08-25-2014, 12:03 AM
The photographer had pulled back and was busying himself with putting his camera away. His assistants scurried about putting up the lenses and reflector kits and stands and arms. Spectra had been photographed from every angle and had appeared to almost float in the middle of the mall.
Marcus sense of irritation drifted away. If he'd been struck by the pure mathematically perfect beauty of the receptionist at the Imperial Clothiers, then Spectra Lin was in a class all her own. Of course, he watched her move and knew that she was not just beautiful. She was shrewdly calculated in her movements, always aware of what drew the eye. Even as his own eyes dutifully followed and picked up on the flashes of skin peeking through her large lush coat, it was clear that she was performing. He knew of her past. He'd seen her films and the constructed artifice of her personality struck home with him. He recognized it. After all he saw it in the mirror every day. She was a living performance.
He certainly didn't begrudge her that or think less of her. So was he. Life was performance, really. His very life was one big construction, the very clothes he'd purchased yet another tool in his presentation. No one knew the real Marcus and he doubted anyone ever would, not even Ascendancy himself. And he was fine with that. What people didn't know could not be assessed.
A large muscled man, skin as dark as his own, went to Spectra to help her down from the rail. He now could see that a transparent platform had been rigged to support her while giving the illusion of her floating above the empty space below.
Somehow, with all the movement, he found himself at the front, steps from the photographer and from Spectra herself. His coat was forgotten in his hand as he watched her curiously. The platinum cloth of his vest was cool against his skin, leaving his arms and chest exposed. A chill passed through him and he felt goosebumps raise his flesh.
Spectra's assistant was leaning over the rail precariously as he helped her. Without the support of the platform, it would have been an odd angle as the rail was only at waist height and he was leaning over it. Suddenly something shifted and the man's arms went around Spectra's waist. He was leaning over the rail and while he was no doubt strong, the sudden loss of support was unexpected. Spectra's arms gripped him tightly as he tried to regain his balance.
Marcus flew forward and grabbed the man and pulled him back with one arm while the other- jacket dropped to the ground- went around Spectra's back to support her. It was only a moment and everyone seemed ok. He wasn't sure why he had acted. Even more surprising, he'd not seized the Force instead. For some reason he felt a perverse pleasure at that. It felt, in a way, that mastery of the Force was as much deciding not to use it when he chose as much as it was making it do what he wanted. He was beholden to no one and nothing, not even the Force.
The scare had been momentary for them- for him it had been just seconds- and his heart had slowed to normal quickly. "Are you both alright?"
Marcus sense of irritation drifted away. If he'd been struck by the pure mathematically perfect beauty of the receptionist at the Imperial Clothiers, then Spectra Lin was in a class all her own. Of course, he watched her move and knew that she was not just beautiful. She was shrewdly calculated in her movements, always aware of what drew the eye. Even as his own eyes dutifully followed and picked up on the flashes of skin peeking through her large lush coat, it was clear that she was performing. He knew of her past. He'd seen her films and the constructed artifice of her personality struck home with him. He recognized it. After all he saw it in the mirror every day. She was a living performance.
He certainly didn't begrudge her that or think less of her. So was he. Life was performance, really. His very life was one big construction, the very clothes he'd purchased yet another tool in his presentation. No one knew the real Marcus and he doubted anyone ever would, not even Ascendancy himself. And he was fine with that. What people didn't know could not be assessed.
A large muscled man, skin as dark as his own, went to Spectra to help her down from the rail. He now could see that a transparent platform had been rigged to support her while giving the illusion of her floating above the empty space below.
Somehow, with all the movement, he found himself at the front, steps from the photographer and from Spectra herself. His coat was forgotten in his hand as he watched her curiously. The platinum cloth of his vest was cool against his skin, leaving his arms and chest exposed. A chill passed through him and he felt goosebumps raise his flesh.
Spectra's assistant was leaning over the rail precariously as he helped her. Without the support of the platform, it would have been an odd angle as the rail was only at waist height and he was leaning over it. Suddenly something shifted and the man's arms went around Spectra's waist. He was leaning over the rail and while he was no doubt strong, the sudden loss of support was unexpected. Spectra's arms gripped him tightly as he tried to regain his balance.
Marcus flew forward and grabbed the man and pulled him back with one arm while the other- jacket dropped to the ground- went around Spectra's back to support her. It was only a moment and everyone seemed ok. He wasn't sure why he had acted. Even more surprising, he'd not seized the Force instead. For some reason he felt a perverse pleasure at that. It felt, in a way, that mastery of the Force was as much deciding not to use it when he chose as much as it was making it do what he wanted. He was beholden to no one and nothing, not even the Force.
The scare had been momentary for them- for him it had been just seconds- and his heart had slowed to normal quickly. "Are you both alright?"