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xp_logsFelicia shares the deep magic of cosmetics -- specifically how they can conceal, but also reveal.
"Seems time consuming," Sharon remarked as she watched the other woman apply the last of her makeup from her spot a respectful distance from the bathroom door. "You do this every day?"
Felicia made a humming noise, almost assent, her mouth twisted just to the side. "Most of them. I'm high maintenance so that on quiet days I can be low maintenance," she said, pointing to various parts of her face as she continued. "Lash tint, lift, and extensions. Microblading to darken my eyebrows. Teeth whitening and regular facials. Gel manicures. If I have a shoot there are different levels of make-up than say if I'm just at the office, which gets a different level than field work. I decide which version I am that day."
The cat absorbed the explanation with an air of intense concentration, as if the older woman were imparting arcane knowledge. Although, as Sharon was beginning to surmise, perhaps an influencer and socialite's beauty routine was very much along those lines.
"So, for different situations you have a different face?"
"Exactly. Different face, different armor." Felicia smiled, looking back at Sharon via the mirror as she softened her lip colour - a berry gloss as opposed to her usual more harsh YSL red stain - with the pad of her finger. "Sometimes makeup is a fun, creative outlet, but more often, for me at least, it is a projection."
Sharon studied the older woman, puzzled. To her practiced eye Felicia exuded an unmistakable air of feline grace and confidence rarely found in humans without the requisite feline mutations -- and sometimes not even then, she had to allow, because Liam existed. Felicia seemed to move through human society how Sharon imagined a panther moved through the deep jungle. It was aspirational.
"Projection?" Sharon flicked an ear in confusion. "But surely need no help from cosmetics. Decoration only. If you wore garbage bag, bag would instantly become high fashion. You would make it so." While she said this with the conviction of a true disciple, her understanding of trends was also not wholly inaccurate.
"Undoubtedly," Felicia agreed easily, her mouth twisting. "But what about on days I don't want to be seen? It's not necessarily about help in the way you're thinking. I'm already perfect. It's accenting or diminishing particular aspects to be the most beneficial to my needs."
"Beneficial to your needs," repeated Sharon. She watched the older woman twist the sleek gold cap back onto the gloss, as if trying to decide something.
"When people find you are not as they thought you were," she ventured, "they are upset?"
Felicia, who had been idly feigning putting things away as she waited, paused. "Sometimes. With work, I try to not let them find out I'm anyone but what I've decided they see, and if they do I try to be long gone," she admitted, fingertip smoothing through the tops of her fluffiest brushes, before turning her head, the movement artfully compelling Sharon to look at her.
"But never anyone who mattered."
The cat looked up at Felicia. From this angle the light traced the woman's professionally platinum hair with gold, like a halo. During the course of the morning she had watched as those same brushes had smoothed away minor imperfections: a touch of color here, a subtraction of color there. Light brushed onto her cheekbones, shadows swept from beneath the eyes. Small flaws that made a face human had diminished until all that was left was a mask of perfection so complete an onlooker would never have guessed the effort to which the wearer had gone to achieve it.
Different face, different armor.
"Face you let them see is theirs," Sharon said slowly, "but who you are really is yours. Knowing is a privilege to be given. And if you share, and they do not accept, they did not deserve to know."
“Exactly,” Felicia said, drawing out all three syllables as she turned to lean on her marble vanity, hands bracing along the edge. She gave her a slow blink, pleased. “Could not have said it better myself, clever clever.”
Sharon thrummed with pleasure: first, at the very feline blink of affection -- whether Felicia had intended it as such or not -- and second, at the fulfillment of an avowed Gifted Child's eternal craving for praise. Unable to help herself, the cat padded over to Felicia and gently butted her head against the woman's knees.
"I am clever," she agreed, rubbing her cheek against Felicia's securely-tied robe, "but you are wise. Words shall be given careful consideration and integrated into future actions as appropriate."
Felicia was careful not to startle, but surprise still fluttered past her face before settling into warmth. "Oh. Thank you," she managed after a moment, a light hand hovering before smoothing Sharon's hair back affectionately. "And you're welcome."
"Seems time consuming," Sharon remarked as she watched the other woman apply the last of her makeup from her spot a respectful distance from the bathroom door. "You do this every day?"
Felicia made a humming noise, almost assent, her mouth twisted just to the side. "Most of them. I'm high maintenance so that on quiet days I can be low maintenance," she said, pointing to various parts of her face as she continued. "Lash tint, lift, and extensions. Microblading to darken my eyebrows. Teeth whitening and regular facials. Gel manicures. If I have a shoot there are different levels of make-up than say if I'm just at the office, which gets a different level than field work. I decide which version I am that day."
The cat absorbed the explanation with an air of intense concentration, as if the older woman were imparting arcane knowledge. Although, as Sharon was beginning to surmise, perhaps an influencer and socialite's beauty routine was very much along those lines.
"So, for different situations you have a different face?"
"Exactly. Different face, different armor." Felicia smiled, looking back at Sharon via the mirror as she softened her lip colour - a berry gloss as opposed to her usual more harsh YSL red stain - with the pad of her finger. "Sometimes makeup is a fun, creative outlet, but more often, for me at least, it is a projection."
Sharon studied the older woman, puzzled. To her practiced eye Felicia exuded an unmistakable air of feline grace and confidence rarely found in humans without the requisite feline mutations -- and sometimes not even then, she had to allow, because Liam existed. Felicia seemed to move through human society how Sharon imagined a panther moved through the deep jungle. It was aspirational.
"Projection?" Sharon flicked an ear in confusion. "But surely need no help from cosmetics. Decoration only. If you wore garbage bag, bag would instantly become high fashion. You would make it so." While she said this with the conviction of a true disciple, her understanding of trends was also not wholly inaccurate.
"Undoubtedly," Felicia agreed easily, her mouth twisting. "But what about on days I don't want to be seen? It's not necessarily about help in the way you're thinking. I'm already perfect. It's accenting or diminishing particular aspects to be the most beneficial to my needs."
"Beneficial to your needs," repeated Sharon. She watched the older woman twist the sleek gold cap back onto the gloss, as if trying to decide something.
"When people find you are not as they thought you were," she ventured, "they are upset?"
Felicia, who had been idly feigning putting things away as she waited, paused. "Sometimes. With work, I try to not let them find out I'm anyone but what I've decided they see, and if they do I try to be long gone," she admitted, fingertip smoothing through the tops of her fluffiest brushes, before turning her head, the movement artfully compelling Sharon to look at her.
"But never anyone who mattered."
The cat looked up at Felicia. From this angle the light traced the woman's professionally platinum hair with gold, like a halo. During the course of the morning she had watched as those same brushes had smoothed away minor imperfections: a touch of color here, a subtraction of color there. Light brushed onto her cheekbones, shadows swept from beneath the eyes. Small flaws that made a face human had diminished until all that was left was a mask of perfection so complete an onlooker would never have guessed the effort to which the wearer had gone to achieve it.
Different face, different armor.
"Face you let them see is theirs," Sharon said slowly, "but who you are really is yours. Knowing is a privilege to be given. And if you share, and they do not accept, they did not deserve to know."
“Exactly,” Felicia said, drawing out all three syllables as she turned to lean on her marble vanity, hands bracing along the edge. She gave her a slow blink, pleased. “Could not have said it better myself, clever clever.”
Sharon thrummed with pleasure: first, at the very feline blink of affection -- whether Felicia had intended it as such or not -- and second, at the fulfillment of an avowed Gifted Child's eternal craving for praise. Unable to help herself, the cat padded over to Felicia and gently butted her head against the woman's knees.
"I am clever," she agreed, rubbing her cheek against Felicia's securely-tied robe, "but you are wise. Words shall be given careful consideration and integrated into future actions as appropriate."
Felicia was careful not to startle, but surprise still fluttered past her face before settling into warmth. "Oh. Thank you," she managed after a moment, a light hand hovering before smoothing Sharon's hair back affectionately. "And you're welcome."
