Ivy's visage dipped a tad every now and then as she spoke. Hanna gently put her pinky finger underneath the gal's chin each time to readjust into the awful light in the bathroom. Ivory's musings were a lot more profound or perhaps self-aware than they used to be. She did tumble down into these criticisms of herself back at Ritman, as well, but not to this extent. Hanna's eyes occasionally sailed between focus on the craft and Ivy's eyes, whenever things dipped into ranting. "Being a bit harsh on yourself there, babe," Hanna thought, but she did not say anything. Letting out steam was the best thing that could happen right now. There was no way that Hanna could manage the whole team by herself if Ivy was going to carry thins kind of shit around on her shoulders -- Hanna needed Ivy just as much as Ivy needed Hanna.
βHey... don't be like that. You didn't fail anyone back then--β Hanna briefly stopped what she was doing, resting her arms by her sides. βDo you even know the kind of 'light in the darkness' that you were to some people? No, you don't, because those kinds of people never talk about it directly to the person, but they spoke to me and I know--β Hanna's voice became slightly strained, almost annoyed, but she brushed it off and continued with the cosmetics. βYou were such an inspiration to so many people, babe. You really have to take that in when I say it--β Hanna interrupted herself mid-sentence again: β--and don't even get me started on 'helping' people. Most people don't want any fucking help, seriously. That's, like, THE one thing I've learned from having to deal with these fashion types in NYC. They're so far up their own asses with ego and problems that they're not looking for solutions, they thrive on that shit. And if you think I talk a lot, these motherfuckers literally talk non-stop. Can you imagine that? Someone that talks more than me? That's how bad it is. And then there's the complete opposite, the zombies. They never talk and never listen, so you can't help them either. So, you have to be happy in your own boat and just keep sailing the way you want to, first. And then, after a while, these people will open up to you because you are a sense of comfort, and BOOM -- they're all of a sudden open to anything you have to say. Besides, everybody out there knew full well who could possibly show up tonight, but they came anyway.β They concluded their little back and forth, and then remained silent for just a brief moment as Hanna did her thing.
βThere she is -- Poison Ivy herself.β Hanna cracked a genuine smirk at the calories jab. It was fairly easy to tell the difference between Hanna's real and 'fake' smiles. Or, well, calling them 'fake' did not do it justice. They were just trained in the same way that all media types train certain facial expressions to make it look good for camera. If Hanna's upper lip was folded outwards with a full, straight row of upper teeth showing, then it was a 'fake' smile. A genuine expression was less symmetrical, upper lip folded inward, and with more pronounced smile dimples in the cheeks.
And then, there was a little something-something that happened in the beaut before her. It was subtle, no verbal indication, but the eyes spoke to such volumes that it could flood P. Johnson's ten times over. It was completely alien to Hanna and had never happened during their years at Ritman together. Hanna's facial expression sort of instantly relaxed to a default state, although raising both eyebrows to their absolute peak, stopping all movements. βOh, weak in the knees are we?β Hanna said with pure instinct, no filtering inside her head at all, but following it all up by relaxing her frame, continuing with the cosmetics, and throwing a sensual smile in there to tease Ivy. βI can smudge lipsticks all night long, you know that.β Hanna had been quite transparent with her own sexuality even back then, but it had also never been a huge thing for her or super central to her identity -- it was just a natural thing, and that was the end of it. "Holy shit, you are so fucking cringe. You shouldn't have said the 'make out' part in the first place, dumb ass bitch." Her mind scolded itself.
βYup, all done!β Hanna said with a chipper tone, proud of her glowing work on Ivy's face. βI'd like to thank the Academy for this amazing award--β Hanna fired up with a silly voice. βFor me--β, flamboyantly putting both hands on her chest, gazing at the non-existent horizon, sporting the fakest smile she could muster, β--Hanna Whittle, who, unlike miss Williams here, actually knows how to use basic paint and colors--β she continued by poking fun at cosmetics in general and sarcastically implying that Ivy had no clue how to properly use it. βThank you so much,β she concluded with a faint sniffling sound, holding a ghostly award in her hands, throwing kisses from her hands into the void of some imaginary crowd. Hanna must have come off as batshit insane to any stranger walking in, but it would hopefully relax Ivy a little bit before getting back into the fray. ββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ |
β #1.01 WAY DOWN WE GO γγ¦γγͺ ββββββββββββββββββββββββ |