Chaos Angel Spanner — Chapter 10: Fashion Meltdown
Part 3: She’s Got the Look (Final Revision)
Part 3: She’s Got the Look (Final Revision)
principal’s office. The Principal tells Shira sternly through his smirk, “You know that disrespecting your betters is against the Law. We have a hierarchy to maintain and a System to preserve.”
Shira answers with a mocking look. “Now, Principal Principal, that doesn’t sound very American at all. I thought this was supposed to be the land of the free and all that.”
Falconer barks, “America is God’s nation now! Insubordination is rebellion against God!”
“And possession of politically incorrect skin is eugenic insubordination, so saith the Law. So where’s the whip?” Mobley smirks, chuckles evilly, and brings out The Paddle. Shira laughs. “You try that on me, and I’ll like it.”
The principals stare at her strangely. Even Principal Principal’s smirk disappears.
college. In the student center, an older student asks Jennifer, “Where’s Shira?”
“Oh, this one pop idol Challenged her to a song war, so she won’t be back till Friday.”
The word spreads like wildfire.
downtown bremerton. click! on the unmade bed, photographer hovering over her, Shira sporting black lacy bra and panties, black fishnet stockings, high-heeled black patent leather boots, white salaryman dress shirt wide open, hair wild and tousled, macaw-feather earrings and barbaric gangster-tooth necklace; lying on her back, caressing herself with blankets and sheets, she makes love to the camera — click! she turns on her side, bends her waist and legs, gazes sideways keeping seductive green eyes on the lens — “Beautiful,” says the man behind the camera, name of Pierre Moretti, owner of this studio. click! she sits up and braces her arms on the bed behind her; click! “Perfect.” raises her leg so her foot rests on the bed, puts her arm around it and rests her head on her knee—
click! standing in dramatic severe light before the expressionist-painting backdrop, wind machine blowing generated fog and simulated rainstorm into her from the side and whipping her wet hair sideways; sporting: see-through salmon-pink shirt, green bustier, tartan microskirt, black thigh stockings, gangsterskin boots, gangster-tooth necklace, gold coin earrings; posing pouting dancing like a girl gangster trying to scare away a rapist on drugs—
click! back against the brick wall outside, flannel shirt shrugged off her left shoulder, snarling-beat-up-punk-rocker-bitch tattoo showing under the red bra strap, now wearing the microskirt from her videolog; click! facing sideways, giving the camera a diva sneer; click! facing forward half kneeling, snarling punk, giving the camera the Rocker middle-finger salute—
Pierre shows Shira the raw photos on his. “Wow,” she gushes, “that’s some wicked-ass evil shit!”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Damn sure is in English. Minty Fresh, eat my dust!.”
“But she has her company’s legions of publicists and style consultants...”
“Four producers and ten writers give her what? lamest bubblegum since Twilight went musical.” She winks.
As soon as the pictures are processed, Shira posts them to her Profile. Several million enraged Minty fans and troll sockpuppets attempt to vandalize them. She laughs at them.
shira’s apartment. A knock on the door. Hope peeks through the peephold. COPCO agent? She opens the door. “Hello, agent. Is my daughter in trouble?”
“I’m afraid so,” says Sparks. “Fortunately, not from me. Can we talk privately?”
“If you wish.” She lets him in and closes the door. “Coffee?”
“Sure.” He sits down on the couch. He thinks of Shira, then Leila, then Shira and Leila. His head spins. Hope returns from the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a glazed doughnut on a plate. He blushes. “Why, thanks, ma’am.”
“Call me Hope. Who were you again?”
“Sparks. J.T. Please call me Jim. I know Shira.”
Hope’s expression turns mischievous. “Ohhh, I see.”
He takes a sip. “I’m wondering, do you ever get jealous?”
“Oh, I got over that years ago, unlike some fathers I can name.”
“Or grandfathers in this case.”
“Ohhh, you mean Leila. I hear she’s got a reputation for being temperamental, but she’s never been anything but sweet to me.”
“Her grandfather’s the trouble I was talking about.”
“He that jealous?”
“He’s totally convinced that the fate of the world absolutely depends on his marrying off his wayward granddaughter to Luke Everson’s no-good grandson Oliver Thorwald.”
“You don’t say.”
“They’ve even built up this whole big prophecy around it, or something.”
“I know about that prophecy. Drusilla absolutely refuses to shut up about it.”
Sparks flashes a smile of disbelief. “You don’t say.”
“Way.” Hope winks. “She says her nine-headed God told her Leila was special or something, and now she’s having a great big cow. Did you know Wally used to be married to her?”
“Uhh... isn’t she his aunt?”
“The Beckets are just fine with that. But you shoulda seen their divorce. It was nasty... mph!”
“Well, this is gonna make that look like happily ever. It’s a Party issue now. You and Shira better have some serious protection.”
Hope calls out to the kitchen, “Hey, Desi?” Desiree waves from the kitchen. Hope winks.
mudlark house. Shira and Leila arrive to find Brandi distraught. “What in bloody ’ell’s she doing down there?”
Shira grins wickedly. “I see you caught her in her Madness Place, where mad scientists go to do Mad Science. In fact, that’s why I’m here.” She winks and dashes off. Brandi and Leila stare at each other, then follow Shira to the basement.
They find a full-blown engineering lab where Jennifer is busy tweaking video signals on — a mannequin? All over its surface she plays 1970s porno films featuring hairy men copulating with women sporting thick jungles of luxuriant pubic hair. “Those aren’t merkins,” she says, “that’s real.” The mannequin with the video surface is far from the only strange thing that catches Brandi and Leila’s eye in this crowded lab. “There! Now to test.”
Jennifer stands up to survey her creation. She touches the screen of the square smartwatch on her left wrist: the images drift across the mannequin’s surface; touch: they distort randomly like analog off-channels; touch: they turn to analog snow; touch: the whole mannequin goes Windows-blue-screen-of-death with randomized hexadecimals proliferating; touch: Amanda Currie’s greatest bloopers all playing at once.
Brandi asks, “Jenni, what is that?”
She spins around; to her surprise, she finds an audience of five (Willa and Connor join them). She gives them a huge smile. “Oh, that? The latest fad in China is, the government lets people go naked if they agree to turn themselves into walking video billboards. Chinese Corporatist Party (Holdings) holds the patent, of course, ’cos all the sub-Chinese races are inferior ‘by definition.’ But the recipe’s all over the Darknet, so I decided to whip a batch up for Shira’s song war.” She leans forward with a conspiratorial wink. “Video body paint.”
Leila is too stunned to say anything. Brandi blurts, “That’s even possible?”
“The concoction’s full of LEDs that self-organize into pixel triads when it mixes with the oil and salt on your skin. It only works with a personal area network using your body as its communications channel.” Jennifer winks. “You’d be amazed at what’s possible.”
Shira says, “Minty’s sure gonna have the shock of her life when she sees this.”
Jennifer crosses her arms. “Minty needs a serious spanking. This is our new secret weapon. We spring it on her like a zero-day logic bomb, Princess Posette is pwned.”
Willa sighs. “If only we had that back in ‘83...”
Without a second thought Shira replies, “MTV would still be dead today.”
shira’s apartment. Leila kneels on the bed watching Sparks take pictures of Shira’s bare cunt with her own non-brand smartphone. Shira wears AR goggles synced through her personal area network so she can see everything, and nothing else. She commands the lights and directs his angle and camera settings so he can get the best pictures. “You’re too young to be this shameless,” he says.
“Hey, I’m in love with my body.”
“You know this is highly illegal, don’t you.”
“Does being in love with your own body really have to start when the Law says when?”
“Shit, the Law never says when.”
“Exactly my point.” She turns over onto her stomach, cocks her pelvis back, and opens her legs wide. “Move that lamp a little closer, will ya?”
“Gotcha.” He reaches with his left hand and moves it an inch, then resumes taking pictures.
Leila complains, “Shira, do you have to let him see my body?”
Shira smiles at her. “Now we come to the point of our meeting. Let’s switch places.” She gets up, gently wrestles Leila onto her back, and orders the lights to spotlight her slender curvy torso as Sparks stares on. She says to him, “Now stop thinking of her as an abstraction or a trauma, Jim.” She gently and firmly kneads Leila’s breasts. “You don’t wanna destroy these. You wanna kiss, suck, and squeeze ’em.” She plants a long kiss on each of her lovely conical nipples, making her gasp, sigh, and moan.
“Please stop it, Shira,” Leila begs
“No, love, I’m not done with you yet.” She runs her hands up and down Leila’s trembling torso. Leila moans sweetly. “Jim, are you willing to let this beautiful sensitive body, this beautiful sensitive soul, be destroyed for a soulless abstraction? And her cunt.” She places her index fingers gently onto Leila’s frilly cunt.
Leila cries, “Stop it! Please?”
“Calm down, girl, take a deep breath.” Leila struggles against her trembling body to take a long deep breath. “Now look at it, Jim. It’s gorgeous, like a flower. And to think Pretty City almost mutilated it.” Slowly and gently she opens up Leila’s nether lips for Sparks to see, first the outer, then the inner. Leila starts to cry. Shira puts her hands on Leila’s buttocks and plants a long gentle kiss on her cunt; Leila cries harder and shudders. “I love you.”
Leila gasps, “I love you, Shira.”
“Take off your clothes, Jim.”
Sparks freezes. “What?”
“Everything. Now.” He reluctantly strips off his clothes. “Now stand up so she can see you. Lights. Face too.” The lighting system shifts its beams to his body and face as he stands fully erect. Shira sits Leila up so she can see.
It isn’t the scars all over his body that shock Leila. “What happened to your face?”
He looks at her with a sad expression and sighs. “You saw. My father hired the most expensive plastic surgeon he could find, but I picked another face. Best decision I ever made. Reminds me I’m not my father anymore. Surgeon’s working for Pretty City, by the way.” He caresses Leila’s tearful face. “Near-death experiences have a way of changing a person. I grew up in sixty seconds flat.” He bends down to kiss her lips.
Leila’s mind spins. She can hardly believe what she sees and hears. But a sudden intuition, one snap decision, and her whole being unites around it: “I forgive you.” He sweeps her up into his arms, they kiss: years of betrayal and heartbreak drain out of their bodies.
He winks. They look at Shira. Leila sits down. He narrows his eyes and smirks subtly. “You.”
Shira cocks her head and flashes him a cockeyed smile. “Hmmm?”
“Tell me you’re not Rebel Styles.”
“You want me to prove that I’m not?”
“No. That you are.”
Her mischievous smirk grows into a wicked grin. “You asked for it, buster.”
Shira nods, Leila picks up the phone. She plants her heels on the bed frame, leans back, thrusts her pelvis forward, captures his erect penis with her cunt, and sucks it all the way in. He gasps with audible shock. With unusual vaginal strength, she yanks him toward the bed along with her; he collapses helplessly on top of her. Leila picks up everything on Shira’s camera. Shira turns him over, impales herself on him, crushes and crushes; they lose track of time while the camera captures it...
bellevue. The vidphoned head of Governor Brinkman stares ominously at a clearly disturbed Oliver Thorwald from his brand new big-screen TV. The cleaning robots have cleared away all the debris from the previous one. “So you’ve been hearing about Leila.”
“Mr. Governor, I’ve been hearing from Leila. She’s sending me perverted pictures of herself. Pictures of her living in sin with that creature — do you realize the pure horror of it, Mr. Governor? They gave me a live performance, just to spite me. Me!”
His mother tries to comfort him. “Now there, darling, don’t have a cow—”
“I’m entitled to have a cow, Mother!” he snaps. “That ingrate bitch! Why does she hate me so much? She has no idea what a torment it is to be a rich, handsome, and totally irresistible guy like me! I’m in torment!”
“Misty,” says Brinkman, “do you realize that Leila is living in sin with another woman?”
Misty Everson Thorwald’s chokes. Her face turns various permutations of red, blue, purple, and green. Oliver looks at her like she’s dumb. “You didn’t know?”
“And that’s not the worst of it. The woman she is seeing is the one you suspect to be the murderer of your husband.” Misty lets out a horrified squeak. “Furthermore, my uncle the Secretary and his agents suspect her of being the child-porn murderer Rebel Styles.”
“Oliver!” she gasps. “Does your grandfather know about this?”
“If he doesn’t,” Oliver replies, “he’s stupid. I emailed him everything.”
“Shira Thomas has known connections to liberal subversives, Communist terrorists, and degenerate so-called art—”
“Then give me a new bride!”
“Oliver, are you—.”
“Mister Governor, I demand you kill that perverted traitorous witch you call a granddaughter and give me a virtuous American bride! Does not the Law of God command you to execute disobedient children? You hold the power of life and death, Governor! If you don’t kill that disgrace to your clan honor and Our Nation, I will!”
Misty coldly adds, “Notify Dr. Heiler, Governor, and announce your intention to return her to him for terminal extraction.” Oliver abruptly breaks the call, leaving Brinkman stunned.
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Copyright © 2012 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.
[Revision 4 Final, 9/16/12: Contains most of the original 10.2, plus scenes from 10.4 and the original 10.3. Name changed from “For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge” (now the title of 10.4 R4) to the original title of 10.2.]