Starring:
Summary: Audition for a commercial narrowed down to Cordelia who wants to be there, and Dajan, who doesn't. From there, things only get more interesting.
Date It Happened: December 28, 2001
Bikinis And Boobs Battle
WARNING: Some racy innuendo here - proceed at your own risk!
Some Casting Agency in Hollywood
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Angel City - Sunday, December 28, 2008, 12:09 AM
Hollywood! The lights, the glamour, the glitz! The…occasionally really banal and frustrating auditions. Right now, both Dajan and Cordelia are up for a part in a commercial for, what else? Suntan lotion. Which mostly involves swaying around in a bikini and giving a couple mostly vapid lines…but hey, you have to start somewhere.
Dajan is not pleased with this turn of events. At all. Not one bit. She would, if she were doing something other than seething silently, refer to this as a revolting development. She told the people in the room she was here for the position involving dressing the set, not the actual oilslick with boobs role. But they wouldn't listen.
Dajan's broke as a joke, as the saying goes, so it is with ill grace she accepts their mandate to go put on the bikini and look cute and perky. Beggars cannot be choosers. She has on a BDU jacket over the bikini, though. Job or no job, she's not working 'tit-bit-nipply' for the cameras.
Normally, Cordelia Chase would be a little upset in this situation. A little awkward, at least. It wasn't that long ago that she was rather bothered by the whole "piece of meat" thing that happened in her last audition.
That was then. This is now.
Nope. At the moment, she's apparently gunning to blow Dajan out of the water with all cannons for the audition, or at least that's the appearance given the way she's slinking around the place in the slinky bikini and heels like a slinky…thing that slinks. She apparently has her vamp setting on max…and not the kind with the scrunchy forehead, either.
Dajan watches Cordelia do the 'slinky girl is slinky' routine. She stares for several moments, before she finally asks, "How in the hell do you not throw your pelvis out of joint throwing your hips around like that?" She shakes her head, squinting as if trying to mathematically calculate the trajectory of assthrust.
Cordelia looks back over to Dajan, at the comment, and well…sizes her up. That degree of checking-out-ness usually doesn't happen even at a bar. Starting from her toes and going right on up, Cordy's eyes sweep up Dajan's form, making not even mild social pretense of "subtle". Not that subtle has ever been her forte, but usually it wouldn't be the femme side of the Force that Cordy was checking out in this way.
When she reaches the BDU jacket, that's when she just jumps right past it, visually, to make it up to the face, as if there was absolutely nothing relevant about jacketed areas. She gives a smile that's more than just a little predatory back to Dajan and answers simply "Practice." And the trajectory is pretty darned impressive. Still, her expression is a little more friendly…maybe TOO friendly…as opposed to "Bitch, what?" so at least it's not a hostile reply.
"Right. Practice. Of course." Dajan shakes her head, a little put off by the 'I wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating crackers' vibe she's getting from Cordelia. She's barefoot, not even bothering to try wearing the CFM shoes. "Well, break a leg. Just …not an akle." In those shoes, it's a possibility, if somebody startles her.
Cordelia is definitely giving a vibe. She's vibey. And it's less of the normal catty actress "I'm going to figure a way to sabotage you and steal this job" and more of the "hey, let's forget this job and find a quiet corner" kind of vibe. Since there's conversation happening, she moves to walk up to Dajan, and smiles back at her. "See you already ditched the shoes. Can't blame you. Comfy uber alles. But that jacket has to be hot."
Yes, she is hitting on Dajan. When the spell is broken, she'll doubtlessly be squicked nine ways from Sunday. But at the moment? Hellooooo, sailorette.
"No, it's totally freezing in here, what's the matter with you?" Dajan says, tilting her head to look askance. Is she really —? She is. Dajan swallows the sigh and the reaction that would get her thrown off the set and out of any chance to get this job. Instead, after a moment of thought, she holds up one hand, shakes her head, and tries the Gentle Letdown. "And um, flattered, but I prefer bento, if I'm gonna do a box lunch, 'kay?"
Except the Gentle Letdown doesn't seem to be effective right now. Not that she missed it; she didn't. Just that she doesn't seem to think it's relevant. "Oh, don't worry. All the lights around here, and the action? They'll heat things up in no time. Just need to get under them." Or under her, is the unspoken-but-implied correlary.
"Besides…they usually put sushi in a box lunch." she says, taking that metaphor and running with it. She steps right up next to Dajan, well inside personal-bubble-space.
Dajan raises both brows. Oh, great. One who doesn't want to take no for an answer. Can this day get worse? Did she ask that out loud so the Powers That Be felt obligated to show her how much worse it could get? She doesn't think she did. "Yeah. When they're ready to start filming. And they're only filming a commercial." As opposed to something involving saxophones and Cinemax. "And, I mean more like California Roll, not … um…the sort of sushi you're thinking of." Mental note; bring one of the boys from the film school with her next time. Or hit self with hammer rather than put up with this sort of craziness.
Cordelia smiles, in a very sultry kind of way. "I don't know. There's nothing wrong with a few last minute rehearsals. You know. Just make sure you're in the right mood for the scene." She all but purrs at that, and she reaches out just a little to let her fingernails oh-so-gently brush Dajan's hip…
And that would be exactly how far she makes it before she cries out in all-too-real pain. One hand flies to her head, the other clutches at the nearest thing for support (that would be Dajan) as her knees start to buckle. Yeah, that probably qualifies as shrieking. OW.
Daj was about to get hostile with the bad touch about to happen, but now the other woman seems to have a headache. A bad one. "Hey…" she says, haltingly. Then, louder, "HEY!" the gopher or the secretary has to be within earshot. "Get the set doctor!" if this production has enough bank for one. "You okay?" she asks, levering to her feet and leaning to guide the other woman to sit down. "You need a sandwich?" A tranq? A sex toy?
The brunette cries out in pain again. Hey, headache, vision, what's the difference? Between about 8 points on the Richter Pain-o-meter scale. She clenches her hands into fists, thrashing a bit as it hits her. Even though it seems to last an eternity, it's no more than about 20 seconds, and she finally gasps, breathing hard and looking about wide-eyed. "Oh my God."
Okay. That was weird. Dajan has only been in LA for four years, and she's mostly kept to herself, so she isn't as familiar with how weird things can get as she might otherwise be. "Okay, whatever it is you did last night — you really ought to get clean and stop doing it," she says, but not unkindly. She's a little worried that the woman has gone from 'the better to eat you with, my dear' to whimpering and thrashing. "Do you …do you need a doctor, or something?"
Cordelia's pale and a bit shaking. That hurt, a lot. "It's not that." she says. She looks around, as if getting her bearings…then looks down at herself, with the itsy-bitsy bikini and the CFM heels, and looks decidedly skeeved. Her eyes go back up to Dajan, but this time, they actually lock onto her eyes, and not onto other assorted-and-sundry body parts. "I am so sorry. You can't even imagine." She moves to try and stand, and manages, if shakingly. "Part's yours. I need a phone. I need my phone, right away." While her head is clear. While she's HERSELF.
The other woman doesn't appear to have injured herself visibly, and this is a bit too public for Dajan to try to have a closer look and see if she needs healing on a less human scale, so she doesn't offer. The change in personality results in a wide-eyed stare from Dajan, before the curlytopped woman writes it off as she had originally; as something related to drugs. "Thanks," she says. "But you look more like you need a cold cloth, a dark room, and half a bottle of Advil." Inwardly, she's kicking herself. Why be all concerned for this bipolar bimbo when she could stay and get paid for bouncing her boobs on camera?
Cordelia shakes her head. "No, I just need my phone!" It's said urgently, rather because it is. She doesn't know how long she has for her mind to stay clear of the influence. "Look…" She looks back to Dajan as if this were a matter of life and death. "If I start acting weird, please. Charles Gunn, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Hyperion Hotel, Angel Investigations." She name-drops like crazy, trying to get everything out. "Please, call them!" She looks about, hair whipping about a little from her frenetic movements. "My purse. That'll have my phone." She feels that tingling in her head…and it's probably NOT just from being sleep-deprived.
Dajan blinks, but nods, realizing the urgency is real and whatever had her at skankcon 5 not the reality. She repeats the name, and then hands the woman her own cellphone. "It should have a few minutes on it. Call your people."
Cordelia gives Dajan a look of utter gratitude, and rapidly punches out a phone number, waiting for what seems like an eternity…only to be favored with an answering machine. Normally, she'd try to play it more subtle and less "freak out the norms", but this is an emergency, darnit! She hears her own message play, and then speaks "Guys, it's Cordelia! There's a big problem with Fred and I! You guys have to…" She shakes her head, voice trailing off. All that buzzing in her head! It's like flies. Or bees. Or other gross insecty things. "I…you have to…" It's disoriented, at best. She seems to wobble again a bit, before finally finding her stability. Unfortunately, when she finds it, she closes the cell phone, before flipping it almost jauntily through the air back to Dajan. "Phew! Wow, talk about a bad trip." She does, in fact, try to play it off as drugs. Though to anyone in the know, that wasn't drugs.
Dajan reaches out and plucks the phone back from Cordelia. "Okay, time for you to go sleep that off. We oughta get you a cab back to the Hyperion so you can have some much-needed downtime." She tucks the phone back in the pocket of the BDU jacket. "You should throw something on." Despite it being LA, she isn't sure the woman's entirely out of predator mode again.
Cordy ISN'T out of predator mode. In fact, the smile she gives Dajan following that statement pretty much says otherwise. "No need. It's California. I'm not cold. But, places to go, people to do, all that kind of thing." And, hips back on ball-bearing mode, she starts to slink back off towards the changing room.
"W'ever," Dajan sighs, and plucks her phone back out. Redial. Wait out the message. "Yeah, hi. This is Dajan Trippe. I'm with your friend, who said if she acted weird, call you guys. So I'm calling, because she's acting like a Maine Coon in heat, and she was trying to get ahold of you guys during a lucid moment. Come get her. I will not be held responsible for my actions if she keeps on like this."
Cordelia looks back over her shoulder. They talk a lot about looks that could kill. But it's pretty rare that anyone actually ever gets to look into the eyes of a killer. At least, and be able to talk about it later. If Dajan happens to make eye contact with Cordy in that moment, she'll get the chance. If the eyes are windows to the soul, it's pretty obvious that whatever's looking back doesn't have one. Cordy looks like she is Very Seriously Contemplating gutting Dajan, before she turns and starts back towards the changing room, this time at more of a stalk and less of a slink.
Dajan isn't really paying attention to Cordelia at the moment, given the woman is going from distress to seductress. She's weighing her options, leaning against the wall of their waiting room near the door. "Oh, for crying in the mud," she sighs. Her morality wins over her sense of indignity and her currently empty pockets. "Hey, what's your—" her voice trails off, though, as she sees the hipsway has turned more into a predatory stalk. "…oh, shit."
Cordelia heads back into the changing room, moving with a purpose. There's no telling how long it will take for the cavalry (or the interfering meddlers, take your pick) to show up, and she certainly doesn't plan on being around when they get there. She heads in, and moves over to the clothes she wore to the audition, as she starts to change out of the bikini and CFM heels.
Dajan squeezes her eyes shut. "Perfect stranger," she says to herself. "You owe her nothing. Perfect stranger. You owe her nothing. Perfect—dammit." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "And anything she does while tripping is your fault if you don't make sure she sits still somewhere." She heads into the changing room as well, also to put the rest of her street clothes back on with profound alacrity. "Oh. Hey." She calls to Cordelia. "What's your name? I missed it in that flurry of other names."
Cordelia's made it back into the flame-red lingerie by the time Dajan comes in. She looks back over to her as she comments, and there's a moment where she debates violence versus trying to steer the Good Samaritan off her trail. She finally seems to opt for the last. "Oh, don't worry about the names. Like I said, bad trip. Probably something I read in a book or something."
"Right." Which would be why the number dialed when Cordelia borrowed the phone connected and her voice matched up. "Yeah, okay, pull the other one, it's got bells on. Look, you can either put up with me, or I can call the police and you can wait for your people."
Cordelia narrows her eyes, as she pulls on her top. "Look, I don't need the Girl Scout routine! Go!" She waves a hand in the direction of the door. "Part's yours! Paycheck a-waiting!" She lets a bit of a scowl creep into her expression. Where's Fred when she needs her, dammit??
"They're not gonna take me," Dajan says, tone indicating she thinks Cordelia is not only tripping but blind. "You are ten pounds lighter, two cups boobier, and seventy five dollars highlightier in the hair than I am, even if you missed the 'drugs are bad, mmkay?' bit in grade school."
Cordelia tugs back on her pants. Good. The other girl is arguing rather than dressing, which means that maybe she can ditch her before this is all done. "They are when I'm not here. So, see? Free paycheck in exchange for all your good deeds, Pollyanna. Now piss off." Though, the compliments at least have her wanting to kill Dajan a little less.
"In a minute," Dajan says, closing the distance to Cordelia and attempting to grasp her wrist. Maybe something's wrong she can magic loose with her own personal mojo. There's a subtle shift in the color of her eyes to indicate her own personal mojo's coming on line to heal anything that might be off in the woman's body. Possibly forcing her metabolism to upkick and purge the drugs from her system…worth a try, at least.
Well, Cordy's wrist is able to be grabbed…which produces several interesting results. First: the only drugs the woman is on are painkillers. Reasonably strong stuff. Second…brain damage. Unexplained and unexplanABLE, since with the widespread nature of the damage, the woman ought to be a cucumber, not a bikini-clad actress (even if the difference might be slight in some cases).
Well. Isn't that interesting. With that much brain damage, that would explain the amount of drugs in her system. But purging the drugs might knock her back to her common sense again. Decisions, decisions.
"This is gonna hurt you more than it hurts me." Daj's eyes dilate until the pupil is swallowed by the iris, and her lips move silently as she calls on her demonic side to magic the drugs out of the woman's system.
Well, isn't THAT interesting. The painkillers can be forced out of her system easily enough, which sadly doesn't produce Real-Cordy, just Demon-Magiced Cordy, now with Splitting Migraine Action! Which doesn't make her any happier. Since Dajan only has one wrist, Cordelia turns, and aims a good ol' fashion punch at the healer's jaw with her other hand. "Bitch!"
"Only six days a month. This is nice me," she says, taking the hit, and going back a few steps. Woo. Not a tweeting bird. Stars. "Not bad," she tells the other woman, free hand forming into the universal symbol for human female about to scratch someone's eyes out. "But you're gonna. Wanna. Chill."
Cue catfight. Cordelia's only got one hand free, but has 5 years of amateur superheroing plus general bitchiness. And, of course, an extra spiritual passenger at the moment. She grabs out for Dajan's throat with her free hand, lunging to shove her weight up against the other woman and try to take them down to the ground (with her on top, of course).
Dajan swears under her breath, but does not go down. She just sort of floats there. And the hand not still holding the wrist of this crazy woman she's trying despite her better judgement to help goes for a nerve cluster in the back. But levitating with another person on top of you makes the aim hard and all she does instead is come up against the hard bone in Cordelia's pelvis with some very hard fingernails.
Floating? That actually gets the other woman to hesitate. Demon solidarity or something, maybe. But in any case, her effort goes to trying to tug her trapped wrist free. "Let me GO, you psycho!"
Dajan bares her teeth and says, "Have it your way," But not before twisting sharply as she lets go and turning the levitation off, so she lands back on her feet, hopefully flinging Cordelia up against the wall, away from Dajan.
It certainly catches her by surprise. She gets shoved, and wasn't expecting the little midair pirouette. She hits the wall reasonably hard, dazed for a moment. In the instant after she hits, she shakes her head, looking very confused. "Dajan?" she asks…before she goes back under. This time, it's more obvious; there's a brief red shimmer to her eyes as the whatsit seizes control of her again.
"Cor!" Dajan says, in response, then "Great," muttered under her breath, eyes widening as she catches sight of the red shimmer. Something supernatural has this woman, and Dajan's no exorcist. Where the hell are her people?! "There is no Dana, only Zuul. Just what I needed." She puts a hand behind her head, but keeps the other one out in front of her defensively in case Cordelia's mental roommate decides the fight should continue.
Cordy…or the guest-currently-inhabiting-Cordelia…doesn't make any move for renewed hostility. Indeed, she seems more than happy to try and get the hell out of here. She grabs for her purse with one hand, her shoes with the other, and heads for the door in a barefoot sprint.
Cordelia has partially disconnected.
Dajan shakes her head, and wipes her brow with the back of her hand. The painkiller's out of her system, so maybe the pain will cripple her before she rapes someone. Or gets raped. Or some even stranger third option. "The hell with it," she snarls, "I tried."
At which point the assistant of the director for the commercial walks in and sees the changing room in disarray. He stares in shock at Dajan.
"This, ya emo poseur," she informs him, straightening her shirt, "Is why you do drug tests before the auditions. One of the other actresses couldn't decide if she wanted to kiss me or kill me." She shoves the assistant out of her way and stalks off. "I wonder if I have enough left in the bank account for a triple Oatmeal cookie…"
