Adelle Bastiel
Member
Right or wrong? I can hardly tell. I'm on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell.
Posts: 338
|
Post by Adelle Bastiel on May 9, 2013 9:08:35 GMT -8
Day of the Gala 06:00
Hot water rushed through her hair, rinsing the thick gel from her strands. Adelle closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation, allowing herself a rare moment to relax. The past week had been nothing but work: dance lessons (and bruised toes, although Jago improved a lot and she got quicker at dodging his missteps), voice lessons, fitting sessions, acting sessions with the Governor present, all the while searching for some anomaly, some telltale hint as to their assassin's identity.
The make-up artist gently toweled her hair then set to work on it with a hair dryer, brush, and scissors, spinning the chair and tilting Adelle's head as needed. Adelle scowled at the falling red locks. She hoped too much wouldn't be taken off. Her long hair, while not practical, was a familiar weight and comfort. It was bad enough she had to change hair color for this mission. Tubes of make-up sat on the counter in front of her, along with a box of contacts, waiting to be used. Jago was in a similar situation on the other side of the room, his artist fussing over Jago's thick and unruly hair. From what glimpses of him she could get, his shockingly white hair had been dyed a more modest brown.
The brisk woman styling her hair tossed aside the scissors and picked up a curling iron, spinning the chair away from the mirror. Adelle scowled up at her pale face, the woman's short blonde hair hardening what feminine features she had. A delicate eyebrow raised over one light blue eye full of apathy before the agent set to work again. Her deft fingers worked Adelle's hair into gentle curls, as Adelle herself grew more sullen. Red hair, layers, and now curls? She knew the Governor's niece was a beauty according to most people but fek! She never thought her hair would've been messed with so much. It felt like a violation.
Next came the make-up, a necessity since the niece had flawless skin and Adelle had three long scars down the left side of her face. Finally, Adelle was made to put in the green-irised contacts.
"There," the blonde artist said. "You are now Rhiannon Antilles, niece of the Governor."
Adelle stood and faced Jago to see his transformation.
|
|
Jago
Member
Posts: 154
Affiliation: The Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
Traffic Light: Yellow
|
Post by Jago on May 9, 2013 9:49:21 GMT -8
~ What a week. It was bad enough that he kept catching Adelle's glances whenever he managed to mess up a step, unsure if she was actually frustrated with him or was just taking pity on the Jedi Master for not knowing the intricacies of a Mirialan Salsa, but his tongue felt fat and stupid from being forced to imitate every single last sound that came out of Heren's and Adelle's mouth. The Corellian accent was so identifiable that the CorSec Major had laughed in the Yavinite's face when he first attempted his impression of what the people of Coronet sounded like to him. The solution had been a simple one, one often used to teach someone else another language, but still nothing pleasant: Every word Jago heard any Corellian say, he had to repeat it, exactly as they said it. Over. And Over. For seven straight days.
He had forgotten what his original voice sounded like. He didn't even remember what his vernacular accent was. Did he even have one to begin with ..? Not like it mattered, since every sentence of his was quickly shut down by Adelle using the phrase he had come to dread: " No, no, no! Like this!"
Jago supposed he had gotten the hang of it: by the time they had sat down for wardrobe and disguises, she had been correcting him less and less. That ... had to be a sign of improvement, neh? The thoughts of language were washed from his mind as quickly as his hair was, his dresser huffing and sighing as she fought with the mane atop Jago's head. She attempted to straighten it, and it poofed out. She combed it back, it sprung forward. She pushed it forward, it flayed upwards. Finally exhausted with her efforts, Jago grabbed the comb and product from her hands.
" You better just let me do it."
When he finally looked into the mirror (he always kept his eyes closed when having his hair cut and styled: a strange habit of his), Jago gasped in shock. Slowly, he reached up to touch the coffee-colored ... thing on his crown. It felt real ... and it looked real. Jago was still having a hard time taking it in, though. It was his hair, his original hair color, nearly a perfect match. It took him years back, made him wonder just how things might have turned out if he didn't become the so-called "White Knight" of Yavin IV. It was such a small and simple thing, but to him it was as if the hairdresser actually had the ability to rewind time itself.
He shook the feeling off, instead beginning to go through the arduous process of fixing his appearance. Spray of water here, comb in this direction. Fingers tug here, wet with gel, push to side. It took the better part of ten, entire minutes, but finally Jago was satisfied with his appearance. The proud and independent mane had been gently coaxed down into a respectable, yet fashionable bed of hair, shiny and soft from the rather large amount of styling product the Jedi Master had needed. All in all, though, he cleaned up rather well, eventually being handed a pair of emerald contacts for his eyes.
Oh now you're just messing with me ...
With great hesitation, Jago placed them over his irises, blinking wildly to clear his sight at first before taking the time to stare at his appearance. This ... This was him. Ten years ago, this was what he looked like. Before The Force took a hold of his entire body, before he became far too familiar with the pain of death, before he spent hours of his time wondering if one day The Force would take it all away and leave him a barren husk ... This was him. Jago Aurios Pulastra, as he was meant to be.
He rubbed his fingers over his cheeks, sighing as he took in his form.
Force, I feel old, he lamented to himself. A young thirty in actuality, Jago knew better than to consider himself anywhere near old, especially when compared to the likes of Dav, Ksandra, and Lita ... Though all three of them were around his same age, were the differences in species accounted for.
" There you are, Master Pulastra," his dresser smiled at the transformation (though a bit miffed that she couldn't actually manage his hair herself).
" Say hello to Adson Parnel, the date of Miss Antilles."
" Adson ... Parnel," Jago repeated, matching the accent to the name.
Satisfied, he turned around.
Adelle was ... Not Adelle, that was for sure. Gone was her long, flowing, dark hair, replaced by copper curls. Her striking eyes had been smoothed over with green like his. Her distinctive scars were gone, masked with foundation and blush. It was ... Different. He was used to seeing Adelle a certain way, so to view her like this seemed ... Very odd. However, there was one thing that was apparent, very much so.
" You look very beautiful, Miss Antilles," Jago said, smiling softly at his partner-in-law-enforcement.~
|
|
Adelle Bastiel
Member
Right or wrong? I can hardly tell. I'm on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell.
Posts: 338
|
Post by Adelle Bastiel on May 22, 2013 12:47:39 GMT -8
Adelle snorted and folded her arms across her chest, the slight blush on her cheeks belying her apparent distaste for the compliment. "Save the flattery for when people actually want to hear it." She had to admit, Jago cleaned up nicely. The brown hair and green eyes... They suited him much better than the white and blue she knew. But his face was now too close to his former identity, the criminal CorSec had been after and the murderer she'd tried to get a lead on. Older and more careworn than the old holos of him, Jago still had that cocky, son of a gun look in his eyes. Maybe it was a good thing he'd changed his eye and hair color.
The blastdoors on the far side of the room opened and her father stepped through. He was dressed in a plain uniform that looked so stiff, it could probably stand on its own. What few awards he had were neatly arranged over his left breast. His greying hair had been slicked back. He looked like the father Adelle knew; no nonsense, straight as a laser, authoritative."You two had better hurry and get dressed," he said. "You're to have breakfast with the Governor and travel with him to the affair. Be in the briefing room no later than 0700." Right, they had a job to do.**** 1930 hours CoronetAs much as she hated to admit it, Adelle rather liked dresses. Particularly this one. It wouldn't have worked with her original hair and eye colors but she could always dream. But gah! She hated formal shoes. They always made her feet hurt. Adelle shifted her weight as she smiled and played the part of Rhiannon Antilles.
Dignitaries, ambassadors, and other important people milled about in the venue, a grand hall set at the top of one of the shining skyscrapers in Coronet. Lights from all over the city twinkled like the stars outside the windows. Pillars formed a perimeter around the area and the sheer white fabric hanging on either side of each pillar sparkled. Lights on top and at the base of the pillars cast the party in soft blues, pinks, and greens. Outside the ring of pillars, there were plenty of places to lounge, and a balcony that overlooked the city had been set up for dining. Inside the ring, the space had been cleared for a dance floor. A small band had set up between two pillars, playing both lively and soft pieces for the dancers. Servants dressed up smartly wandered around, offering refreshments to the guests. It was, by far, the fanciest thing Adelle had ever been to in her life.
And she felt woefully under-prepared.
|
|