Chapter 292: Chapter 292 - Shoot Day: Lunch Break
By the time Maia Katsaros finally called the crew for lunch, I was ready to admit that what some of the best tutorial videos stressed was true. Modeling was actual, grueling work.
"You’re holding up well. Most people are wilting by now."
"...Thank you. I’ve been jogging lately, so I guess I’m in fair shape."
The lights that had felt merely warm during the technical setup soon blazed like a concentrated sun in a studio with barely sufficient climate control. My feet ached despite the comfortable padded slippers Simone had generously provided between outfit changes.
And I’d discovered muscles in my back and shoulders that apparently had opinions about holding the same pose for extended periods. Even with a werewolf body. Especially one not making the most use of its qualities.
> I clearly knew that just ’standing’ around and looking pretty could be demanding. I did it most of my court life as a royal, being motionless through boring events. So why did you listen to me when I asked to lower how strongly we regenerate, Vrika?! <
Blue eyes rolled as it flooded me with further healing. Giving up actually *trying* to be closer to a normal weak human for the experience. I can pretend just as well!
Just have to not walk too quickly, look a bit uncomfortable, and eat plenty of food so it looks like I worked off a lot of calories. And I was planning to do that anyway after barely getting a third of my intended breakfast.
I’d already snuck a glance at my | Matron’s Monitor | and it assured me everything was fine. But I really should be getting more nutrients for the insatiable child, judging by the jargon in one section of the interface.
As I settled into a chair in the break area with the first sandwich wrap of many that someone had thoughtfully provided, I could feel every minute of the last four hours. A morning that had flown by in a blur of outfit changes and lighting adjustments.
The coat I’d worn once before, with its silver-colored brocade, had photographed beautifully. I’d had to resist the urge to suggest camera angles. No matter how much technical knowledge I’d displayed earlier, that was not the model’s job and I didn’t want to come off as a perfectionist.
> They kept saying perfect a lot, though. It’s really hard not to correct them when I felt I could do incrementally better still. <
There were also more casual ensembles that Ember Beau Laurent - and apparently Anise was not the only one that had a smirk when saying his full name - had designed. They had been easier to move in but somehow harder to make... interesting.
All the outfit changes, countless pose adjustments given through direct words, and what felt like thousands of audible shutter-button clicks later... I was developing a new appreciation for the homebody life. At the minimum, I would *never* want to do shoots back to back if I could help it!
My makeup had been touched up twice, each time included Devon muttering almost accusingly about how little he actually needed to do. More praise used as a bludgeon that my skin was perfect and holding up improbably well under the conditions.
And my hair... my hair had been rapidly styled in more looks than I would ever want to wear. But while two is the best number, I’m aware that such perfect harmony is not for the likes of everyone.
> Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but trends and fads are in the nous of society. Or so one of the tutorials stressed. <
I pulled out my phone to check the time and found several messages waiting. Kyrie’s nickname on the screen made me pause mid-bite. I didn’t think she would send more after that simple one, if I’m being honest.
The first was a photo of a perfectly made bed with crisp white sheets tucked down, every corner sharp enough to cut glass. The pillows were arranged just so, and even the decorative throw at the foot was positioned like it came that way with the penthouse.
In other words, a bed that was very familiar to me as I’d slept on it. I felt heat creep up my neck as my brain put together exactly what she was saying in the message below.
K: [For the record, if you’d like to claim my bed secretly another night, this is what it looks like to hide the evidence. Your tuck was hasty and a pillow was on the wrong side. ]
Of course she knew. And instead of being angry about it, she was... giving me instructions on how to do it again? Frankly, I would have expected more complaints about erasing my scent from it...
"You okay? Your face didn’t get that worked up even under all the lights."
"Fine."
Managing to answer, but too sharply... I also set the phone face-down on the table with a too loud clatter as it rattled the plate. Sonya raised an eyebrow at me, the woman having decided to keep me company at the ’talent’ table.
"So... not an allergy to something you are eating, right? Just want to be clear."
Shaking my head no, but before I could figure out a response that didn’t involve admitting - to the first words she’d actually spoken since she sat down - that I’d been caught ’pulling a Goldilocks’... my phone buzzed again.
Against my better judgment, I flipped it over to keep reading - and this time I did choke some on a bite of my chicken wrap. Eddie at a nearby table hoped up and patted my back with concern.
"Water?"
"...Thank you."
Sipping it with one hand over the screen surface, covering the evidence of being busted by the Alpha, I think about what it said. I’m no longer sure she is *not* upset, but it doesn’t entirely seem to be about my... territorial ’faux pas’.
K: [In case you don’t remember the mistake, the lumbar pillow goes on the left side. You had it centered. I do have some quirks, Princess.]
> Of all the reactions I might have predicted to what I’d done, passive aggressive instruction was not one of them. <
My fingers tapped slowly over the keyboard once everyone calmed down. And for people who hadn’t seen me negatively react or get embarrassed when told I was doing something wrong, or to change position or emotion after I’d made wrong assumptions about the direction given?
Responding while surrounded by people who were definitely starting to notice my state was... ’flustered’ was almost like a small torture of its own. As if whatever professional respect I’d built up was gone, making my toes curl in the slippers.
> I wonder if this is anything close to what it was like for her while I was under her desk and she was talking to others... this feeling like I’m about to be caught. <
C: [I’ll keep that in mind.]
K: [Thank you. I have a demonstration video if the still image isn’t helpful enough. But I said a few things while running it that I was afraid others might hear, if you tried to play it in public.]
K: [I’ll make sure to send it later. You’re probably taking lunch if you’re responding.]
K: [If you send me a picture of what you’re having, I won’t bother you more. Keep enjoying yourself.]
"Okay, that’s definitely ’someone’s flirting with me’. Right, Yaya?"
"No. That nickname. Just no, Devon."
Ignoring their eyes on me, I shakily take the worst photo I may have ever taken since that first night with the phone. Attach. Smash the send button. Shove the phone back in my bag.
> Now then, to sit there with my eyes closed and my hands folded in my lap until they get bored. <