"Ms. Smythe, this all the wrong look for you."
Luc let the photograph he was holding droop enough so that he could see the woman seated on the other side of his desk over it's glossy edge. The image was of some model he'd never heard of nor cared to know about, whose features had been so touched up in the post-process that she no longer looked real to his keen eyes. Skin smooth like polished marble lacking any warmth or character. Eyes just shy of an unnatural hue made to sparkle like diamonds. It was all a level of perfection that made him want to roll his eyes.
"B-but Mr. de Vere....She's the most beau—" The woman stammered and cut off with a squeak when Luc rose from his chair. In the landscape of pristine white that made up his luxuriously appointed office he was the one stark, dark spot. Dressed all in tones just off-black that demanded a close inspection to prove his single breasted jacket was actually charcoal with slacks to match or his shirt the deepest emerald. He was the rough hewn jewel to contrast the perfectly polished receptionist out front, with two-day stubble dappling his jaw and his chocolate brown hair tousled like someone had just tangled their fingers in it just moments before.
He was the hawk circling around the mousy plain woman approaching her middle years too-fast for her liking settled in the hot seat.
"You could be the most beautiful woman," he crooned to her as he rounded behind her chair. She squeaked again when his hand touched her shoulder then griped to pull the chair about. His words were as smooth as silk and his expression was cool as ice. "You have it there..." he breathed, his hand coming up to graze long fingers beneath her chin. Of course she moved to his whim, turning her face this way and that with the merest whisper of touch.
"I do?"
Luc had drawn in close to his prospective client to examine the structure of her face. After all, this little act was for more than just show. He locked his startling blue eyes on her dull browns and almost smiled.
"Of course."
Not long after that she was gone from his office and booking the sessions she just had to have with his assistant. He returned to his desk to glance over the file for his next appointment. He had just finished glancing over the first page when Serilida bustled in from the reception area. She was to his eyes, flawed. An ethereal beauty with glossy white blonde hair, alabaster skin with delicate hints of pink, and eyes that could crumble an empire with a glance. She was of course unremarkable in a world filled to the bursting with so-called beauty.
"She signed up for five sessions, Mr. de Vere." The sultry beauty had the matching voice. "I've added them to your calendar."
"Thank you, Seri. She'll be adding on another two before we're through." He noted absently as he turned the page in the file in front of him. "Humans, so delicate." He tsked quietly.
"You think she'll need that much work?" This one was new.
His eyes flicked up from the page. "No, she'll crave it. It's an addiction for them, chasing after an ideal that changes every time they do."
Serilida's expression was concerned. He snorted.
"Don't worry. It's only flesh and bone."
Luc let the photograph he was holding droop enough so that he could see the woman seated on the other side of his desk over it's glossy edge. The image was of some model he'd never heard of nor cared to know about, whose features had been so touched up in the post-process that she no longer looked real to his keen eyes. Skin smooth like polished marble lacking any warmth or character. Eyes just shy of an unnatural hue made to sparkle like diamonds. It was all a level of perfection that made him want to roll his eyes.
"B-but Mr. de Vere....She's the most beau—" The woman stammered and cut off with a squeak when Luc rose from his chair. In the landscape of pristine white that made up his luxuriously appointed office he was the one stark, dark spot. Dressed all in tones just off-black that demanded a close inspection to prove his single breasted jacket was actually charcoal with slacks to match or his shirt the deepest emerald. He was the rough hewn jewel to contrast the perfectly polished receptionist out front, with two-day stubble dappling his jaw and his chocolate brown hair tousled like someone had just tangled their fingers in it just moments before.
He was the hawk circling around the mousy plain woman approaching her middle years too-fast for her liking settled in the hot seat.
"You could be the most beautiful woman," he crooned to her as he rounded behind her chair. She squeaked again when his hand touched her shoulder then griped to pull the chair about. His words were as smooth as silk and his expression was cool as ice. "You have it there..." he breathed, his hand coming up to graze long fingers beneath her chin. Of course she moved to his whim, turning her face this way and that with the merest whisper of touch.
"I do?"
Luc had drawn in close to his prospective client to examine the structure of her face. After all, this little act was for more than just show. He locked his startling blue eyes on her dull browns and almost smiled.
"Of course."
Not long after that she was gone from his office and booking the sessions she just had to have with his assistant. He returned to his desk to glance over the file for his next appointment. He had just finished glancing over the first page when Serilida bustled in from the reception area. She was to his eyes, flawed. An ethereal beauty with glossy white blonde hair, alabaster skin with delicate hints of pink, and eyes that could crumble an empire with a glance. She was of course unremarkable in a world filled to the bursting with so-called beauty.
"She signed up for five sessions, Mr. de Vere." The sultry beauty had the matching voice. "I've added them to your calendar."
"Thank you, Seri. She'll be adding on another two before we're through." He noted absently as he turned the page in the file in front of him. "Humans, so delicate." He tsked quietly.
"You think she'll need that much work?" This one was new.
His eyes flicked up from the page. "No, she'll crave it. It's an addiction for them, chasing after an ideal that changes every time they do."
Serilida's expression was concerned. He snorted.
"Don't worry. It's only flesh and bone."