#my brain could have picked the hot cat lady to fixate on but no

[telleroftime]

Since I'm currently experiencing major John Silver brainrot, here's some general headcanons I've been thinking about:

He's deaf in his right ear, if he even has a right ear remaining. With the mechanism that's part of his cyborg nature it'd be highly unlikely he could hear anything on that side. His ear is gone, replaced with the cogs that by my understanding allow him to control his cyborg prosthetics. If he could hear anything it'd be the constant whir of the machine as it turns like a steam engine.

He has a bear tail. I mean, he's described to be of a bearlike race so what's stopping him from having a tail. Maybe it's tucked away under his shirts - we'll never know. However it's still fun imaging his tough and impeding exterior with a little button tail.

He'd say he's terrible with children but would then proceed to tell the best bedtime stories. The art book itself states he enjoys storytelling and we all saw how quickly he melted into that father-figure role in the movie.

On the topic of storytelling, he'd be happy if people came to him for stories. I feel like he'd always make time to ramble about his adventures and would even have a voice for each character he talks about.

He can't swim. With the setting of the story - being described as 70% traditional and 30% sci-fi - he'd be very prone to rust. No matter how good he was at swimming before implementing his prosthetics, he can no longer go into water without risking damaging the metal parts. Not just that, they may be heavy enough to make him sink.

Okay, I think that's everything I have for now. I'll probably think of some more later.

[artificialqueens]

(treat me nice) never let me go [branjie] 4/15 - pinkgrapefruit

chapter 4. listen to my voice it’s my disguise

previous chapters 1. 2. 3.

A/N - Heya! Welcome back to Pretty Woman branjie style - in chapter three, exciting shit went down and Vanessa was, well, excited. Thanks to Frey, Meggie and Linda for making sure this isn’t (that much of) a mess, I don’t know what I’d do without you. A little heads up, if you have a problem with the way I write my movie AU - don’t read it. Let me know what you guys think and Enjoy!

*

Vanessa, redressed in her trusty bodysuit and skirt, skips down to the lobby with a smile. She nods at Courtney - the bellhop even saying a quick ‘hello’ - which, upon hearing her name, leaves the girl blushing and shy. She smiles to herself as she enters the main foyer, glad she’s made someone’s day. She brushes off any weird looks she gets as she approaches the desk. “Hey.”

“Yes, ma'am. May I help you?”

“Yeah, so I’m leaving this here for a girl called Silky. She gonna pick it up sometime soon.” The woman at the desk goes to open the envelope she’s been handed and Vanessa puts on her unhappy face. “Don’t open that,” she says, quiet but nonetheless controlled.

“No, ma'am.”

She nods and exits the hotel, face returned to its natural smile.

*

“Miss Versace, do you know that lady?” asks Nina, curious as she watches a remarkably underdressed woman exit the hotel.

“No, ma’am.”

The taller woman raises her eyebrow as she watches the girl walk out. She’s intrigued.

*

The cool aircon of the shop is a nice reprieve from the baking California heat, and she takes a second to readjust her skirt as she steps in. The store is all cream and rose gold, truly a designer boutique, and she wonders momentarily how Silky knew about it. It doesn’t really feel like her style. She must look confused, she thinks, as a saleswoman approaches her rapidly with a concerned look on her face. Vanessa smiles widely at her - a sort of ‘I’m okay’ sign, but the woman doesn’t seem to read it that way.

“May I help you, ma’am?” asks the woman, the same smile still on her face, but her voice is anything but warm.

“I’m just checkin’ stuff out,” she replies, the same cheery aura continuing as she thumbs a pair of trousers that already look like they cost a month’s earnings. She pats her pocket to check that the two thousand dollars are safely there, sighing when she realises they are.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“No. Well, yeah. Something a little…” She wracks her brain for the word Brooke had used to describe it that morning, getting stuck on the blonde’s face for a second. “Conservative,” she declares.

“Yes,” the woman responds cooly.

“You got nice stuff in here.” Vanessa runs a hand down a skirt that would be too long for her but would look sinful on Brooke. She checks the price tag and is tempted to drop a couple of hundred on it just to be able to watch the woman model it. God.

“Thank you.”

“How much is this?” She fixates on a gorgeous pair of plaid trousers, imagines it with a black blouse and dies a little at the fantasy.

“I don’t think this would fit you.”

“Well, I didn’t ask if it would fit. I asked how much it was,” she bites back, the woman’s tone grating on her.

“How much is this, Carson?” The blonde turns to a man stood at the desk.

“It’s very expensive,” he drawls, looking bored as he stares at the rack of Chanel across from him.

“Look, I got money,” she sighs, pulling out a fistful of twenty-dollar bills as the woman stares at her.

“I don’t think we have anything for you.”

“You’re obviously in the wrong place,” adds the man, Carson, with a sickly customer service smile, that makes Vanessa want to just slap the botox right out of his face.

“Please, leave.”

Vanessa scowls, chocolate eyes a sudden thunderstorm as she glares both of them down. As much as she is trying to be polite for Brooke’s sake, she can’t help but storm out - angry as hell at the people who thought that they could judge her based on what she was wearing and, without a doubt, her skin tone too. She wants to cry, but the anger has burned away all her tears.

*

Hell hath no fury like a Vanessa scorned, and as she paces back into the hotel, she’s pretty sure people are more wary of her anger than her profession. She gets to the elevator before she is stopped by- by. She cannot remember her name, but the woman is watching her like a cat watching a mouse scurry around. There is a warmth in her eyes though, a motherly nature she cannot seem to suppress as she raises an eyebrow.

“Excuse me, miss, may I help you?“ she asks politely.

“I’m going to my room.” Vanessa tries to dodge around the woman, but she reaches out an arm to block her. She stands there like a petulant child, pouting.

“Uh, do you have a key?”

“Crap! That cardboard thingy, it’s here…” She pats herself down twice before giving up. “I must have left it up there. I’m on the top floor, penthouse, I think.”

“You’re a guest here?” She looks surprised and Vanessa wants to feel offended, she also wants to remind the woman that they met yesterday, but she is still stumped on the name. She appears to be the only person in the hotel not wearing a name tag.

“I’m with a friend, I-”

“And who would that be?”

“Brooke. Brooke Lynn.”

“Brooke Lynn?”

Vanessa has the urge to try and describe her, but she’s not sure she could get past ‘tall, hot and insanely attractive’ before giving in. The elevator behind the lady dings and Courtney steps out of it looking exhausted. “SHE KNOWS ME!”

The other woman sighs and turns to the shorter girl. “Conquers, did you just come off the night shift?”

“Yes, Nina.” (Nina is her name. Vanessa feels triumphant.)

“Do you know this young lady?”

“She’s with Ms Hytes in the penthouse.”

“THAT’S IT!” She clamps her hand over her mouth with a squeak. “That’s it, Brooke Lynn Hytes - thanks Court!”

The girl smiles awkwardly before nipping into the ‘staff only’ corridor.

Nina watches after her, eyes lingering for a second with a warmth - like a mother watching over her daughter. Vanessa admires this, appreciates the facets of the woman’s personality already and can only hope that she will be on the warmer end. When she turns back around, the shorter girl suddenly feels she might not be so lucky.

“I think you need to come with me,” Nina says, firm but fair in her tone as she turns on her heels and pushes through the same ‘staff only’ door Courtney had disappeared behind. She leads them into the office marked ‘Nina West’ and gestures for Vanessa to take a seat in one of the oversized armchairs taking up half the floor space. She sinks into it like a giant marshmallow, feet dangling just above the ground due to her short stature. In her chair, Nina’s feet are planted firmly on the ground. “What’s your name then?” she asks, kindly.

“What do you want it to be?” responds the other woman, trying to diffuse the situation with comedy - it falls flat.

“Don’t play with me, young lady,” comes the reply, and it’s harsher than she anticipated. Vanessa inhales sharply, feeling like she’s back at school all over again (way too familiar with trips to the headteacher’s office).

“Vanessa.”

“Thank you, Vanessa.” The way her voice snapped back into amiable and welcoming is, frankly, impressive, and Nina smiles at her to try and lighten the mood a little. She sighs, brushes invisible crumbs off her pencil skirt before continuing. “Well, Miss Vivian- I mean, miss Vanessa. This is not the sort of hotel you seem to think it is. We don’t do things like other hotels.” The shorter girl hums noncommittally, twisting a silver ring around her thumb.

“Now, Ms Hytes, however, is a very special customer.” Pause for emphasis. “And we like to think of our special customers as friends. As a customer, we would expect Ms. Hytes to sign in any additional guests.” She checks Vanessa is still following with a head tilt. ”But as a friend, we’re willing to overlook it. Now, I’m assuming that you’re a…” The girl is suddenly very onboard, sitting bolt upright (or as much as she can be when the soft fabric is swallowing her whole).

“Relative?”

“Yes, I thought so, you must be her…”

“Cousin?” she bolsters, biting back a smile.

“Of course. Naturally, when Ms Hytes leaves, I won’t see you in this hotel again. I assume you have no other cousins here.” Vanessa shakes her head dumbly, feeling rather out of her depth in the conversation as she is pulled along for the ride. She is definitely not Brooke’s cousin (that would make the previous night very illegal), but she understands that there must be some merit in the lie. A silver lining. “Good! Then we understand each other. I would also encourage you…” She appears unable to find the right words, her brow creasing a little, “to dress a little more appropriately; that’ll be all.”

Nina looks like she wants Vanessa to just comply and walk away, but all of the anger from the shop surges back through her veins like liquid courage, but with less of the after taste.

“No,” she bursts out. “No, that’s not all. That’s - that’s what I was tryin’ to do. I swear I tried to go get a dress on Rodeo Drive today, and the stupid rich woman wouldn’t help me.” She crosses her arms and huffs a little, once again reminiscent of a petulant child. “And I have all this money now and no clothes. I just wanted a dress!” she continues, lamenting about it while pulling out the handful of more than crumpled bills. “And it’s not that I expect you to help me, but I have all of this, okay? I was going to try.” The shift in Nina’s eyes is barely noticeable and Vanessa isn’t paying enough attention for it to register as she half shouts her problems.

“I have to buy a dress for dinner tonight. And nobody will help me,” she adds, a little quieter. Nina picks up the phone on her desk and presses fewer buttons than Vanessa would like to have seen. She panics, launches forward in her seat to be closer to the woman.

“Oh, fuck, if you’re callin’ the cops, I swear to Jesus and all that shit my mama used to love. Yeah, call the cops. That’s great. Fucking tell ‘em I said hey.” Vanessa sinks back into the chair - it’s warm and feels comforting.

“Women’s clothing.”

Vanessa doesn’t realise she started crying until Nina hands her a tissue, already talking on the phone.

“Plastique, please.”

She blows her nose loudly, and even the tissues feel expensive.

“Yes, Plastique. Hello. This is Nina West here at the Queen Bever-” She chuckles down the line as Vanessa looks on quizzically. “Look, I’m going to send someone over, her name is Vanessa and she’s the cousin of a very special guest.”

When Nina meets Vanessa’s eyes, there’s a sparkle of hope in the blue abyss and the younger woman thinks she might have struck gold.

*

The atmosphere of this shop is completely different from the second she steps inside. While the last store felt like she’d walked into an ice machine, cold and frigid, this one almost smells like freshly baked cookies. Her shoulders immediately drop from where they were hovering by her ears in apprehension, and she is greeted by a small Asian woman with a kind smile and an aura of calmness.

“Hey, girl, you must be Vanessa. I’m Plastique.” She shakes her hand and it feels warm against Vanessa’s clammy palm.

“Yeah, hi. Nina said you’d be nice to me,” she replies causing the other woman to chuckle to herself as she guides them through the shop, stopping in front of a display of fancy-looking trousers. Vanessa can’t help but stroke across the rack, feeling the different materials under her fingers.

“She’s very sweet. What are your plans while you’re in town?”

“We’re gonna have dinner.” She moves to sit on a large white cube she assumes to be a chair. She is quickly proven wrong as Plastique grabs her arm with a bemused expression.

“You’re gonna go out? Dinner?” She reaffirms, and Vanessa hums in agreement. “Well, you’ll need a cocktail dress then. Come with me.” She once again guides them to a back display full of gowns in all shapes and sizes. She gets Vanessa to stand on a sort of pedestal and walks around her for a second before grabbing out a few and placing them on a rack. “Now, I’m sure we’re gonna find something here that your cousin will love - You’re a size six, right?“

“Yeah. How’d you know that?” Vanessa asks in confusion as she stands awkwardly, hands swinging as she shifts from foot to foot.

“That’s my job,” Plastique replies with a wink.

“You know, Plastique, she’s not really my cousin.”

“They never are, sis.”

*

Brooke finishes her presentation with a flourish, explaining everything that had led to her victory in court to a room of exasperated looking men. She brushes down her jacket as she looks around, takes in the furrowed brows and tensed jaws - something that she has always appreciated. It’s the mark of a confused man, albeit one of whom is unhappy to admit it, and she relishes in the sight. They mutter to themselves as she packs the case files into her briefcase, each meticulously organised to be filled when she returns to her home office, it brings a smile to her face as she feels she has truly finished the case. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d done it.

As she goes to leave, RuPaul catches her arm and in a hushed whisper asks, “Listen, everything all set for the meeting tonight?” Brooke’s only response is a quiet smile and a hum, but the smile lets on more than she could ever know, and RuPaul sees through it. She looks a little like the cat who got the cream, except she got a gorgeous Latina who she has spent an infuriating amount of time thinking about, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t concern her just a little bit.

“Who?” he presses, “who is this girl you’re going with?” And Brooke gives a slight wink as she starts to exit the room.

“Nobody you’d know.”

If she spends the elevator ride wondering what else she could have been doing in that time (many things that one should not discuss in an office) - no one has to know.

*

Apparently choosing the right dress takes hours and multiple try-ons (not that Vanessa realised that), because by the time she finishes the air outside is cooler and less stuffy. It feels more like a fridge than a sauna and she’s grateful for it.

She makes it back to the hotel with a very disgruntled Uber driver, who takes one look at her bags and makes a noise she’s only ever heard in response to rich white ladies with no jobs. Vanessa can’t decide if she feels flattered or disconcerted.

She bustles through the door hurriedly, half running as she spots Nina across the room, talking to a short Asian man in red who’s gesticulating wildly.

“Nina!” she shouts before realising it’s an inappropriateness and adding a quick “Sorry, mister,” in commiseration to the man who mutters something angrily before leaving the two women alone. Once she’s sure he is out of earshot and has dealt with an irked look from Nina, Vanessa reaches into one of her bags and pulls out a bundle of burgundy fabric. “I got a dress!”

“Well, I rather hoped you’d be wearing it, to be honest, Vanessa,” Nina replies with a slight nod to the girl’s attire, which is still getting looks from customers as one of her thigh highs is slightly undone. She drops the bags ceremoniously and bends over to refasten it which only makes Nina bring a hand to her face, somewhere between bemused and embarrassed.

“Oh no, I didn’t wanna mess it up! I got shoes too, wanna see?” She picks the paper bag up and reaches an arm back inside before Nina shakes her head.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure they’re quite lovely. Thank you.”

“Look.” She swings the bag in her hand by her side, a little awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but Plastique was really good… and I just wanted to say thanks?” She says it like it’s a question, a habit picked up from a lifetime of judgemental figures and an affinity for pleasing people. “You’re pretty cool.”

“You’re welcome, miss Vanessa. You’re pretty cool too.”

*

The door of the penthouse is barely closed when Vanessa hears the phone ringing, and she sprints as fast as she can to the desk, dropping the bags on the way. She slides into the chair on the fifth ring, picking it up with a breathy, “Hello?”

“Never, ever pick up the phone,” comes Brooke’s smooth voice down the line; it feels like melted butter and, even with the slightly stern tone, still brings a smile to the girl’s face.

“Then why are you callin’ me?” she banters back.

“Did you buy clothes today?”

“I got a dress! A cocktail one!” And the change in her voice must be perceptible because the second she gets excited, Brooke chuckles.

“That’s good.” The way the Canadian says it makes Vanessa think that it is genuinely good, and it only makes her smile wider. There are no false pretenses here. “I’ll be in the hotel lobby, eight p.m. sharp.”

“What? You’re not comin’ up to the door?” she teases.

“This isn’t a date. It’s business.” Despite the cool tone, there is an audible smile.

“Where are you takin’ me, anyway?”

“I’m taking you to a restaurant called Santino’s,” Brooke responds before adding, “very elegant.” Vanessa twirls a strand of her hair around her finger as her smile softens at the phone. She watches the brown fleck gold in the warm sunlight pouring through the window.

“What does it do?”

“Lots of rice dishes.”

“Like, Chinese?” Brooke chuckles again, to which Vanessa makes an indignant sound. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, but only 'cause you’re payin’ me to.” She smirks a little as she says it, comfortable with the playful teasing they’ve got going on.

“Well, thank you very much,” Brooke replies before hanging up, and the shorter girl holds the phone to her chest for a second, sighing before putting it back down. She’s just about to go back to the bag before it rings again and, on impulse, she picks it up - answering with a smile.

“Hello?”

“I told you not to pick up the phone.”

“Then stop callin’ me!” She ends the call this time, but she cannot wait for eight. Then, she realises, she has no idea how to behave at an elegant dinner. She panics.

*