Post by mystifyingoracle on Mar 10, 2021 20:42:11 GMT -5
“So! What is it that you’ve brought me?”
Northgate was an area of Seattle Silvio was familiar with - he’d lived nearby with his father before he’d left. The house to which Leslie had brought the teenager looked like it had been built in the 70s; a split level whose double doors had opened in dramatic fashion to reveal a statuesque woman of a carriage he could only describe as queenly. Standing at least six feet tall, she wore a loose silk blouse patterned with multi-colored jewels and chains, black slacks and sleek, shiny black stiletto heels. Her acrylic nails glinted in the porchlight of the early evening, blonde hair piled in a corona of braids around her head, hazel eyes doing a none-too-subtle up-and-down look at the teenager before her. Behind her, the house was alive with activity, bustling back and forth with a number of people around Silvio’s age.
He felt about an inch tall and fought the sudden, ridiculous impulse to take a step back from the sheer presence the woman exuded to the safe familiarity of his tattoo mentor.
Leslie, however, was undeterred.
“This is my apprentice that got kicked out. Silvio, this is Artemis Direction.”
“H-Hi,” he said, his voice hitching unexpectedly.
“Would you just look at this puppy!” Artemis cooed. She reached out a hand and patted the boy on the cheek, her smile lighting up her face. “You mentioned he could do make-up?”
“Some,” Silvio answered, cheeks flushed. “I did stuff for my mom.”
“It’s a start,” she said, arching one perfectly manicured brow. “If you’re as talented an artist as Leslie tells me, I imagine you’ll catch on quickly. My little Metis honeybee will be able to get you up to speed.” She gestured to the garbage bag and backpack full of Silvio’s worldly possessions. “Speaking of, take your things downstairs. You’ll be sharing a bedroom with Zacharie; last door on the right.”
Blinking owlishly, Silvio glanced at Leslie as he picked up his things. “Just...like that?”
“Just like that, kid,” Leslie said with a nod of her tousled grey head starting to take a step back. “Artemis will take good care of you.”
His eyes widened as the reality of the situation began setting in. He glanced between the pair, mouth opening and closing again as he tried to find the words.
“As magnificent as those lips of yours are, darling, I don’t think the carp look quite suits you,” Artemis said, with a little grin, placing a fingertip under Silvio’s chin and gently pressing upward to close his mouth with a tiny click of his teeth. “And there’s work to be done. We’re going to the ballroom in two hours and I simply can’t have any idle hands on deck if we’re going to add to my trophy collection.”
“What...what do you want me to do?” he stammered.
“For now,” Artemis said, “go talk with Zacharie. They’ll fill you in on anything that needs looking after.” As she folded an arm around Silvio, beginning to guide him into the house, the tattoo artist glanced back at Leslie, who gave him a little wave.
“Good luck, Sil,” she said, stepping back with a craggy smile, starting to turn toward her pick-up.
He couldn’t manage a word before he was swept into the warm glow of the house, doors closing behind them. The speckled linoleum landing had several shoe racks, whose cubbies were almost all stuffed full, above him was a mid-century modern chandelier, lightbulbs emanating from a central sphere like a starburst, and the carpeting on the stairs was a rich goldenrod. Sliding out of his slip-ons, Silvio nudged them with one foot into a corner and allowed himself to be escorted downstairs.
“I truly am sorry to hear about what happened with your father and whatever troglodyte expelled you from your home,” Artemis told him, walking alongside him with a hand on one of his shoulders to steer him as if he’d get lost otherwise. “It’s an all-too common refrain in this house, though the notes may be a bit different in your tune, fledgling. Not to worry. You have a place here as long as you follow the rules. No drugs or alcohol in the house, be in by curfew, help keep the place clean, pitch in for rent, use protection when you’re with your partners, and help out with the shows.”
They passed by a living room with a sunken conversation pit surrounded by plants with bright, waxy-looking green leaves as though they were growing around an oasis, and floor lamps with round, golden metal shades that dipped toward the floor like heavy heads of flowers bending their stems. Pillows were strewn about it, and macrame tapestries hung on the walls. A fireplace was set into the wall, made of roughly hewn red stone, a golden fire screen in the shape of a peacock set before it along with a neat stack of wood and a rack of gold-handled fire implements. He was led down a hallway with wood paneling hung with gold-flecked mirrors to a room from which shone a soft, pink glow.
“Zacharie, sweetness and light, I have your new roommate.”
A glance into the room transported them in time, the clock rolling back--at least in part--from the 70s to the 50s and early 60s. One of the beds in the room was piled with plush floral blankets and pillows, and next to it there was a classic vanity painted pastel pink with a ring light fixed to the top of the round mirror. Seated at the vanity was one Zacharie DuBois, resident makeup artist, stylist, and gender enigma. They were currently dressed in a pale yellow shirtwaist dress, the circle-skirt spilling over their chair and ending in embroidered white daisies; their manicured hands were occupied with organizing a case of makeup palettes, and a few brushes were laid out on a checkered cloth to dry after being cleaned. Their dark, ear-length curly hair was brushed back from their face, their grey-blue eyes striking against their warm, honeyed complexion.
Artemis’s voice drew their attention, and they looked up, expression lighting up at the sight of Silvio standing in the doorway.
“Hi, honey! Oh my god, Artemis, you didn’t tell me he was going to be so cute.”
Silvio made an unsuccessful attempt to squeak out a greeting before Artemis patted his cheek.
“Angel face, since when is anyone under my roof ugly?” she said with a teasing grin. “Our sweet little stray needs to know what to do with his idle hands. Be a dear and put him to work. He does make-up - probably not our style, though - and he’s an artist, so I imagine he has a good eye for color. I’m going to go make sure everyone’s got their other business together.”
Drawing back into the hallway, she gave a little wave.
“Welcome home, Silvio!”
For a moment, Silvio just blinked after her before finding his voice again, feeling a bit shell-shocked. “...She’s...uh…”
“A lot?” Zacharie giggled, waving him into the room. “I know, but you’ll get used to it. Artemis is actually pretty tame compared to some of the other dolls you’ll meet here, and especially compared to drag mothers from other houses. That’s your bed over there--get your things unloaded and then I’ll do a little dazzle on-ramping for you.”
Finding his wits again, Silvio nodded. He started to open the garbage bag that held his clothes, feeling his cheeks burn with shame as he spared a glance around at his glamorous surroundings and started pulling out the entirety of his wardrobe.
“It’s...I don’t have a lot of stuff,” he confessed, not meeting Zacharie’s gaze.
“Most people don’t when they first come here,” Zacharie answered, their tone sympathetic as they checked on the drying brushes. They spared a glance back toward Silvio and his meagre selection of belongings with a wry smile. “After the show, I’ll take you thrifting, sweetie. We’ll have that trunk at the foot of your bed filled out in no time.”
He nodded, still feeling embarrassed, though the make-up brushes and palettes caught his eye. It was a little overwhelming, but he couldn’t help but feel his fingers itch with curiosity. He’d never been able to afford anything with so many options for his mother, and the variety and volume laid out upon the vanity sparked his curiosity as an artist. He thought of the tattoo shop and laying out all the little plastic caps filled with pigments.
“So...I’m learning about make-up?”
“From the best!” Zacharie turned in their chair, leaning over the backrest with both arms folded under their chin. They grinned, a smile accented by baby-sweet pink gloss. “I’m studying to go pro. Once I have enough experience under my garter belt, I’m going to LA. Chasing that Hollywood dream. But don’t worry--I’ll make sure you know your shadows from your highlights long before then.”
Their eyes flickered from Silvio’s hands back to his face. “You’re an artist, hmm? I could tell from those lovely fingers of yours. That’s a perfect foundation for what you’ll need to get a handle on right now.”
Still feeling a bit dazzled, but finding something grounded in the possibility of making some art, Silvio nodded, taking a breath. He felt out of place; a dark smudge on a pristine white shirt. But Leslie had never steered him wrong before. He didn’t think she was going to start making a habit of it now.
“Alright,” he said, giving Zacharie a small smile. “Show me the ropes.”
Northgate was an area of Seattle Silvio was familiar with - he’d lived nearby with his father before he’d left. The house to which Leslie had brought the teenager looked like it had been built in the 70s; a split level whose double doors had opened in dramatic fashion to reveal a statuesque woman of a carriage he could only describe as queenly. Standing at least six feet tall, she wore a loose silk blouse patterned with multi-colored jewels and chains, black slacks and sleek, shiny black stiletto heels. Her acrylic nails glinted in the porchlight of the early evening, blonde hair piled in a corona of braids around her head, hazel eyes doing a none-too-subtle up-and-down look at the teenager before her. Behind her, the house was alive with activity, bustling back and forth with a number of people around Silvio’s age.
He felt about an inch tall and fought the sudden, ridiculous impulse to take a step back from the sheer presence the woman exuded to the safe familiarity of his tattoo mentor.
Leslie, however, was undeterred.
“This is my apprentice that got kicked out. Silvio, this is Artemis Direction.”
“H-Hi,” he said, his voice hitching unexpectedly.
“Would you just look at this puppy!” Artemis cooed. She reached out a hand and patted the boy on the cheek, her smile lighting up her face. “You mentioned he could do make-up?”
“Some,” Silvio answered, cheeks flushed. “I did stuff for my mom.”
“It’s a start,” she said, arching one perfectly manicured brow. “If you’re as talented an artist as Leslie tells me, I imagine you’ll catch on quickly. My little Metis honeybee will be able to get you up to speed.” She gestured to the garbage bag and backpack full of Silvio’s worldly possessions. “Speaking of, take your things downstairs. You’ll be sharing a bedroom with Zacharie; last door on the right.”
Blinking owlishly, Silvio glanced at Leslie as he picked up his things. “Just...like that?”
“Just like that, kid,” Leslie said with a nod of her tousled grey head starting to take a step back. “Artemis will take good care of you.”
His eyes widened as the reality of the situation began setting in. He glanced between the pair, mouth opening and closing again as he tried to find the words.
“As magnificent as those lips of yours are, darling, I don’t think the carp look quite suits you,” Artemis said, with a little grin, placing a fingertip under Silvio’s chin and gently pressing upward to close his mouth with a tiny click of his teeth. “And there’s work to be done. We’re going to the ballroom in two hours and I simply can’t have any idle hands on deck if we’re going to add to my trophy collection.”
“What...what do you want me to do?” he stammered.
“For now,” Artemis said, “go talk with Zacharie. They’ll fill you in on anything that needs looking after.” As she folded an arm around Silvio, beginning to guide him into the house, the tattoo artist glanced back at Leslie, who gave him a little wave.
“Good luck, Sil,” she said, stepping back with a craggy smile, starting to turn toward her pick-up.
He couldn’t manage a word before he was swept into the warm glow of the house, doors closing behind them. The speckled linoleum landing had several shoe racks, whose cubbies were almost all stuffed full, above him was a mid-century modern chandelier, lightbulbs emanating from a central sphere like a starburst, and the carpeting on the stairs was a rich goldenrod. Sliding out of his slip-ons, Silvio nudged them with one foot into a corner and allowed himself to be escorted downstairs.
“I truly am sorry to hear about what happened with your father and whatever troglodyte expelled you from your home,” Artemis told him, walking alongside him with a hand on one of his shoulders to steer him as if he’d get lost otherwise. “It’s an all-too common refrain in this house, though the notes may be a bit different in your tune, fledgling. Not to worry. You have a place here as long as you follow the rules. No drugs or alcohol in the house, be in by curfew, help keep the place clean, pitch in for rent, use protection when you’re with your partners, and help out with the shows.”
They passed by a living room with a sunken conversation pit surrounded by plants with bright, waxy-looking green leaves as though they were growing around an oasis, and floor lamps with round, golden metal shades that dipped toward the floor like heavy heads of flowers bending their stems. Pillows were strewn about it, and macrame tapestries hung on the walls. A fireplace was set into the wall, made of roughly hewn red stone, a golden fire screen in the shape of a peacock set before it along with a neat stack of wood and a rack of gold-handled fire implements. He was led down a hallway with wood paneling hung with gold-flecked mirrors to a room from which shone a soft, pink glow.
“Zacharie, sweetness and light, I have your new roommate.”
A glance into the room transported them in time, the clock rolling back--at least in part--from the 70s to the 50s and early 60s. One of the beds in the room was piled with plush floral blankets and pillows, and next to it there was a classic vanity painted pastel pink with a ring light fixed to the top of the round mirror. Seated at the vanity was one Zacharie DuBois, resident makeup artist, stylist, and gender enigma. They were currently dressed in a pale yellow shirtwaist dress, the circle-skirt spilling over their chair and ending in embroidered white daisies; their manicured hands were occupied with organizing a case of makeup palettes, and a few brushes were laid out on a checkered cloth to dry after being cleaned. Their dark, ear-length curly hair was brushed back from their face, their grey-blue eyes striking against their warm, honeyed complexion.
Artemis’s voice drew their attention, and they looked up, expression lighting up at the sight of Silvio standing in the doorway.
“Hi, honey! Oh my god, Artemis, you didn’t tell me he was going to be so cute.”
Silvio made an unsuccessful attempt to squeak out a greeting before Artemis patted his cheek.
“Angel face, since when is anyone under my roof ugly?” she said with a teasing grin. “Our sweet little stray needs to know what to do with his idle hands. Be a dear and put him to work. He does make-up - probably not our style, though - and he’s an artist, so I imagine he has a good eye for color. I’m going to go make sure everyone’s got their other business together.”
Drawing back into the hallway, she gave a little wave.
“Welcome home, Silvio!”
For a moment, Silvio just blinked after her before finding his voice again, feeling a bit shell-shocked. “...She’s...uh…”
“A lot?” Zacharie giggled, waving him into the room. “I know, but you’ll get used to it. Artemis is actually pretty tame compared to some of the other dolls you’ll meet here, and especially compared to drag mothers from other houses. That’s your bed over there--get your things unloaded and then I’ll do a little dazzle on-ramping for you.”
Finding his wits again, Silvio nodded. He started to open the garbage bag that held his clothes, feeling his cheeks burn with shame as he spared a glance around at his glamorous surroundings and started pulling out the entirety of his wardrobe.
“It’s...I don’t have a lot of stuff,” he confessed, not meeting Zacharie’s gaze.
“Most people don’t when they first come here,” Zacharie answered, their tone sympathetic as they checked on the drying brushes. They spared a glance back toward Silvio and his meagre selection of belongings with a wry smile. “After the show, I’ll take you thrifting, sweetie. We’ll have that trunk at the foot of your bed filled out in no time.”
He nodded, still feeling embarrassed, though the make-up brushes and palettes caught his eye. It was a little overwhelming, but he couldn’t help but feel his fingers itch with curiosity. He’d never been able to afford anything with so many options for his mother, and the variety and volume laid out upon the vanity sparked his curiosity as an artist. He thought of the tattoo shop and laying out all the little plastic caps filled with pigments.
“So...I’m learning about make-up?”
“From the best!” Zacharie turned in their chair, leaning over the backrest with both arms folded under their chin. They grinned, a smile accented by baby-sweet pink gloss. “I’m studying to go pro. Once I have enough experience under my garter belt, I’m going to LA. Chasing that Hollywood dream. But don’t worry--I’ll make sure you know your shadows from your highlights long before then.”
Their eyes flickered from Silvio’s hands back to his face. “You’re an artist, hmm? I could tell from those lovely fingers of yours. That’s a perfect foundation for what you’ll need to get a handle on right now.”
Still feeling a bit dazzled, but finding something grounded in the possibility of making some art, Silvio nodded, taking a breath. He felt out of place; a dark smudge on a pristine white shirt. But Leslie had never steered him wrong before. He didn’t think she was going to start making a habit of it now.
“Alright,” he said, giving Zacharie a small smile. “Show me the ropes.”