Hello! Thank you for following me up to here!
Well, don't have much say in here, so let's get onto Chapter Two!
Being a Make-up Artist's not so bad…
A cosmetologist…ne? Orihime was still thinking over Chizuru's words while tossing in bed. It might possibly be another way out. There are not many differences between this and painting, she tried to persuade herself. She got great confidence in her sense of colours.
Besides, it was way better than working in convenience stores…
If yes, then the targets must be great fairs. That was what she told herself the next morning as she flipped through the newspaper and saw an advertisement from a modelling agency with a vacancy for a make-up artist.
Puffing out her chest, she finally stepped out of the boundary of the house, but got deflated in the next moment.
Was there really no way out anymore? She struggled. There would possibly be some other kinds of small jobs like further-edition of manga. Drawing simple sketches would be fine for her. Oh, even a mangaka assistant would be alright! But, were there still any mangaka that needed assistants?
"Oh, coming to respond to a recruiting ad, missy?" A weird man smiled at her. He looked quite decent, though.
"Yes." Orihime took in a deep breath. I just cannot deal with my savings below a five-digit figure…
She walked into the company, surprised that such a glamorous profession would be in such a shabby office. A few attractive lassies glared at her, as if she was their enemy.
"What're you recruiting for? Pop star? Actress? Model?" The man looked through the file of forms. "Oh, by the way, I'm the manager, but none of the people here call me that. Call me Renji would be fine."
"Err…" Orihime cleared her throat. "I'm coming for the vacancy for make-up artists."
"Make-up artist?!" Renji scrutinized her for a while. "No way, you're such a lovely babe…trust me! My eyes tell me that you're an unearthed diamond! With some make-ups and a set of clothes, I promise you'll be a supernova in no time!"
"I don't know how to sing, as well as acting." Orihime felt ashamed and embarrassed.
"It's alright, then a model! We've got training courses for professional models, and you'll surely be a supermodel."
"Lookie here. That's what Renji told me two years ago." A belle giggled smugly. "Hey, Renji, is that what you say to every woman? What a playful tongue you've got…"
"Oh, charming babe, don't tease me." Renji waved that off. "Come, missy, just fill in this form."
"No," Orihime was determined. Was this some sick joke? A narcissist at home was more than enough, and she did not want to be like Ichigo. "All I only want is to be a make-up artist."
"…Alright. Do you have any experiences?" Renji furrowed his brows.
"I've learnt cosmetology and hair-styling in high school…" Orihime swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
Thinking for a while, Renji's smile returned in a flash. "That's alright for being inexperienced. Knowledge's open for everyone to learn! You can be on a probation too. Unfortunately, I don't have the forms for professional make-up artists right now…this form for models would be fine…"
Just as she started to fill in the form, the curtain was pushed aside to reveal a detached handsome face. "What're you doing, Renji?"
"I'm recruiting new blood. I've not got in your way, have I?" That clown-like smile disappeared, and alertness took the space on his face. "I'm telling you: she's the one who got in on her own. I've neither forced her nor lied to her…"
This familiar voice…Orihime raised her head to look into those ice-sealed ambers, noticing a hint of anger and…care?
"You're recruiting to be a model?" Ichigo glanced at the form.
"No; a make-up artist." Orihime shook her head. What is going on? Such coincidences?
"It's not the form for make-up artists." He stared at Renji coldly. "You've made a mistake, 'Manager'-san."
A flash of malevolent crossed on Renji's face, but it was immediately replaced with his smile. "Oh yes, I thought that the forms were all used…my memory's really failing me!" He looked at the unfinished form and took out another one. "Here, Inoue-san, take this one."
"She's not filling anything." Ichigo ripped the forms. "She's my personal make-up artist."
"What're you pulling around at, Kurosaki Ichigo?!" Renji's face wa now distorted by cruelty and horror. "Me taking in new recruits on my own, you being a supermodel on your own! I've never wronged you, so what're you trying at?!"
"Nothing." He was still the old calm and detached self. "She's living under the same roof with me. Her everything is my responsibility."
All those present gasped. In an instant, one could hear a pin drop.
"Come." He grabbed Orihime's arm and forcibly dragged her away from the spot.
"Eh? H-Hey! What's wrong…" Orihime was beyond confused. "How can you do that? I need a job…hey! You're hurting me, Ichigo!"
Looking at the two retreating figures, Renji's face sank to deeper darkness. With a loud bang, he shook everything on the table, making them jump a feet high from the surface. The other girls fell into a thickening silence, like bunnies in a hiding bush with the howling wolf out there. None dared to make a sound.
"Enough with all the stupidity!" Finally, Orihime struggled to free herself—or it should be Ichigo willingly freed her. "What the heck you're playing at? Why do you drag me here? I need to work! Even though I no longer have to pay for the rent—"
"Why do you have to find a job in a modelling agency? How many have you been to such companies?" Ichigo then became aware of his very abnormal behaviour, but he was not willing to admit that the emotion was fear. Spotting her distorted face, agitated, he grabbed her arm again. "Answer me!"
"This is the first." Orihime, scared by him, muttered after a while. Looking at his stern yet worried look in his eyes, she then understood that Renji was not someone kind and nice. "Can you release me, please? It…it hurts…"
He finally loosened his hand on her arm and took a deep breath. I'm worrying about her? Oh, darn you, calm down. It is not like that. It is just she is a…never mind that.
"Modelling agencies aren't some nice places for proper jobs." His face was still dark. "It's so hard to find a job?"
"I want a job that's related to drawing." She nodded and bit her lip. "A make-up artist…isn't too different, I hope…"
He then relaxed. "I really wish to hire you as my make-up artist, but I'm not offering you this post out of sympathy. Therefore, you've got to go through tests."
"What kind of tests?" Orihime followed behind him.
"You don't have to care about that." Ichigo turned around. "But you have to promise me: if you fail, you must never step into any other modelling agencies. Can you do that?"
Orihime looked at him in total confusion. However, she felt that Ichigo was worried for her from his expressionless face. Though she did not know why, "I promise."
"…Follow me." They came to the backstage of the practical runway and he opened the provisional wardrobe. "These are the clothes I'm fitting into for tomorrow's show. As you see, most of them are red. So, what's your make-up for me?"
Opening the professional chest of make-ups, Orihime choppily took a piece of facial cotton and gulped.
"You've learnt cosmetology and hair-styling?" Ichigo closed his eyes.
"Uh-huh." Orihime cleaned his face carefully with a piece of dampened cotton. "My family thought that girls will have better futures if they learn that."
"What after that?"
"Well…" It was pointless to use concealer on such a flawless face. After a second of consideration, she picked up a puff with face powder. "I wanted to draw, so I transferred to study in Renaissance Art."
"Did your family support you?" The long lashes casted a luscious shadow on his peachy-skinned face.
"How could they? I've got to earn money from my work for my school fees and daily necessities." She made a short laugh of bitterness. For the sake of drawing, she was chased out of the apartment by her drunkard of a father. Her prostitute mother only cowered in a corner, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Sora, her beloved elder brother, has died years ago, so no one stood up for her, let alone to shield her from gaining scars.
"Heavy, aren't they, dreams?" He cracked open his eyes, reflecting Orihime's face with those polished ambers. "Won't you be free once you give up on your dreams?"
"What's the point in living once giving up on your dreams?" Orihime gulped hardly to get rid of the lump in her throat. "Close your eyes."
"Well said." He reclosed them but curved up the corners of his mouths. "Don't forget what you've said today."
Silence fell between them, and Orihime's concentration perked up, ignoring all the noises around her. Applying make-up for Ichigo was a very enjoyable experience. Such a perfect material began to radiate glories of beauty under her working hands. It was better than her portrait done weeks ago; there were no other canvases that were better than this. It was the masterpiece of God.
"Gold eye shadows? Due to the trend?" He looked at his face in the mirror. "Most of the clothes are red."
"But a lot of them have gold accessories to go with them." She explained. "I've used brick-red to shade around the eyes, then it's the gold eye shadow. Such colours should be used to bring out your eyes, and considering for the splendour of the clothes, gold is the best colour." The words she did not say were, "Those brilliant ambers you've got as your eyes are the best ornaments for the clothes. The colour of gold is only the foil for those eyes of jewels."
He finally smiled, "It's too thin." Seeing her going to protest, he explained, "This is a stage. I need a heavier fashion make-up when I'm on the runway."
Orihime was a little disappointed. So…she failed? However, she was not sad, but satisfied for doing it even once.
"You passed." He closed his eyes. "Remove them."
"I don't need your sympathy or other pathetic reasons for me to get a pass!" Orihime poured out some make-up remover resentfully. "I promised that I won't step into any other modelling agencies, but I don't—"
"I'm not sympathizing you. Besides, why should I?" He remained his eyes closed. "You've got a good sense of colours and acute strokes. As for fashion make-ups, all you need is practices, and you've got a week. That's it; end of discussion."
"…" She sulkily removed all the work she has done.
"Remember; a week." Ichigo called a cab and even paid the necessary fees for her. "You should understand that I've viewed my job as part of my belief. After a week, I need nobody other than you to apply make-up for me. If you ruin my shows, I'll never forgive you. Do you understand? Now go back, and never find another modelling agency on your own. From now on, you'll follow me to wherever I go. Got that?" Orihime did not know why, but all she did was nodding.
"What a shame for a jewel." Taki smiled behind him as the vehicle was out of sight. "She should be on the runway."
"The runway? No model gets on the runway with just barely 5'3"." No more warmth lingered in his eyes. "Or maybe force her to do it a few times before tempting her to be a courtesan?"
"You've never cared about any of Renji's girls." Taki bowed her head to light a cigarette. "She's so important to you?"
"Who don't care for his 'pets'?" He looked at Taki coolly. "Even though I want them no more, none can touch any of the toys I've played with, including you, Taki. I'll never let anyone get away with it." Although he got such an attractive smile, the dark murderous aura which was rolling out from him turned the hot summer days into chilling wintery ones.
"I know that. I've always known that." Taki forced herself to self-control.
"I hope so." After scrutinizing her face for a while, he turned around to leave.
"After all, you're a prince with a sword, not a princess." Taki held back her trembles.
He looked up into the sky before looking back at her, "…I was never a prince. I'm only 'El Modelo de Magia'."
Both of them knew what he meant, and he silently left. As he did so, Taki said softly, "She'll become your greatest weakness. Do you know that?"
Why he did not?
He arrived at home and saw Orihime applying make-up on a mannequin intently, but he only leant against the wall quietly, savouring her concentration. Ichigo knew that she would not feel a thing if she was stabbed many times now. Was it this absorption into her work that moved him? He did not know. All he knew was that his gaze was filled with content, so as pain. He walked into the room, trying not to think about that.
"Move faster," Orihime's movements were more stable, as Ichigo has taught her. "The shows won't wait for you."
"I don't want to do things hastily." Orihime frowned, flipping through the fashion magazines for ideas.
"That's why you need to reduce unneeded strokes. With the right strength, you'll get rid of them." The next was a few days away. He treasured the autumnal publication show and did not want to ruin it. "Why don't you try on me?"
"Fashion make-ups hurt the skin very much. I don't want to destroy your face." Orihime glanced at his flawless face.
Is that so? He sensed an abnormal softness in his heart, sat on the bed and closed his eyes. "That little bit of make-up won't be such a great deal on me. Come."
Why she always could not resist his orders, albeit it was such a gentle tone? Yet, she walked towards him obediently.
"You haven't been caring your skin." She frowned as she started to remember the cosmetology lessons in the past. "You've been staying up late? It's not very obvious, but from the touches…"
"Who'll touch my face other than you?" Surprised by the intimate tone, he shut up immediately.
Luckily, Orihime did not notice that. She bit her lower lip, "Can I ask…why you fired your previous make-up artist? Was it because she ruined your show?" Ichigo might have liked her for them to live together.
"No," He said plainly. "Senna attempted to get into my bed."
"…I won't." Orihime's face grew tomato-red.
"I know." It was so easily said. He had no idea that she needed a lot of self-control to not suck those full, soft lips…until she felt the studs on his chin.
"Your studs," She narrowed her eyes and held her head. It was too unnatural for such beautiful face to have studs!
"I'll do something about that."
On the day of the show, Ichigo brought a keyed-up red panda along with him.
"You're scared?" He has put on a pair of dark glasses in case anyone recognised him.
"…I'm afraid you won't forgive me." She nodded.
"It's your birthday today, right?" Ichigo smiled. Eh? How did he—? "You have three wishes as your birthday gift from me, and you can make this wish, 'Ichigo won't fire me even if I ruin the show.'
"I won't." Orihime stared at him, all her anxiety gone in a second.
"Such confidence" Ichigo smirked. "Very well, then. If you ruin it, no salary for two years."
"What?! Two years?! Are you a human?! That's going seriously against the law!"
"Make another noise and that's three."
"HEY!"
It was the first time she stepped into the backstage of an ongoing fashion show. The entire backstage was engulfed by luxurious clothes, rainbow cosmetics and perfumes, with the dusty foundation powders forming a hallucinatory sweet mist. Eyes were dazzled by the shimmering jewelleries. This was the world of models.
"Only you have your own make-up artist." Orihime was embarrassed. "Many are sharing one."
"That's because I'm a supermodel." He closed his eyes. "Get started; you're the chief make-up artist now."
She took a deep breath, glanced rapidly at the clothes he would be fitting in and started to work intently. Gone were the sweet mists, the gorgeous clothes and everything, except Ichigo's face and her hands. Gasps filled the place as it was done. Fitted in the costume, Ichigo was sublime as a sovereign queen, descended among the everyman.
"Not bad," She has never imagined that Renji would be here as well. "You've got really crafty hands, Inoue-san."
Orihime remembered Ichigo's instructions and gave him a small smile before moving aside.
It was not she had to move aside; she must. Once they reached to the backstage, the models, who were just on the runway elegantly, threw themselves onto their next set of clothes. Who cared how to spell "bashfulness"? Who cared there were men in there? All they cared were stripping clothes, putting on the next and dashing to their positions with heeled shoes of 3". When their turn came, all of them were walking normally without a rigged breath, elegant as ever.
On the other side, Orihime was utterly anxious. She knew her sense of colours was great, but could the make-up fit to all the clothes? None would know the results until the clothes were worn. She relaxed for a moment as she waited, shivering, for Ichigo to get properly changed. When he entered to get changed again, she was all tensed up again. Cold-colour themed clothes versus a cold metallic make-up; she has done well. She released a held breath…
"Damn it! Now that you've sprung your ankle, who's fitting in this set?!" It was one of Renji's models. She has twisted her ankle, now beginning to swell, as she rushed in with a loud crash.
"I never asked for it!" The model—Orihime recalled her name to be Ryo—yelled with teary eyes from the pain. "It's the last but the best part of the show. I can still walk—"
"Shut it! How can you walk with that ankle?!" Taki took control over the ruckus. "As for this set…Ichigo! You're about the same height as Ryo, take it!"
"My make-up's too awkward with it…Orihime! Hurry! I'll be next in three minutes!" Ichigo took a brief glance at the fiery-red long gown with a lotus-leaf collar and began to strip.
She was taken aback. It was near impossible to wipe the current make-up off and reapply it all over!
"Hurry! Don't just freeze in there!" He hollered as he started to get fitting into the gown.
Orihime rampaged through the disks of make-ups. There was no time to care so many things, so she jabbed her fingers into a lipstick of the same fiery red.
"What're you doing?" Taki was startled by her. "That's lipstick!"
She made no reply, stained Ichigo's eyelids with it and brushed it equally with her gentle fingers. Without wiping the stain off her trembling hands, she removed the paint on his lips with a make-up wipe and applied a soft layer of lip gloss.
"You look wonderful. Now go." He stepped out and raised another round of gasps and applauses. It was then Orihime sat down weakly, quivering. It was the first after years for her to be a nervous wreck.
"Here, to clean your hands." Taki passed a box of tissue paper to her. Her nervousness has taken away her voice, leaving her with only trembles. "You've done a great job."
Orihime smiled feebly, hugging her knees to her chest and wondering why she was still shivering. After a long period, someone embraced her from behind, making her let out a surprised yelp.
"It's me." Strangely, Ichigo's voice could always tranquilize her. "You've done great. The show's over…the pressure's over…the strain's all over…"
"…Thank you." Orihime felt her eyes glazed with hotness and held it back. "I'll remove the make-up for you."
The area was nearly empty. Under the lights, the bright eye shadow and the fiery gown brought out Ichigo's fairness. With the make-up remover in hand, Orihime was speechless again, unwilling to erase the perfect art done by her hands.
"…Can I…have a look?" She asked quietly, awed that he would comply and open his eyes. The long lashes fluttered like a fan of fluffy feathers. Those heart-thumping eyes were more like liquefied chocolate than the usual sparkling ambers—a trait that she has noticed accidentally when he was not among a group of strangers or at work.
"…I'm tired. Taki, help me to adjust the back lower." He called softly. "Wait for a while, Orihime. Let me rest a little."
A savour of oddness surfaced in Orihime's heart. Spellbound, she stared at this mysteriously gorgeous man. That set of red has left an abyssal shadow in her mind, never to get disappeared…maybe.
"You seem to be obsessed with beautiful things." Eyes closed, Ichigo said softly.
"…Yeah, I have no resistance against beauties." Orihime was wrapped in his jacket, at the brink of falling asleep.
"Then we'll get along very well—at work, I mean." Orihime made no reply, for she has started to doze off on the way home. To prevent her from bumping her head at the window, Ichigo hugged her gently. Despite his calm exterior, he was having an interior battle with a beast he has suppressed for years.
This was not right. Ichigo looked out of the dusky window in the car, finding it as he was leading this pure belle, blindfolded and oblivious to the traps of quicksand and swamps by her feet, into the wilderness with lurking beasty monsters. Would it be better to let her go and leave? But what is the point in letting go of her? What is her safety to me?
These thoughts triggered him to be fidgety. Bitter botheration and sweet anxiety cross-fired and created huge explosions in his chest. All these years, he has been alone, staying by himself. Before Orihime's appearance, he looked coldly upon the graces and ugliness of this prosperous world, the faces of angels and demons. A trip to Hell for whom? None of his damn business. Oddly, Orihime has awakened his halted heart. He then realized that he still had a beating heart and warmth, like hugging her now. It was especially sweet to have such joyful senses, but also especially agonizing.
Orihime got used to such a life. Yes, she was still walking the path of drawing, only that she was not holding paint brushes but eyebrow pencils. Amongst the bustling days with fashion shows, she stayed closely with Ichigo, going from place to place. The initial fear for Renji, now being kind and nice to her, has also gone gradually as they got along at work. The demonic wrath that day has become nothing more than a dream, slowly vanishing into her blurred memories.
"Say, Ichigo," One day, Renji fawned on him with an over-saccharine grin. "Can I borrow Orihime for a moment? Michiru's fully occupied, and another artist's on leave today…"
"You should ask Orihime first. If she's willing to help, then yes, only that she must be within the range of my sight." His cold eyes scrutinized Renji, sending chills down his spine. Ichigo was already ready with his make-up and the dress. The velvet gown heightened his mysteriousness and highness.
"Please, Orihime…" Renji clasped his hands. If only he would whine like a puppy… "We're really short-handed ~ "
And so, she stepped to the other side with slight fear. Her concentration to her work was comparable to none, and the models were very pleased with the results.
"Would you like to work here, Orihime?" Renji half-joked. "Your salary will be thrice the amount Ichigo's giving you."
Thrice? That was an extremely tempting number. Yet, was there anyone who could ease her disturbance in this noisy and flourishing world? Even though there were strong lights, she saw a horrible shadow in his brown eyes. The same colour of brown, but it was not the clear and cold amber gaze Ichigo has—it was talking of a trap with muddy swamps. That was what frightened her most about Renji.
"I prefer to stay by Ichigo." She mumbled, hugging the make-up chest tightly.
"Hey, not so fast. Here's the reward for your help." Renji puller her back and took out a thick stack of paper notes, deliberately ignoring the sizzling electric sparks in Ichigo's eyes as he looked at their direction. Seeing her congealed form, he took her hand and placed the money in her palm with a smile. Before he walked pass her, he whispered at her ear, "It's only one over some millions—if you're working with me."
She yanked her hand back and ran hastily back to the safety waters by Ichigo's side. The stack in her hands emitted a sense of security, so as horror.
"What should I do with it?" She showed it to Ichigo.
"What to do? Just put it into your bank account." He stood up, accepting Renji's challenge to a staring contest. Sparks spewed out as their gazes clashed. He took a note and said, "Just keep this in mind: money can let you buy a lot of things, but it's not everything. This is only a paper for the purpose of bargaining trades. Don't let it sit on your shoulders."
"Don't let it sit on your shoulders." These magical words were what led her safely through this world.
The salary of a model wasn't as much as she was imagined. Even with an in-the-light supermodel like Ichigo, they led a simple life without many luxuries. On the other hand, many second-string models owned Ferrari or Lamborghini, bought the clothes—with the worth of seven-digits or even eight-digits—they have displayed, wore dazzling jewelleries and indulged themselves in lavish sumptuousness. It should not be the money earned from their job as models, and Orihime tried not to think what kind of part-time jobs they ran.
"You're thinking prostitution?" Renji said by her ears as Ichigo was out on the runway. "It's not that. Those models are the blooming roses in functions, weaving through the high-classes. All they have to do is to wear the clothes, have a nice make-up and swirl a cup of wine in their fingers, then the amount they earn will be folds of your monthly earnings. You don't have to reject me so quickly; give it a thought…" Meeting Ichigo's cold eyes, he shut up and walked away.
"The illiterate are far better than any literate scum." He changed quickly, glanced at Orihime worriedly and was back on the runway again. That worried look pulled Orihime back from temptations.
"I've got a friend working in a hotel," She spoke before Renji did. "She's originally an accountant with 200,000 yen as salary. Then came a situation of short-handedness, so she helped to serve; her salary doubled. After that, she carried drinks to rooms and sat down among customers bashfully for the first time, and the money's thrice in return. It soared again as she simply became a MMS (1). She's now so accustomed to expenses that it's impossible for her to get rid of this life." She smiled as she remembered Mahana's poor state when they last met and ended with the promise she has made then, "I won't tread on the same path as hers."
"…My doors are always open to you, you know." Renji looked at her plainly.
She nodded, dropped her head to draw lines with an eyebrow pencil and painted quietly with an eye shadow brush and nearly-used-up eye shadow powder and rouge. It was not long before a disk-size Ichigo smiling at her mystically.
It was only drawing intently that let her be able to resist the devil's temptations.
Explanations:
(1) Short-form for Ma-Ma-San, Japanese for the leader of a group of girls in clubs, if you don't know it.
Author Speaking:
And so, we're getting to know more about the background history of the two! More are on their way! The story's just getting started!
By the way, how's it? Please tell me what you think about it!
Kuroi Kokoro 09