Thread: Paradise Isle  (Fades & Good Girls)

The iron bite of the red-hot brand brought with it certain revelations. It took someone far from their center, such an overwhelming sensation, stripping away any acts, public or privately crafted and displayed. It had stripped each of the women on that stage of their defenses, like wood to be reclaimed, allowing their very base beauty to be seen without all its defense mechanisms, without its professional or even haughty faade, so that what was there, the tenderness and vulnerability, could be built upon anew, built into something reminiscent yet different than before, enriched in its new form for having once existed in its previous, and for having gone through such a change. To see each thus far in that delicate, trusting moment that followed her branding - Emilia, Ariana, and now Madelaine too - Jeffrey could not help a private swell in his heart, a seed of closeness and intimacy and perhaps even love being planted, with the promise of time enough to grow once this was all a fun memory to their new family together. To see Madelaine in that way, now, stripped to her barest form, and all the sweeter for it, the public demeanor temporarily pulled back and simple tenderness toward him remaining, it did much to instill that warmth. And even if he did not spend time with each of these young women now overly long, he did take his time with each, clearly, hoping they, too, would see that same promise of future warmth from him, while he was tasked with keeping things moving forward on track for the time being. But whether it was through simple luck, or, he had a feeling, more likely the saucy ginger's impossibly incorrigible ways, Jeffrey did catch a perfectly-angled glimpse of that delicate pale femininity, only lightly framed at this angle by her unapologetic curls of red. He saw, and he paused, enjoying the sight until she turned away and took her place beside her two new siblings, his hand only then remembering he was bent for a reason, and plucked the microphone from its place upon the stage. Yet he hadn't even stood, remaining in that bent-forward position, the most delicious gluten-free thing in existence crawling out of sight, when replacing her in his view was the gentle stride of someone who, at first glance, had ascended past the idea of being a princess or a queen someone whose entire aura bespoke of goddess. He stood, Jeffrey, slowly, eyeing up the full length of the flowing white dress first, the ample spill of bosom everywhere second, and finally, a set of blue eyes framed with stunning blonde hair third. When Scarlett approached, he remained, curiously allowing this next moment to happen as it would, while meanwhile making the mental note to be placed at the back of his mind with a stickied-back that some of his newest acquirements might need a tad more corrective encouragement than the others. But for now he allowed it. He allowed Scarlett to reach him, walking across the stage. He allowed her to take hold of his hand, much in the way he'd done with each of the three ladies prior. He allowed her to lift it, and the microphone, telling himself this was all happening within his control, much as likely she was convincing herself much of the same, albeit the opposite way around. And he allowed the blonde to look into his eyes and ask him a publicly-stated question through the mic that would see his expression toward her fade from a warm, taken pleasure to something notably less. Something of a frown. Something of a sail, without its wind. ...And yet, the question lingered. And yet he had to answer it. And yet if he didn't, if he waited even precious seconds to pull off the band-aid, it would highlight it even more so - and he knew that, and he knew Scarlett knew that, and he knew she knew what the answer was going to be. That the literally sizzling redhead, that the slave girl FKA Madelaine Petsch, had not been publicly thought of on the same alphabetical list as the rest of the girls there today. But with the deal officially sealed, they were not only all on equal ground now, but they were all his charges. Not just to enjoy, or to train, or even to cherish, but also to protect, to shield them from any slings, or arrows, or in this moment, even from shade. One-hundred twenty-six million, he said, calmly, into the microphone, blue eyes set upon blue eyes. The offer for each 'level' of celebrity had been quite public, so it was only a matter of quick napkin math to determine that Madelaine had been deemed a B-List celeb, thus earning only half the charity of her co-slaves there she knelt alongside with, combined with a net worth of her assets that was still only a fledgling amount in terms of what someone in the public eye was thought to have. By no means were such numbers an unimpressive amount, even - but in comparison? He was well aware the question had been asked as a dick-measuring competition, which firstly was unnecessary in the public eye, and secondly, neither of the ladies should technically have even been equipped for. Donated to the aforementioned non-profit Environmental Media Association. There was a temporary pause. The microphone, in that time, didn't leave its place at his lips. ...And a second one-hundred twenty-five million that is to be split between schools around the country, to fund a series of field trips and local programs for their students that can help increase awareness and, hopefully, ignite interest in a whole generation to the green values central to the EMA's mission. He turned to the crowd, smiling, I mean, if I'm going to turn Captain Planet over there into my 'happy little fucktoy,' it's only right that I try to inspire a Planeteer or two to eventually take her place, right? That got a good laugh from the crowd. Jeffrey continued smiling toward them. And flicked the microphone to 'off' for now. And held it at his left side, with his left hand, so when he slightly adjusted his stance, which seemed no more out of place than one merely shifting their weight, he brought his free hand over, his right, to not merely tease Scarlett with a touch, but rather the fingers of his right hand slipped around hers of her left, and there he held her by the hand, clasped together. You do realize you're 'worth' more than any of them, right? In terms of total dollar amount, your net worth combined with your celebrity status? Still smiling, Jeffrey half-turned his head to her, remaining at an angle. From this distance there was no threat of the crowd hearing them they'd see the moving lips, but this was something just for he and her. You're the star of everything for the past however many years, and, even in their dreams, are a woman that men know is out of their league. You've the breasts of perhaps your three predecessors combined. And if Zeus commanded Prometheus to mold him the most perfect beauty out of clay - only to tell him, no, more perfect, try again - only to tell him, no, more perfect, try again - that final result would uncannily be you. So... A thumb caressed against the back of Scarlett's palm. His tone became gentle. Please. Play nice? You have nothing to prove. ...Let us meet you. Hopefully, he thought, that would diffuse any forthcoming cattiness, any posturing. Madelaine's 'worth,' a remnant of the time she'd spent as Madelaine Petsch, was something he'd planned to introduce to the crowd in a slightly more delicate way. The addendum of a second donation, one that at least brought her up toward the ballpark of her side-by-side compatriots, was an impulse that would hopefully offer more succor than a visceral throwing himself upon her as if some sort of human shield. I would shower you with the same bottomless care, so please. Be nice to my girls. If Zeus sees fit to continue my blessings this day, then maybe his 'complete perfection' will join them. He raised Scarlett's hand, planting a slow, sweet kiss to her fingers, continued eye contact holding the moment. Then a second kiss, just as simple, just as tender. His hand lowered, releasing hers from its grip. The other came up, switching the microphone back 'on' and pressing it to Scarlett's softer palm, before sandwiching her hand inbetween two of his own. When he pulled back more fully a second later, stepping back and away, he left it with her, so her moment could begin in earnest. But not yet. Almost, almost. He stepped to the back of the stage, where four small tables had been set up in a line, each with their oversized check and the scroll which each woman had thus far inscribed her will to no longer have a will of her own. On three tables the parchments had been signed. On two the checks had been revealed. With the same whipping flourish as before Jeffrey pulled the black cloth off the one that had been Madelaine's, revealing the initial 126m sum to the crowd, made out to what had been her former organization, and moved on to what would be Scarlett's table, if the blonde so wished it. Even with his eleventh-hour 'always planned' addition bringing Madelaine's charitable earnings to 256m, Emilia's was notably ahead still at 263m, Ariana's way ahead of each at 330m... And the next reveal, his hands pulling the soft black sheet aside, outpaced them all, at 390m. One billion, two hundred thirty-nine million dollars, in total charity between them all. Jeffrey reclaimed his spot at the podium, smiled, and said simply into the two remaining microphones there, Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Scarlett Johansson. Turning to her, Should she decide she wishes to be the grand finale, that which is not a period, but an exclamation point at the end of today's sentence, I will allow her to be the one to tell you about the charity she has decided upon, to the sum of three hundred ninety million .