Thread: inspiration is contagious â ! [ dream & houdini ]

A tall, proud remnant of the Caribbean stood elegantly in waning line of departing - and nosy - party revelers. The woman stood out like a sore thumb. She was nearly five foot ten inches tall with sun-kissed flesh and milk chocolaty brown eyes. Her dress certainly helped her plight for originality. It was tailored specifically for her at the request of her soon to be fired, money-grubbing manager. The hemline stopped just above her knees it was a strapless dress forged from a cottony material- that was an absolutely brilliant shade of a darker lime green. Her waist was accented by a thick black belt with a brilliant silver buckle. Tattoos? Estelle had accounted for many. The shaded and unfilled stars tracing the insides of her left and right wrists. For those who had known her, they had known her as this exotic, powerhouse singer who could hit glass-shattering high falsettos and earth-shakingly low baritones. However, one would never really think that if they met her. Though unfailingly polite, Estelle has also been labeled as a mute. Interviews never really worked out well, either. Her expression was so cool and nonchalant that it was nearly daunting to the VJs and interviewers. When she spoke, however, all of their worries damn near melted away. So what was she exactly? People described her as an angel... a misconception. Estelle was no angel. So what about a sweetheart? Yet another misconception. Estelle was... an ethereal being something entirely different a free spirit that was never tied down by petty business deals or tours based solely for the purpose of profit. Miss Lights? A man's voice, though deep, seemed unstable. He approached the tall woman adorning the strappy black stilettos, bowing his head to display his disappointment. It's very dangerous for you right here, the man explained, You see.. a fight broke out in the club. It was convenient that your driver dropped you off late - though it wasn't her driver's fault, it was Estelle's for knocking back a few beers with her brother - or else you'd be caught in the middle of it. Police sirens wailed off in the distance she redirected her gaze towards the street soon filling with party-goers... and, to Estelle's dismay, the paparazzi. She was completely aware of the woman hidden in the brambly, prickly bush a few meters away trying to take pictures. What those poor souls did for money and a decent shot of a surprised celebrity. Estelle heard rumors that a shot of her smiling - which was rarer then a falling star - was worth nearly twenty-five thousand dollars. Someone is coming to pick you up and escort you to your hotel. Hotel? That was surely not how Estelle wanted to spend her night. She wanted to visit a local tavern with a few tipsy men drinking away their sorrows and relaxing after a hard day of work and order a big, saucy plate of smoldering, spicy Cajun hot wings and sing karaoke. Estelle seemed unfazed by the resounding bass emitting from the building and smashing bottles. Probably a fancy bottle of Alize being shattered. A shame. There will be food there, too. A Big Mac, Estelle hoped. Is there any chance we could ask the driver to stop off at McDonald's for a few moments? The man, clearly the owner of the club, was thrown aback by Estelle's soft voice. It was smooth like peanut-butter and ... established. It was the only adjective he could really use to describe it, like she knew herself well. M-McDonald's? he asked. Estelle nodded. O-Of course, that can certainly be arranged. listulistulistulistulistulistulistulistulistu