#rkct

[ OOC: As explained above, your muse received their second job under C&T as a model for their new summer line. There will only be solo shots this time taken both on the beach and the nearby areas (image references: 1, 2, 3, 4). There won’t be group shots but there will be other models present. Presence is mandatory until the entire shooting is over and food will be provided whenever staff decides it’s the best time for a break. For +3 CHARISMA POINTS and +1WK MODELING ACHIEVEMENT, write one 250+ words solo or a four post thread with another model about the shooting process. Tag your posts as #rkct and have them up by midnight EST at the end of May 23rd.

C&T SUMMER LINE (for the May 30 verification form)

[ link to post ]

Despite the fact that he knew it shouldn’t stop him from pushing forward, it almost did. Sending in a few pictures is a hell of a lot easier than actually showing up and giving yourself the chance to succeed... and simultaneously, the chance to fail. The call back didn’t quite come as a surprise. He somewhat expected it, honestly. That didn’t stop him from feeling the excitement. He won. Not a full victory yet, but happiness came in the small victories. That small victory, however, almost prevented him from moving forward. What if he showed up like they asked him to, only for him to put forth the effort and be proven to once again that he wasn’t cut out for this? Obviously, he eventually told that part of himself to ‘shut up!’ because he definitely wouldn’t go anywhere if he never tried. It was about putting forth an attempt, not laying down and dying. Life has already been hard enough without him giving up on himself. Because of that, he wasn’t about to now. He had faith in himself, and no matter how hard it is to hold on to hope, he had to. Because... if he didn’t try to make himself happy and achieve the things he wants in life, what makes him think he’d be able to provide a better life for any of those around him? How was he supposed to set a good example for his younger siblings if he just stopped persevering when the going got tough?

Even though he felt like he was thrown into a sea without knowing how to swim and told to survive, he still managed to make it this far. He’s done things that he wished he never had to, but it’s landed him here. His brother and sister are in better care, and he still has a mother in Busan that he wants to make proud. Maybe she never did a wonderful job of making him proud, and maybe his father didn’t stick around long enough to know if he’d make it far in life or not, but who cares? He could prove to them that he was a son that they should be proud to have. Back during the old days of his modeling, regardless of the fact that they were forcing him into it, that’s something that he could thank them for. They put him on the right track, even if he wasn’t incredibly thankful for it at the time, now he could show them that they weren’t failures or anything like that; they were still his parents, who tried their hardest to do what they could for their kids, and now things were looking up. No need to dwell on the past when that’s all behind you and you have a bright future ahead, right?

Shin Hoseok was definitely not a quitter. He was a fighter.

So, you wanna know what he did? He did show up. He showed up two hours ahead of time with a clean face and boring clothes, just as they’d asked him to. He’d chosen the sportswear concept since he was rather positive that he could woo them with something he was familiar with. Hoseok liked sports, therefore, sporty clothing wasn’t something that was foreign to him. He liked the way it looked, it was comfortable, he had this under control. Being fitted and dressed brought back a lot of memories and he couldn’t help but don a smile the entire time. It felt like home, and it was a really nice feeling. Finally, something that felt natural. It was possible that some may have been feeling nervous, yet he felt calmer than he had since he arrived in Seoul. It was then that he knew that he made the right decision in coming here. Something was going right, he had a wonderful opportunity, and he wasn’t going to let that go to waste.

When it was his turn, he happily stood in front of the solid backdrop and prepared himself.

He was impressed once it was all over and done with, he could only hope that he impressed everyone else, too. 

There isn’t anything in this world that can’t be taught, according to his grandmother. She also told him that he’ll need the Lord’s help because he doesn’t have natural talent. Or looks, even if his mother tells grandma to hush. 

Ever since he’d accidentally been approved (then promptly rejected) from a previous casting call, he’s taken matters into his own hands. The producer had told him that his proportions were pleasing, but he needed to get a “little work” done. Of course, Sunggyu thought this meant hard work. He definitely put in the hours -- reading, studying, practicing, and watching Korea’s Next Top Model alongside his ever critical grandmother. But even when someone finally explained what the producer meant, he brushed off his bruised ego and continued on his merry way.

Lower back pain was a small price to pay from hunching over beauty magazines all afternoon. The hours spent sprawled on the living room floor with a protractor, ruler, and compass would all be worth it. He measured everything. It was like he was studying for entrance exams all over again, except his notes and magic marker diagrams were to guide him through a proper head tilt. 

Then, by some lucky chance -- he’d like to thank his guardian angel for this miracle -- he’d been approved for a Samsung modeling audition. Needless to say, he immediately begged a friend to trade phones for twenty-four hours. He thought it would look better if he brought a Samsung Galaxy instead of his indestructible, generic pay-as-you-go phone circa 2009. Sunggyu woke up the morning of the shoot after a night of fantasizing about glossy magazines and camera flashes...

Then, he forgot everything.

“WHAT WAS I THINKING?”

This wasn’t no low-budget pamphlet for the local supermarket. This was Samsung. THE Samsung.

He’s made a fool of himself before, but never on the professional level. His mother suggested they practice before he heads out in order to calm his nerves. His small family huddles together, crowding over the digital camera and they scroll through his shots. An awkward atmosphere congests their living room. Sunggyu takes the camera and nervously flicks through the photographs. “There have to be some good ones,” he says. “We took so many.”

He reaches the end of all photographs and blinks in disbelief. Only grandmother has the courage to break the silence of the room with unabashed honesty. “They look horrible,” she says. “What are you doing with your eyes? Are you squinting into the sun? And that double chin you’re making!” 

Sunggyu is about to tell the director he’s made a mistake when to his surprise, his grandmother yanks him into the kitchen by the ear. She’s always criticized and degraded him for wanting to enter the entertainment industry -- a field, she insists, is for mindless, dancing fools. He thought that she would use an opportunity like this to completely crush him.  “We’re going to loosen you up.”

Several soju shots later, he’s buzzed but behaving more like himself. Grandmother shoves him into the bathroom so he can brush his teeth. Before he knows it, she’s shoved him into a taxi before he can second guess his decision to audition. The young man nervously pops mints into his mouth the entire ride there, and runs over the advice some of his more successful friends gave. They encouraged him to be sensual; everyone knows that sex sells. But loosened with soju, his gauge for what’s sensual and what’s borderline pornography may have been skewed. 

Sunggyu enters the building with his stiff soldier walk courtesy of his leg braces. He’s relieved to finally be off crutches, even if he still needed the braces for support. Technically, he should only be taking the braces off if he’s bathing or at the direction of his physical therapist. It took endless pleading for his doctor to sigh and say that if he really needed them off, he shouldn’t be doing anything strenuous and it could only be for short periods of time. Listen to your body. Use good judgement. Call if anything starts hurting where it shouldn’t. All in all, it was a small step in the right direction. He’s gotten accustomed to tweaking his daily life to accommodate for his injury, even using the dreaded crutches when he’s overworked himself. Buildings without escalators and elevators were his worst nightmare, but thankfully this place was more than equipped to handle someone in a situation like his own.

Maybe it’s the alcohol speaking, but he is feeling optimistic.

Sunggyu greets the casting director in person for the first time, breathless from waves of nervous jitters that his few shots of soju couldn’t calm. The director gives a curious glance to the contraption on his potential model’s legs. “Oh, these are removable! I promise they won’t interfere with anything,” says Sunggyu, giving his legs a hearty pat. “They’re why I thought I’d do better with the cocktail concept, b-but I’m also a fan of irony and would’ve been just as happy doing the sports concept!” 

Perhaps the director picks up on his nervousness because he asks: “Have you ever done modeling before? Online? As a kid, maybe?”

Sunggyu shakes his head and his eyes widen with a nervous, youthful energy. “No sir, only for my mother’s holiday cards!” he says. He mentally kicks himself for being so honest, but the director laughs. Good laugh? Bad laugh? Mean laugh? Sunggyu isn’t sure, but the man smiles and tells him that somebody will style him soon.

Soon meant thirty seconds before he’s sat in a chair and being prepped for makeup application. The artist slaps a sheet mask on him -- supposedly, it allowed foundation to glide on smoother and would give him a natural glow impossible to replicate with photoshop. Sunggyu chatters away, although he tries not to move his lips too much. The essence dribbles into his mouth and he suppresses a slight gag, as not all things that smell like green tea taste like green tea. “You know, my grandmother always sends me to the mall just to get free samples of these,” he says. “I never really use them, but--!”

It seems the artist isn’t the talkative type. Her irritated sigh was a signal for him to shut up.

He just hopes he didn’t realize too late -- what if she goes around calling him a nuisance? The young man twiddles his thumbs as she peels the mask off, pats where his cheeks were previously flaky from the winter cold, and pumps her hands full of primer. The following minutes, he feels her painting on a new layer identity. It makes him squirm; what about him needs editing, needs fixing with a painterly hand? The artist pays careful attention to his nose and eyes, arguably his most charming features. 

He thinks his eye shadow makes him looks like a raccoon when she’s done (did she do this on purpose?), but he has the sense not to point that out. Sunggyu laughs from excitement and slight soju buzz, then grins at the mirror. 

“Don’t smile like that,” says the woman. “Unless you’re trying to look goofy, just keep your mouth shut. The foundation is going to crease in your laugh lines.” Sunggyu looks around in surprise. Is she allowed to say stuff like that? Oh gosh, what if there are more like her? He wants to say something -- oh, he wants to throw her poorly tattooed eyebrows into her face -- but he hears his grandmother’s words ringing in his head: “Suck it up, buttercup.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his shocked expression says it all. The hairstylist coming with a curling iron and hairspray sees the look on his face, rolls her eyes in the direction of the makeup artist, and asks if she said something “stupid again”. All Sunggyu can think about is how the backstage drama was more intense than what was ever shown on Korea’s Next Top Model. 

This was his chance to get revenge -- report her to a superior or even get her fired. The tough decision is reflected through his eyes.

“Look, everyone around here knows that Nam Hyojoo is a bitch,” whispers the hair stylist. “I can tell just by the look on your face that she said something. What was it?”

“Oh, nothing!” he lies. “I’m just shocked at how good I look -- my grandma would be jealous of this eyeliner job!” Sunggyu looks down at his small backpack of belongings resting against the chair, then fumbles inside while the curling iron heats up. “Actually, do you think I could leave this here for the lady who did my makeup?” he says, holding out a plastic container of pork and rice. “Uh, she might be having a rough day, you know? I only have this one, so you’re welcome to share it--”

The casting director brushes by him once more, then claps him on the shoulder. “Your time-slot is up soon! You have to get changed A.S.A.P.”

Sunggyu wonders if he heard them talking, but the man is gone in a hectic flurry of backstage activity. Everything was so quick, so fierce, so cut-throat with not only the models, but the staff as well. His loose tongue could get him into trouble if he’s not careful, but he’s being ushered into the fitting rooms before he can dwell on the matter. One minute his mind is worried about making a good impression, then the next he’s naked in front of strangers. He tries focusing on slipping on his clothes without messing up his look rather than standing around in his underwear, but maybe that’s something about modeling he just won’t ever get used to.

__________________________

The first two shots are so unflattering, the photographer lowers his lens. He tells him to take a deep breath and be himself. But doesn’t everyone know by now that himself is the person he least wants to be? Sunggyu takes a deep breath, but the nerves have finally broken through his light buzz. “It’s a little hot in here,” he says, wheezing slightly. The gold watch on his wrist catches the lighting, twinkling bright as his fingers loop around his tie. The silk loosens around his neck in a breezy, careless way contrasting with the flustered look on his face. 

SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.

They were starting again already? He doesn’t have time to become one of the effortlessly beautiful models waiting for their ten minute session as well. He can’t compare to them -- no amount of makeup or styling is going to hide that.

He is goofy. But, is that such a bad thing?

The pictures look better when he doesn’t try being someone he’s not. The nervous flush, the parting of lips to catch a glimpse of bunny teeth, the surprised expression like he’d been caught in the middle of a crime -- it was both his greatest strength and weakness. He plays the befuddled playboy in way over his head much better than refined gentleman. “There you go,” said the photographer. “Grab your tie again -- like you mean it!”

Just be himself, huh? 

Sunggyu leans against the sofa and slouches, as though someone had thrown him back against it. He spreads his legs apart, pushes his hips forward, and relaxes his wrists so the champagne glass tilts to the right. Once more, he gives his tie a pull like he just can’t wait to get it off. The smooth seams on his dress pants are the gateway for the rest of the outfit -- a road leading up to the elegant rumpling of his shirt from the way he’s sitting. 

SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.

He doesn’t do a forced grin, but a curious half-smile. 

SNAP.SNAP.SNAP.SNAP.SNAP.

That’s the look that captures his personality, from his front teeth to his expression. It’s him being honest, no emotion able to hide behind quirks in his smile and brow. It seems that he plays the befuddled playboy better than the refined gentleman, and that’s okay. 

“Alright kid, we’re going to mess you up a bit,” says the photographer. “Tone it down a little now, so it stays classy.” The photographer tells him not to move, then a makeup artist is sent rushing to press a stamp against his cheek. It’s a bright red kiss mark, still glistening and wet. The artist messes up his hair and the moment they’ve vanished, he knows there’s no time before the cameraman takes his last shots. 

Sunggyu puts down the champagne glass and leans forward on the coffee table. He rests his elbows against the table and he holds up his hands, positioning them as if he’s about to undo his watch. Without meaning to, his shoulders lift and the whole motion of the shot is pushing forward -- fluid, energetic, active. He’s going right for the audience like when he’s engaging with someone in conversation, putting his entire body into whatever story he’s telling. The way he tilts his head to the side, winks like he’s just told the cheesiest pick-up line of his life, and scrunches his nose meld together is him. He’s not perfect and by gosh, there’s no chance in hell he’s ever going to hide it. But love it or hate it, that’s what makes him unique. He forgoes the cheesy wink for an eye-smile and remembers not to crumple the rest of his face for once, to which the cameras rattle off with their final photos. Through the lens, it’s as though he’s saying: “Yes sir, do I sure have a secret to tell you.”

The secret is that he’s just an average guy, but in a thousand dollar clothes that transported him into a fantasy world. He doesn’t need to be someone he’s not -- average, goofy, or gorgeous, he’s full of adventure.

That’s the story he told with his energy. It certainly mirrors how he’d felt about the whole day.

“You’re all set, we’ll let you know the results when they’re out,” says the photographer. “Next!”

with dreams dashed but curiosity fulfilled, chanyeol pockets the felt mustache for later use and wanders around the seocho building, telling anyone who finds him suspicious that he’s lost and doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go for the photoshoot. after some twists and turns and actually getting lost, his target comes into view and his lips curl into the most mischeivous of grins. before he can stop himself, his loud voice bellows in the hallway in which he’d found tiffany.

“nuna!”

the “later use” becomes the “now use” and his fingers dip into the pocket of his jeans to grab the mustache and slap it onto his face as he makes a beeline straight toward her, laughing all the while. his purpose is inexistent (a lie; it’s to grate on her nerves and embarrass her), but he walks like a man on a mission and, once he’s within a distance that he’s close enough to touch her, he simply raises his hands into the air and gives her two thumbs up in a play that will surely let anyone else within earshot and within view know that she knows the crazy frenchman in the corridors.

“it is nice to see you again, ma pote!”

and just as quickly as he’d come, he’s gone around a corner, mustache slipped back into his pockets and making a beeline toward the studio where the sportswear photoshoot is to be taking place.

chanyeol maybe feels a little too comfortable in his chair as he’s getting his makeup done, and he only thinks that because it takes a little more than an hour to get it done, during which he’d seen three other people come and go. it surely isn’t because he’s ugly and needs more makeup, so he supposes it had more to do with the fact that he’s making too much conversation (as usual) and is doing so with such energy that it’s hard for the makeup artists to keep covering him in creams and highlights and shadows.

(he tears up immensely when he accidentally gets stabbed in the eye with eyeliner, but no one needs to know that.)

by the time his hair, makeup, and wardrobe is finished, he’s already been invited to a birthday party for one of the stylists the following day. luckily enough, he’s got the day off work from the record studio and works the mid-day shift at the restaurant, so his night is free to get to know his new friends.

some people have different personas on and off the camera, and while chanyeol is obviously a master of disguise and alter egos, nothing changes when he finally steps onto the set. just as the backdrop is blank, so is he, the model, the canvas. because he’s an athlete, everything about the shoot feels natural---when they tell him to jump, he asks how high; ask him to pose, he strikes several; tell him to smile, and it reaches both ears. he’s completely at home as the center of attention, and at ease doing what he enjoys, so much so that there’s a sense of disappointment when it comes to an end.

(he might have been a little obvious with this when the photographer snort-laughs and tells him it’s okay.)

it’s by sheer coincidence that he spots one of his dearest friends on the way out of the studio in which he would not be let in. once again, fingers grasp at felt facial features, and, though the struggle is real to keep it on his face due to the fact that the adhesive has been worn down, he presses it against his skin to make it stick just long enough to greet her.