Chapter Text
|-Thursday morning. The Capri, 1700 Grand Concourse, the Bronx, New York-|
Met’s car has always been a mess, but it’s an endearing mess. If one can even exist. It doesn’t take long after I’ve buckled my seat-belt for his questions to start.
”So… you didn’t already have a fish eye? And you want me to go with you to get one? You sure that the place will even have what you’re lookin for?” Met’s voice is tinged with confusion. He looks at me like I just showed him some kind of eldritch figurine and broke his mind.
”No, Met. I’m a modeling photographer. I didn’t think I’d ever need one. And I’m certain. I looked at the catalogue online. They have several.” I also point to my camera bag that I’ve brought with me. ”We’re gonna see if any of them fit.”
”Seems a bit short sighted, if you ask me. Especially since it’s Randy Jenkins who’s a part of this deal.” He says as he starts his car. Almost immediately I’m bombarded by a wall of sound. A wall of sound that is way too loud. How has he not gone deaf? And why does he listen to this?
”Where are we headed again?” He asks as he subtly turns down the music. Not that anyone would really notice.
”K&M Camera.” I tell him, perturbed that he didn’t remember it when I told him earlier.
”Oh, it’s that one place you like in the Lower East Side, right? Yeah, I know where that is.” He peels out of his apartment block, almost fast enough to get the cops following us as we make our way through the Bronx. I swear, whenever this loud claptrap is playing he gets more reckless. And he was already reckless, even before he started transitioning. What is it anyway? I look at the central console to try and figure it out.
”Katastrophic Creation… Korrosive… What?”
”Problem?” He shifts in his seat, clearly perturbed by my questioning.
”How do you even sit through stuff like this?” A scoff. Something I’m more than accustomed to when I start questioning his auditory habits. A deep breath, and then he starts speaking.
”You really need to understand that this isn’t just music, Kati. It’s a way of life. A creed almost. A brotherhood. Live fast, live loud and live authentically. And if people object to it, fuck ‘em.” He lets out a soft chuckle before continuing. “It’s an outlet for creativity. For anger. It’s how I can express emotions when words fail, which I’ll admit happens often.”
I have to suppress the urge to laugh at that statement. Met? Struggling to put his emotions into words? I can hardly believe that when he can do it. He just so happens to have the mouth of a sailor when he does so.
We’re on the road for a good twenty minutes. Neither of us were expecting traffic to be so bad today. Guess a lot of people are heading to Coney Island to soak up the sun. Maybe I should before the summer ends. But what if she’s there? Oh god… Gold City in a swimsuit… I can already see my reaction and it’s only just a fantasy. Thank god Met is here to snap me out of this.
”You’re daydreamin again.” He says, his voice cutting through all the noise in my head.
”What? No. No I wasn’t.” I try to retort. But it doesn’t work.
”Then why was your jaw hangin open and your eyes givin the thousand yard stare?” He then asks, voice oozing with condescension and smugness. I hate it when he gets like that. It’s then that the music shifts again. This time to something older, but still the same claptrap. What does that say? Exodus? Something tells me these guys don’t talk about the Good Book. More like preach against it.
”Oh sweet. Bonded by Blood. Fuck yeah. I was waitin for this one.” I hear Met exclaim, excitement inundating his voice. This is going to be a long ride into the Lower East Side.
|-That same morning. 52 Walker Street, Manhattan, New York-|
I can feel the excitement. My tail swaying so much is the proof. But this is a level of excitement I haven't felt in a long time. Not since the race that got me scouted by a trainer. Looking at the mannequins, they remind me of old Roman and Greek statues. I heard that they were once vibrant and full of color. Why were they stripped of that?
"City. You there?" Randy's voice brings me out of my mind. Laid out on the table are several articles of clothing that are... not as risque as I'd thought they'd be. The confusion on my face must be quite evident as I hear Randy begin to question me again."Everything alright? Were you hoping for something more akin to a swimsuit?" He asks, his voice unnervingly, though subtly trembling.
"Uh... No. Not really, but..." I begin to trail off. As I try to formulate a response, Randy cuts me off.
"But what? This is our first shoot. I'm not gonna throw you in half naked. Unless you wanted to, of course." He says, not really giving me some space for my own thoughts to breathe at first.
"No, no. I, uh... I'm not opposed but-" I start, before Randy's voice fills the air again.
"Too early?" He cuts me off again. Again, that unnerving, but incredibly subtle tremble in his voice. It's like he's hiding something. Or rather, wants to prove something. But what could it be? I can tell from the shadows under his eyes that he hasn't gotten a lot of sleep. Or maybe it's just that. Maybe I'm making something out of nothing. Reading too much into things. Maybe it's just because he has a rather... particular sleep schedule. Regardless, I respond to his question.
"Yes. Too early. I want to-" I start before Randy once again buts me off. I guess we still have some things to work out. I just hope he can understand.
"Get comfortable with me first. I want that to. When it comes to the models I work with, their comfort and needs are very important. If they feel uncomfortable with the requirements of a shoot, we try our best to remedy the issue. If it can't be remedied, then we call it off and devise something new." He takes a deep breath, as if he's going to continue with that thought, but he pivots to the clothing on the table.
"Locally made, from what I've been told. Mostly from Tribeca 'artisans'. At least, that's what they call themselves." He says. 'Artisans'? Interesting. The thought is quite touching, really.
"So it's a showcase of local artists as well?" I ask, wanting to know some more details if I can.
"That is certainly one perspective." He says, taking one of the articles in his hands. It reminds me of kimonos back home in Japan. The kind worn around autumn festivals. I wonder if the person who made it is Japanese themselves. I look around the other pieces and one in particular catches my eye. It's a combination of indigo, white and brown. I can't explain it, but the combination works well.
"What's this one?" I ask, wanting to know more about the clothes. Randy walks over and examines it himself before answering my question.
"This one... Looks to have been made by a Mohawk seamstress named Ákat." Mohawk? Isn't that a
hair style?
"Mohawk..." Before I can say anything else, Randy speaks up again.
"Indigenous nation whose historic territory is largely upstate. I... Had a few objections to this being included. It didn't feel right to have someone who isn't Mohawk to be wearing it. But clearly, my objection was overruled." He seems annoyed by it being here. Moreso out of respect for whoever made it. But he can tell it's what I would like to be wearing. "I'll contact Ákat and see what we can do. if she says no, then she says no." Randy then takes the clothing and walks away with it, leaving me with the rest of the clothing on the table. The Mohawk piece looked really nice. I like it. But if we are not allowed to use it, then I suppose I should find something else as a backup plan. I look over a few, and no whole seems to intrigue me, but maybe I can mix a few together. Knowing Randy, he might like the idea. Thinking outside of the box, and everything that it entails.
|-Later that afternoon. K&M Camera, 54 Orchard Street, Lower East Side, Manhattan-|
My ears feel like they’re gonna fall off… Why? Miért? (Why?) We step out and walk towards the store. Already I can feel my nerves ease off, if only a little bit. I know why I’m here, but it does give me some respite, figuring out what lens will work best with my camera. We find the clerk and I set about asking my questions.
”Hi. I have my camera with me and am looking for fisheyes that are compatible with it. I saw the AstrHori 6mm f2.8 and the 7artisans 10mm f2.8 II RF on the website and wanted to know if they are in stock.” The clerk considers my words before he responds.
”I suppose we could help. What kind of camera are we working with here?” He asks, wanting to make sure things go smoothly. I place my camera bag on the counter and pull out my camera.
”A Canon EOS R8. The lenses I mentioned should be compatible with it, right?” I say, watching the clerk ponder the request for a moment, examining my camera before he responds.
”Uh… yes, those are compatible but I’ll need to check if we have either in stock. Those lenses have been in demand recently so we may not have them with us.” He then walks away, going to check if they have the lenses in stock. I then feel something hit my lower back. I whip around and see Met looking at some cameras, back turned to me. He thinks he's slick, does he? Nem az én felügyeletem alatt. (Not on my watch)
"Meteor Hammer. What is wrong with you?" The use of Met's actual name seems to get me a very humorous response as I watch his ears droop and tail stiffen. He slowly turns around to face me.
"Eh... Excuse me.?" He says, voice trembling with guilt.
"You know exactly what you did. Smacking me with your tail like that." I begin my accusation. But I know Met will try to gaslight me to get out of this.
"Me? Smackin you with my tail? The nerve." His voice is just as smug as ever. 'The nerve' he says. The look in his eyes gives it away as he speaks up again. "Must've been somebody else."
I start to look around... and see no other umas here. The lying asshole. But as I'm about to dig in, the cashier comes back.
"So... We don't have the AstrHori or the 7artisan left. But we do have a Canon EF 8-15mm F4 L USM. May I see your camera, ma'am?" I hand him my camera and he starts to inspect it. He takes the lens and starts to try and put it on my camera, albeit with an adapter. To my surprise, it works. The lens is put on without issue. Success. I can feel my heart-rate speed up knowing that we'll be able to pull through for the shoot. The shoot... with GoId City... I quickly snap myself out of this trance before it can go any further and pay for the lens and within minutes me and Met are out of the store and heading back to the Bronx. We get back into his car and the loud claptrap starts once more when the engine is turned on. What does it say this time? D.R.I? And of course we're borderline speeding. How
have we not gotten the cops on us yet? Is Met just that good with malicious compliance? Ó... Isten segítsen most... (Oh... God help me now...)"
|-That evening. One West Luxury Apartments, 1 West Street-|
I lay down on my stomach, tail swaying in the air. Ákat, the Mohawk seamstress, declined to have her piece used in the shoot. Understandable I suppose. So the backup when into effect. Mix and mash a few of the articles into something that will work. And Randy thinks it will work: Black denim jeans, a denim jacket and a ripped red shirt underneath it all paired with black heels and fishnets. It'll pop in the pictures. At least, that's the hope. I can stop worrying about it now. But then there's... whatever
this feeling is. I'm still no closer to understanding it. Or why Kati is eliciting it within me. The answers simply... elude me. I feel like they will for a long time.
I know it's against my better judgement, but I open social media and begin to look through Kati's personal profile. Not much has changed. The last post was made two months ago in April. Again, she might just be a very private individual. What I'd give to have that in my life. Goddesses know I could use some. As a child I wanted to be famous more than anything but now that I have it... It's too much sometimes. Best not to dwell on it. I look at the post, she seems to be at a pool with some friends. April is the time when the weather really begins to change, so I can see why she'd be at a pool. Seems like her friends are quite amicable as well. But then there's the feeling again. Just looking at Kati, in that simple yellow swimsuit... Goddesses help me. I've never felt so lost...