temporary heroes

chapter 4

To call the Eurovision semi-finals a disaster would be a fucking understatement. They had immediately scurried off to a corner of the green room that was mercifully camera free and Tori leaned against the wall, resisting the urge to slide down it and bury her face in her hands like a movie protagonist who'd just found out her fucking child was dead or something.

"Oh God," she breathed, her eyes still wide with shock, "Oh my fucking God. I cannot believe that just happened. That did not just fucking happen to me."

"It's okay! It's all gonna be fine," Emily placed a hand on her shoulder and Tori shrugged it off.

"My fucking tit fell out," she hissed, "Nothing about this is okay."

"I understand, Tori. It almost happened to me in Stockholm, remember?"

"But it didn't happen, Emily. Almost is not the same fucking thing."

"If it makes you feel any better, they're very perky," Emily reassured her, "You should be proud."

Tori looked at Emily in disbelief, "Millions of people just saw my tits. Potentially hundreds of millions of people just saw my tits on live television because this costume," she fiddled with the tie angrily, yanking the strings as tight as possible and double knotting them, "was designed for a fucking sedentary twelve year old boy. Suffice to say that their perkiness is not my main concern right now, Emily."

"On the bright side, it's only the semis," she offered, "That's gotta be like, less than a hundred million viewers."

Tori closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "Not helping."

"Oh, c'mon," Emily smirked, "You're the new Janet Jackson."

"Seriously, Em? Fuck you. How about you walk out there and take your top off and see how funny it is."

"I would," she drawled, glancing over to the screen that was currently airing the rest of the evening's performances, "but I couldn't interrupt Croatia's song. I hear they have a real shot at winning this year."

Tori let out a huff and Emily grabbed her by the hand, tugging her away from the wall with a pout.

"Seriously though, let's just grab a drink and sit down. I really wanna catch Moldova's song."

She followed Emily reluctantly, rolling her shoulders back and dodging the pitiful looks of everyone in the room. It was brutally awkward to face the competition after what had very publicly gone down, but they'd all seen Norway's performance too ('performance' was a generous way to describe it) and Tori rationed she'd rather be known for her left tit than her inability to hold a note.

There had been a few awful performances already — a small comfort to someone who'd just experienced her worst fears come to fruition. The difference between this and Melfest was staggering. By the semi-finals at Melfest, all of their rivals were at the very least good, but here it seemed like several countries had just sent in the first band they could find and called it a day. It was part of the appeal of watching a show like this, Tori assumed. Like a car crash bathed in the glow of glitter and pyrotechnics, it was hard to look away.

Tori spotted a familiar duo from across the room, their tight metallic costumes catching the light of the flashing cameras like two man-shaped disco balls. She smiled politely and before she could protest, she was being ushered over to the drinks table by Ben, Scott zeroing in on Emily like a vulture in her absence. Fuck that guy.

"You were great up there," Ben enthused, "Nobody even noticed. You've got nothing to worry about."

Tori gave him a terse look, taking a sip of her newly acquired champagne, "The fact that you're bringing it up unprovoked leads me to believe that might not be entirely true."