iMeme
Title: iTunes Challenge
Author: mercurial_muse
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Disclaimer: insert the standard legal blah-blahs here...
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Notes: I really hate deadlines and time limits, as they make me all panicked and stressed. (I'm a reeaaally slow writer.) That's exactly why I made myself do this thing. I didn't use a beta, so the mistakes are all mine.
Goodnight and Go, Imogen Heap
Follow you home, you've got your headphones on and you're dancing
Got lucky, beautiful shot you taking everything off watch the curtains wide open
Then you fall in the same routine, flicking through the TV relaxed and reclining
And you think you're alone...
If it wasn't so damn cold Miranda would get out of the town car and walk the rest of the way but, regardless of the fact that she was wearing boots, $1500 three-inch Manolos were not ideal for tromping through the dirty gray slush that countless cab and bus tires had flung all over the sidewalk. Closer to home, in the park, the snow that had fallen yesterday was still beautiful. It was relatively untouched and covered the ground in a layer of white so pristine and pure that it seemed to glow. Here on the lower east side, all that remained of that ethereal blanket had been shoved up against the buildings, a thin ribbon of brightness that separated the heavily-trodden sidewalks from the grimy storefronts and crumbling stoops. Sighing heavily at the rather depressing scene, the editor leaned forward a little to look out the windshield, her eyes narrowing at the long line of gridlocked traffic before rising to focus on her destination.
Many of the building's windows were lit, some with a steady warm glow that seeped through drawn curtains or blinds, while others sparkled with multi-hued bursts of light that were cast up by flashing television screens. Her car began to ease forward and, as it did so, the building drew closer, the details a little sharper. She could see things like the outline of plants nestled along the inside of windowsills, boxy shapes of posters and pictures hanging on walls, the occasional silhouette passing in front of the glass. Her gaze was momentarily drawn to each window and she studied every one like it offered a clue that, taken in all together, might tell a complete story. She had 'read' her way several floors up the building when one window in particular offered a view that left all the others forgotten.
A figure walked- no, all but bounced -from one edge of the window to the other, arms flailing and torso twisting as the person tugged off a pair of gloves and unwound a long scarf. A hat was plucked off, allowing thick ribbons of hair to tumble down around the shoulders of a heavy winter coat. That came off next, revealing a slim but curvy body beneath. The finer details at this distance were few, but Miranda's imagination easily filled in the gaps. She was certain that she was watching a woman now... her woman. Andrea. As the girl continued to peel off layers of clothing, her body swayed and her head seemed to be nodding along to a rhythm. Miranda's mind conjured up a song to match and she allowed herself to get lost in the moment until a single thought penetrated that blissful haze and had her reaching for the door handle. 'Fuck the boots...'
Love Me Dead, Ludo
You suck so passionately
You're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature
finger-bangin' my heart
You call me up drunk
Does the fun ever start?
You're hideous... and sexy!
If her phone wasn't being held in a unrelenting, anger-induced death grip right now, Andy was certain she would have already thrown the damn thing under the wheels of the nearest city bus. As it was, it took an enormous bit of strength just to part her white-knuckled fingers enough to be able to jab at the 'call voicemail' button so that she could delete the message that had set her temper off in the first place. It wasn't her fault that it was freezing outside and that she'd left her apartment so quickly that she'd forgotten her gloves. She couldn't be held entirely accountable for the fact that her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't hit the delete button fast enough, didn't erase the words before they began to spill from the phone's tiny speaker.
"Andrea..."
Even slurred and almost completely drowned out by some vaguely familiar opera aria blaring in the background, that single word spoken by that particular woman grated on the young journalist's nerves. That's what she tried to tell herself, anyway. If she would be completely honest with herself, though, she would admit that 'grating' might be the wrong word choice when that voice made every last nerve ending feel like they'd been sparked to a heady flame that would only grow hotter with each additional word Miranda Priestly said. It didn't even matter what the editor was saying, really. She could have called- after all these months of painful silence -to bitch Andy out, to finally tell her what she thought of that horrible day in Paris. Actually, Andy's life would be so much easier right now if that's what Miranda had called to say, but no such luck.
"I am surrounded by idiots." There was another long pause, its silence broken by the sound of a glass tapping against the receiver, followed by the slosh of liquid and the settling of ice cubes. "As it seems I pay them to make mistakes on a daily basis, I can hardly set myself apart by doing the same." Another pause, an indrawn breath and a not-so-dainty sip... more of a slurp. "I do not make mistakes, Andrea."
Knowing what was coming next, Andy drew her arm back and then hurled it forward with all her might. When there was no satisfying crunch of plastic against pavement an instant later, she looked down at her hand and snarled at the phone still held tightly in its grasp.
"Well I do." There was a chuckle that ended in a very undignified snort. "But I rarely admit to them... 'cept maybe during my occasional chats with Jack Daniels here. And good ol' Jack seems to think that I should fess up to the fact that I never had the guts to tell you I lo..."
"Fuck!" Andy shouted, drawing strange looks from a few passers by, and even sending one tourist family scuttling across the busy street to avoid her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered under her breath, each word coming in time with her feet pounding against the steps that led down to the subway. When she reached the platform, she looked down at her now-silent phone and let out a long and shuddering sigh. Reaching out once again with a shaking finger, she hit 'save' and was finally able to loosen her grip and drop the cell into her coat pocket.
"I love you too."
Hands Held High, Linkin Park
Jump when they tell us that they wanna see jumping
Fuck that, I wanna see some fists pumping
Risk something, take back what's yours
Say something that you know they might attack you for
Cause I'm sick of being treated like I have before
Like it's stupid standing for what I'm standing for
Although Andy could clearly recall the incident that had caused the story to take root within her, she couldn't remember actually writing it. The words had come from her heart more than from her mind, borne of raw emotion that would have been too tempered and smoothed by logical thought. The message would have lost its edge, and probably its impact.... but it didn't. And even now, seeing what her story had done for others and what she had become as a result, she still couldn't decide whether she regretted it or not.
Her speech, much like her article had done, ignited those around her. And as she stepped away from a microphone still echoing with her final words, she thrust her fist skyward and closed her eyes as she was engulfed in the roar of the crowd. Their shouts and applause, little more than a cacophony of sound at first, soon melded into one unified chant. These people, usually persecuted at worst and ignored at best, would not go unheard today. The cause had always been there, to believe in and to fight for. She had just- quite accidentally -been the one to rally them to fight for it together. She had no problem with the call for equal rights finally getting its much-deserved spotlight, but was less than thrilled with the responsibility that came along with that same light being cast specifically on her. Andy wondered once again if she had it in her to be the strong person others needed her to be. How could she possibly do this alone?
Then, in a single glance, all of her questions were answered.
As she turned to step off the elevated podium, she caught a glimpse of white hair and her heart stuttered, felt like it might even come to a complete halt. Andy had not seen Miranda since she'd inadvertently outed herself and become the face of a cause in one fell swoop. She'd refused to give the press a yet another reason to go after the infamous 'ice queen' and, no matter how proud of their relationship she was, wouldn't allow it to strain under the weight of public scrutiny. Andy realized it made her a bit of a hypocrite to hide the best part of her life away like that, but that was something she resigned herself to dealing with. But now, maybe she wouldn't have to, not when her love stood at the base of the stairs- in view of hundreds, maybe even thousands -with her hand outstretched and her eyes full of pride and love. Reaching out to take Miranda's hand in hers, Andy realized she had everything, and could now do anything.
15 Step, Radiohead
How come I end up where I started
How come I end up where I went wrong
Won't take my eyes off the ball again
You reel me out and you cut the string.
'It had to be in this building, didn't it?'
Andy had fought against the realization at first, but eventually accepted the fact that her relatively short time at Runway had undone nearly a lifetime's worth of dreams of writing for a big newspaper. Having now worked in both branches of the publishing world, she was certain that writing for a magazine was what she really wanted to do. When she was satisfied that she had enough experience and a few noteworthy features to pad her resume with, she'd drawn up a hopeful 'just in case' letter of resignation to the Mirror and started seeking interviews with several magazines. One such interview was today, in the damn Elias-Clarke building. Boy, she was feeling lucky already... not.
She stepped into the elevator and immediately moved to stand against the rear wall, where she let her head rest back against the cool marble surface as she closed her eyes. When a quiet 'ding' was followed by the sound of the doors closing, she opened her eyes again to find that she wasn't alone.
"You will not get the job, Andrea," Miranda said softly. Despite the chill in the woman's tone, the sound of her voice seemed to spark a fever within the young writer.
Andy straightened and turned to face the editor. "I'm not interviewing for Runway, so that's not your decision to make."
Miranda reached up to take off her sunglasses, probably so that Andy could get a good look when she rolled her eyes. "How soon you've forgotten the way things work around here."
Not knowing how to respond to that, and thinking that silence was probably the better tactic anyway, Andy kept her mouth shut and returned to her spot leaning against the wall.
"It's a pity."
Andy sighed deeply and then glared at the little digital display that showed the floors passing by far too slowly. At least Miranda would be getting off before her. "What is?" she asked, finally caving in to curiosity.
"That you're not interviewing for a job with Runway."
Andy was shocked, and what she initially thought was the sensation of her stomach attempting to jump into her chest was instead only the elevator coming to a halt at one of the selected floors. She actually jumped when a fingernail painted in Vintage Vamp red reached out and tapped against the pricey leather portfolio she'd recently bought to carry her resume and stories in. "After all," Miranda began with the hint of a smile tugging at her lips, "I'd be an idiot not to hire you." And with that said, she strode out of the elevator, leaving Andy in a haze of perfume and confusion as the doors slid closed.
Spotlight, Mutemath
You know the one thing you’re fighting to hold
Will be the one thing you’ve got to let go
And when you feel the wall cannot be burned
You’re gonna die to try what can’t be done
Gonna stay stay out but you don’t care
Now is there nothing like that inside of you anywhere
Oh just take the fall
You’re one of us
The spotlight is on
It was a little disconcerting for Andy to look at the face in the little compact mirror and not recognize the woman looking back at her. It really wasn't all that long ago that she hadn't known the difference between Dior and Dolce & Gabanna... much less known how to spell 'Gabanna' correctly. She was familiar with all the big designers now, and had even spoken with over half of them. She had come to understand a world that was once so foreign that she sometimes mused that the elevator doors opened to another dimension rather than just a magazine office. It was almost startling how normal that world seemed to her now. That the dress and shoes she'd donned probably amounted to more worth than her monthly income several times over was weird enough. That she wore those things like she belonged in them was even more astounding. It was so easy to believe that everything she saw in that reflection was right, but there was still a small part of her that worried that it was so very wrong.
The town car glided to a stop and Andy made one last check of her makeup before flipping the compact closed and turning her gaze out the tinted window. Gathered on and around the red carpet were scores of people wearing designers she knew; people who did jobs like hers, supported an industry she'd grown to respect. She understood the passions that drove them, the message they strove to deliver. She knew that, like all fine art, fashion had its price and she now found it worth paying. It was true that she was only a lowly assistant, but everyone at this ball knew who she was... something her so-called friends could no longer claim. Maybe Nate and Lily were right. Maybe she'd lost herself, become someone else. Even if that was true, lost didn't mean forgotten. She still remembered who she used to be, and she could go back... right?
Did she even want to go back?
She forced those questions from her mind as Roy opened the door and she was dazzled with the bright flashes of the photographer's cameras and washed over by the excited hum of the reporters and everyday people who'd gathered on the periphery in the hopes of spotting a celebrity or two. This was no place for Andy, only Andrea Sachs... the spotlight was on.
Author: mercurial_muse
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Disclaimer: insert the standard legal blah-blahs here...
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Notes: I really hate deadlines and time limits, as they make me all panicked and stressed. (I'm a reeaaally slow writer.) That's exactly why I made myself do this thing. I didn't use a beta, so the mistakes are all mine.
Goodnight and Go, Imogen Heap
Follow you home, you've got your headphones on and you're dancing
Got lucky, beautiful shot you taking everything off watch the curtains wide open
Then you fall in the same routine, flicking through the TV relaxed and reclining
And you think you're alone...
If it wasn't so damn cold Miranda would get out of the town car and walk the rest of the way but, regardless of the fact that she was wearing boots, $1500 three-inch Manolos were not ideal for tromping through the dirty gray slush that countless cab and bus tires had flung all over the sidewalk. Closer to home, in the park, the snow that had fallen yesterday was still beautiful. It was relatively untouched and covered the ground in a layer of white so pristine and pure that it seemed to glow. Here on the lower east side, all that remained of that ethereal blanket had been shoved up against the buildings, a thin ribbon of brightness that separated the heavily-trodden sidewalks from the grimy storefronts and crumbling stoops. Sighing heavily at the rather depressing scene, the editor leaned forward a little to look out the windshield, her eyes narrowing at the long line of gridlocked traffic before rising to focus on her destination.
Many of the building's windows were lit, some with a steady warm glow that seeped through drawn curtains or blinds, while others sparkled with multi-hued bursts of light that were cast up by flashing television screens. Her car began to ease forward and, as it did so, the building drew closer, the details a little sharper. She could see things like the outline of plants nestled along the inside of windowsills, boxy shapes of posters and pictures hanging on walls, the occasional silhouette passing in front of the glass. Her gaze was momentarily drawn to each window and she studied every one like it offered a clue that, taken in all together, might tell a complete story. She had 'read' her way several floors up the building when one window in particular offered a view that left all the others forgotten.
A figure walked- no, all but bounced -from one edge of the window to the other, arms flailing and torso twisting as the person tugged off a pair of gloves and unwound a long scarf. A hat was plucked off, allowing thick ribbons of hair to tumble down around the shoulders of a heavy winter coat. That came off next, revealing a slim but curvy body beneath. The finer details at this distance were few, but Miranda's imagination easily filled in the gaps. She was certain that she was watching a woman now... her woman. Andrea. As the girl continued to peel off layers of clothing, her body swayed and her head seemed to be nodding along to a rhythm. Miranda's mind conjured up a song to match and she allowed herself to get lost in the moment until a single thought penetrated that blissful haze and had her reaching for the door handle. 'Fuck the boots...'
Love Me Dead, Ludo
You suck so passionately
You're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature
finger-bangin' my heart
You call me up drunk
Does the fun ever start?
You're hideous... and sexy!
If her phone wasn't being held in a unrelenting, anger-induced death grip right now, Andy was certain she would have already thrown the damn thing under the wheels of the nearest city bus. As it was, it took an enormous bit of strength just to part her white-knuckled fingers enough to be able to jab at the 'call voicemail' button so that she could delete the message that had set her temper off in the first place. It wasn't her fault that it was freezing outside and that she'd left her apartment so quickly that she'd forgotten her gloves. She couldn't be held entirely accountable for the fact that her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't hit the delete button fast enough, didn't erase the words before they began to spill from the phone's tiny speaker.
"Andrea..."
Even slurred and almost completely drowned out by some vaguely familiar opera aria blaring in the background, that single word spoken by that particular woman grated on the young journalist's nerves. That's what she tried to tell herself, anyway. If she would be completely honest with herself, though, she would admit that 'grating' might be the wrong word choice when that voice made every last nerve ending feel like they'd been sparked to a heady flame that would only grow hotter with each additional word Miranda Priestly said. It didn't even matter what the editor was saying, really. She could have called- after all these months of painful silence -to bitch Andy out, to finally tell her what she thought of that horrible day in Paris. Actually, Andy's life would be so much easier right now if that's what Miranda had called to say, but no such luck.
"I am surrounded by idiots." There was another long pause, its silence broken by the sound of a glass tapping against the receiver, followed by the slosh of liquid and the settling of ice cubes. "As it seems I pay them to make mistakes on a daily basis, I can hardly set myself apart by doing the same." Another pause, an indrawn breath and a not-so-dainty sip... more of a slurp. "I do not make mistakes, Andrea."
Knowing what was coming next, Andy drew her arm back and then hurled it forward with all her might. When there was no satisfying crunch of plastic against pavement an instant later, she looked down at her hand and snarled at the phone still held tightly in its grasp.
"Well I do." There was a chuckle that ended in a very undignified snort. "But I rarely admit to them... 'cept maybe during my occasional chats with Jack Daniels here. And good ol' Jack seems to think that I should fess up to the fact that I never had the guts to tell you I lo..."
"Fuck!" Andy shouted, drawing strange looks from a few passers by, and even sending one tourist family scuttling across the busy street to avoid her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered under her breath, each word coming in time with her feet pounding against the steps that led down to the subway. When she reached the platform, she looked down at her now-silent phone and let out a long and shuddering sigh. Reaching out once again with a shaking finger, she hit 'save' and was finally able to loosen her grip and drop the cell into her coat pocket.
"I love you too."
Hands Held High, Linkin Park
Jump when they tell us that they wanna see jumping
Fuck that, I wanna see some fists pumping
Risk something, take back what's yours
Say something that you know they might attack you for
Cause I'm sick of being treated like I have before
Like it's stupid standing for what I'm standing for
Although Andy could clearly recall the incident that had caused the story to take root within her, she couldn't remember actually writing it. The words had come from her heart more than from her mind, borne of raw emotion that would have been too tempered and smoothed by logical thought. The message would have lost its edge, and probably its impact.... but it didn't. And even now, seeing what her story had done for others and what she had become as a result, she still couldn't decide whether she regretted it or not.
Her speech, much like her article had done, ignited those around her. And as she stepped away from a microphone still echoing with her final words, she thrust her fist skyward and closed her eyes as she was engulfed in the roar of the crowd. Their shouts and applause, little more than a cacophony of sound at first, soon melded into one unified chant. These people, usually persecuted at worst and ignored at best, would not go unheard today. The cause had always been there, to believe in and to fight for. She had just- quite accidentally -been the one to rally them to fight for it together. She had no problem with the call for equal rights finally getting its much-deserved spotlight, but was less than thrilled with the responsibility that came along with that same light being cast specifically on her. Andy wondered once again if she had it in her to be the strong person others needed her to be. How could she possibly do this alone?
Then, in a single glance, all of her questions were answered.
As she turned to step off the elevated podium, she caught a glimpse of white hair and her heart stuttered, felt like it might even come to a complete halt. Andy had not seen Miranda since she'd inadvertently outed herself and become the face of a cause in one fell swoop. She'd refused to give the press a yet another reason to go after the infamous 'ice queen' and, no matter how proud of their relationship she was, wouldn't allow it to strain under the weight of public scrutiny. Andy realized it made her a bit of a hypocrite to hide the best part of her life away like that, but that was something she resigned herself to dealing with. But now, maybe she wouldn't have to, not when her love stood at the base of the stairs- in view of hundreds, maybe even thousands -with her hand outstretched and her eyes full of pride and love. Reaching out to take Miranda's hand in hers, Andy realized she had everything, and could now do anything.
15 Step, Radiohead
How come I end up where I started
How come I end up where I went wrong
Won't take my eyes off the ball again
You reel me out and you cut the string.
'It had to be in this building, didn't it?'
Andy had fought against the realization at first, but eventually accepted the fact that her relatively short time at Runway had undone nearly a lifetime's worth of dreams of writing for a big newspaper. Having now worked in both branches of the publishing world, she was certain that writing for a magazine was what she really wanted to do. When she was satisfied that she had enough experience and a few noteworthy features to pad her resume with, she'd drawn up a hopeful 'just in case' letter of resignation to the Mirror and started seeking interviews with several magazines. One such interview was today, in the damn Elias-Clarke building. Boy, she was feeling lucky already... not.
She stepped into the elevator and immediately moved to stand against the rear wall, where she let her head rest back against the cool marble surface as she closed her eyes. When a quiet 'ding' was followed by the sound of the doors closing, she opened her eyes again to find that she wasn't alone.
"You will not get the job, Andrea," Miranda said softly. Despite the chill in the woman's tone, the sound of her voice seemed to spark a fever within the young writer.
Andy straightened and turned to face the editor. "I'm not interviewing for Runway, so that's not your decision to make."
Miranda reached up to take off her sunglasses, probably so that Andy could get a good look when she rolled her eyes. "How soon you've forgotten the way things work around here."
Not knowing how to respond to that, and thinking that silence was probably the better tactic anyway, Andy kept her mouth shut and returned to her spot leaning against the wall.
"It's a pity."
Andy sighed deeply and then glared at the little digital display that showed the floors passing by far too slowly. At least Miranda would be getting off before her. "What is?" she asked, finally caving in to curiosity.
"That you're not interviewing for a job with Runway."
Andy was shocked, and what she initially thought was the sensation of her stomach attempting to jump into her chest was instead only the elevator coming to a halt at one of the selected floors. She actually jumped when a fingernail painted in Vintage Vamp red reached out and tapped against the pricey leather portfolio she'd recently bought to carry her resume and stories in. "After all," Miranda began with the hint of a smile tugging at her lips, "I'd be an idiot not to hire you." And with that said, she strode out of the elevator, leaving Andy in a haze of perfume and confusion as the doors slid closed.
Spotlight, Mutemath
You know the one thing you’re fighting to hold
Will be the one thing you’ve got to let go
And when you feel the wall cannot be burned
You’re gonna die to try what can’t be done
Gonna stay stay out but you don’t care
Now is there nothing like that inside of you anywhere
Oh just take the fall
You’re one of us
The spotlight is on
It was a little disconcerting for Andy to look at the face in the little compact mirror and not recognize the woman looking back at her. It really wasn't all that long ago that she hadn't known the difference between Dior and Dolce & Gabanna... much less known how to spell 'Gabanna' correctly. She was familiar with all the big designers now, and had even spoken with over half of them. She had come to understand a world that was once so foreign that she sometimes mused that the elevator doors opened to another dimension rather than just a magazine office. It was almost startling how normal that world seemed to her now. That the dress and shoes she'd donned probably amounted to more worth than her monthly income several times over was weird enough. That she wore those things like she belonged in them was even more astounding. It was so easy to believe that everything she saw in that reflection was right, but there was still a small part of her that worried that it was so very wrong.
The town car glided to a stop and Andy made one last check of her makeup before flipping the compact closed and turning her gaze out the tinted window. Gathered on and around the red carpet were scores of people wearing designers she knew; people who did jobs like hers, supported an industry she'd grown to respect. She understood the passions that drove them, the message they strove to deliver. She knew that, like all fine art, fashion had its price and she now found it worth paying. It was true that she was only a lowly assistant, but everyone at this ball knew who she was... something her so-called friends could no longer claim. Maybe Nate and Lily were right. Maybe she'd lost herself, become someone else. Even if that was true, lost didn't mean forgotten. She still remembered who she used to be, and she could go back... right?
Did she even want to go back?
She forced those questions from her mind as Roy opened the door and she was dazzled with the bright flashes of the photographer's cameras and washed over by the excited hum of the reporters and everyday people who'd gathered on the periphery in the hopes of spotting a celebrity or two. This was no place for Andy, only Andrea Sachs... the spotlight was on.