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intheheartTitle: Faces
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gina prepares.
AU: Reality Show
Notes: Yes, I intend to continue this. Also, to get the description in this right, I had to stare very hard at pictures of Tricia Helfer. What dreadful things I endure for you guys.
Today's the day.
Gina has prepared very carefully. She doesn't want anyone looking too closely at her, so she's decided she will be the pretty, vapid one, the one everyone dismisses for the first few episodes. If she's lucky, she can keep it up for the whole time they're filming.
It shouldn't be too hard. She sits down at her vanity, pulls her hair over her shoulder and begins to comb it, carefully, untangling every knot and smoothing every wisp until it lies in a honey-gold waterfall over her breast. She's been doing her research, watching Big Brother and Survivor and the like until her mind reels from the sheer artificiality. She knows it's all an act; she thinks she knows now how to turn it to her advantage.
Hair first. She's blonde; an advantage, thanks to all the stereotypes. She wraps her hair around the curling iron and wonders as she does if perpetuating the stereotype is acceptable in the name of survival.
Too late to worry about it now. She's expected at the house soon.
Her hair hangs now in long loose curls, and she exchanges the curling iron for her makeup kit. She knows how to do this, too-- lipstick a shade just slightly too bright, eyeshadow spread just slightly too far, mascara laid on with just slightly too heavy a hand. She blinks at herself in the mirror, ensures that she won't have raccoon eyes by the end of the night, and sets all that aside.
Jewelry is next-- a flashy silver necklace, dangling chandelier earrings that hurt her ears but draw attention away from her expression. No rings-- she wants to emphasize her theoretical availability-- and no bracelets-- not even for this act can she tolerate something binding her wrists.
She hesitates a moment over her jewelry box, but at last puts on her cross pendant, the one her mother gave her at her confirmation. It's unobtrusive enough, and it will help her keep the faith. It will help her remember, amid all the lies, who she really is.
Colors for her clothing-- she's packed pastels and jewel tones, blues, greens, pinks, even a bright yellow dress close to the shade of her hair. Not a scrap of black to be found, though in the ordinary way of things she loves the lack of color, the way it makes her unobtrusive. She's brought all of her most sparkly nail polish, her highest heels, her sheerest pantyhose.
It's all an act, she reminds herself, tucking her makeup kit and the curling iron in beside a sheer blue top and a pair of pink kitten heels. It's all an act. Her fellow contestants will look at her and dismiss her immediately, no threat, chosen to provide some eye candy for the male viewers.
And maybe that's true. Maybe that's why she was picked for this show. She can accept that, because the prize is a hundred thousand dollars and a house of your own, and what she couldn't do with that...
She takes a deep breath, and unclenches her hands from the fists they have made around the edge of her suitcase. Twelve weeks of acting is a fair trade for freedom.
She zips up the suitcase, then sits down at her vanity again and practices her vapid smile until her mother calls up the staircase that the car has arrived.
Time to go, she thinks, and looks once more at her face in the mirror.
She'll miss it.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gina prepares.
AU: Reality Show
Notes: Yes, I intend to continue this. Also, to get the description in this right, I had to stare very hard at pictures of Tricia Helfer. What dreadful things I endure for you guys.
Today's the day.
Gina has prepared very carefully. She doesn't want anyone looking too closely at her, so she's decided she will be the pretty, vapid one, the one everyone dismisses for the first few episodes. If she's lucky, she can keep it up for the whole time they're filming.
It shouldn't be too hard. She sits down at her vanity, pulls her hair over her shoulder and begins to comb it, carefully, untangling every knot and smoothing every wisp until it lies in a honey-gold waterfall over her breast. She's been doing her research, watching Big Brother and Survivor and the like until her mind reels from the sheer artificiality. She knows it's all an act; she thinks she knows now how to turn it to her advantage.
Hair first. She's blonde; an advantage, thanks to all the stereotypes. She wraps her hair around the curling iron and wonders as she does if perpetuating the stereotype is acceptable in the name of survival.
Too late to worry about it now. She's expected at the house soon.
Her hair hangs now in long loose curls, and she exchanges the curling iron for her makeup kit. She knows how to do this, too-- lipstick a shade just slightly too bright, eyeshadow spread just slightly too far, mascara laid on with just slightly too heavy a hand. She blinks at herself in the mirror, ensures that she won't have raccoon eyes by the end of the night, and sets all that aside.
Jewelry is next-- a flashy silver necklace, dangling chandelier earrings that hurt her ears but draw attention away from her expression. No rings-- she wants to emphasize her theoretical availability-- and no bracelets-- not even for this act can she tolerate something binding her wrists.
She hesitates a moment over her jewelry box, but at last puts on her cross pendant, the one her mother gave her at her confirmation. It's unobtrusive enough, and it will help her keep the faith. It will help her remember, amid all the lies, who she really is.
Colors for her clothing-- she's packed pastels and jewel tones, blues, greens, pinks, even a bright yellow dress close to the shade of her hair. Not a scrap of black to be found, though in the ordinary way of things she loves the lack of color, the way it makes her unobtrusive. She's brought all of her most sparkly nail polish, her highest heels, her sheerest pantyhose.
It's all an act, she reminds herself, tucking her makeup kit and the curling iron in beside a sheer blue top and a pair of pink kitten heels. It's all an act. Her fellow contestants will look at her and dismiss her immediately, no threat, chosen to provide some eye candy for the male viewers.
And maybe that's true. Maybe that's why she was picked for this show. She can accept that, because the prize is a hundred thousand dollars and a house of your own, and what she couldn't do with that...
She takes a deep breath, and unclenches her hands from the fists they have made around the edge of her suitcase. Twelve weeks of acting is a fair trade for freedom.
She zips up the suitcase, then sits down at her vanity again and practices her vapid smile until her mother calls up the staircase that the car has arrived.
Time to go, she thinks, and looks once more at her face in the mirror.
She'll miss it.
