2013.05.26 - She's Got The Look

Working part-time at a Sundollar coffee location is not as lucrative as Booster Gold, a.k.a. Michael Jon Carter, would prefer. The issue is that his preferred 'day job' is far more difficult to hook into. He is not well known enough to garner sponsorships on the strength of his heroic identity, but he can at least get some work here and there looking good in front of a camera. Although he is not in his hero costume, he flies to the building that houses LOOKER INC., one of the premiere modeling agencies in New York City.
Landing by the entrance, Michael pauses to use one of the windows as a mirror to check his hair, and then he walks into the lobby. He has a black portfolio case in one hand, and is dressed in a close fitting royal blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, tucked into dark grey slacks. "Er... hi," he smiles brightly at the lobby receptionist as he walks to the desk. "I'm Michael Carter, I have an appointment...?"
The receptionist, a wan, waifish gal named Bethany, nods. She does not smile, because models (and she is a model, of course) do not smile. Not if they want to do couture, anyway. "Miz Briggs will be with you in a moment. Please make yourself comfortable."
From the next room, snatches of conversation can be heard:
"If I wanted a fat girl, Roma, I would have ASKED for a fat girl!"
"She's a size 12, Emily, that's not really--"
"Yes, obviously I don't mean REAL PEOPLE fat, can you TRY to follow me here??"
"Thank you very much." Michael still smiles, because pitch men do smile, and that is his ultimate goal. The expression fades as he goes to have a seat, listening to the, well, for lack of a better word, the conversation going on in the next room. He rests his portfolio case on his leg, and then idly toys with the gold L* ring on his right hand.
A few more blistering rejoinders, and the conversation trails off.
Five minutes pass. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes on the dot after Michael's scheduled appointment time, the famous face of Lia Briggs appears in the frame of the opening door. She looks incredible, better than she has in years -- the whole vampire thing has her looking like she did when she first hit the catwalk in her early 20s. She's wearing a skintight black minidress with a gold statement necklace, her scarlet hair spilling loosely down her back. "Michael Carter?" she asks.
"That's me, Ms. Briggs." Michael unfolds up from his seat, which was not as comfortable as it had initially looked. Even so, he gives her one of his usual, sunny smiles as he approaches, then offers his hand. "Michael Jon Carter. Sometimes Booster Gold, as well. It's an honor to meet you! Thank you for seeing me today." He gets through this smoothly; his English practice has helped considerably. There is only a hint of accent, possibly something vaguely Canadian. Space Canadian.
Lia takes Michael's hand and shakes it; her hand is cold, her grip is powerful. "Nice to meet you, Michael." A quick glance up and down his frame, and then she's turning on her heel to saunter into the studio, through the door from whence she came. "Right this way, we'll take some test shots. Charles has the cameras all set up. Do you do nudes?"
Michael follows, lifting the portfolio in his hand, although his mouth stays open for a moment while he does not reply. Then, he says, "I... no, I don't, Ms. Briggs. Not that I have anything against that, but I understand that it might impact my work as a superhero due to some of the attitudes in this era." To some people, it's bad enough that he's willing to get his pictures taken while his clothes are on. He glances then at the black flat case that is still lifted in his hand and adds, "I also brought some shots by other photographers, and a few tear sheets, in case you wanted to see those."
"Well, that's too bad for me and Charles," Lia trills, before glancing over her shoulder. "But the right answer, at least when you're starting out. Naomi Campbell or Linda Evangelista gets her tits out, it's powerful. Some American Apparel girl with her nipples showing through spandex is never going anywhere." She runs an immaculately-manicured hand through her long, red hair, then turns to accept the portfolio. "Let me have a look at these while you take your shirt off and get to know Charles."
Charles, a bald man in a nice suit, gives Michael an amiable wave.
"Yes'm," Michael says, dutifully, although he does not actually fully understand the nudity taboos of this era. Thus, such subtleties are lost on him; but he understands enough to get the gist. He places the portfolio in Lia's waiting hand. "Hello, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you." After exchanging a handshake with Charles, he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off. Can 'being shirtless' be considered a talent? A lifetime of athletic endeavor and, more recently, lifting cars and punching missiles, gives the argument that this might be the case.
"This cologne ad is great," Lia says, fingering a glossy print of an ad for DUSK as she pores over the sample photographs. "I have a fragrance coming out soon. Could use a hunk to help me sell it, and--ah!" She glances up at just the right moment, catching the Man of Gold in all his bare-chested splendor. "Very nice. Pecs like dinner plates. Flex for me, Michael?"
Charles eyes Lia. "Are you directing this shoot, or am I?"
"Be quiet and do your job, Charlie."
"Of course, Ms. Briggs." Michael bows his back slightly, first, the better to show off his well defined abdominal muscles, before he brings his arms up in order to show off the shapely definition of his arms and shoulders. He looks solemn as he does this, although the truth is he is concentrating; it's one thing to just show off a bicep, quite another to ensure everything is being displayed to its best advantage. In any case, it always looks a little odd to smile while doing this kind of thing, when you're not in superhero spandex.
All those flexing muscles look just great to Lia. Strong, pumping, filled with rich delicious blood... ahem. "How did you get this far without an agent, Michael? I'd imagine there's an absolute swarm of chickenhawks out there eager to snap up a piece this fresh and tasty." Charles rolls his eyes at that, snapping a few photographs. "Don't be insulted, Charlie," Lia purrs, "you're my chickenhawk."
"I haven't been here that long," Michael admits, bringing his arms down, the better to flex his pectoral muscles. "I was in negotiations with another agency but they wanted me to drop the superhero angle," he explains, shrugging at this, although he turns the gesture into a rolling motion to show off his shoulder definition. "Because it could be a liability, I was told. So that's been one of the problems I've been dealing with." He glances upwards for a moment, thoughtful, before he looks back at the red-headed woman. "I figured I'd better be up front about it with you, in case that's a deal-breaker!"
"Well, I'd be a bit of a hypocrite if it were. I mean, I'm a superhero, after all." Lia paused, then, and raised an eyebrow. "You did know that, yes? I assumed that was why you scheduled an appointment." Because she is The Looker, and is totally famous. "I'm called the Looker. I work with Batman sometimes." (They had worked separately, near each other, once.)
Michael stops flexing for a moment as he nods to Lia, looking earnest as he says, "Yes, ma'am. That's actually why I kept at it until I could get an appointment with you. I figured that you'd understand... I mean I really don't have a secret identity." He gestures at himself, as he says, "I'm basically Booster Gold, in or out of the suit." Glancing at his bare chest, he adds, "Technically out of it at the moment, of course."
"Yes," Lia says, laying a cool hand on Michael's pec. Squeeze. That's probably not super professional, but she's gotta check the merchandise. "Secret identities are so difficult, honestly. I tried it, but it was especially difficult given my... particular situation." She wets her red lips, tongue pushing the upper one aside slightly to reveal a hint of fang. "Which has also put a damper on my print career, naturally."
This causes Michael to perk up; not the grope, which he just accepts as part of the whole process, but Lia's comments. "I'm glad you understand, Ms. Briggs. And I'm not doing this just because I want a day job... heck, I could just keep working at Sundollar Coffee for that. I'm interested in being able to use my uh, skills and stuff for promotion and ..." He spreads his hands, trying to think of the right words in this language to express what he is thinking, and finally just concludes with, "Stuff."
"Oh, I absolutely understand." Lia strides over to a desk nearby, setting down the portfolio. She turns the desk chair around and takes a seat, crossing her legs as she watches Charles (and Michael) work. "Some of us are just gifted, Michael, and if we've been given these gifts we've got to use them. And that's whether the gift is telepathy or stunning good looks." A beat. "Or that forcefieldy thing that you do, I don't know what that is."
"You've seen me in action!" This is not a question, so much as a delighted remark from Michael. It means he is giving one of his megawatt grins, rather than looking sultry for the camera, but trying to do that Blue Steel expression at all times makes his face sore. It is a small diversion of his attention, and he refocuses on following Charles' directions. Michael clearly practices in front of a mirror; that is not only good for getting heroic postures down pat, but it ensures he looks as photogenic as possible at all times.
"Of course!" Lia says, pretending to be very impressed when in fact she had Googled him just before the interview. She's always sure to read up on prospective clients, and the prospect superhero talent is too good to resist. "Honestly, I think there's a big untapped market for superheroes who model; we're aspirational figures as much as we're lifesavers, you know? And I think it's good for people to have icons. Better they idolize you than some Calvin Klein himbo who doesn't know his ass from his elbow." 'At least this Calvin Klein himbo might get access to the Justice League,' she does not say.
"Right. Gosh. Exactly." Michael actually looks rather relieved to have Lia say this, because it is a concept that has been in his mind, but one that has been difficult for him to express; it seems quite a few superheroes in the community find it untoward to actively chase fame. He actually floats up into the air, just a foot or so. It isn't a jump, because he hangs there for several seconds, as if buoyed by emotion. This is, in fact, what has happened. He lands, and quickly apologizes to Charles. Michael then adds, to Lia, "I mean, I've met some amazing heroes, well known ones, but they're clearly not interested in this kind of cross over."
"Some people think they're too high class to be like us. They think we're whores because we sell our faces and our bodies." Lia shrugs. "I'd rather be a whore than a stick in the mud, to be perfectly honest. I help people. I help girls who know this is a society that values their looks over anything they've got between their ears; I help keep them safe, I help keep them motivated. I may not be a virginal Wonder Woman, but I get the job done." Lifting her hand, she watches as her red lacquered fingernails lengthen into claws -- she gives Michael a small, secretive smile over the resultant weapons. "So what do you say, Michael? I think we could make some magic together. Do some good, look great, and make some money, which are my three most very favorite things."
"I actually know Wonder Woman, she's very nice," Michael remarks, although with no rancor. This is just a thing he feels he ought to say. "I think she might actually be sympathetic to what you do." He did a little more than just Google Lia before meeting with her; he had Skeets research her. Hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his slacks, he smiles back at Lia, saying, "Those are three of my favorite things, too, Ms. Briggs. I'd be honored if you wanted me to do some of that with you."
"I'll have Roma draft up the standard agency agreement," Lia says, smiling. She lets the Wonder Woman remark pass, but quietly files it away in the corner of her brain devoted to networking. "If you've got any superfriends who are looking for work -- and look that good with their suits off -- you should have them give me a call."
"Some of them are remarkably shy, considering they tend to wear figure-hugging costumes," Michael admits, which has always perplexed him. "Some of my team-mates might be game for it, though, so I'll let them know. They're not all human, if that's okay with you." He leans in, then to offer Lia another one of his bright smiles, and a handshake. Even if she does have scary claws, he will cope. "Thank you, I really appreciate this, ma'am."
"As long as they've got hot bodies and striking faces, I don't care if they're green." By the time Lia reaches out to shake, the claws have entirely disappeared. "And don't mention it, hon. Let's make some magic."
Category:Log