flashes ✦ julian draxler

un : the gala

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Stella was at her finest; in a dress costing ten times as much as the average person's and geared up for a night. She was clad in a floor length, almost form fitting red dress with cut outs on her waist to show her slim figure and a scarily high slit on one side of her leg to show off the endless body part.

Until she was maybe 17, Stella walked the red carpet outside alongside her mother, never the main one. From then on, she manned the carpet on her own and soaked up the attention. One look at her, you could tell she owned the carpet and as soon as she stepped onto it with her rocketing heels, you'd instantly see the attention shift on her. She was Paris's sweetheart, although not very much one.

"Stella! Stella!" they would scream at her, "This way, Stella!"

She strutted the carpet like what a catwalk was to a model. It was her stage almost, although she was known for being Stella 'the world is my runway' Greaves, so it made no difference.

Pursing her lips here and there, plastering a flirty smile every so often, Stella finished up the carpet quickly, itching to go inside and see a few friends of hers. She was not yet such an innovator that people were wanting to do interviews with her. As of now, she was just a spoilt heiress and model, who they wanted to put into their 'fashion fails' or 'best looks' article.

"You see, this is the reputation you should be upholding," her mother greeted her inside the fancy hall with a kiss on both cheeks, "Elegant and sparkling."

Stella rolled her eyes, "Are we still on about this? I thought this conversation was reserved for your early morning scoldings to further worsen my headache."

Her mother laughed lightly, as if she thought Stella was joking and waved the topic away, "Where will you be sitting tonight? At my table?"

"No," Stella said quickly, "I had Margie call in ahead. Serge asked me to sit with him because he needs me for some reason," Margie was her personal assistant, and frankly the person who kept Stella functioning as the petite brunette implemented every command, no matter how crazy.

"Oh yes, that's fine. Look, he's over there," her mother had pointed out the lad who was a some feet away, "The placards had been set and I was confused as to why your name wasn't at our table. Have fun, darling."

Stella waved her mother goodbye and strolled to a table where she saw the five foot nine boy dressed in a suit, laughing with his friends.

"Aurier," she spoke in a friendly tone. Serge Aurier was a footballer for Paris Saint Germain, a very important aspect of the city, and one of her best friends after having met at a club two years ago.

"Oh Stella!" he exclaimed, hugging her overzealously, "It's good to see you. You look hot."

"Only you, Serge," she sighed in amusement at her friend's forwardness, "Why did you want me to sit with you? Not that i'm objecting by any means. You just saved me a whole dinner of explaining why i'm not yet the head designer or some shit like that of the company."

"Oh I wanted to introduce you to my new teammate, Julian," the Ivorian pointed at a new boy, who was significantly taller than him and looked extremely out of place. She looked at him, and instantly recognised his face from some of the football matches she had watched. He was German, she knew.

She smiled at the tall German warmly, "Ich heiße Estella Greaves, aber du kannst mich Stella nennen!" ("I'm Estella Greaves, but you can call me Stella")

He was taken aback by her ability to speak such fluent German, "Du kannst Deutsch?" ("You can speak German?")

Stella responded in English, giving Serge a little comprehension of their conversation, "My grandmother's German and my mother is half. I grew up bilingual."