For samarcand

[desperance]

I don't do this, as a rule.

Indeed, that's a rule: I Don't Do This.

But a week or two back, samarcand and I fell into a discussion that ended up with swapses; he would save some cabin-boys from drowning, if I made my drag-queen legitimately glam.

So, to prove my bona fides (and make sure those poor boys get to scramble to safety), behind the cut, heeeeeere's Sybil...!



What do I do, to describe her? I could run amok with words, a berserker in language, bleeding and battering myself all unheeded; I could run out of words entirely and build her out of absences, those things my words can't say; I could run away and leave her there, leave you with nothing, no grip on what she was.

She was, of course, the man we'd met in the bathroom. That was understood. I hope, that was understood...?

She'd been tall before; she was maybe seven foot tall in her platinum beehive wig with her heels underneath her. She walked as though she'd been built to be that high. She had that native sway to her, that cruel balance that just throws taunts at gravity. You could call it grace, perhaps, but I think that overlooks its edge, makes it seem more generous than it is. I speak as someone natively short, of course, and you can murmur all you like about envy - but I'm in Salomon's here, and truth rises.

She wore a brilliant tiara in that shimmering hair, and nothing beneath it disappointed. Her dress was like threaded water, a million translucent beads that played with light to show you nothing but themselves; however it had been made - not cut, not woven, I didn't know the word, or else I didn't know the craft - it had been made so artfully that it could slash down to her waist and seem to leave her with a cleavage. To her right it swept the floor, despite her glittering hi-rise stilettos; to her left it opened at her hip and fell away to show all the long smooth magnificence of that leg.

She wore a tattoo on the ankle. I only saw it for a moment as she stepped up onto the stage, but I was fairly sure; not a butterfly, no. That was a moth.

On stage, for a moment there, the lights found nothing but her face. It should have been a mask, the make-up disguising the man, but it never was. That was hers, and perhaps the truest face here, not a secret to be hid. Not like the rest of us.

Comments

[costumeimp.livejournal.com]

That was the most brilliant and interesting thing I've read today. Thanks again Chaz.

[fjm.livejournal.com]

Gorgeous.

[samarcand.livejournal.com]

Well, I've just finished working on my course for the evening and thought I'd check my email before I shut down. And, what do I find in my RSS feeds but this little extract.

And, thank you so much for that Chaz, it has completely made my evening! It is utterly, utterly wonderful and so much better than my rather lame saving of the cabin boys. I'm going to have re-write it, aren't I? (Well, I knew I was going to do so anyway, but this cements the fact.)

I know she's going to be an evilly (well, you did say sinister, anyway. I interpreted it as she's not going to be on the side of the angels), but she's going to pull it off with such class...

[desperance.livejournal.com]

"I know she's going to be an evilly (well, you did say sinister, anyway. I interpreted it as she's not going to be on the side of the angels)"

I refer the honourable gentleman to my subsequent answer (to synedrian, below...).

[euphoricstimuli.livejournal.com]

cool.
I have a couple of friends who are drag queens & I will tell them all about this, as sometimes that is really how I feel when I see them.

sorry for still stalking your journal, I actually find it really interesting, but I lost my job so I still can't afford your book, I will continue lingering here until that moment arives though.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Hell, I'm sorry about your job - but please don't worry, you are very welcome here and reading my books is not an obligation. Some of my best friends don't read my books (snf!).

(Tho' you could always ask for them in your local library...?)

[synedrian.livejournal.com]

Ah, that's gorgeous.

Why did you need convincing to make your drag queen glam?

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Oh, I was tempted to go the other way: really seedy, unshaven, unwashed, cigarette drooping from the lip, that sort of thing. My instinct is always to work against the cliche, and drag is so linked with a spurious glam, I automatically veered in the other direction.

I was wrong, I think. Seedy is easy; the true challenge is to make the glam not at all spurious. Hence Sybil. But now, of course, she's working against my other intent, that she should be really sinister at heart. Suddenly the scene's all about truth; sinister is what they bring with them, not what they find in her.

Ain't it interesting, how perspectives shift?

[samarcand.livejournal.com]

Oh, that sounds ever so good... I like it. You are making me look forward to this book more and more. 'Cos you know, I really need more books to read (says he who has three books winging their way to him from Amazon at this very moment...)

[tavishsdoll.livejournal.com]

Wonderful! Sybil is that best type of character, deep. Make her as evil and sinister as you want, but she's always going to tell you there's so much more, waiting, below the surface. Even in truth there is mystery.