DWP Halloween Fic
Title: The Most Outrageously Fashionable Halloween Extravaganza Andrea Sachs Has Ever Experienced
Author: Mercury
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Halloween at Runway is not what Andy expects. Total crack!fic.
Author’s Note: This is in response to chilly_flame’s Halloween challenge. It’s also sort of a challenge in and of itself (you’ll see when you get to the end). Enjoy!
Author’s Note 2: A big thanks to skeeter451 for the beta and the title idea. You're the best, Susan!
“Have you bought your costume for Friday yet?”
The words were all in English, spoken in an English accent no less, and they seemed to be strung together in a grammatical-type way, but Andy found that she could not discern the logic of the finished sentence.
“I’m sorry, what?” Andy looked up from her computer screen towards Emily, as though making eye contact might help the pieces fall into place.
“Your costume,” Emily repeated, with an expectant look on her face. “Friday?”
When Andy continued to look at her blankly, Emily’s eyes bulged and she tried to take a deep, calming breath. “Oh my god. This is a nightmare.” The calming breaths must not have worked, because her voice was revving up to hysteria. “How could you have forgotten?”
Her brows creasing, Andy thumbed through her day planner until she got to Friday. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about the day, Miranda had a meeting with Lagerfeld scheduled until 10am, but beyond that… her eyes zeroed in on the large digits that indicated the date.
The thirty-first.
Of October.
Her mouth dropped open. It was Halloween on Friday.
Andy looked sharply up at Emily, her face registering shock. “We have to dress up for Halloween?”
Emily rolled her eyes but seemed slightly mollified by the fact that Andy finally seemed to be getting it. “Yes of course, you idiot, like every year.” She eyed Andy for a moment, her finger coming up to tap lightly at her chin as she considered her subject. “Well we’ll just have to throw something together for you, won’t we?” A slow smile spread across Emily’s heavily made-up face, and Andy felt a sinking feeling. It was bad enough when Nigel got his hands on her, but now Emily? This was not going to end well.
~~~
When Andy had first considered the concept of a forced costume day at Runway, she had imagined a minimalist attempt from her colleagues, maybe a clever nametag combined with a suggestive hat, just enough to pass under the radar without being considered a cop out. The models she imagined slinking around in the fashionably stereotypical naughty nurse or Catholic schoolgirl costumes, and Emily… well, she couldn’t really imagine what Emily would wear, beyond anything completely over the top such as trying to be a Gucci bag or something.
So when she arrived on Friday morning, pulling off her jacket and self-consciously tugging at the material of the costume that Emily had deemed “passable,” she was struck dumb at what she saw. Apparently, at Runway, Halloween was a Big Deal.
Down every corridor there were Vikings and witches, pirates and bumblebees. There were grim reapers and white angels, ninjas and yes, the occasional scantily-clad police officer.
For her part, Emily was the epitome of a can-can dancer from Montmartre, Paris, circa 1890s. She was wearing black thigh highs with the clips of the garter peaking out from under the red can-can skirt, a red and black striped corset top and long black spandex gloves. Crowning her head was a black sequin and feather headpiece. Andy was surprised at how elegant she looked.
And Serena seemed to be the Ewan McGregor to Emily’s Nicole Kidman. She was dressed in brown trousers with suspenders stretching over a dirty white shirt - the struggling, bohemian writer in an era of bright lights and music. When Emily and Serena walked into the office together, they were a sight to behold.
If Andy thought their costumes were surprising, she almost fainted when she saw Nigel. He was sporting an oversized purple jacket over a green vest, the colour of which almost matched that of his wig. The puke-green, greasy strands of the limp hair swept across his white-powdered face. His eyes were rimmed in black, but most startling was the streak of red that ran from cheek to cheek.
He glanced up from the layouts when he heard her falter at the door. His smile only distorted the sickly streak across his face into an unbecoming sneer, but beneath the make-up Andy could see that his eyes sparkled in friendly welcome.
“Creepy,” Andy said, entering the room.
The Joker’s distorted grin became all the more gruesome as Nigel leered at her. “Some might say the same of you.”
Andy laughed, feeling some of her self-consciousness ease.
“Let’s get a look at you,” he clucked, moving around her and eyeing up her outfit. It didn’t take long, because she was barely dressed at all, with nothing more than a gold-detailed bikini top and a slinky blue loin cloth that flowed down from a gold belt to the strapped sandals at her feet. Her hair was bound up in a long braid, completing the look of Princess Leia from Return of the Jedi.
He seemed pleased, and he smiled again in that jarring way. “Not bad, my dear. Not very original, mind you.”
“Blame Emily,” Andy mumbled. Then she added cheerfully, “I’m going to kill her later.”
Nigel chuckled. “Well at least geeks everywhere are creaming in their pants.”
“Thanks, Nige,” She smiled faintly, trying not to fidget. Not only was her nervousness increasing under the scrutiny, but she was also still finding it hard to get past the creepiness of his costume. “Well, I’d better…” she made a non-committal motion with her hand in the direction of her desk. She attempted another smile, and then left as quickly as she could.
She returned to her desk and attempted to get some work done, although with Miranda away at her meeting with Lagerfeld, there wasn’t much to occupy her. She spent much of the time mulling over the curious nature of the Runway culture, which forced women to starve themselves and teeter on four-inch heels three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year, but allowed them to wear completely goofy and undignified attire on Halloween. She’d even heard that Anya from accounting was dressed in a large, cotton bunny suit. She shook her head and smiled inwardly.
She tried to imagine what Miranda might be wearing, but all her mind could conjure up was a dominatrix-style devil’s suit. She imagined black thigh-high boots, a spiked tail trailing down to the floor, a black corset, and little devil’s horns peeking up through her silver hair. For accessories, she imagined a black metal-studded choker and a leather whip, at which point her brain shut down.
At a quarter to ten she ran out to fetch the Starbucks (garnering more than a few leering stares at the loincloth that peeked out from under her jacket along the way) and was just placing the steaming coffee on her boss’ desk when she heard the ding of the elevator. Before she knew it, Miranda herself swept through the office doors.
Andy felt her mouth go dry. She stared, transfixed.
As Miranda entered, she gave Andy the usual once over, but seemed to linger longer than usual around her bare midriff. Andy shuddered at the attention. Unlike the nervousness she felt when Nigel had scrutinized her, Miranda’s inspection seemed to send a warm flood to settle deep in her stomach.
Eventually Miranda’s eyes trailed up to Andy’s face, and she finally seemed to realize that Andy was staring at her. She looked down at her own costume, and then back up at Andy, her eyebrow arched.
“Well, what did you expect,” Miranda smirked, “Jabba the Hutt?”
Which conjured up an image of Princess Andrea acting as Miranda’s slave all day.
“I - I, uh…” Andy stuttered incoherently and was saved when Emily entered the room, breaking the spell. Miranda snapped back into work mode and began rambling off directions. When they were dismissed, Andy nodded mutely and moved back to her desk in a daze. Emily gave her a weird look.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Um,” Andy had apparently still not regained her sense of speech.
Emily rolled her eyes and got back to work, sighing at the incompetencies of the world.
~~~
The End (sort of…)
Now it’s your turn! What was Miranda wearing? Better yet, how about some of the other characters? See if you can come up with some outrageous outfits for all the people that litter the halls of Runway, like chubby Paul or stick thin Lucia or Euro-style Jocelyn. And what would Roy be wearing? Or, beyond Runway, what about Lily or Doug or Nate?
Include your ideas and descriptions in the comments! Have fun, and Happy Halloween!
Author: Mercury
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Halloween at Runway is not what Andy expects. Total crack!fic.
Author’s Note: This is in response to chilly_flame’s Halloween challenge. It’s also sort of a challenge in and of itself (you’ll see when you get to the end). Enjoy!
Author’s Note 2: A big thanks to skeeter451 for the beta and the title idea. You're the best, Susan!
“Have you bought your costume for Friday yet?”
The words were all in English, spoken in an English accent no less, and they seemed to be strung together in a grammatical-type way, but Andy found that she could not discern the logic of the finished sentence.
“I’m sorry, what?” Andy looked up from her computer screen towards Emily, as though making eye contact might help the pieces fall into place.
“Your costume,” Emily repeated, with an expectant look on her face. “Friday?”
When Andy continued to look at her blankly, Emily’s eyes bulged and she tried to take a deep, calming breath. “Oh my god. This is a nightmare.” The calming breaths must not have worked, because her voice was revving up to hysteria. “How could you have forgotten?”
Her brows creasing, Andy thumbed through her day planner until she got to Friday. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about the day, Miranda had a meeting with Lagerfeld scheduled until 10am, but beyond that… her eyes zeroed in on the large digits that indicated the date.
The thirty-first.
Of October.
Her mouth dropped open. It was Halloween on Friday.
Andy looked sharply up at Emily, her face registering shock. “We have to dress up for Halloween?”
Emily rolled her eyes but seemed slightly mollified by the fact that Andy finally seemed to be getting it. “Yes of course, you idiot, like every year.” She eyed Andy for a moment, her finger coming up to tap lightly at her chin as she considered her subject. “Well we’ll just have to throw something together for you, won’t we?” A slow smile spread across Emily’s heavily made-up face, and Andy felt a sinking feeling. It was bad enough when Nigel got his hands on her, but now Emily? This was not going to end well.
~~~
When Andy had first considered the concept of a forced costume day at Runway, she had imagined a minimalist attempt from her colleagues, maybe a clever nametag combined with a suggestive hat, just enough to pass under the radar without being considered a cop out. The models she imagined slinking around in the fashionably stereotypical naughty nurse or Catholic schoolgirl costumes, and Emily… well, she couldn’t really imagine what Emily would wear, beyond anything completely over the top such as trying to be a Gucci bag or something.
So when she arrived on Friday morning, pulling off her jacket and self-consciously tugging at the material of the costume that Emily had deemed “passable,” she was struck dumb at what she saw. Apparently, at Runway, Halloween was a Big Deal.
Down every corridor there were Vikings and witches, pirates and bumblebees. There were grim reapers and white angels, ninjas and yes, the occasional scantily-clad police officer.
For her part, Emily was the epitome of a can-can dancer from Montmartre, Paris, circa 1890s. She was wearing black thigh highs with the clips of the garter peaking out from under the red can-can skirt, a red and black striped corset top and long black spandex gloves. Crowning her head was a black sequin and feather headpiece. Andy was surprised at how elegant she looked.
And Serena seemed to be the Ewan McGregor to Emily’s Nicole Kidman. She was dressed in brown trousers with suspenders stretching over a dirty white shirt - the struggling, bohemian writer in an era of bright lights and music. When Emily and Serena walked into the office together, they were a sight to behold.
If Andy thought their costumes were surprising, she almost fainted when she saw Nigel. He was sporting an oversized purple jacket over a green vest, the colour of which almost matched that of his wig. The puke-green, greasy strands of the limp hair swept across his white-powdered face. His eyes were rimmed in black, but most startling was the streak of red that ran from cheek to cheek.
He glanced up from the layouts when he heard her falter at the door. His smile only distorted the sickly streak across his face into an unbecoming sneer, but beneath the make-up Andy could see that his eyes sparkled in friendly welcome.
“Creepy,” Andy said, entering the room.
The Joker’s distorted grin became all the more gruesome as Nigel leered at her. “Some might say the same of you.”
Andy laughed, feeling some of her self-consciousness ease.
“Let’s get a look at you,” he clucked, moving around her and eyeing up her outfit. It didn’t take long, because she was barely dressed at all, with nothing more than a gold-detailed bikini top and a slinky blue loin cloth that flowed down from a gold belt to the strapped sandals at her feet. Her hair was bound up in a long braid, completing the look of Princess Leia from Return of the Jedi.
He seemed pleased, and he smiled again in that jarring way. “Not bad, my dear. Not very original, mind you.”
“Blame Emily,” Andy mumbled. Then she added cheerfully, “I’m going to kill her later.”
Nigel chuckled. “Well at least geeks everywhere are creaming in their pants.”
“Thanks, Nige,” She smiled faintly, trying not to fidget. Not only was her nervousness increasing under the scrutiny, but she was also still finding it hard to get past the creepiness of his costume. “Well, I’d better…” she made a non-committal motion with her hand in the direction of her desk. She attempted another smile, and then left as quickly as she could.
She returned to her desk and attempted to get some work done, although with Miranda away at her meeting with Lagerfeld, there wasn’t much to occupy her. She spent much of the time mulling over the curious nature of the Runway culture, which forced women to starve themselves and teeter on four-inch heels three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year, but allowed them to wear completely goofy and undignified attire on Halloween. She’d even heard that Anya from accounting was dressed in a large, cotton bunny suit. She shook her head and smiled inwardly.
She tried to imagine what Miranda might be wearing, but all her mind could conjure up was a dominatrix-style devil’s suit. She imagined black thigh-high boots, a spiked tail trailing down to the floor, a black corset, and little devil’s horns peeking up through her silver hair. For accessories, she imagined a black metal-studded choker and a leather whip, at which point her brain shut down.
At a quarter to ten she ran out to fetch the Starbucks (garnering more than a few leering stares at the loincloth that peeked out from under her jacket along the way) and was just placing the steaming coffee on her boss’ desk when she heard the ding of the elevator. Before she knew it, Miranda herself swept through the office doors.
Andy felt her mouth go dry. She stared, transfixed.
As Miranda entered, she gave Andy the usual once over, but seemed to linger longer than usual around her bare midriff. Andy shuddered at the attention. Unlike the nervousness she felt when Nigel had scrutinized her, Miranda’s inspection seemed to send a warm flood to settle deep in her stomach.
Eventually Miranda’s eyes trailed up to Andy’s face, and she finally seemed to realize that Andy was staring at her. She looked down at her own costume, and then back up at Andy, her eyebrow arched.
“Well, what did you expect,” Miranda smirked, “Jabba the Hutt?”
Which conjured up an image of Princess Andrea acting as Miranda’s slave all day.
“I - I, uh…” Andy stuttered incoherently and was saved when Emily entered the room, breaking the spell. Miranda snapped back into work mode and began rambling off directions. When they were dismissed, Andy nodded mutely and moved back to her desk in a daze. Emily gave her a weird look.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Um,” Andy had apparently still not regained her sense of speech.
Emily rolled her eyes and got back to work, sighing at the incompetencies of the world.
~~~
The End (sort of…)
Now it’s your turn! What was Miranda wearing? Better yet, how about some of the other characters? See if you can come up with some outrageous outfits for all the people that litter the halls of Runway, like chubby Paul or stick thin Lucia or Euro-style Jocelyn. And what would Roy be wearing? Or, beyond Runway, what about Lily or Doug or Nate?
Include your ideas and descriptions in the comments! Have fun, and Happy Halloween!