Tatum Donnelly (a_straychild) wrote in horror_story, @ 2012-11-20 13:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | alternate universe, casper, tatum |
November AU: Big Gay Birthday Present.. With Violence.
Who: Tatum & Casper.
When: Nonspecific. Sometime shortly after Tatum graduates from high school.
Where: Casper's studio [if she doesn't really have one then SHE DOES IN THIS AU].
What: Drabble that took over my life and became a scene of it's own. Tatum wants to learn about being an artist, but she gets more than she bargained for, as is her typical luck. Awkwardly sexy sapphic pairing scenario for Smee's birthday, with a twist included free of charge.
Warnings: Violence and violent imagery, implied sex and sexual references, probably ooc!Casper, snuff films, etc.
Tatum hated being filmed; Casper knew that. She had to know, because Tatum had already told her a thousand times since they had met, with varying degrees of stammering. She didn't know what Casper saw in her, and predictably, Casper would probably never explain even if Tatum had been able to find the right words to ask. When she had come to Casper's studio six months ago with her portfolio in hand, she had honestly never expected anything to come from the exchange; she hadn't expected for the pale woman to give her or her photographs a second look. She definitely hadn't expected, twenty-four long weeks later, to still be working as her 'personal assistant' and willing sidekick. Her dad had told her to get a real job, but this probably still wasn't what he meant.
Sometimes it felt like Casper filmed everything she did in the studio, she would just turn and realize there was a camera in her face, or a tripod set up across the room, watching her silently, except for the blinking red light. She never understood why, but working with an artist like Casper Decal was too important to ask too many questions. She had her share of them; why did Casper go to all of her clients and none of them came to the studio, what had happened to get her previous assistant fired, what was in the storage closet under the stairs that she kept locked all the time? But Casper was.. different. Tatum would have felt bad burdening her with a hundred nosy questions that were essentially none of her business, and in no way relevant to her job, and the part of her that was getting to know Casper told her that the older woman most likely wouldn't answer honestly anyway.
Working for Casper was as strange as Casper herself; a mixture of odd tasks, odd hours, odd exchanges and conversations, strange contact. She never told Casper she was gay, but evidently she hadn't needed to. She didn't think Casper was, but evidently that didn't matter. Like with her work, Casper didn't seem to like to box herself in to one defined standard, she was never standard. She was unexpected. Tatum had never expected to lose her virginity in the middle of the day on a dark room floor, but then again, she had never expected to have Casper in her life. That she was having sex at all, whether Casper was really into it or phoning it in was debatable, just astounded her. It was always rough with her but oddly pleasant. Distracted, like Casper was exasperated with fucking her, even though she was always the frequent initiator. Tatum never made a first move, any move. She always left the studio walking slightly funny, sore and obedient. Like everything else, it became strange routine, when Casper was bored of just observing her, she would have her. Simple as that. For Tatum, the fact that all of their subsequent sex acts together were filmed with a night vision filter was the weirdest part for her anyway. She felt like Paris Hilton, naked and glow-in-the-dark with a camera lens shoved in her face, panting like some bitch in heat. She still hated being filmed. But she couldn't find the words to complain about regular sex and money, legitimate work experience with her own camera.
It was almost a year to the day that she had started working with her that Tatum let herself into Casper's studio, the same as any other afternoon. She didn't get more than two steps inside before taking an unexpected blow to the back of her head and falling the to ground like deadweight, twitching. Her legs were splayed at an awkward angle, one shaking uncontrollably against the floor probably involuntarily. Probably from the vicious crack to her skull. Casper appeared like a pale ghost, drifting out from behind the door with her camera in one hand and an old tripod, slicked with some gore now, in her other. She didn't say a word at first, her camera focused fully on the crumpled red haired girl on the floor, zooming in to show the growing tiny puddle of blood seeping from under her head, the thin trail of blood leaking from her ear and running down her cheek. "Knew that hue would look good with your hair," the pale woman murmured, much more to herself than the semi-conscious young girl on her floor. She licked her lips unconsciously, thinking.
It was a shame that she always had to pick the ones that nobody would miss, tragic really. What kind of parents let their barely graduated daughter intern for a stranger they never met or asked about, all hours of the night? This was practically all their fault. She wasn't expecting any concerned calls from the Donnellys. Their daughter's shaky relationship with them made the redhead a prime example of a girl that Casper knew would be written off, almost automatically, as a runaway. Never to really be searched for again, or at all. Very few people would know that her final twelve months and last moments were all on film, for the right price. Casper had another girl coming for an assistant interview in a few hours, never one to waste time starting her next work. If Tatum was out, new girl was in. But interviews, that was laughable. They would work, or they wouldn't. She'd find something to do with the new girl either way. She always did. They probably wouldn't last as long as her little ginger had, but that was Casper's own fault, she had let this get away from her. It was easier this way, purely business, no one got attached. Had she felt bad for Tatum? No. Well, maybe. But six months, she was supposed to keep a pet no more than six months before getting to the damn point. She was done feeling pity. That was why it had to end today, in a blaze of artistic glory, start fresh, new canvas. There was only one place for Tatum now. Immortalized, a star. That was what she wanted, right? Why she had come begging at Casper's door in the first place, wanting to work with her, to learn? She wanted a piece of Casper, for Casper to make her famous, and she would.
The redhead wasn't heavy enough to cause any trouble, nor was she strong enough to fight back when Casper dragged her by her legs, across the studio and heading toward the stairs. Tatum was starting to come to a bit more, in a daze, as Casper unlocked the door under the steps and hauled it open. Though she wasn't paying attention anyway in her half-conscious haze, the secret area under the stairs was nothing like what Tatum had always imagined it might be. No secret passage or treasures. Nothing shady. Empty, except for a big wooden bookshelf full of videotapes, sorted by various names and dates hand-written on the labels. Tatum's name took up almost the entire bottom row, at least twenty tapes in all. Casper dropped her to the wooden floor right in front of the shelf, slamming the door again, locking it. She didn't have time right now, with her next charge showing up for that stupid interview soon, but the blow to the head had been a good one and the closet would hold the dazed redhead no problem until Casper had a chance to do things right later.
Tonight when they were alone, she would set up her camera, set the mood, get the girl with her clothes off, decide how she really wanted to approach their final scene. She had gone with a classic with her last girl, slitting the girl's throat and zooming in, emphasizing and focusing the frame on the blood pumping out of her slashed neck with each heartbeat, keeping time. So that idea felt like a tired cliché now. She couldn't do two slit throats in a row. Tatum needed something special. Casper's customers in this medium would like Tatum, she would be a big success when this was all said and done. That was why Casper had chosen her, stuck it out with her. Her customers were every day people; businessmen and fathers, artists and doctors, all walks of life, young and old alike, all drawn together by the art and the common interest. Lots of women too, more women than she would have expected to be interested in this project. But most important about them, their tastes were specific; they liked virgins, young looking girls and they liked girls that came with extra tapes, more film and more scenes to watch, a build up. They wanted to pry on pretty girls, to view a slice of the girl in her everyday life.
Casper personally found it boring. But how many stupid, overly trusting young girls and wannabe photography prodigies had she met like that since starting this project, girls that fit her bill? Enough of them to establish her name in the genre. Her work was pined after, requested. They wanted videos of girls they could get to know first, girls they could watch and feel like they were really with, before the big finale came. Casper provided that. Cinema quality snuff films, snuff miniseries in a case like this. Videos of girls in every day life, sweet and innocent, and then the same girls being violently rubbed out a few weeks later, naked and begging and blubbering for their lives on the same tape. It was all about the right cuts, on the film and on the girls. Her work made for some major boners, apparently. She wouldn't know. Art was life to her, subject matter was organic, constantly changing. This simply happened to be what interested her right now. People saw her vision, that was what mattered.
Snuff films and their whole industry weren't what they used to be anymore. Tatum would take a lot of work, and not just to dispose of. The incinerator in the basement would take care of that like it always did. Splicing all of her scenes together, making a satisfactory end result, that was a challenge. She had so much footage of her to sort through, and it had to be perfect. She would crush her windpipe, slow but maybe worth it, it was all about keeping filming on the eyes in a scene like that and the redhead had beautiful brown eyes, like mud puddles. Panicky eyes. She wanted to capture that. That could work, she would think on it. Tatum was going to be her prize; her latest and greatest work. She would blow the audience away, leave them wanting, feeling in control. She had wasted a year on her, after all. She would have to think of something better for this one, and she would. She just had to focus and envision it. She was an artist and an innovator, after all, and she didn't need any help. Or any redheaded assistants.