inspiration is contagious ☠! [ dream & houdini ]

[Osheaga]

• • • • • • • • • 
                  
                  A tall, proud remnant of the Caribbean stood elegantly in waning line of departing - and nosy - party revelers. The woman stood out like a sore thumb. She was nearly five foot ten inches tall with sun-kissed flesh and milk chocolaty brown eyes. Her dress certainly helped her plight for originality. It was tailored specifically for her at the request of her soon to be fired, money-grubbing manager. The hemline stopped just above her knees; it was a strapless dress forged from a cottony material- that was an absolutely brilliant shade of a darker lime green. Her waist was accented by a thick black belt with a brilliant silver buckle. Tattoos? Estelle had accounted for many. The shaded and unfilled stars tracing the insides of her left and right wrists. For those who had known her, they had known her as this exotic, powerhouse singer who could hit glass-shattering high falsettos and earth-shakingly low baritones. However, one would never really think that if they met her. Though unfailingly polite, Estelle has also been labeled as a mute.
                  
                  Interviews never really worked out well, either.
                  
                  Her expression was so cool and nonchalant that it was nearly daunting to the VJs and interviewers. When she spoke, however, all of their worries damn near melted away. So what was she exactly? People described her as an angel... a misconception. Estelle was no angel. So what about a sweetheart? Yet another misconception. Estelle was... an ethereal being; something entirely different; a free spirit that was never tied down by petty business deals or tours based solely for the purpose of profit.
                  
                  "Miss Lights?" A man's voice, though deep, seemed unstable. He approached the tall woman adorning the strappy black stilettos, bowing his head to display his disappointment. "It's very dangerous for you right here," the man explained, "You see.. a fight broke out in the club. It was convenient that your driver dropped you off late" - though it wasn't her driver's fault, it was Estelle's for knocking back a few beers with her brother - "or else you'd be caught in the middle of it." Police sirens wailed off in the distance; she redirected her gaze towards the street soon filling with party-goers... and, to Estelle's dismay, the paparazzi. She was completely aware of the woman hidden in the brambly, prickly bush a few meters away trying to take pictures. What those poor souls did for money and a decent shot of a surprised celebrity. Estelle heard rumors that a shot of her smiling - which was rarer then a falling star - was worth nearly twenty-five thousand dollars.
                  
                  "Someone is coming to pick you up and escort you to your hotel."
                  
                  Hotel? That was surely not how Estelle wanted to spend her night. She wanted to visit a local tavern with a few tipsy men drinking away their sorrows and relaxing after a hard day of work and order a big, saucy plate of smoldering, spicy Cajun hot wings and sing karaoke.
                  
                  Estelle seemed unfazed by the resounding bass emitting from the building and smashing bottles. Probably a fancy bottle of Alize being shattered. A shame. "There will be food there, too." A Big Mac, Estelle hoped. "Is there any chance we could ask the driver to stop off at McDonald's for a few moments?" The man, clearly the owner of the club, was thrown aback by Estelle's soft voice. It was smooth like peanut-butter and ... established. It was the only adjective he could really use to describe it, like she knew herself well. "M-McDonald's?" he asked. Estelle nodded. "O-Of course, that can certainly be arranged."
                  [/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

 

[Houdini]

Brendan had been out of work for a full five days when the call came in about a new job. He’d been the longtime top bodyguard for a high-profile singer/actress, and done an amazing job at it. But now, the sweet thing was headed to rehab, her finances in shambles after two straight albums that had flopped, and she’d had to let him go. He wasn’t one of the highest paid bodyguards in Hollywood for nothing. Sure, he was big, fit, and assertive, all decidedly important qualities in a bodyguard, but that wasn’t all. He was smart, and in more ways than one. Most importantly, he was discreet. He never spoke a word of anything damaging about his clients. Not to his mother, not to his brothers, and not even to his ex, when they’d been together. Tabloids would have paid a fortune for the information he had on his last employer; the drugs, the wild nights, the men, and more. But he knew to keep his mouth shut. And, he was no high school dropout. He’d graduated from a decent university with honors two years ago. He’d done the bodyguard gig to get himself through college, but he enjoyed it so much, why stop just because he had a diploma?

So when the phone rang, he was in no rush to jump at any old opportunity. He knew the phone calls would come in force. But he vaguely knew the name of the man on the other end. He’d always been tenuously associated with nefarious characters. “Brendan, I’d like to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime. I’d like you to be number one on Estelle Lights,” the man said. Brendan just stayed quiet as the voice on the other end paused. “I have reason to believe the Ortega syndicate may be interested in harming her. You’ll just need to keep her safe. And I’ll pay you double what you made working for that crackhead.” Brendan paused for a moment before responding. If there was anything he couldn’t refuse, it was a good challenge. And the pay wasn’t bad, either. If the Ortegas were involved, it was dangerous; that much was certain, but danger didn’t phase him, in fact it was his drug.

So, several hours later, he found himself employed again, outside a trendy club in the late evening hours, snickering in amusement at the paparazzi outside. Once he’d convinced the bouncers he was not involved in the recent fight, and was there for Ms. Lights, he glanced around inside for the familiar figure of the tall, pretty artist. Spotting her, he moved several feet from her and the club owner, running one hand through his short, brown hair that constantly had a wet look to it. He folded his arms, giving his tanned muscles an appearance of even greater definition as they protruded from under the very short sleeves of the grey shirt he wore with his designer jeans. He sized up his new client, quite tall for a woman, yet still a good five inches shorter than he stood, and smiled, accenting his strong jawlines. “Ms. Lights,” he began after clearing his throat. “I’m Brendan. I’ve been hired as your new bodyguard. There’s a car waiting to take you to your room,” he explained, in a tone that was respectful to her as his superior, yet all business.

 

[Osheaga]

• • • • • • • • • 
                  
                  
                  "Miss Lights. Your ride has arrived."
                  
                  Estelle's eyes reflected her apparent disinterest. She watched the man with a dull yet convincingly illustrious gaze then watching as the very glamorous looking vehicle pulled to an abrupt halt in front of the club. Estelle would have believed that the back or the alleyway would have been a more appropriate veil for an unnoticed getaway, but the manager had jumped to conclusion believing that the starlet didn't want to have her pretty green dress wreaking of hostile sewer fumes, or ruin her expensive black heels in low puddles of typical New York sludge. Sirens wailed off in the distance still, growing closer and closer. It was best to flee the scene before the police arrived to avoid embarrassment and overeaggerated hype. Estelle could already tell this would be in the next morning's paper, along with discreetly snapped pictures taken of herself by well hidden - well, in some cases well hidden - paparazzi.
                  
                  The Brazilian woman examined the beige-colored six cylinder SUV. It was new; a 2011 model, clearly sent by her worrisome brother... and with the vehicle wasn't there supposed to be an escort? Estelle was pleased not to see some sort of sharply-dressed man slither out from the flawless cream back seats. "Once again, I'm terribly sorry for this inconvenience... I'll make sure that you are in some way reimbursed for this waste of an evening." Estelle chuckled.
                  
                  "This was merely a misconception; an unfortunate event. It's absolutely permissible. Sometimes... things like this happen. Please, don't apologize. I expect no compensation at all. We'll just reschedule the event... at a different venue." She flaunted a very dubious, toothy grin which startled the manager.
                  
                  What an odd... but somehow very entrancing woman.
                  
                  Suddenly, a voice filled her head. She swiveled, nearly bumping into yet another man. Some party. She raised one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows, clearly displaying her disinterest yet once again. The voice was sweet and low; she hadn't heard a young man's voice - well, one around her age - in quite some time, and it was a relief. With the coming of the man's introduction, Estelle instinctively clutched his slightly calloused hand in her own; she gave it a strong shake. "Estelle."'Suddenly, her eyes went stark with surprise. Bodyguard? Her clutch on the man's hand tightened visibly, though she was quick to retract her own. "I won't lie... it's probably some of the most positive news I've heard all evening." She placed a hand on her stomach and left no more time to waste. She clambered into the vehicle with general ease and elegance, noting how the tinted windows shielded other revelers from seeing her face. "I'll cut you loose after we get something to eat. And don't worry: you can keep the Happy Meal toy."
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[Houdini]

Brendan looked over the shapely entertainer from head to toe, making mental notes on her hair, her clothing, her tattoos, and whatever else his eyes picked up. He needed to know everything about her if he was to be her protector. Certainly, he’d been aware of Ms. Estelle Lights, but he was completely disinterested in the celeb worship scene, and wasn’t much of a fan of anyone he didn’t have business with. He frowned at how the club manager whorishly arranged for Estelle to exit front and center, greedy for whatever publicity it might bring his club. If Brendan had been there from the beginning, that never would have been allowed to occur.

He opened the back door of the SUV, and took one of Estelle’s hands, helping her inside. Once she’d accommodated herself, he closed the door, walked around to the other side, and slid in himself. “We’re going to the Alex hotel,” he said coolly to the driver, before turning his attention back to his charge. “I don’t think you understand,” he told Estelle. “You can have all the happy meals you’d like. But you can’t go back to your apartment tonight. There’s reason to believe it’s not safe. Just for now,” he explained as the vehicle slowly parted the sea of paparazzi seeking one last shot before diving out of the way of the vehicle. One very determined paparazzo even tried pulling at the handle of Brendan’s door, which he’d locked, of course. Once he’d failed, he shot one last off-balance, blinding flash with his camera as the SUV pulled away. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious, ma’am,” he lied to Estelle. “Probably just some carried away stalker. But it needs to be checked out first.”

As they drove through the McDonald's, Brendan stayed quiet and simply observed. He could see why someone grabbed a hold of Estelle at a young age and signed her up. She obviously had talents. But she exuded some kind of disarming charm, a sort of air that made it seem as if she were impossible to dislike, even if she did act the diva at times, as any star worth her salt did. “Here we are,” he announced as they arrived at the ritzy hotel. “I’ll make sure you get to your room safely, and then I can go out and get you anything you need for the night. I know it’s a terrible inconvenience to make you come here unprepared.”

 

[Osheaga]

• • • • • • • • • 
                  
                  Not safe? Estelle's apartment - or more so, condo - was one of the safest buildings in the entire city. No one even knew that occupied the building, either. After the trip to McDonalds - Estelle of course purchasing a hardy, fattening meal consisting of a big-mac, large fries and a massive brother Coke - they arrived at the hotel. The woman was skillfully lapping dollops of mayonnaise from her french-manicured fingers as the SUV pulled to an abrupt halt. To be honest, Estelle was unsure as to why anyone would want to cause ill will towards her. She was a very kind, and for the most part, selfless woman. She wasn't vain and had many very admirers. So... who would want to hurt her?
                  
                  She rolled up the paper bag with the remainder of her food then stuffed it in her silver handbag, carefully climbing out of the beige vehicle. Luckily, this part of the city were reserved for those who were both posh and extravagant - though Estelle really wasn't either of those. People who lived here seemed to be big time artists, DJs, businessmen and big-time computer programmers. Immediately Estelle felt very, very uncomfortable. This wasn't her type of scene. The buildings, the stores, the expensively dressed people. She obscured her vision by gazing towards the brilliantly illuminated building. It had a forest-green oning which was lined with soft, beige-colored lights. The inside was a mixture of creams, beiges and peaches which made the foyer very soft and elegant looking.
                  
                  I hate persistence.
                  
                  "May I ask who hired you, Brendan?" she asked, "My manager? My publicist? Or is there something I'm just not aware of."[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

 

[Houdini]

Estelle was displaying the disarming charm that he’d heard was her trademark. She’d sidestepped his questions and tackled the eight-hundred pound elephant, and all while doing her best to appear nonplussed by the whole hotel scene. He could tell, though, that it wasn’t in her comfort zone. Brendan considered himself an expert at reading people, and few could successfully fool him. Estelle was a Big Mac girl at heart, and this was the last place she wanted to be. So was there something she wasn’t aware of? Absolutely. Brendan didn’t know the whole story either. But his task was to walk the tightrope of winning Estelle’s trust, while always staying at least a step ahead of her in the information department.

But he wouldn’t prove trustworthy by lying. So he’d just have to withhold some information. “No, Ms. Lights. I wasn’t hired by your manager or publicist. I was hired by a relative who has your best interests at heart. The person felt it would be dangerous to tell me, or by extension, you, any more.” He looked the exotic beauty in the eyes, as if to convey the thought that the explanation he’d given was perfectly thorough, and it would be lunacy to inquire any further. Brendan was about to hold the door for Estelle, when a short, sharply dressed Latino man scurried to the door and held it for both of them. “Two rooms, under Elizabeth Winters,” Brendan told the woman at the front desk. Of course, the room hadn’t been reserved under her real name, lest undue attention was attracted. When he was handed the keys, he led Estelle upstairs, opening the door to an elegantly appointed room. A large four-poster bed was the centerpiece of the two-bedroom suite, and Georgian Hepplewhite furniture pieces adorned the rest of the room, over fine oriental rugs. The view was probably the most magnificent part of the Midtown hotel, however. From the eighth story window, the Empire State Building was visible to the left, the rest of the bright city skyline straight ahead with the Hudson beyond, and the dark spot that was Central Park off to the right.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the room next door,” he said, handing her a small phone. It was a burner phone, with walkie-talkie capability. “Just push the button, and I’ll be there. Unless you need anything now,” he said, rubbing his chin. He was still deciding whether he cared for Estelle’s personality, or whether this was going to be just a paycheck. As much as he had a natural predisposition against celebrities, he hadn’t seen anything in her so far which he disliked. She seemed to be quite a unique and original person. “I’ll check with your publicist also, so you won’t miss any of your appointments tomorrow.”

 

[Osheaga]

• • • • • • • • • 
                  
                  A relative that had my best interests at heart? Hmmm...
                  
                  As the pair entered the room, Estelle took perch on one of the extravagant looking sofas, eagerly peeling open her bag filled nearly to the brim with hot fast food. The scent of crispy, salty, greasy fries wafted up her nostrils. Since her publicist wasn't around she was in the green, unless that was, one of the employees at McDonald's decided to inform the tabloids that Estelle Lights enjoyed dining at local Micky D's. She reached in near the bottom of the bag, plucking up one, sole french fry within her well manicured fingers. She popped it into her mouth without any further thought, closing her eyes so tight that her abnormally long - thanks to mascara - eyelashes meshed together. This is so fucking good.
                  
                  She was already halfway through the packet of fries when Brendan passed her the phone. Isn't this a little extreme? she thought as she merrily munched away at her greasy yellow sticks. "Actually," she said, swallowing a few of the fries, "There is something you can do for me." She placed the bag in her lap and tossed her arms around the top of the sofa, watching the man with disinterested ginger-ale colored eyes. "You can strip for me right here and right now, honey... please, take it all off. I haven't had any decent entertainment since a friend's bachlorette party... and never mind the gorgeous male strippers which you clearly rival." The lewd woman raised a finely plucked eyebrow, reveling in the awkwardness of the moment. She waited for a response though didn't seem to get one. I thought so.
                  
                  Her hands eagerly fled back to the McDonald's bag. She pried it open and dove directly for the burger, taking a large, skillful bite from it. The explosion of flavors spilled into her mouth, causing a very satisfied sound to erupt forth from her diaphragm. "Alright, well, you go do what you need to do. I'm going to see if this television has any decent horror channels on it." [/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

 

[Houdini]

Brendan stared at Estelle, arms folded across his chest as she made her lewd request. He let the muscles in his forearms ripple a little bit as she brazenly compared him to a bachelorette party stripper He smirked at her, amused by her teasing request. He didn’t think she was serious, yet had no intention of giving in to her whims, anyway. He prided himself on being no one’s bitch. It was true Brendan knew how to have a good time. In his time off, Brendan was all for hitting a nice club, imbibing a little bit, and having some fun. And if Estelle was an average girl he met at one of those places, (although, famous or not, he didn’t think average would ever be a fitting description for anything about her) she would probably be the first girl he’d want to talk to. But he went into a different mode while he was working. He was all business. The look he gave her as he stood there, arms folded, was a little playful though, as if you say ‘Why don’t you start’.

“That sounds nice,” he finally said dryly, turning his back and heading for the door. “Do me a favor,” he said just before closing it. “Just call me if you need to go anywhere tonight. I’m not trying to be dramatic, it’s just the best way, for tonight at least.” He headed briefly to the room next door, before going down to the hotel bar, ordering a plate of chicken fingers and a bottle of water, and bringing it upstairs. No sooner had he set the plate down than the phone rang. It was none other than the man who’d hired Estelle. “How did the evening go?” the man asked. “You know, I didn’t tell you this the first time, but I’m Estelle’s uncle. She doesn’t know me, though, so I’d prefer if you didn’t tell her.” Brendan pondered this for a moment. An uncle she didn’t know. Hmmm. “So what do you need now?” Brendan asked, getting right to the point. “I just need to make you aware that the danger is significant. She may have a significant amount of money coming to her, and there are some who’d like to… get her out of the way,” the mysterious uncle explained. “So be on your toes. This isn’t a game; I didn’t hire you to get in her pants.” Brendan frowned at this suggestion. “I think you know enough of me to not have to mention that,” Brendan retorted. After a few more pleasantries, Brendan ended the call, polished off his meal, and turned in for the night, the cell phone on the nightstand.