Oh, this old thing? I just threw it on. [L.C.]

[Zachary LaRousse]

3:30pm. Just a few hours before the dance. The prince is sitting prettily in front of the TV, coolly sipping his hot cocoa while shuffling through the channels. He just got his hair done by his hair stylist (yes, he flew a team just to help him get ready for the dance) and he’s still waiting for his clothes to arrive from London, hence his dressed down outfit (white v-neck, ¾ khaki pants, slip on shoes and a blue scarf). Despite his rather relaxed appearance, he is actually very nervous inside. And it’s not because his clothes may not come on time (as he knows believes that even in rags, he can still shine, for he is Zachary LaRousse), but because of a wildcard thrown in his fall dance participation this year: L.C. Milliner.

Zac was never fond of dates. Sure in his first ever dance he asked a girl out, but afterwards, when he’d found his enormous ego, he preferred to be, in his words, the dateless stud who can get any girl he likes. He figured having a date would tie him down to one girl, which is a bad thing, according to his ego. It would be unfair to the other girls (and guys), seeing as they would all want a piece of Zachie too. So ever since his second year in Hammel, he vowed never to get a date.

But then along came the notice. A letter that says his entry in the matchmaking services of Hammel (yes, they have those novel services for the socially impaired apparently) has been granted and he will have a date, a girl by the name L.C. Milliner. Not only was the message upsetting (he now has a date?!), but the person assigned to him was anyone that Zac could’ve imagined.

While they were not exactly enemies, Zac wasn’t friends with L.C. either. In fact, he only knew the girl because of the rumors flying around about her. Her apparent disrespect to her roommates (i.e. her shouts and screams in the middle of the night), her uncontrollable pickpoketing (kleptomania anyone?) and her gruesome ability (iron spikes, really?) did not exactly fit Zac’s image of a worthy woman to talk to, much less go to the dance with. Good thing he had a trustworthy team who he knows would be able to turn any peddler to a queen, or a goddess even, given that she’d cooperate.

“Where the hell is she?” he grumbled, almost spilling his drink, “It’s already 30 minutes past the assigned time!” He met with L.C. earlier this week (the meeting wasn’t pretty I tell you) and Zac forced L.C. they agreed that they’d meet in his dorm suite to give her a makeover help her get ready for the dance. “I will not be seen with someone so…so…urgh! This is social suicide!”

[L.C. Milliner]

“Define ‘suicide’, LaRousse, because what I’m going to do to you if you say that phrase again will be considered ‘homicide’ in a court of law.”

Flashback to an hour before. L.C. was sitting on her bed, totaling up the money she had saved and the stuff she had… borrowed. She had forty dollars, two pairs of heels, fifteen bottles of nail polish, a stack of eyeliner pencils, a Tupperware filled of eye shadow, and five tubes of lipstick. She wouldn’t be able to use any of it, of course. Even looking as the mess made her angry. With a sweep of her arm, she pushed it all of the bed, letting it clatter to the floor in a jumble. She was upset, and well she should be, after what Zachary had all but spelled out to her.

It had started with the matchmaking service. She had put her name in as a joke, thinking that no one would be matched up with her or that she would get Vincent as a date, him being the only guy she couldn’t kill. Instead, she had been matched with Zachary LaRousse, the most pompous asshole in the entire school. He thought he was so cool, because he had so much money and could do whatever he wanted. She would’ve been fine with him if he hadn’t decided he had to make her look perfect. It was a freaking dance. It wasn’t the most important thing in the world.

That was why she had shown up without a bit of make up on and in a t-shirt and jeans half an hour late. She wanted to spite him, and let him know she would not stand on a podium to be made up like a Barbie doll. She was shivering slightly because of the cold outside, but Zachary’s final statement, even though it was to himself, made her stop and put one hand on her hip as she brushed a lock of hair over her ear. She did not wear a hat, either, which meant that the brown roots of her hair showed up under her blonde bleaching job like a bad penny (and a dirty one at that). That brought her to her current situation and her current utterance. She was not going to like today. She thought this dance thing was going to be fun, but at the rate it was going, she was suspecting there would be some serious property damage by the end of the night.

[Zachary LaRousse]

“And I’m supposed to be scared, Lyra?” emphasizing the last word to further show his disgust with the lady.

Truth to be told, Zac is scared. Well, not just scared, terrified. He knows what the Iron Maiden can do and she wouldn’t think twice about doing it. She’s done it several times to Verax, and he is a close friend of hers. And unlike Verax, the prince has no enhanced healing factor (screw his power for limiting him to mammals).

But, being the true to his arrogant reputation, he quickly tried to hide his fear and even approached the girl with a smirk on his face. Years of ‘practice’ has taught him how to hide his fear and cover it with more bravado. That and always have a meta-human with power suppression beside you whenever (and that is why he had Suzy flown along with his stylists).
(He also had a healer, Dave, in the room, just in case.)

“You were supposed to be here half an hour ago! What took you so long? Had a hard time finding a nice sack to put on?” His eyes moved up and down, his gaze showing his irritation to the fullest. He crossed his arms over his chest then continued, “Fail dye job, awkward make-up, atrocious outfit choice. You guys have so much work to do.”

Why did I have to pull that prank? Why? was the thought running over and over Zac’s head right now. For years he has let that pathetic novelty service pass, why did he suddenly decide to join it? And why did they have to take his joke seriously?

True, Zac did slip a form into the dropbox for the service. But he didn’t follow the format. He joined just to tell the administration that their idea is stupid, that only socially-incapable students would ever think of joining. He wrote “Kamini Vena” in all blanks pertaining to who he wants to be paired with. Is that even close to “L.C. Milliner”?

When he received the notification a week ago, he tried to get out of it. He was so surprised that they took him seriously and given him that…that…that thing as his “date”. He tried talking to the ‘higher-ups’ (Dr. Neville, Dr. Campbell, Dr. Prideaux, even trying to reach Mr. Harris) but to no avail. They said it was his fault that he got into this mess, he should then face the consequences.

He slumped back to the couch and took another sip of his cocoa. “You don’t have to worry about a thing L.C., these here are professionals. They even prepared a number of outfits for you to choose from, so you can’t say that I’m controlling you.” He gave L.C. another demeaning look, motioning the empty vanity mirror across the room, then said, “So, are you just gonna stand there? My team is composed of stylists dear, not miracle workers.”

[L.C. Milliner]

At the mere mention of her full name, L.C.’s expression went from mildly irritated to serial killer on a rampage in the blink of her eyes. She bared her teeth, she narrowed her eyes, and with one swift movement, spikes prickled across her knuckles, two growing as long as six inches while the third in the middle grew to four. She restrained herself from grabbing the front of LaRousse’s shirt and punching him in the face, like she normally would with Vincent. LaRousse couldn’t bounce back, as far as she knew. She really wanted to test the theory though. So instead, she made a swipe at him, coming dangerously close to his face, before her spikes shot back in at her command. “Yes. Be afraid, Zachy-boy. And don’t try that again, or it’s the ER. Don’t think I won’t.” She would.

“Actually, I was busy trying to figure out which would be more humiliating for you.” L.C. smirked and crossed her arms, knowing exactly where to hit the pretty boy. Years of practice taught her how to look for a weak point in a person and to jab it repeatedly. For Zach, it was all too easy. He liked pretty girls and his distaste for her so far made it clear he was not thrilled. “It was a tie between going with me, whom you hate; or being stood up by me and letting the whole school laugh. I was close to picking the ‘standing you up’ option.” Normally this would leave her open for attack because she pointed out she was humiliating to go anywhere with, so she closed the gap. “But then I realized I like money a lot more then I like public humiliation, and even if it’s at my own expense I can drag you down with me.” Note: she pointed out she was just as humiliated. That ought to take his ego down a couple of fifty notches. Yes, L.C. was a bitch, she would be told so time and time again. It was hard to get close to someone who grew spikes and threatened people with them on an hour-to-hour basis. But no one could ever say she was a dumb bitch. In fact, she was likely the most cunning of any of the proclaimed female dogs in the school.

L.C., too, was questioning this dating service. She had never gone to any of the school dances. Not one social function, she attended. Sports games, art shows, semiformal, prom, or whatever, she skipped out on it. She didn’t like them, she felt awkward and alone. Even now, she felt awkward and alone, standing in the middle of a common room, being insulted by a kid that was not only younger than her, but far better looking and much wealthier. Part of her wanted to crawl into a hole and die, the other part wanted to rip him to shreds. She tried to console herself by vowing to ditch him as soon as possible at the dance, but so far she wasn’t quite sure of the idea. For one, even if he was being rude about it, he was going to an awful lot of trouble to dress her up. She never really got to dress up, because she was much to poor (providing for herself, remember) to buy herself a dress, unless it came from a goodwill or Salvation Army or other thrift shop. Normally she found some deals on a couple of bridesmaid dresses, but this year nothing was forthcoming.

She gave an eye roll and pushed him out of the way as she stalked toward the mirrors, glancing into them. She looked just fine, in her opinion. It wasn’t like she had zits or bad skin, because she didn’t eat a lot of junk food like other girls that would make her that way. She left the mirrors and, eyeing the team of people suspiciously, looked through the rack of dresses they provided to the side and sifted through them, trying her best to look bored. In reality, she was almost excited- so many colors, so many choices! She felt like a little kid playing dress up, almost. A half smile came to her face, which was rarer than seeing a shooting star. L.C. was known for not smiling once. Getting her to smile was the hardest feat anyone could accomplish, and Zach had… Half-accomplished(?) it. After sifting two times so she knew all of her options, she narrowed her choice to one thing and pulled the dress off the rack carefully, as if she was handling a baby bird.

Dress

She had always been partial to red. It was her favorite color and she knew it looked good on her- a thousand carnival patrons a month and a team of carnival costume designers could never be wrong. Black paled her out and white was too pristine. She wasn’t a fan of blue, which the majority of the dresses were; red looked better on her. She liked the color itself because of the implications, red meant power and it radiated confidence. It was also the color of blood, so any pain she inflicted on Zach could blend right into the fabric.

Trying to look aloof, she held up the hanger by two fingers and shifted her gaze to the other teen. “How about this, mammal-man?”

[Zachary LaRousse]

Zac knew it wasn’t a good idea. It never was. It was one thing to insult L.C. and another to say her accursed forbidden name out loud. What Zac did was a rather courageous (if not entirely stupid) feat – he insulted L.C. and made it even more effective by saying her first name in front of her.

Everything just happened so fast. The spikes, the swish, the smirk. L.C. did the unexpected and moved in such speed that if Zac wouldn’t have seen the spikes, he would’ve thought she’d been blessed with a different meta-human abilities. Even Suzy and the other body guards couldn’t react fast enough to stop the teenager from getting close to their employer. There was none like it. Fortunately, L.C. had enough self-control and spared Zac’s face life.

Ashamed for being beaten and outsmarted by a teenage girl, the team could only bow their heads and sulk silently. They were supposed to strike back and detain L.C., but Zac motioned for them not to do so. He didn’t know why, but he feels restraining the Maiden would only worsen things, and it may reflect badly on him. L.C.’s already won this round, no point in giving her the next.

It took quite a while before Zac came back to his senses. Still in shock, he walked zombie-like towards the couch and plopped down messily. He tried to take a sip from his cocoa to calm his nerves but he was shaking so wildly that the cup fell on the floor and caused quite a mess. Only when L.C. started talking again did he somehow find his way back to reality.

“A-a-at least you know where you stand in the world,” he stuttering, trying to give a witty retort but failing miserably. Not exactly a solid insult, but at least he can show L.C. that he’s not that scared surprised anymore. After all, the last thing he would’ve wanted to happen is to let L.C. gain the upper hand in this “relationship”.

A new cup of cappuccino seems to have done the trick. It seems the warmness of the drink helped bring his confidence back. His spill wiped, his ego back on its knees and L.C. a safe distance from him, Zac then started planning his comeback.

“Don’t flatter yourself dear Lyr-L.C.,” he caught himself this time, “You’re not the only one who thought of ditching your ‘date’.” Despite telling himself he’s learned his lesson, he still finds it hard to call her by her preferred name. Just like he prefers calling Sam Samuel and Verax Vincent, he feels that L.C. just doesn’t fit her that much. Sure, Lyra sounds too decent for a girl like L.C. to be called, but he just can’t help it.

“If only I hadn’t ranted to Dad and Cedric, I would’ve been free to go to the dance alone. But nooo, it was my fault that I got myself into this mess and I should act like a man and face it. Like they can survive being on the same room for at least an hour with you.” Zac is a daddy’s kid, but lately his image around his dad hasn’t been all that good. True, he does do well with his studies, but reports of his misbehaviors have been reaching his father rather frequently, resulting to massive suspensions and punishments given to Zac. His just had his private jet privileges reinstated and he’d rather go with L.C. than lose those privileges (and around half of his weekly allowance) forever.

Zac couldn’t help but chuckle at the mention of the word “money”. He should’ve known. He knows nothing of L.C.’s financial situation but since she had a reputation for being a pickpocket, he should’ve known this would all boil down to that. “You do know that you’ll look like a prostitute if I agree with you, do you?” he laughed, “Though if I were to pay for someone’s services, I sure do wish they looked so much better.” L.C. doesn’t really look that bad. She had a natural fair skin and her blonde updo (with a little more work) actually fits her. And her eyes were a nice shade of grey. If you think about it, if Zac wasn’t all worked up with L.C.’s image, he would’ve wanted to go out with her. He might’ve made the first move even. But alas, that is not the case, so L.C. would just have to endure Zac’s raging insults.

After taking another sip off his drink, he continued, “So, how much are you asking? Ten thousand? Fifty? A hundred? Five hundred?” Now Zac can say he’s fully recovered. Not only was he showing off his wealth, he’s also implicitly shaming L.C. using her own game. Things are starting to become more interesting.

He gave the dress a quick glance then turned away again. “Good. At least we won’t look like a pair,” he said. While he didn’t quite remember how his outfit would look like, he does know that it wasn’t red. Unlike L.C., red just doesn’t go well with dear Zachie. “And you don’t have to worry about a thing. All those dresses can make Quasimodo look even more stunning than Miss Mexico. And with my stylists, I’m sure your imperfections can be hidden, no matter how gruesome they may be.”

Hopefully the Iron Maiden can still put up with the Prince, ‘cause he’ll be quite a handful once more since he found his momentum.

[L.C. Milliner]

The female heard the stutter in Zach’s voice and remembered it, watching the group of people behind him with interest. He had brought an entourage with him, rich boy that he was, and by the looks of it, they were disgraced by their –not-so-quick actions. She almost wanted to punch Zach now. It wouldn’t be their fault if she skewered the boy; if anything it was his own damn fault for acting so superior and egotistical. She stared at all of them and rolled her eyes in disgust. They acted like dogs. They were guarding an uppity teenager and all they did was give him more reason to be uppity. Any sympathy for them was lost promptly.

The mention of her name again brought the claws out, on both hands this time, for a split second, but they returned back to her skin as he corrected himself. “Ah, it learns. Good boy.” With that, she ignored the rest of his jibes in lieu of thinking to herself instead, much like one would ignore a fly in a room, or a fluorescent light’s buzzing. She became engrossed with her nails, picking dirt from underneath them. Had she realized she was sending the message that her fingernails were more important than Zach’s insults, she would’ve attempted to look even more engrossed. As it was, she scrunched up her face and managed to fix it, catching the end of his insult with a toss out of money values, to which she responded with a blank look.

“Eh? I wasn’t listening.” Not that she cared either way what he was saying. One of the people opened their mouth to repeat it for her, but she shook a hand at them, muttering as she did. “No, no. Shut up. Don’t waste your breath. I honestly don’t care either way.”

[/color] By that5 point she had picked out her dress anyway, so there was no point in storming out and causing a fuss.

If L.C. had been a lesser person, she would’ve stormed out. Anyone else would have by this point, which explained why the school had set them up together. They knew no one else could stand under Zachary’s onslaught of harsh words and not batted an eye. On the inside, though, L.C. was a mess. What had she ever done to him to deserve this? Had she wronged him? Had she done anything to cause him to treat her this way? As far as she knew, no. She had done nothing. She barely knew him outside of his reputation. But she was about to do something to warrant anger, as she always did. Her calm, collected demeanor was cracking under the sarcasm, humiliation, and insults tossed her way. Making she the group of people were far enough away, L.C., with a flick of her wrist, sprouted four spikes from her fingers and, after nodding with approval, moved her hand swiftly across the rack.

All the beautiful dresses she had admired fluttered to the floor amidst the sounds of ripping cloth. Tulle, satin, and silk piled like rainbow colored vomit across the floor as the plastic hangers, shudders and clinked together, the remainder of the sudden onslaught attached by skeletal shreds. No smile came to her face, because to be honest, she rather liked those dresses. But she also knew those dresses probably cost a lot of money and Zach and his family likely did not like to lose money. This was her way of sending a warning to him. As she looked him dead in the face, her eyes conveyed, above all, complete contempt. But anyone with common sense (So, anyone that wasn’t Zach) could probably pick up on the second emotion hidden, and that was hurt. A person could read her eyes like a book if they wanted. It was just a matter of wanting to see what made L.C. tick. Many people did not want to take the chance.

The blonde girl faked a smile as the entire room gawked at her and held up the dress, illustrating that she was ready. “So, what? You want me to change, or get make up on, or what? Chop chop. We don’t have all day.” [/blockquote]

[Zachary LaRousse]

Fortunately (or unfortunately, unless you want more conflict), Zac didn’t see L.C.’s uninterested fingernail cleaning, much less see the undertone. He was much too concerned about thinking on how to make L.C.’s life hell (or just making it more miserable than it actually is) and ensuring that she won’t get the best of him despite her rather intelligent and unexpected jabs and insults. He was never truly ‘bested’ or truly insulted before, and that made him rather irritated about the whole arrangement (he’s exchanged remarks and retorts with a couple of people in school, Devin and Ariana included, but they were never this severe). L.C. knows how to bitch her way in and emerge on top; a skill even Zac must agree is an incredible feat.

And again L.C. knew which buttons to press to make Zac angry. He doesn’t know what to get angry for – the fact that she didn’t listen to his long babble about how he’s at par with her when it comes to thinking the other as trash or her sudden lack of enthusiasm at his wealth. Whatever the reason was, he felt insulted. Insulted and furious. Would it have been any other student, he would’ve ran right over them and scared them to no end (apparently he can do so without any mind-manipulation powers). But she wasn’t any other student. She’s L.C. Milliner. The girl with the power to turn him into Swiss cheese and wouldn’t think twice about doing it (while Zac was in his state of shock earlier, he had time to think about L.C.’s ‘attempted attack’ and realized that it must’ve been a warning – that she won’t be as ‘nice’ next time).

So, trying to look cool and collected despite being thrown here and there by L.C.’s remarks (he’s got to admit, L.C. controls the flow of the conversation now), he just took another sip of his drink (the only thing he can do now) and then asked for his checkbook. “Fine. Let’s just pretend that my money won’t be payment for your services but more like protection money,” he smirked. He realized that by saying that he’s acknowledging that L.C.’s a real threat to him and that she’s far a bit superior to him and he can’t do much about it, but he didn’t really care. Screw ego this once; his safety comes first (after all if he dies, there’s nothing much left to be conceited about). “I give you the money as long as you promise not to hurt me,” he said the last sentence as in a very sarcastic way, as if he doesn’t believe that she can’t hurt him, just so L.C. won’t get too cocky. “Think of it as my way of helping you get over your pick-pocketing issues,” he added with a smirk, looking at L.C. with a smug, “After all, you won’t need to pick other’s purses anymore since yours is undoubtedly much heavier now, right?” He let out a very dry and sarcastic laugh, insulting L.C. but hopefully not too much. “So, would five zeroes be enough? Or would you prefer having six?”

It would be an understatement if one was to say that Zac was surprised with what L.C. just did. In all of L.C.’s quirks and uniqueness, he couldn’t imagine her going this far. Zac was a lover of clothes (as evidenced by his frequent shopping trips) and he was more upset at the loss of beautiful designs than the money wasted itself (as it wasn’t his money). Other than being expensive and branded, the rack had one-of-the-kind dresses that top designers had made. But he couldn’t show L.C. that he was upset, no not one bit. It would fuel her more, as he already lost quite a lot to her. No, he had to keep his cool, no matter how horrid she treated those precious clothes. “Nice. And I was just about to give you the whole rack.” No way in the world would he let L.C. have those precious creations, but if he was to act like everything was ok, he had to make a few bluffs. “But since you’ve customized all of them to your liking, I guess they’re yours already.”

Unlike L.C., a misunderstood girl who wants nothing more than to be accepted, to be “normal”, Zac is as plain as he can be – an arrogant jerk who thinks the world exists for him because of him (he does have a soft spot for all things fluffy, but that doesn’t really apply here). He’s a child of comfort, born with a silver spoon, fortunate enough to have not suffered any hardships in life (other than the death of his mom), that he fails to sympathize with others. He really can’t understand how cruel life is to some people for the simple reason that life’s been easy for him. To him, having “nothing to wear” is a daily struggle already. He can’t understand others and he doesn’t really think it’s necessary to.

Zac was stopped from throwing more hurtful words towards the Iron Maiden by a series of knocks on the dorm door. A guard promptly opened the door and revealed that the package he’s been waiting for (i.e. Zac’s outfit) has arrived. For a moment, he’s forgotten all about L.C. His face brightened and like a little kid opening a gift on Christmas, he happily made his way through the door and grabbed the package almost immediately.

“I told you L.C., you look amazing already,” he said, changing his facial expression almost immediately, giving L.C. an eye roll. “And you’ll look even more amazing, as long as you cooperate with Nessa and her team over there. They’ll pamper you like you’ve never been pampered before.” It was obvious that his mind was elsewhere now – he didn’t even bother that L.C. just saw him suddenly smile widely as he peeked inside the package. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for the dance too. Like you said, we don’t have all day.” And with that Zac, along with his stylists, retreated to his room, leaving L.C. at least for a while.

[L.C. Milliner]

As Zach talked about paying her not to hurt him, L.C. could almost feel dollar signs emerge in her eyes and the audible ‘cha-ching’ sound of her brain going off. He’d pay her not to spike him? Seriously? She wasn’t going to anyway, but he didn’t have to know that, at least, not until after she was paid and the money was tucked away. She’d never have to worry about money, ever again, she wouldn’t have to stay with Dr. Neville, she could get her own place and-

“Your pick-pocketing issues.”

Every muscle stopped moving. Every inch of her grew still. She felt every fiber of her being snap. If she had been even the tiniest bit angrier, she would’ve stormed out and left without bothering to show up at the dance. Screw them all. But as it was, she stood there, staring at him with an expression of rage and hurt. Words poured from her mouth, clipped and strangled. “I don’t want your dirty fucking money. I’d rather die.” With that, she flipped him the bird and went back to her business, biting her fingernails furiously in order to avoid doing something else she’d regret. The team looked on as she stared at them, hating every one of them without boundaries. How much did they get paid to stand there and let him abuse her? Did they agree with him? Were they prissy rich and egotistical too?

“Bullshit.” She tossed it out as Zach finished his sentence, calling it as she saw it. She wasn’t an idiot. She didn’t want them, and she made it clear as she turned her head, sniffed loudly, and hocked a luegi right onto the torn fabric. The designer team turned in disgust and she smirked and turned to watch Zach to the door and gush over a package he had gotten. Rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner, she turned back to her dress and ran her fingers over it, still liking the feel of the fabric. Every woman needed a red dress. Her Mother said that once, in one of her sober, somewhat-motherly moments. Those were few and far-between, but still. L.C. carried some lingering sentiment, however small.

Zach’s next comment was a definite curveball for the teenager. She stood there gaping at him, pointing to him, then her, shaking her head. “But you just said… a minute ago…”

[/color] She looked to the designers, and for once, they shrugged. They understood, somehow. She realized this must be a regular occurrence and shrugged as well. She wouldn’t ask. He took off, leaving her alone with the designers, who watched her as she turned. She sighed, then stretched out her arms.

“Let’s get this done. I’ll make this quick- I plucked my eyebrows three days ago, shaved my legs last night, my underarms this morning, and my hair can’t be bleached in time, so Mr. Perfect mammal is going to have to deal with it.”
The lead stylist (Nessa, was it?) laughed and gestured to a chair. “The hair is nothing. We can make you pretty without coloring it.” She pulled L.C. gently and pulled her to a room, nudging her in. “Change in there.”

For the next half hour, L.C. listened to everything the stylists said. Sitting in a rigid wooden chair, she got her nails filed and painted blood red, along with her toenails, her hair curled, her face painted up, her eyebrows plucked past perfection, and in the end, she felt a lot better than before. She hated to admit it, but Zach’s people weren’t half bad. She felt like a princess, almost. She stood in front of a full length mirror and the stylists, practically gushing over her now (for a bitch, she could be sociable when she wanted, and plus they loved her for sitting so still), lifted their hands from her eyes so she could see.

[Because I love images]

The moment was perfect. She stood there in a red dress, posed with a hand on her hip like a model, face painted, eyes wide, a pale beauty in the light. There was nothing that could ruin the moment.

…Except L.C.

“Holy fucking BATSHIT.” The words slipped from the mouth of the ‘princess’ before anyone could stop her, and all the stylists stopped, and silence was abundant all around. A moment passed, and everyone, including L.C., burst out laughing. She turned to find Zach, wherever he was, and yelled for him.

“You ready, LaRousse?”[/blockquote]

[Zachary LaRousse]

“Whatever L.C.,” answered Zac in a very cold and unenthusiastic tone. True, he was insulted that she can just huff his money away like that and normally he’d go at lengths to make her realize how insignificant she is to the grand scheme of Zac’s universe things just to get back at her, but the prospect of wearing the clothes he had on his hand (or rather the clothes inside the package he has on his hand right now) was just too much for him to bother. In fact, Zac just muted everything out when he saw the package at the door. But it seems, L.C.’s screams of despair and hurt (despite Zac not being able to distinguish such emotions from them) were much too strong and can never be drowned out easily.

“Oh really now L.C., must you really be the greatest drama queen of all time?” Zac rolled his eyes, stopping a few steps from the door when he heard her call his money ‘bullshit’. He gave the package to one of his lackeys for a bit and walked over the table where he left his checkbook. “Fine, fine. Think of this as whatever you want. Compensation pay, collateral, protection money, whatever. Gosh.” He hurriedly wrote on the paper, mouthing off as he went. “Lyra Camille Milliner. Five million dollars. Happy?” he asked as he tore the paper and waved it for L.C. to see. “I’ll just leave it on the couch for you to grab whenever and if ever. It’s your choice, seeing that whatever I do, you find a way to make such a big fuss of it.” And with a sigh, Zac retreated to his room.

Truly, Zac was tired of it all – the bickering, the constant insults, the continuous jabs – but not because he feels bad for L.C. or anything, but because he never wins. And never he means never. He hasn’t fought a losing battle since the beginning of time, so this was all new for him. Never did he face someone as witty and as determined to get the best of him like L.C. Or so he thinks. (Unfortunately for L.C., Zac can’t go much deeper than what’s being said. Rarely can he pick up on those undertones, much less ones that pertains to pain and hurt.)


As soon as the door shut behind him, Zac’s expression suddenly changed. From an agitated and irritated state, it immediately transformed into one of happiness and bliss (for the moment anyway). Finally, he had his much needed time alone – without that pesky Milliner who’s always trying to outsmart him. Like he child on Christmas, he carefully tore through the wrapping, his smile reaching his ears the whole time. Opening the box he pulled out four different ensembles: a blue plaid tie-suit-vest-jeans combo, a Sean-Neville-ish plain brown coat-and-tie, an emsemble that could just be described as plaid overload (the one of the left, and without the guy clinging to his side of course), and one with a blue sleeveless top with an embroidered gold pattern. He pondered for a bit, holding the two outfits in each hand, his gaze constantly shifting from the four designs. It took quite a while (and by ‘quite a while’, it means ‘much too long than what is expected’), but he finally settled on the unorthodox dress-shirt-bathrobe-hybrid. “If only I can duplicate myself,” he mumbled as he gave the other three to his stylists for future use.

He quickly dressed down and grabbed a white robe as he walked out towards the bathroom to have his hair cleaned and prepared for styling (he gave L.C. a ‘hmph’ as he saw her being pampered in the common room). “Do your thing Justine,” he said as he returned from the bathroom, hyped and all to be dolled up for the night.


Zac was, like L.C., still adoring his always awesome look in the mirror when L.C. shouted and popped his bubble. Apparently he can’t be so sure about his solitude with the girl around. “Hold your horses Milliner,” he shouted as he went back to the mirror to get his make-up (yes, he put on some for the night, apparently) retouched before heading out the door.

It would be an understatement to say that Zac was stunned on how L.C. looked. She wasn’t at all what he’d expected her to look. From head to toe she was beautiful, radiant. Somehow, she fits the name Lyra now more than L.C – a more sophisticated, elegant and more confident name for the lady who transformed right in front of his eyes (figuratively, of course).

He caught his jaw just in time before it dropped to the floor. He quickly told himself that despite the change of appearance, the girl lady in front of him is still the same pesky L.C. who’s been bugging him all afternoon. “Woah. Nessa, you really outdid yourself this time. I knew you could make a pauper look like a princess but I didn’t know you could make her look like a godde-queen.” Zac almost called L.C. a goddess, which isn’t good by any standards. Gosh LaRousse, keep your head straight.

“So Lyr-L.C., you ready to go?” Zac found it really hard to keep himself from saying Lyra. Fortunately L.C. is quite far from him at the moment (and is wearing high heels, hopefully) so she can’t rush towards him easily. “It’s already 8pm. I think that’ll work.” Being fashionably late is Zac’s specialty after all.


ooc:
HAHA. I do hope you don't mind the number of images I've put. I can't decide which to give him until the last minute, so yeah. :3.
Also, I do hope you won't mind me backtracking a bit. :3.
Thanks Feddy. \:D/
-Jam