Stories I Never Finished

Sex Entertainment

"So how's it feel, Ash?"

She sneered, and Ashton wondered if she thought her fake British accent made her more appealing. "Being the prettiest of the lot?" 

"Not very good, if I'm honest." Ashton muttered, uncomfortable.

"I'll fuckn' bet, aye? Proncy lil' shit." She scoffed. "And when are they gonna take you out? Take you to the big fancy golden towers? Where you can live in filthy fuckin' riches you don't deserve."

"... tomorrow, I think?"

"Great! Guess I'll know to tell my brotha not to watch your fuckn' channel."

"Lola, I don't want to leave. This isn't my choice-"

"Oh shut it, you toss. Have fun in your fuckn glass house."

~*~*~*

Red heels cracked against white floor polished in a circle—the only white flooring in the whole of the towering skyscraper—while blue heels tapped impatiently against black. Beige lights glared upon the face staring within their vanity mirror, green eyes glossed by thick navy blue and black makeup soon to stream down the pale face of the man.

"Hurry up!" A loud male voice boomed, hands clapping together in rapid succession before adjusting a headset coiled around his shaved skull. "You lot got five minutes before the big man gets here!"

"Shut the fuck up." Green eyes focused upon the thick blue lipstick being applied to pale pink lips.

"You especially!" The bald man hissed with a particular axe to grind at the young male dressed in frills; similar to a ballet dancer caught in a neon rave.

Red heels stopped clacking, resting with a bare touch to white polish as the youthful male within them seated himself upon a rich black velvet chair. With no arm rests, it was merely a block of tilted black wide enough to fit four people easily upon its sanitised surface.

"If you hired a fucking makeup team I wouldn't have this problem!" Green eyes shot pure silver daggers at the set director who glared straight back.

"I ain't got time to argue with whores." The man tore his grey eyed gaze off the actor, flickering it across the waiting skeleton crew standing far beyond the outskirts of the white circle. "Someone fix his goddamn makeup before Executioner gets here!"

A young woman placed the stick of a boom mic down upon being the silently chosen candidate, and rushed toward the actor impatiently waiting by a mobile vanity stand.

White lights flared up, casting a scenic glow across the circle's chair and causing the actor's hazel eyes to wince.
Ashton loathed the white glow the most, it often blinded him at unsavoury times.

"For fuck's sake, honey." Green eyes stared up toward the white panel ceiling as the woman lined his eyes with a thick black. "You poke me with that thing again and I'll have to hit you."

"Sorry." She muttered, trying to be more careful with her pen strokes.

"Three minutes!" The man yelled.

"My god, Adrian." A blasé soft masculine voice droned from behind a large machine set upon circular rails around the white patch. "If I wanted a count down I'd wait til New Years."

Ashton couldn't help but stifle a smile at the calm yet sassy remark.
He enjoyed the camera person, they were witty and smart—small moments of reprieve he could go back and remember at night for a laugh to himself whenever he couldn't truly sleep.

Though they sat behind their machine, hands always busy adjusting things and typing into the embedded screen of the camera, Ashton loved their existence. Blue overalls like a fashion week in Prada, he hoped maybe one day he'd have enough courage to say hello. At least once.