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31_days2005-10-25 11:16 pm
mythicbeast.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-10-25 11:16 pm
[oct25] [Original] Material Girl
Title: Material Girl
Day/Theme:October 25: Coca neon kamera sutra
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Palomir/Gale
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Love is just the thickness of a camera lens away.
A/N: Featuring Model!Gale, and Photographer!Palomir, if a bit unusually. Broken up into interrelated, mostly chronological segments (and was originally started for the 'Milan, Japan' theme because HAY MODELS only like I never got it done and hey, the theme is like, 'camera sutra'... (it's a song, but shush, I'll interprety it as I like! XD); also crossposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50_lovequotes for the theme: 46. Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was choice, but falling in love with you was completely out of my control.
i.
Their partnership, like most things between them, begins oddly.
It's not unusual for college students to seek accomodations outside the campus dormitories, particularly considering the rowdy crowd of eccentric busybodies the battered-looking flats are known to house. Waerongaarde's School for the Arts has a reputation for being a place to avoid for a particular reason, after all, and anyone with a scrap of sanity left to salvage knows that extreme measures must be taken to shelter the flickering flame of mental stability in an environment as eclectic as this. Pity the freshmen, whose year-long stay in the dorms is mandatory.
Even with the largest student body tucked safely into Waerongaarde's not inconsiderably-sized housing, finding a separate apartment within walking distance from the university itself is a tricky business. There are those who'll scalp you for a pit of a place that even cockroaches have given up on in disgust, and a comfortable living arrangement seems, on occasion, to be a dream too intangible to grasp.
As a result, no matter how an arrangement may seem too good to be true, any one of the college students looking for their own apartment will seize the first decent, affordable place they run across, hesitation or no. Pooling funds isn't particularly uncommon, but in Waerongaarde, even strangers will bunk with strangers for the sake of having a private bedroom and quiet mornings. It's not unheard of for the landlords to arrange quarters and release details as they see fit, either, generally leaving unpleasant revelations in store for their oblivious would-be tenants.
It is after weeks of going through this haphazard method of homehunting that Palomir arrives at the apartment he'd been lucky enough to acquire... only to discover that his only 'roommate' doesn't appear to be the gender -- or species -- the landlord had promised they'd be.
The girl blinks at him, and Palomir doesn't need her to speak to know that she's thinking exactly the same thing.
ii.
All in all, Gale reflects, the somewhat peculiar arrangement they've got between them works out remarkably well.
Her roommate, as chance would have it, is strictly a nocturnal, roombound creature, while Gale is a sociable, diurnal sunflower who likes people and likes being out and about. The only time their daily schedules ever intersect is during dinner (wherein she snatches her dinner of tupperwared pork-and-beans-and-rice mess from the microwave, spiriting it away for consumption in her room, only to bump into him sluggishly lurching out of his room for his first coffee of the evening) and breakfast (where she gets up at slightly past mid-morning to stuff them both with pancakes and waffles before blitzing out of the house and leaving him to snooze the rest of the day).
She doesn't know much about him other than the fact that he seems to prefer his pancakes slightly overtoasted, and his coffee black as night and sweet as sin. He likes to spend a lot of time locked into the walk-in closet, which he keeps locked and unlit. She doesn't mind. He'd asked if she'd needed the space, and she told him (truthfully) that she didn't have enough clothes to pack into a cardboard box, much less fill a closet with, so he was welcome to it. She wonders what he does in there, but she never asks, and neither does she ever wander in: the tang of chemicals hangs around the area, sharp and thick, and it makes her nose sting.
Beyond that, all she knows is that he refers to himself as Mirhalas Palomir, family name first in eastern tradition. He looks kind of eastern, too, when she thinksabout it.
She thinks about him more often than strictly necessary, but she doesn't tend to notice habits when it comes to herself.
She also occasionally catches sight of him wandering around Waaerongaarde's photography department, hands clasped behind his back and deep in conversation with a paler elf of perhaps the same age. The knowledge is abstract, filed away in a small corner of her mind. It's granted that he must be a student here, though he seems old for it; Gale doesn't particularly care about the specifics, and his state of education isn't any of her concern, after all. It does, however, crush any secret hopes she might have had that she was in residence some kind of glamorous artsy genius, just waiting to burst on the world in a splash of hot pink and bile yellow.
Unfortunately, Palomir's fashion sense, at least in regards to his own person, seems to rely solely on articles in either tweed or argyle, composed of various shades of brown.
Well, she can still dream.
Gale notices these things about Palomir in the same way she notices that the sun is shining or there is air to breathe; taken for granted, not much thought is given to them. He is a student, she is a student, and it's all neither interesting nor any of her business, since the matter isn't likely to ever have to be considered, what with the rate of interaction they're keeping up. Never, not once in those early days, does Gale consider that she and Palomir could ever be closer than the precariously neutral relationship they already have.
At least, not until the day she comes to university and finds out that, in a typically compulsive agreement between department heads, he has been assigned as her partner on a photo shoot.
iii.
Never, ever in her entire life would Palomir have pegged Gale for a model, but she is one, all five feet two inches of vaguely unsettled-looking girl posed before him, arms akimbo. She seems to feel his incredulous gaze, or perhaps she's just used to getting such looks that she respods automatically; her lips quirk and she gives him a wry smile, as if to say, I know what you're thinking. I'm too short and too sharp and I've got cat ears and a tail, and there's no way I could be a model - but I am.
Instead, all she says is, "Shall we get started?"
iv.
Gale is pleased to find that Palomir is easy to work with, and more to the point, actually knows what he's doing. When he gives her advice, it's professional and unbiased; when she does a bad job, he lets her know exactly what he thinks of it. It hurts her pride, somewhat, but intellectually, she knows he's giving a sound opinion, and she does not complain.
Besides, it's rather refreshing to hear something other than people making hesitating (or outright blunt) comments about how, if she wants to succeed, she must completely rework over ever aspect of her appearance, unless she wanted to work for a company advertising children's clothes.
The project theme, for whatever reason, is 'princesses'.
The picture they eventually submit is of Gale cradling a tiara'd cat in her lap -- only to find that the project has been cancelled. The necessity of working together is now gone. Strangely enough, though, they find each other's company unobjectionable enough to spend more time with each other; Gale discovers that Palomir is an excellent listener, no matter how inane the topic, and Palomir learns that for all her distracted nature, Gale manages some rather witty observations of life if she's left to ramble on unchecked.
It's a comfortable kind of friendship, and slowly, gradually, the polar opposites they call their lives begin to gravitate towards each other.
v.
One night, after being kept unusually long at work, Palomir comes home to find Gale bent over the toilet seat, fingers crammed halfway down her throat, and gagging up the remains of her lunch.
There are no words exchanged or remonstrances delivered, no accusations delivered, only Palomir's hands, one quietly holding her hair back from her head, the other pulling her hand away from her mouth and then rubbing soothing circles on her back.
Afterwards, he bodily picks her up and deposits her onto the couch, tucking the flannel blanket folded on it snugly around her form. "Don't move," he orders, and then he disappears.
Gale stares dully at the coffee table.
Shortly, after a soft beeping from the microwave, he returns, lightly tapping her shoulder to get her to look up.
She tenses at his touch, expecting a sermon, but there is no talk of seeing a specialist or taking pills or even of trying to stop. Instead, Palomir presses a mug into her hands, the warmth of its contents steaming up into her face. "Milk and honey," he says, succintly. "My mother used to give it to my little sister whenever she got sick." He seems to be struggling for something more to say.
"There's more to being a model," he says at last, "Than looks. You've got to have a kind of poise around you. And no one's ever considered falling over from hunger to be the epitome of poise."
He isn't looking at her, but somehow, Gale understands, and surprised and gratified, she accepts the mug.
She falls asleep moments later.
Later, the change is subtle, but it's there. Palomir pressing food on her, spending lunch hour with her at his wallet's expense, keeping the shared fridge stocked with food he knows she likes; she's suprised, and gratified, but it still takes a few weeks before the paranoia of him unleashing a spiel into her ear passes. Once it has, though, Gale lets herself relax, enjoying the side benefits of a roomie who can cook a mean al dente spaghetti bolognaise with surprisingly few ingredients.
The change is subtle, but it's there. As summer turns to autumn and the world becomes gold, so Gale comes to learn to love herself again.
And so she comes to love him.
vi.
The dog days of summer have come, and Gale sprawls out on the floor, having decreed it entirely too hot to try and make any pretense of working. Palomir's only concession to the temperature is the loosening of the collar of his shirt, and he cradles his camera protectively in his lap, glaring balefully at the lack of cooperation from his erstwhile subject. This is, after all, for school, and he doesn't want to spend any more time on it than he has to. Gale, unfortunately, isn't being particularly cooperative. She's soaked from head to shoulders from running the tap over her head, and she's more than likely going to leave an irreparable stain on the wooden flooring if she doesn't dry up fast.
The elf opens his mouth to scold her, but then a shaft of light hits the water cascading around her features, and he's stunned silent by the sight of it.
"Wait," Palomir says instead, haltingly, "Wait a moment. Just... hold that there." He keeps his eyes fixed on her dripping form as he gropes for the camera again, flicking its lenscap off without a thought as he brings it up to his face.
Through the lens, he can see Gale craning her neck to peer over her shoulder quizzically, fine strands of hair plastering to her skin and forming whorls on her face. She can't see what has changed in the span of a few seconds; what makes Palomir's gaze turn from casual to intense, the atmosphere change from comfortable to electric. They don't know it yet, but they've found the one look that will propel them both into fame and fortune.
For now, Palomir knows he has touched beauty for a moment, and that is enough.
vii.
The day he punches someone across the face for insulting her is the day Palomir realizes that he's not exactly thinking of her in terms of friendship, either.
Day/Theme:October 25: Coca neon kamera sutra
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Palomir/Gale
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Love is just the thickness of a camera lens away.
A/N: Featuring Model!Gale, and Photographer!Palomir, if a bit unusually. Broken up into interrelated, mostly chronological segments (and was originally started for the 'Milan, Japan' theme because HAY MODELS only like I never got it done and hey, the theme is like, 'camera sutra'... (it's a song, but shush, I'll interprety it as I like! XD); also crossposted to
50_lovequotes for the theme: 46. Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was choice, but falling in love with you was completely out of my control. i.
Their partnership, like most things between them, begins oddly.
It's not unusual for college students to seek accomodations outside the campus dormitories, particularly considering the rowdy crowd of eccentric busybodies the battered-looking flats are known to house. Waerongaarde's School for the Arts has a reputation for being a place to avoid for a particular reason, after all, and anyone with a scrap of sanity left to salvage knows that extreme measures must be taken to shelter the flickering flame of mental stability in an environment as eclectic as this. Pity the freshmen, whose year-long stay in the dorms is mandatory.
Even with the largest student body tucked safely into Waerongaarde's not inconsiderably-sized housing, finding a separate apartment within walking distance from the university itself is a tricky business. There are those who'll scalp you for a pit of a place that even cockroaches have given up on in disgust, and a comfortable living arrangement seems, on occasion, to be a dream too intangible to grasp.
As a result, no matter how an arrangement may seem too good to be true, any one of the college students looking for their own apartment will seize the first decent, affordable place they run across, hesitation or no. Pooling funds isn't particularly uncommon, but in Waerongaarde, even strangers will bunk with strangers for the sake of having a private bedroom and quiet mornings. It's not unheard of for the landlords to arrange quarters and release details as they see fit, either, generally leaving unpleasant revelations in store for their oblivious would-be tenants.
It is after weeks of going through this haphazard method of homehunting that Palomir arrives at the apartment he'd been lucky enough to acquire... only to discover that his only 'roommate' doesn't appear to be the gender -- or species -- the landlord had promised they'd be.
The girl blinks at him, and Palomir doesn't need her to speak to know that she's thinking exactly the same thing.
ii.
All in all, Gale reflects, the somewhat peculiar arrangement they've got between them works out remarkably well.
Her roommate, as chance would have it, is strictly a nocturnal, roombound creature, while Gale is a sociable, diurnal sunflower who likes people and likes being out and about. The only time their daily schedules ever intersect is during dinner (wherein she snatches her dinner of tupperwared pork-and-beans-and-rice mess from the microwave, spiriting it away for consumption in her room, only to bump into him sluggishly lurching out of his room for his first coffee of the evening) and breakfast (where she gets up at slightly past mid-morning to stuff them both with pancakes and waffles before blitzing out of the house and leaving him to snooze the rest of the day).
She doesn't know much about him other than the fact that he seems to prefer his pancakes slightly overtoasted, and his coffee black as night and sweet as sin. He likes to spend a lot of time locked into the walk-in closet, which he keeps locked and unlit. She doesn't mind. He'd asked if she'd needed the space, and she told him (truthfully) that she didn't have enough clothes to pack into a cardboard box, much less fill a closet with, so he was welcome to it. She wonders what he does in there, but she never asks, and neither does she ever wander in: the tang of chemicals hangs around the area, sharp and thick, and it makes her nose sting.
Beyond that, all she knows is that he refers to himself as Mirhalas Palomir, family name first in eastern tradition. He looks kind of eastern, too, when she thinksabout it.
She thinks about him more often than strictly necessary, but she doesn't tend to notice habits when it comes to herself.
She also occasionally catches sight of him wandering around Waaerongaarde's photography department, hands clasped behind his back and deep in conversation with a paler elf of perhaps the same age. The knowledge is abstract, filed away in a small corner of her mind. It's granted that he must be a student here, though he seems old for it; Gale doesn't particularly care about the specifics, and his state of education isn't any of her concern, after all. It does, however, crush any secret hopes she might have had that she was in residence some kind of glamorous artsy genius, just waiting to burst on the world in a splash of hot pink and bile yellow.
Unfortunately, Palomir's fashion sense, at least in regards to his own person, seems to rely solely on articles in either tweed or argyle, composed of various shades of brown.
Well, she can still dream.
Gale notices these things about Palomir in the same way she notices that the sun is shining or there is air to breathe; taken for granted, not much thought is given to them. He is a student, she is a student, and it's all neither interesting nor any of her business, since the matter isn't likely to ever have to be considered, what with the rate of interaction they're keeping up. Never, not once in those early days, does Gale consider that she and Palomir could ever be closer than the precariously neutral relationship they already have.
At least, not until the day she comes to university and finds out that, in a typically compulsive agreement between department heads, he has been assigned as her partner on a photo shoot.
iii.
Never, ever in her entire life would Palomir have pegged Gale for a model, but she is one, all five feet two inches of vaguely unsettled-looking girl posed before him, arms akimbo. She seems to feel his incredulous gaze, or perhaps she's just used to getting such looks that she respods automatically; her lips quirk and she gives him a wry smile, as if to say, I know what you're thinking. I'm too short and too sharp and I've got cat ears and a tail, and there's no way I could be a model - but I am.
Instead, all she says is, "Shall we get started?"
iv.
Gale is pleased to find that Palomir is easy to work with, and more to the point, actually knows what he's doing. When he gives her advice, it's professional and unbiased; when she does a bad job, he lets her know exactly what he thinks of it. It hurts her pride, somewhat, but intellectually, she knows he's giving a sound opinion, and she does not complain.
Besides, it's rather refreshing to hear something other than people making hesitating (or outright blunt) comments about how, if she wants to succeed, she must completely rework over ever aspect of her appearance, unless she wanted to work for a company advertising children's clothes.
The project theme, for whatever reason, is 'princesses'.
The picture they eventually submit is of Gale cradling a tiara'd cat in her lap -- only to find that the project has been cancelled. The necessity of working together is now gone. Strangely enough, though, they find each other's company unobjectionable enough to spend more time with each other; Gale discovers that Palomir is an excellent listener, no matter how inane the topic, and Palomir learns that for all her distracted nature, Gale manages some rather witty observations of life if she's left to ramble on unchecked.
It's a comfortable kind of friendship, and slowly, gradually, the polar opposites they call their lives begin to gravitate towards each other.
v.
One night, after being kept unusually long at work, Palomir comes home to find Gale bent over the toilet seat, fingers crammed halfway down her throat, and gagging up the remains of her lunch.
There are no words exchanged or remonstrances delivered, no accusations delivered, only Palomir's hands, one quietly holding her hair back from her head, the other pulling her hand away from her mouth and then rubbing soothing circles on her back.
Afterwards, he bodily picks her up and deposits her onto the couch, tucking the flannel blanket folded on it snugly around her form. "Don't move," he orders, and then he disappears.
Gale stares dully at the coffee table.
Shortly, after a soft beeping from the microwave, he returns, lightly tapping her shoulder to get her to look up.
She tenses at his touch, expecting a sermon, but there is no talk of seeing a specialist or taking pills or even of trying to stop. Instead, Palomir presses a mug into her hands, the warmth of its contents steaming up into her face. "Milk and honey," he says, succintly. "My mother used to give it to my little sister whenever she got sick." He seems to be struggling for something more to say.
"There's more to being a model," he says at last, "Than looks. You've got to have a kind of poise around you. And no one's ever considered falling over from hunger to be the epitome of poise."
He isn't looking at her, but somehow, Gale understands, and surprised and gratified, she accepts the mug.
She falls asleep moments later.
Later, the change is subtle, but it's there. Palomir pressing food on her, spending lunch hour with her at his wallet's expense, keeping the shared fridge stocked with food he knows she likes; she's suprised, and gratified, but it still takes a few weeks before the paranoia of him unleashing a spiel into her ear passes. Once it has, though, Gale lets herself relax, enjoying the side benefits of a roomie who can cook a mean al dente spaghetti bolognaise with surprisingly few ingredients.
The change is subtle, but it's there. As summer turns to autumn and the world becomes gold, so Gale comes to learn to love herself again.
And so she comes to love him.
vi.
The dog days of summer have come, and Gale sprawls out on the floor, having decreed it entirely too hot to try and make any pretense of working. Palomir's only concession to the temperature is the loosening of the collar of his shirt, and he cradles his camera protectively in his lap, glaring balefully at the lack of cooperation from his erstwhile subject. This is, after all, for school, and he doesn't want to spend any more time on it than he has to. Gale, unfortunately, isn't being particularly cooperative. She's soaked from head to shoulders from running the tap over her head, and she's more than likely going to leave an irreparable stain on the wooden flooring if she doesn't dry up fast.
The elf opens his mouth to scold her, but then a shaft of light hits the water cascading around her features, and he's stunned silent by the sight of it.
"Wait," Palomir says instead, haltingly, "Wait a moment. Just... hold that there." He keeps his eyes fixed on her dripping form as he gropes for the camera again, flicking its lenscap off without a thought as he brings it up to his face.
Through the lens, he can see Gale craning her neck to peer over her shoulder quizzically, fine strands of hair plastering to her skin and forming whorls on her face. She can't see what has changed in the span of a few seconds; what makes Palomir's gaze turn from casual to intense, the atmosphere change from comfortable to electric. They don't know it yet, but they've found the one look that will propel them both into fame and fortune.
For now, Palomir knows he has touched beauty for a moment, and that is enough.
vii.
The day he punches someone across the face for insulting her is the day Palomir realizes that he's not exactly thinking of her in terms of friendship, either.