#pride's spell

Underwhelmed is the wrong word to describe Lena’s experience at her first Hollywood party. Bored as monkey-fuck is the phrase that comes more naturally to mind. There are the celebrities, of course. That had some initial cache. Occupying the same physical space as people she’d seen so prominently featured on movie and television screens, in magazines, and who always seemed so fascinating on talk-shows because the show’s host is usually adept at reacting to whatever they say as if it’s the most relevant, entertaining, urgent thing they’ve ever heard. It takes fifteen minutes for the amusement of that to wear away for Lena. Then she realises there’s nothing meaningful or particularly interesting about seeing a celebrity in person. Or even meeting one briefly. They’re not even particularly attractive to look at, she decides. They’re just… more polished than people who don’t make their living being photographed. That’s what makes them look different. It’s not that they’re scads more attractive, they’re just all so damn polished, and put together, and exercised, and outfitted by teams of professionals who know how disguise a regular human being in celebrity camouflage. They’re just grossly over-groomed people.

Sin du Jour: Pride’s Spell

[Cindy] smiles when she sees Ritter's name on her smartphone's screen. He's probably drunk. He'll often drunk dial her to explain some fight scene in whatever movie he's watching, and why it works or doesn't. The boy has a charm despite himself, she always thinks. Cindy answers the call. "Cin, the Easter Bunny just tried to whack me," Ritter informs her without preamble.