she had been steadily wrapping the tape around her hand in nervousness, and glanced back down at the papers on her desk.

Now, for actually doing her job, what she was being paid for. She exhaled, and then paused.

She hadn't known she'd been holding her breath again.

II.

'Oh;' Curt said, laughing hard, 'do you?'

Brian stood a short ways behind him, one arm around his waist, the other resting with his hand over his mouth as he laughed too, his eyes bright and watching Curt.

Shannon didn't know what to say. 'Yes,' she replied, as simply as she had done with Angel. It was a little sudden; perhaps not so funny as that, though. But Brian and Curt found it was funny not because she said it, but because everything that popped into their strange bubble seemed funny; at least, that was how it would appear. Growing slightly frantic, Shannon had blurted, the moment Curt had stepped into the room from the direction Angel had gone, laughing over something or other in low tones with Brian, "I have to measure you." And blinking, Curt and Brian had stared at her before laughing again.

'Well,' said Brian, with an attempt at being sly, taking his hand away with an elegant gesture and propping it up on his hip, 'We're all prey to the Wardrobe Mistress, Curt. Comply, please.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Curt said, walking over in front of Shannon's desk as she dove for the end of the tape, unnoticed, and found the proper end; 'Master Demon.'

Brian, she saw, as she lifted the tape up, hesitantly wondering about how she was going to press it against his body without actually touching him, had laughed once more, his shoulders shaking slightly, and then he grew slightly more composed, as though thinking about something; he pressed his lips together, and then took another step back, as though to get a good look.

Shannon wished they would continue talking so that she didn't have to worry about being watched; but if she were to try a conversation starter, she knew they would have to look at her, and so she commenced the measuring, clumsily and quietly, extremely nervous about how it worked. Master Demon certainly had some area of control, it would seem, for Curt was extremely compliant, offering to help hold the end of the tape if Shannon had to duck down somewhere else to tick off a measurement; and watching quietly with a smile on his face, shifting his position and in general behaving restlessly, Brian spoke up suddenly.

'I can do that.'

Shannon and Curt both looked up at the same time; the former with surprise at the sudden noise, like a deer in the headlights, and the latter also surprised; his, however, grew into a very wide grin quickly.

'Yeah?'

Brian strode over towards them, more energetic than the languorous walk he seemed to employ most of them time. Without really looking at Shannon, he took the tape from her, and both laughed again as Brian fumbled to find the end; Shannon, not feeling as though she could dare to wonder, went over to see what measurements remained needed.

'All right,' Brian said, growing slightly more calm, after the laughing had died down. 'You. What next?'

Presuming she was You, Shannon glanced down again, even though she had just read it. 'Ah…inside leg.'

Brian pressed the end of the measuring tape up against the zipper on Curt's trousers just as Curt glanced down at him, still grinning, perhaps in response to Brian's muffled laughter. 'She has a name…Maxwell.'

'Well, excuse me, Mister Wild.' Brian looked up from the measuring tape, and Shannon did not exactly feel she had to look away—at least not immediately, because in just a moment she had glanced down, picking up the papers on a clipboard that she had found, and a pen. 'Is it Shannon?'

She nodded, and then held out the clipboard. 'What is it?'

Brian told her so that she could write it down. And then asked her what the next one was, and Shannon told him, and Brian began to do it when the tape just fluttered out of his fingers; and both of them laughing, Curt's eyes rolled up to the ceiling. 'Jesus…fucking…Christ,' he said, and the laughter continued. The measurements did also, and Brian—Spaceman Superstar, the famous Maxwell Demon himself—continued to go about like an exquisitely liveried servant for Curt, holding up the tape; shameless. And Curt never minded, and never asked him to stop.

Brian just kept asking what the next one needed was. So Shannon would tell him. 'It's the last one,' she added, tucking hair behind her ear.

'Finally,' muttered Curt, before they both laughed under their breath and Brian went to take it. Shannon bit her lip, and glanced away from them for the first time, looking at the room around her. Then she caught a glimpse, out of the corner of her eye, of people in the next room; they didn't see her or the amused rock stars, but anxiety gripped Shannon again, and she turned away suddenly.

Brian and Curt were still laughing, uninterrupted, as Brian took the measuring tape away, finger on the last number, which he read to Shannon, who duly recorded it just as she knew someone had stepped up behind her.

'Brian? What on earth are you doing?'

There was stunned silence as Brian looked up at Jerry, who seemed, while uninterested, slightly amused himself, and Shannon shuffled back behind her desk, sliding into the shadows, looking at him also. Brian lifted the measuring tape, his open smile growing cocky.

'Measuring,' he said. Curt started to laugh.

III.

'You absolutely look like a Christmas tree,' said Freddi pleasantly, walking around her in a wide circle, languourously, before leaning over to look her in the face. It was doubtful that Freddi ever really meant anything that he said, and Shannon, even though she felt near to tears in her frustration, managed a slight, automatic smile when Freddi lifted with one long, languid hand the other end of the measuring tape and flicked her nose with it lightly.

With Angel standing in the background, watching her with a pristine little Angel-smile, Shannon felt a little like one as well. So on display, so…exposed.

'Tinsel,' the red-haired girl said, tiptoeing around from where she stood behind a box of rolled-up, oversize posters to go, 'tinsel is just what you need, Shannon.'

She spoke her name with so much warmth, but there was no way Shannon could have said "Angel"; Freddi, possibly, and most certainly Mandy. Even though he would technically be Mr Devine, she could call Jerry by his first name easily; Cooper, it was probable, and with Micki she had very little difficulty. But Angel was the most affected name ever, and like the Christmas tree topper she resembled, she recalled snow; let a flake touch your lips and it will melt away, Shannon had to remind herself. If the name touched her lips, Angel wouldn't exist anymore. If Angel touched her lips…Shannon averted her eyes suddenly as Angel stepped right in front of her, performing a balancing act on her shoes like some amazing acrobat.

Freddi too was looking at her. They were both impossibly close.

'There, there, Shannon,' Angel was saying, patting her on the shoulder, with a smile. They were humouring her, Shannon realized; when they smiled, not only was it affectation, but they saw her as a child. But even as this idea touched her, it faded—melted like snow—and Shannon knew then that she wanted to be the child, the infant of the group. Pure as driven snow, in fact. It was what she was, and nothing in the world was going to change it.

'It's not easy to measure yourself,' Angel continued. 'Would you like some help with that?'

'Eeuh…' Shannon trailed off, looking away, and pulling the measuring tape, which had been draped over her arm—thus the Christmas tree reference—so that it was all in her hand, unrolling across the floor. 'I…I would,' she said, uncertainly, unable to meet Angel's eyes, and instead looking up at Freddi.

Angel's lips pursed prettily, as Shannon could see out of the corner of her eye, and she reached up to tap her flapper-esque headband, taking a step back, as Shannon handed Freddi the measuring tape.

'All right, then,' he said, making a gesture with his limp hand that she turn around, and she did, thankful that while Angel could see her, she could not see Angel. Freddi's hand lifted her arm, and she held it there so that he might record sleeve lengths and such; and as Freddi went about doing this, she felt the plastic edge of the clipboard touch her side briefly, and turning her head swiftly to the right, Shannon saw Angel lifting it up.

'Allow me,' she said, and the absurd little circus-gesture she gave as a bow of her head made Shannon smile and drop her eyes away.

IV.

A relief to discover her place again! They had been speaking of Americans, and how strange it was, Shannon thought, sitting upon her bed with an already-worn manilla folder of sketches, that she hadn't seen Mandy today. Briefly she thought of her, expression pensive. There was always Curt to think of, who was American himself. Although she had been solemn as a little owl before, now she found herself managing a smile at Brian and Curt's own laughter, slipping into the reading of the book with much more ease than she'd been in in a long time. Something about the day made her feel better, a little elated, more pleased. She couldn't put her finger on it; she'd felt uneasy all day. But because the thought of her own unease caused her to become troubled, she thought it best not to dwell on it, and simply read the book. The words were fanciful; but some of them seemed deadlier than others, and Shannon could not help fall into a frown.

'…the way of paradoxes is the way of truth. To test Reality we must see it on the tight-rope. When the Verities become acrobats we can judge them.'

She paused here, having barely gotten anywhere; her mind went back to an image of Angel herself, on the tightrope. Was it for Shannon to judge her? She shook her clouded head quickly and went on. But barely a page had passed before she was once again confronted by something she could not read beyond.

'The advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray…'

'Is it so, I wonder?' Shannon asked, biting her lip. And defeated, she placed the bookmark into the book and placed it, shut, on her bedside table.