Amber Sweet (miss_sweet) wrote in genetic_opera, @ 2009-02-18 23:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | amber sweet, corviss |
Setting: Amber's condo.
Time: Late, late night. Post-op.
Characters: Corviss and Amber Sweet
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Corviss is waiting up to ask Amber a question. Amber's in no position to answer.
It had been five months since the Genetic Opera and Amber's literal losing of face. Two months ago, just as the public began muttering that maybe Amber wasn't the best face GeneCo could possibly have, Corviss had suddenly emerged with a bright, charming smile, ready to step into the vacuum left by Mag. He'd been appropriately sympathetic to Amber's failure, though inwardly he wasn't sure he'd ever laughed so hard. Dressed as always in black leather and silk, clinging just where it should and flowing in ways that drew the eye, he knew how to look good. Now that he worked for GeneCo, he was determined to show off what it could do, namely: create him. He'd been getting antsy for a formal performance with himself as the New Face of GeneCo and was leaning against a wall, hidden in shadow, outside Amber's room, waiting to ambush her about it once again.
The new singer, while embraced by the general public, wasn't exactly high on Amber Sweet's list of priorities. She'd been bitter about his upstaging her when she'd first brought him onboard (as a backup singer! A duet partner! Not a headliner, damn it!). Embittered further by the fact that her PR rep had urged her to step back and let Corviss have the part, so to speak. Accept her failure with good grace. It would look better. For GeneCo. For everyone. For her.
It had been the hardest thing she'd ever done. Reciting some faulty doctrine about change and new directions during press conferences hadn't even come close.
So it wasn't surprising that Amber put off talking to Corviss when she could, and she put off green lighting events for him even when she shouldn't. It also wasn't terribly surprising that she wasn't in her room when he got there. Amber had her own nighttime interests, and often they took place at other venues than her bed. When she did arrive, it was terribly late, and she was being partially supported by one of her twin henchmen. The other pulled away to open the door in front of her.
He'd been in a pretty good humor when he'd first taken up position across the hall from her room. As the hours ticked by, the smug satisfaction he often felt these days began to drain away and by now he was past annoyed into pissed as all hell. He pushed off from the wall, ignoring the stiffness in his muscles, and stalked across the hallway to lean against the open door, blocking the doorway.
"Miss Sweet," he said with a fake bared-teeth smile. "How unexpected." That she was coming down from surgery didn't concern him at all. He'd talked to her a number of times post-op and she was still fairly lucid when she was coming off GeneCo's certified Zydrate. Much better than it had been when she'd been getting street-Z, back when he'd been a lowly backup dancer. "I'm so glad I ran into you," he continued. "I thought we could have a little chat."
"A what?" She blinked at him, trying to get her unnatural eyes to focus. It was more difficult than it looked. The muscled young man at her side did nothing to help her, besides support her weight to keep her from toppling over. That was all his job description called for. Well-trained to be little more than furniture, his expression didn't even shift when she dug her nails into his shoulder and leaned forward to ask again, "What?"
Corviss's sculpted brow furrowed slightly. "A chat," he repeated more slowly, drawing it out sarcastically. "GeneCo needs me to make another appearance, Amber. Don't you think it's been long enough? We can't let all those young minds think for themselves for too long, can we? I was thinking of having my jawline sharpened, so it should probably be before then. We can have a post-op concert when it's...healed..." When she didn't snap at his tone, or indeed respond at all, his eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with you? Are you tripping?"
"No trips," she said, her mind finally latching onto a word he'd actually said, instead of something she'd imagined. It was still misunderstood, but at least it was a response. Her lips twisted into a drugged parody of a smirk. "You're on call..."
"On call? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm not on fucking call!" He dropped his folded arms and leaned forward a bit, his teeth gritted, though he was careful not to lean close enough to constitute a threat to the mobile furniture. He didn't want them touching anything he'd need to get fixed. His eyes scanned hers and his lips pursed a bit. "Fuck, you are on something. Do you even know who I am? Hell, do you even know who you are right now?"
"Me? I'm Amber Sweet," she smiled beatifically at him, but there was absolutely no feeling behind it. The smile didn't even bother to reach her eyes, which were as dead as a doll's, and a bit too dilated. "As the month of May. You... should know that."
Corviss blinked twice, slowly, staring at her. That smile made a chill run straight down his spine. That was the way she'd looked when coming off street-Z, the terrifyingly flat, lifeless, staring eyes and the way her voice seemed to drift. She wouldn't still be buying from anyone on the street, though. Why should she? She owned the company, she owned everything. It had to be a drug, although he hadn't heard of a drug that mimicked the effects of street-Z so perfectly. "I should know that, should I?" he answered sarcastically, mimicking her dreamy tone, folding his arms again and stepping back to let the guards drag her into her room. "Sweet as pie, that's you, especially right now. I thought you were getting surgery, not going out to get high."
"I did. I did get cut," she let herself half fall limply onto the bed. The henchmen arranged her into a bit more flattering position, since she didn't have the wherewithal to do it herself. "Mmm. Want to see what I had done?"
There was an almost musical lilt to her tone, but it fell flat. Was she flirting? Teasing? Just wanting to show off? It was impossible to tell.
Corviss had been half-turned to leave, but he paused and looked sharply back at her as she spoke. Instead of striding out, he walked slowly across the room and dropped into a chair next to the bed, crossing his legs at the ankles and lacing his fingers to rest across his stomach. "Why thank you, Miss Sweet. I'd simply love to see your scars," he replied in a kind, curious, flirty, entirely false voice, because he knew it didn't matter how he said it. It barely mattered what he said at all.
She stretched in her place, though the move was more reminiscent of fat, lazy housecat than it was the more exotic feline she was going for. Her body was already covered in a webbing of fine scars. The new face she'd had created for her after the old one fell off had already been touched up twice. There was still something off about it, pulling her smile slightly off-center. But that night's surgery hadn't been on her face. She was undoing the laces of her rather elaborate top (funny, how a piece of clothing could be so complicated to take off, yet leave so little to the imagination). Here, the scars got even more ambitious. Thicker, more patterned. And she was beginning to unveil some very new, very angry red scars as she peeled off the top. It looked like Amber Sweet had done some remodeling of her interior.
There were some people who relished the bite of the blade, the waves of pain that flowed from it as it slid across the skin, and who had minor and even major cuts done without any attempt to mask the pain. Amber had never been one of them, and even if she had been, that kind of surgery could only have been done with Zydrate. Corviss's face twisted into a silent snarl for just a moment before he regained control and smoothed it neatly back into its customary mocking, smug expression. "Nice. Very becoming. Angry welts really suit you. It's a good thing you own GeneCo and can get Zydrate whenever you want. Isn't it, Amber?" he added sharply, glaring at her.
"Mmm. Good thing," she agreed, closing her eyes for a moment. "They did do a good job, didn't they? It took hours. I was out like a light... But I think they had to massage my heart." She sighed, drawing a finger very lightly over the raised flesh. The stitches. There was something almost romantic in her face. As though she were a teenager gushing about the new school quarterback.
"I know it took hours," Corviss snapped, imitating her dreamy inflection on the word 'hours'. "I was waiting for you for those hours. And for no reason, apparently, since I can't talk to you like this. I'd take odds you don't even remember my name right now." He slid down in his seat a bit, his shirt riding up. He didn't bother to fix it as he continued in a light, nostalgic tone, "Doesn't this just remind you of the old days, when you'd disappear backstage because you needed a fix and the Graverobber wasn't where you expected him to be?" He looked over at her, his eyes glittering with suspicion. "Was he there this time, or did you have to go looking for him, Sweetie?"
"He never did get far," she purred back. "The city's not big enough for that. We have people everywhere... So many people. Were you waiting?" That thought seemed to touch her, somewhere. She'd always liked the idea that everyone's world revolved around her. "Did you miss me, Kevin?
That caught him off-guard. It was just close enough that she knew who he was. Well, probably. And yet it was still so utterly wrong that it took him a moment or two of gaping at her before he was able to answer, "So close, Amber. I wish I'd taken that bet." His sarcasm wasn't as strong as it usually was when he spoke to her, however, and he shook his head and stood. "I'll let you sleep it off. You're useless to me right now." He leaned over and mock-tenderly kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams, princess," he added with a roll of his eyes.
"Tell me I'm pretty," she requested, in a soft voice. It wasn't a request she would have made of Corviss. Nor was it something she would have asked of any of the myriad employees or lovers she had. It was a request she would have made of her father, however. Years and years ago.
For the second time in two minutes, Corviss had nothing to say. He didn't care whether or not she was pretty. Corviss barely knew what the word meant anymore. But in the depths of his mind, something stirred: calmer, quieter, kinder, and it rose before he realized what was happening. The body relaxed from its habitual stiff, defiant stance and he sat quietly on the bed next to her with a soft smile. He blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes again they were a deep chocolate brown. "Of course you're pretty," Copeland said, brushing her hair out of her face gently. His voice was lighter than Corviss's sharp, dark tone, a gentle tenor.
Eyes closed, lips curved upward in a smile, Amber Sweet would have made an almost convincing picture of peace. A little more happy corpse than content sleeper, but at least it was generally positive. She murmured something before she lost consciousness. It sounded like, "Goodnight, Daddy."
Copeland's smile widened a bit at her murmur and he was reaching for a blanket to cover her when his brown eyes widened in sharp, sudden pain. Migraine. Corviss was back. He flinched back at the light from the fairly dim bedside lamp, throwing an arm over his eyes and slipping back off the bed, going down on one knee. His breathing came in small gasps and finally it got the better of him. Behind closed eyelids, the brown slipped back into the depths and Copeland curled up at the bottom of their shared mind, shaking.
"You'd better run," Corviss snarled, his posture now aggressive and stiff once again as he dropped his arm and moved smoothly to his feet. He glared at Amber's sleeping form for a few seconds, considered speaking, but she was already asleep and it would be wasted. With a low growl, he stalked away from the bed and out of the room, slamming the door behind him and heading back to his own room, rubbing absently at his forehead where the lingering pain of the migraine he'd induced still throbbed.