The Devil You Know - Part 5
The Devil You Know - Part 5
By: mercurial_muse
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada (film)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Archive: Please ask first.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Lauren Weisberger and 20th-century Fox, not me. Please don't sue me. Seriously... I'm too poor for it to be worth your while.
Summary: Miranda Priestly has become the most successful woman in the fashion industry, but at what cost?
Previous Parts:
Part 1 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/2535.html
Part 2 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/2585.html
Part 3 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3006.html
Part 4 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3110.html
Author’s Note: As I said in my notes for the previous part, things will not be all doom and gloom from here on out. Things will get better for Miranda and Andy, I promise. To those of you who are hoping for a happy ending, I ask that you please just hang in there. For those of you who like a little angst, enjoy it while it lasts. Thanks once again to everyone who is reading this story. Oh yeah... sorry for getting this part posted later than usual. I just got home from one hell of a day at work.
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Miranda saw each phone call as both a blessing and a curse, touched by Andrea's refusal to give up on her even as she wished the girl would do so and move on. She took the calls at first, secretly reveling in the sound of her lover's voice and using it to soothe her own aching heart while she broke Andrea's, while she used those short and tension-filled conversations to drive the poor girl further away. When she still persisted, Miranda stopped answering the phone and didn't allow herself to listen to the voicemails either. Of course, even that hadn't been enough to discourage Andrea, and the editor found herself having to dodge her unwanted visits both at work and at home. It was frustrating, exhausting, and Miranda just wanted it all to stop... that's what she told herself, anyway.
After a couple of weeks the attempted visits ceased, voicemails were left less and less frequently and, eventually, the day came when Andrea stopped calling. Miranda should have seen that as the day she finally got what she wanted, or at least got what she had convinced herself was best for both of them. There was no sense of victory, though, only defeat. For the first time since she had made that deal with the devil, Miranda's heart truly felt crushed by the weight of its consequences.
The editor tried to ignore what all of this was doing to her. She wasn't sleeping well, if at all. She often skipped meals, pretending that it was because she was busy, although it was really because she'd lost her appetite. She'd been unnecessarily cross with the twins and no longer got even the slightest bit of enjoyment from making Emily squirm and scramble. Hell, it was almost like she had forgotten how to live, and was now doing little more than just surviving.
Miranda couldn't honestly claim that she found solace in her job, but it did offer plenty of distractions. She let herself get swept up in her work, getting lost in each day's endless offerings of projects and problems to solve. She gratefully accepted invitations to just about every benefit and ball that came across her desk, ensuring that her nights were as busy as her days. Committing herself to her work was the right thing to do, the only thing. After all, considering everything she'd given up for her career, it made no sense to let it fall to pieces just because she had.
She would be attending yet another event that night, a Halloween Ball held by the Central Park Conservancy, if she remembered correctly. Honestly, it didn't matter if she remembered correctly at not. Roy would simply drive her to wherever it was she was supposed to go, and Emily would meet her there and provide her with whatever information she'd need to get through the night. The appropriate evening wear had been selected for her and now hung on the back of her bathroom door. All she had to do was get dressed and get going, and the rest of the evening would practically take care of itself.
Miranda crossed the bathroom to stand in front of the closed door, reached out to pull down the garment bag's zipper and part its folds to see what was inside. One by one, she drew the parts of the costume out of the bag and draped them over her arm. She ran a hand over the rich fabric of one of the pieces, finding the coolness of it beneath her fingertips to be an interesting contrast to its color, a multi-hued, shimmering red that looked as if it had somehow been crafted from tempered flame.
When she'd finally donned all of the costume's pieces, the editor took several steps back from the mirror and quirked an eyebrow when she took in the sight of the entire ensemble. The color of the skirt was jet black at her waistline but faded into crimson where it tapered off into wisps of fabric around her ankles. It split down the front at about mid-thigh to reveal black stockings that, except for just a few inches up top, were hidden by high, black leather stiletto boots that featured blood-red heels and soles. She wore a corset top in that same shade of red that featured a high collar and, flowing down from that, was a black floor-length cape.
She was certain that, if not for the whole idea behind a Halloween costume being bold and over-the-top, she would never wear such an outfit. What she was not so sure of, though, was what she was supposed to be exactly. She considered all the possibilities as she strode over to where the garment bag still hung on the back of the door. Reaching into the bottom of the bag, her hand brushed over a small square of fabric. She pulled it out for a better look and discovered that it was a drawstring bag made of the same black and fire-red fabric as her skirt. The bag contained something, an accessory most likely, and hopefully one that cleared up the mystery of what she was supposed to be tonight.
As she made her way back over to the counter, she dug into the bag and wrapped her fingers around what felt like a headband of some sort. She imagined that it might be a tiara or crown, and the corners of her mouth curled up into a sly smile. Maybe the costume was stylized and very adult take on Lewis Carroll's Red Queen. Now wouldn't that be perfect? In fact, she couldn't think of anything more fitting than... oh. Miranda winced as she unveiled the prop. Not a crown, but devil horns.
To Be Continued...
By: mercurial_muse
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada (film)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Archive: Please ask first.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Lauren Weisberger and 20th-century Fox, not me. Please don't sue me. Seriously... I'm too poor for it to be worth your while.
Summary: Miranda Priestly has become the most successful woman in the fashion industry, but at what cost?
Previous Parts:
Part 1 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/2535.html
Part 2 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/2585.html
Part 3 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3006.html
Part 4 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3110.html
Author’s Note: As I said in my notes for the previous part, things will not be all doom and gloom from here on out. Things will get better for Miranda and Andy, I promise. To those of you who are hoping for a happy ending, I ask that you please just hang in there. For those of you who like a little angst, enjoy it while it lasts. Thanks once again to everyone who is reading this story. Oh yeah... sorry for getting this part posted later than usual. I just got home from one hell of a day at work.
----------------------------------------------------------
Miranda saw each phone call as both a blessing and a curse, touched by Andrea's refusal to give up on her even as she wished the girl would do so and move on. She took the calls at first, secretly reveling in the sound of her lover's voice and using it to soothe her own aching heart while she broke Andrea's, while she used those short and tension-filled conversations to drive the poor girl further away. When she still persisted, Miranda stopped answering the phone and didn't allow herself to listen to the voicemails either. Of course, even that hadn't been enough to discourage Andrea, and the editor found herself having to dodge her unwanted visits both at work and at home. It was frustrating, exhausting, and Miranda just wanted it all to stop... that's what she told herself, anyway.
After a couple of weeks the attempted visits ceased, voicemails were left less and less frequently and, eventually, the day came when Andrea stopped calling. Miranda should have seen that as the day she finally got what she wanted, or at least got what she had convinced herself was best for both of them. There was no sense of victory, though, only defeat. For the first time since she had made that deal with the devil, Miranda's heart truly felt crushed by the weight of its consequences.
The editor tried to ignore what all of this was doing to her. She wasn't sleeping well, if at all. She often skipped meals, pretending that it was because she was busy, although it was really because she'd lost her appetite. She'd been unnecessarily cross with the twins and no longer got even the slightest bit of enjoyment from making Emily squirm and scramble. Hell, it was almost like she had forgotten how to live, and was now doing little more than just surviving.
Miranda couldn't honestly claim that she found solace in her job, but it did offer plenty of distractions. She let herself get swept up in her work, getting lost in each day's endless offerings of projects and problems to solve. She gratefully accepted invitations to just about every benefit and ball that came across her desk, ensuring that her nights were as busy as her days. Committing herself to her work was the right thing to do, the only thing. After all, considering everything she'd given up for her career, it made no sense to let it fall to pieces just because she had.
She would be attending yet another event that night, a Halloween Ball held by the Central Park Conservancy, if she remembered correctly. Honestly, it didn't matter if she remembered correctly at not. Roy would simply drive her to wherever it was she was supposed to go, and Emily would meet her there and provide her with whatever information she'd need to get through the night. The appropriate evening wear had been selected for her and now hung on the back of her bathroom door. All she had to do was get dressed and get going, and the rest of the evening would practically take care of itself.
Miranda crossed the bathroom to stand in front of the closed door, reached out to pull down the garment bag's zipper and part its folds to see what was inside. One by one, she drew the parts of the costume out of the bag and draped them over her arm. She ran a hand over the rich fabric of one of the pieces, finding the coolness of it beneath her fingertips to be an interesting contrast to its color, a multi-hued, shimmering red that looked as if it had somehow been crafted from tempered flame.
When she'd finally donned all of the costume's pieces, the editor took several steps back from the mirror and quirked an eyebrow when she took in the sight of the entire ensemble. The color of the skirt was jet black at her waistline but faded into crimson where it tapered off into wisps of fabric around her ankles. It split down the front at about mid-thigh to reveal black stockings that, except for just a few inches up top, were hidden by high, black leather stiletto boots that featured blood-red heels and soles. She wore a corset top in that same shade of red that featured a high collar and, flowing down from that, was a black floor-length cape.
She was certain that, if not for the whole idea behind a Halloween costume being bold and over-the-top, she would never wear such an outfit. What she was not so sure of, though, was what she was supposed to be exactly. She considered all the possibilities as she strode over to where the garment bag still hung on the back of the door. Reaching into the bottom of the bag, her hand brushed over a small square of fabric. She pulled it out for a better look and discovered that it was a drawstring bag made of the same black and fire-red fabric as her skirt. The bag contained something, an accessory most likely, and hopefully one that cleared up the mystery of what she was supposed to be tonight.
As she made her way back over to the counter, she dug into the bag and wrapped her fingers around what felt like a headband of some sort. She imagined that it might be a tiara or crown, and the corners of her mouth curled up into a sly smile. Maybe the costume was stylized and very adult take on Lewis Carroll's Red Queen. Now wouldn't that be perfect? In fact, she couldn't think of anything more fitting than... oh. Miranda winced as she unveiled the prop. Not a crown, but devil horns.
To Be Continued...