Listen and Save! [AoT X Sabrina Fair]

La Vie en Rose

Paris was not like the movies.

The skyline was the same— those cream buildings, intricately carved, built for decoration, unlike in the US, where buildings were there for purpose. Accordion music didn't play wherever you went— unless you were identified as a tourist. Mopeds sputtered the same fumes as cars at home. The people were unfriendly. They refused to speak English, though it was obvious they knew how. But they still laughed at you whenever you tried to speak their tongue instead. Everyone smoked— a lot.

The chauffeur's daughter, though newly 'the apprentice photographer', was working at Vogue. Vogue. Courtesy of Missus Yeager, of course. Every day a hundred beautiful girls would show up with their hair pin-curled and their lips stained rouge, and she would scuttle in behind them, anxious and afraid.

The apprentice sat there in the waiting room, eyes trained downwards, until her glamorous employers deigned to address her.

"Welcome to Vogue, Miss Fairchild. You speak no French, yes?"

"No."

"No?"

"I mean, yes, I don't." The beautiful woman's face fell. "Sorry," the new apprentice sputtered. "Please, could you repeat the question?"

There was no time for repetitions. She was led into the backroom by French in quick succession. "We have many shoes, you see. Very, very important," said another beautiful woman. "But the most important is Louboutin, Manolo, and Umberlin. You know, I speak very good the English."

The actual photoshoots were even more chaotic.

"Maquillage! Macquillage!" called another (gorgeous) manager, adjusting the scarf of one of the hundred beautiful girls as she lounged on a statue. "When we need it tell- need it tell, okay? And all the days, most important: Louboutin, Manolos, Umberlin."

"Louboutin..." the apprentice struggled to keep up.

This great ensemble of beautiful people seemed to give up on her all at once, and French flew across the public square in quick succession. Everywhere someone was looking like they'd strolled right off the runway— makeup artists, hairdressers, lighting experts, photographers. Everyone knew what they were doing... except for her.

The first beautiful manager gestured to an even more beautiful model. "Une ceinture, une ceinture." The apprentice just looked at her blankly. "Belt! Belt! Ceinture."

She sprinted wildly across the square to procure one of a thousand expensive belts from the rack. The closest was a gaudy monster of a thing, sequins and gold plating everywhere.

"Ingrid! Hurry up!" shouted someone.

"I'm putting in my contacts!" replied a model.

"No, no," cried the manager, 'Martine', she now knew, outraged by her choice of belt. "Another one! Another one! No!" She kept flipping through belts as the beautiful people began exchanging mocking grins. "No, no. No. Another one. The nice one. Nice ."

Across the way, some wire was caught on a fan. The man on the other end was shouting instructions in French at her, tugging irritably and speaking faster. "Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!"

"La machine!" Martine exclaimed. "La machine!"

Everyone was speaking even faster now, as that beautiful model, blonde hair blowing in the breeze, was putting in her contact. The apprentice seemed to get the picture now and moved to turn on the fan. "Allez! Oui! Allez!"

The fan came to life with a whirr that blew the frail little contact right out of the model's delicate fingers. It became apparent turning on the fan was not what they wanted her to do.