fic: "half the battle"
Title: Half the Battle
Rating: G
Word Count: ~500
Summary: "Nobody questions a girl in a strong red lipstick. It shows you'll draw blood." The origins of Jilly Kitzinger's trademark.
Notes: I found Jilly to be the most interesting character in this series. Somehow, she manages to remain sympathetic to me, even now, in the wake of the finale (I am being purposefully vague in case anyone hasn't seen it yet.)
There are no specific spoilers for season 4 here, so if you're a couple episodes behind, you're probably fine. This is a character study more than a reaction fic.
You can also read it here at my Tumblr.
Makeup is an inextricable part of Jilly’s routine. She never goes to sleep with it on, and the last day she spent without makeup was eight months ago, when she’d had the flu, and spent the morning heaving into the toilet and the afternoon in fitful sleep.
First, the eyeshadow, so stray powder can be wiped away without damaging anything else. Then liquid liner, followed by a curl for each set of eyelashes and three coats of mascara. Foundation, sponged on thickly, which rids her of the patchy redness and dark under-eye circles which invade her complexion (the price of her oft-admired hair). Then her eyebrows, nearly invisible without pencil.
At last, the lips. She knows exactly the shape of her own lips - could probably apply lipstick without a mirror, even - but she still spends more time lining them than she does on perhaps the rest of her face combined. Two coats of lipstick (Wife of Bath, the shade is called, and it still makes her smile) because her morning coffee will wear away some of the first layer.
Wearing lipstick every day from dawn to dusk has its cost: her lips always feel dry by the end of the day. She scrubs them with her toothbrush each night to rid them of dead skin. Sometimes she draws blood, but it blends in perfectly with Wife of Bath the next day.
Jilly’s first brush with the power of a good lipstick came when she was ten years old.
“It’s the lipstick, honey,” Lucy told her in a conspiratorial whisper. Ten-year-old Jilly only knew that Lucy was the extraordinary person who’d managed to save Jilly from the fear of her mother’s full custody. Lucy was the woman who knew words so well that she could sway the judge away from the standard sexism of custody battles and make him realize that Jilly’s father was the one who’d shown up to piano recitals; that Jilly’s father was not the one who’d forgotten to pick her up from school four times last year.
As far as Jilly was concerned, Lucy was magic. Jilly wanted that power, that ability to change people's minds and make them think they'd come to a conclusion all on their own. Jilly had asked her how she did it.
“Half the battle is looking like you’re in charge,” Lucy went on, bent double in her pencil skirt and glossy high heels to look Jilly in the eye. “Nobody questions a girl in a strong red lipstick. It shows you’ll draw blood.”
She’d made an exaggerated face, then, suddenly pulling her crimson lips back to bare her teeth, accompanied by a growl. It was probably meant to make Jilly laugh.
Instead, it made something surge within her - a feeling of hunger and anticipation that she could not possibly understand then. But she felt, looking at Lucy’s scarlet snarl - that will be me.
Rating: G
Word Count: ~500
Summary: "Nobody questions a girl in a strong red lipstick. It shows you'll draw blood." The origins of Jilly Kitzinger's trademark.
Notes: I found Jilly to be the most interesting character in this series. Somehow, she manages to remain sympathetic to me, even now, in the wake of the finale (I am being purposefully vague in case anyone hasn't seen it yet.)
There are no specific spoilers for season 4 here, so if you're a couple episodes behind, you're probably fine. This is a character study more than a reaction fic.
You can also read it here at my Tumblr.
Makeup is an inextricable part of Jilly’s routine. She never goes to sleep with it on, and the last day she spent without makeup was eight months ago, when she’d had the flu, and spent the morning heaving into the toilet and the afternoon in fitful sleep.
First, the eyeshadow, so stray powder can be wiped away without damaging anything else. Then liquid liner, followed by a curl for each set of eyelashes and three coats of mascara. Foundation, sponged on thickly, which rids her of the patchy redness and dark under-eye circles which invade her complexion (the price of her oft-admired hair). Then her eyebrows, nearly invisible without pencil.
At last, the lips. She knows exactly the shape of her own lips - could probably apply lipstick without a mirror, even - but she still spends more time lining them than she does on perhaps the rest of her face combined. Two coats of lipstick (Wife of Bath, the shade is called, and it still makes her smile) because her morning coffee will wear away some of the first layer.
Wearing lipstick every day from dawn to dusk has its cost: her lips always feel dry by the end of the day. She scrubs them with her toothbrush each night to rid them of dead skin. Sometimes she draws blood, but it blends in perfectly with Wife of Bath the next day.
Jilly’s first brush with the power of a good lipstick came when she was ten years old.
“It’s the lipstick, honey,” Lucy told her in a conspiratorial whisper. Ten-year-old Jilly only knew that Lucy was the extraordinary person who’d managed to save Jilly from the fear of her mother’s full custody. Lucy was the woman who knew words so well that she could sway the judge away from the standard sexism of custody battles and make him realize that Jilly’s father was the one who’d shown up to piano recitals; that Jilly’s father was not the one who’d forgotten to pick her up from school four times last year.
As far as Jilly was concerned, Lucy was magic. Jilly wanted that power, that ability to change people's minds and make them think they'd come to a conclusion all on their own. Jilly had asked her how she did it.
“Half the battle is looking like you’re in charge,” Lucy went on, bent double in her pencil skirt and glossy high heels to look Jilly in the eye. “Nobody questions a girl in a strong red lipstick. It shows you’ll draw blood.”
She’d made an exaggerated face, then, suddenly pulling her crimson lips back to bare her teeth, accompanied by a growl. It was probably meant to make Jilly laugh.
Instead, it made something surge within her - a feeling of hunger and anticipation that she could not possibly understand then. But she felt, looking at Lucy’s scarlet snarl - that will be me.