"This Year's Model" Part 2xenjnAugust 27 2010, 04:28:26 UTC
It was then the steps and choices she had made came tumbling into her mind, all finding their rightful place in her consciousness. All of them crumbling her inner walls of denial without so much as a sound, and with a horrified sob she made her way over to her mirror.
The sight of her sunken cheeks, her sagged breasts, was enough to make her crack.
For next few days all that surrounded her were whispers. Guards and servants alike would stop their meaningless tasks; only to gawk at the old woman dressed as though she was in her twenties.
She wore her old dresses with pride once she found that she still had the figure for them, and instead of letting her face stay bare and her hairless scalp show she masked them both with makeup and wigs.
Her false eyelashes extended well past her cheeks, and were the source of giggles in the servant girl’s rooms.
The long feathered hats she wore became the source of uproarious laughter from the guards as she sauntered by, shaking her hips with far too much energy and diligence for such an old woman.
She wasn’t stupid, she knew what they said and thought, but Yzma didn’t care. She felt YOUNG again, for the first time in years she was herself again, witty and charming and full of seductive grace.
But what really ‘sealed the deal’, so to speak, was when she found herself in need of a new ‘right-hand-man’. In the past, she had been modest. Never once had Yzma chosen a man based on anything but their qualifications. She cared nothing for their looks; all she wanted was an intelligent man to help her with dictations and running the meaningless tasks of the palace.
She never once looked at those men as anything other then ‘the help’ always so lost in her duties to her past emperor and the boy king.
Yet now she observed the man in front of her with cold eyes. His short, stout form so very unappealing to her. Yzma slouched in her golden chair, the large feathers around her drooping along the armrests. She heard not a word he was saying, as was the same as the last 20 or so men she had interviewed for the job.
She interrupted him in mid-speech and waved her hand in the air, proclaiming loudly;
“Send him away….NEXT!!!!”
The short man jumped, his eyes widening and jaw clenching. Before he could say a word he was picked up by two faceless, nameless guards and carried away.
Yzma rubbed her tired eyelids, being careful not to wipe away any of her mascara or thick blue eye shadow. After another moment of silence she shouted; ”I SAID, NEXT!!!!!”
“Gah! S-Sorry your majesty!” Came a deep voice, it was thick with fear and awe and the sound caused her body to jolt. She sat up immediately and regarded the man who was peaking his head through the crack in the large golden door.
She could TASTE his fear, and a smirk found it’s way to her old, painted lips. “You are forgiven…” She spoke, her voice easily lowering an octave; “Please, come in…” The false kindness sounded believable even to her own ears, and slowly the door opened wider, the young man stepping into the room.
Heat pulsed through her veins immediately at the sight of him…long, firm legs…thin waist and a strong upper torso. The perfect male form, capable of making even Adonis himself jealous.
She nearly salivated at the sight, and promptly sat up straighter, crossing one leg over the other and showing of her pale skin. The feathers of her costume erect as her posture.
“Come closer.”
Shyly, without making eye contact the younger man took a few steps closer to her. Even with his head bowed Yzma could see how he chewed his bottom lip, nervous and humbled by her presence. It thrilled her.
”Lift your head boy…look me in the eyes and tell me your name…” She kept her tone firm, anticipation in her welling to the surface, more then anything she wanted to see his face.
The sight of her sunken cheeks, her sagged breasts, was enough to make her crack.
For next few days all that surrounded her were whispers. Guards and servants alike would stop their meaningless tasks; only to gawk at the old woman dressed as though she was in her twenties.
She wore her old dresses with pride once she found that she still had the figure for them, and instead of letting her face stay bare and her hairless scalp show she masked them both with makeup and wigs.
Her false eyelashes extended well past her cheeks, and were the source of giggles in the servant girl’s rooms.
The long feathered hats she wore became the source of uproarious laughter from the guards as she sauntered by, shaking her hips with far too much energy and diligence for such an old woman.
She wasn’t stupid, she knew what they said and thought, but Yzma didn’t care. She felt YOUNG again, for the first time in years she was herself again, witty and charming and full of seductive grace.
But what really ‘sealed the deal’, so to speak, was when she found herself in need of a new ‘right-hand-man’. In the past, she had been modest. Never once had Yzma chosen a man based on anything but their qualifications. She cared nothing for their looks; all she wanted was an intelligent man to help her with dictations and running the meaningless tasks of the palace.
She never once looked at those men as anything other then ‘the help’ always so lost in her duties to her past emperor and the boy king.
Yet now she observed the man in front of her with cold eyes. His short, stout form so very unappealing to her. Yzma slouched in her golden chair, the large feathers around her drooping along the armrests. She heard not a word he was saying, as was the same as the last 20 or so men she had interviewed for the job.
She interrupted him in mid-speech and waved her hand in the air, proclaiming loudly;
“Send him away….NEXT!!!!”
The short man jumped, his eyes widening and jaw clenching. Before he could say a word he was picked up by two faceless, nameless guards and carried away.
Yzma rubbed her tired eyelids, being careful not to wipe away any of her mascara or thick blue eye shadow. After another moment of silence she shouted; ”I SAID, NEXT!!!!!”
“Gah! S-Sorry your majesty!” Came a deep voice, it was thick with fear and awe and the sound caused her body to jolt. She sat up immediately and regarded the man who was peaking his head through the crack in the large golden door.
She could TASTE his fear, and a smirk found it’s way to her old, painted lips. “You are forgiven…” She spoke, her voice easily lowering an octave; “Please, come in…” The false kindness sounded believable even to her own ears, and slowly the door opened wider, the young man stepping into the room.
Heat pulsed through her veins immediately at the sight of him…long, firm legs…thin waist and a strong upper torso. The perfect male form, capable of making even Adonis himself jealous.
She nearly salivated at the sight, and promptly sat up straighter, crossing one leg over the other and showing of her pale skin. The feathers of her costume erect as her posture.
“Come closer.”
Shyly, without making eye contact the younger man took a few steps closer to her. Even with his head bowed Yzma could see how he chewed his bottom lip, nervous and humbled by her presence. It thrilled her.
”Lift your head boy…look me in the eyes and tell me your name…” She kept her tone firm, anticipation in her welling to the surface, more then anything she wanted to see his face.
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