10:00 PM, edge of Hogsmeade

Night had fallen over Hogsmeade about half an hour before Violet Islington arrived. It was her second stop of the night: she had dropped into the office by Floo a mere fifteen minutes prior to sign off on several papers and to approve a few last minute looks for the shoot underway in Scotland. Now, approaching the set of said shoot from the direction of the Hog’s Head (the second stop on her Floo route that night), the vampire’s eyes easily found the tent that served as an “office” under the glare of charmed flood lights.

Though a stylist and photographer’s assistants still rushed around, from the clothing rack to the makeup artists to the wizard with the camera and back again, the overall mood of everyone else was a telltale sign that they had been working all day and were now comfortably set into the routine… as much of a routine as a two-day location shoot full or artist types could be.

The echo of Violet’s heels became became muffled as she stepped into grass and approached the tent’s mouth, having acknowledged the few people in her sight line with a mere blank stare. Those on set appeared to have different reactions to the editor’s appearance, but they were of a singular purpose. Some sped up, scurried out of sight, appeared suddenly busier than they had been seconds prior. Others slowed, froze in place and wore hyper attentive expressions in case their boss needed them. All of them prayed inwardly to the fashion gods that Violet would approve of their work.

If there was a collective, momentary sigh of relief as the woman disappeared into the tent, Violet pretended not to notice. She was more than used to it by now.

“Are we on schedule?” She asked, her eyes finding the first assistant inside the canvas room, a brunette in black clothing. The woman looked up and, in the half blink it took to notice who had spoken, began to nod furiously.

‘Yes, Miss Islington. It’s going wonderfully. We’ve done over half of the looks and he got some amazing shots when the weather was nice earlier.'

“And is he pleased with the work?" She inquired, going straight to the next question without appearing to acknowledge the answer to the first. The 'he' she referred to was the photographer. She needn't name him. It was a standard question. Photographers the industry over were renowned for their moods, their desire for control and the perfect shot.

'Yes, Miss Islington.'

Her stare seemed to serve as a nod of understanding. "Are they shooting now?”

Erin had been working for a long time.  If she was under the age of five, she would be napping.  As it was, she was staying awake, but would not have trouble falling asleep tonight.  Her handlers knew to keep caffeine out of her reach, so there was too little help to be had from that end.  Still, there were a few positive things about this photo-shoot.  For one, she looked gorgeous - even by industry standards.  The dress the designers had chosen for her was a lovely purple number, and right now she could probably sell the dress right off a rack if clients stopped by. 

One aspect that she would have liked to let her mother or agents handle would be dealing with business, finances, and the less glamorous part of the industry.  Erin was not the brightest gemstone in the fashion industry- but she knew that she needed to work with these people for the next decade and a half - two if she was lucky - before aging caught up with her.  Though an ambitious and moderately successful fourth year, Erin still did not understand networking and other concepts.  Her agent had been harping on her to do so for both of their sakes.  She realized it was important, she realized it would help her career, but right now she was tired.  She wanted to sit down.  She probably would have if her agent hadn't shoved her and said that's Violet Islington - the editor.  Introduce yourself.  Somehow managing to find her feet in high heels, Erin continued to walk towards her.

Erin was way too tired to care about formalities.  Once close enough to the editor, she spoke her mind, "How do you look so alert?  I feel like I'm about ready to collapse.  Anyways, I'm getting a little bit of orange juice for some quick energy before  - hopefully - our final shoot of the day.  Care to join me?" Erin said. 

She forgot to introduce herself as well as ask who she was talking to.  She did not even wait to hear a response, she just walked over to  an array of beverages.  Water, coffee, orange juice, tea, and pepper up potion were all held within various pitchers.  Erin noticed her handlers scurrying to take away all of the caffeinated drinks as well as the pepper up potions before she got to them.

"You guys could have a little more faith in me" she muttered, slightly upset even if she understood why they did it. 

Violet continued to stare at the assistant as the question was posed. Her eyes, though marvelously blank, seemed at the same time to inquire who is this? She turned, and the familiar visage of Erin Dark, whom she knew from the pages of previous issues, was before her.

They had not had the pleasure of meeting yet, but knowing someone’s face (and knowing it well) before actually speaking to them was standard for their industry. What did surprise her, perhaps, was the blunt informality of the questions. But then the model was all of fourteen, and so it was to be expected. There was an admirable (if sometimes insufferable) honesty to youth— before they became too self-conscious, too careful, too wise to the fact that their words were currency. Those who actually put their money where their mouths were were a rare species, of course.

Violet studied her with the same blank expression she had shared with the assistant, but then she seemed to nod, minutely, in greeting. Or at least acknowledgement. The editrix was not a novice— they had cast the editorial well.

“A smart diet and skincare routine,” she answered dryly. They were one in the same. Though the vampire wore cosmetics— by choice— her skin was as soft and young as it had been the day she’d been turned. Only now it was paler, colder. The upside to her affliction is that things like breakouts and dry or greasy skin were really an issue. One had to be more human for that.

“Let’s not let our model collapse,” she mused, the humor obvious in her tone. She spoke to Erin, and yet, the assistant seemed to take it upon herself to scramble toward the girl as if she might actually fall over at any minute. Violet shot her a look. “She’s capable of pouring her own juice. Will you tell the photographer I’m here?” The woman paused as if she had been jinxed, looked from the model, to Violet, nodded, looked back to the model, then relaxed and changed course, resigning herself to her task as if it were a sigh of relief.

“I’ve just had breakfast, but by all means.” Violet gestured to the table, and then caught the eyes of the handlers. “I take it your permission slips have all be signed and filed with the proper people…?” The question was more for the adults. Curfew for Hogwarts students had probably come and gone. Violet did not often work with ones this young. The lack of awareness might be refreshing in conversation, but it tended to extend to their command of their faces and bodies in front of the camera. “I’m sure the shoot is wrapping up for the day. The last looks for tonight have just arrived.” Violet would know, having approved them.

“How have they been directing you?” She asked the young woman. Summery shoots often loaned themselves to very jumpy, whimsical poses, smiles, upbeat expressions, and sometimes overly animated ones. But in the mix were the subtler, everyday emotions, candid and natural poses, especially on location shoots when part of the storyboard required ‘blending in.’ Violet’s job with such a story was to ensure that the ordinary and extraordinary were seamlessly blended.

As Erin half-walked, half-staggerred to the beverages, she heard her query answered.  Slowly pouring her cup, she took a sip, hoping that the sugar would be processed quickly.  Erin may have understood the dry tone, but she was too tired to pick up on it.    "You will have to tell me about both.  I keep pretty good track of what I eat, but the nutritionalist I am currently with keeps me away from chocolate.  I am also worried about playing too much quidditch in the sun," Erin commented.  Though fun and a welcome form of exercise, the ambitious and professional part of Erin always worried that quidditch could interfere with her career.  In addition to the high probability of injuries/scarring, there was the skin damage to consider as well.  She really needed to talk to someone about that, but filed it in her to do list. 

Whatever the editor said, it sent one of her assistants scurrying her way, and they almost started pouring orange juice for her.  They stopped after Violet remanded them.  Not really caring why or how - because it  seemed to create a brief calm amidst what chaos that had been her day.  She took the opportunity to introduce herself.
 
"I don't believe we've met, but I have worked for you before.  I'm Erin," Erin greeted.  The greeting was professional enough, but if Erin had been more awake she probably would have smiled a bit more and stated her last name.  If her appearance did not give away her identity, her name did.  The editor then remarked about permission slips.  Once again, Erin let her agents file that sort of thing.  Violet appeared to be all business though.  For the time being, that suited Erin perfectly fine.  She took the opportunity to answer the last query.   

"The direction has been standard if slightly uptempo.  Not quite running - but not quite jogging either.   Don't know if that's for summer or not, but  I have been smiling a lot - both with open and closed mouths.  I think I've taken a couple with frowns that were more like a pout, but very little straight mouthed shots.   This is the first dark colored dress I have worn.  The rest have been yellows, light greens, light blues, pinks and an occasional orange.  The colors are typically striped or solid - very few patterns today.  The poses seem to be made to look like we are not doing choreography or a professional shoot - but I've been on fire today.   The photographer has asked me to hold poses that I sort of fall into, and he or the director just tell me to make small adjustments.  I have no idea how much film we've gone through today, but its probably a personal high for me," Erin responded to the other blonde.  Taking a minute to sip a bit more of her drink, Erin felt more relaxed.  She did not realize it, but she managed to stay on topic without getting distracted by anything shiny for a prolonged period of time.  It was unlikely Erin would be able to uphold this level of clarity for long, but it would be nice for those around her while it lasted.

"Do you have a preference for this last shoot?  I'd just assume get it done right the first time," Erin asked, wondering if there was a particular way this last barrage of flashes should go.  Left unspoken was the fact that she did not know if she had enough endurance to make it through a second barrage.

Violet stared at the girl’s back, unblinking eyes taking on the dull quality of someone who was blinking— rapidly. But she kept her stare still, out of habit. Had they not told her? Did she not know? Perhaps she knew and did not understand… or care. Children really were their own sort, more different from adult witches and wizards at times than vampires were. “I drink blood and do not go into the sun. Ever.” It was said somewhat sardonically, but it also happened to be the truth. There was a drawl to her tone meant for the adults in the room.

“Though luckily our shoots often go into the night.” She stepped closer. “There are SPF creams you can use. I’m sure your agent has recommendations.” Hydration and protection from sun damage were necessities for people in this industry.

Violet extended a hand and offered a brief, one-round shake, her grip firm but not overbearing, her palm cold and smooth. “Violet Islington,” she supplied, with unhurried intonation, but certainly not for lack of self-possession. Violet sometimes had a way of speaking so that it drawled without wasting time. It came in part from involving one’s self in over a century of society's evolving speech habits.

The girl needn’t supply a last name. Violet was well-versed.

And, apparently, so was the girl, when it came to answering questions about her work. If the vampire had not expected such a detailed answer (let alone from a tired model), she waited patiently. It was, at least, informative— more so than some assistants. It all sounded exactly like it should, too, which was a relief. Sometimes photographers got it into their heads to go for dark and moody when she specifically asked for light and springy. And the occasional clash between the artist behind the camera and the stylist paid to find the balance between art and showcasing the latest collections of those who bought ads… It was a headache, even for a vampire.

Violet raised her eyebrows, just barely. “It sounds like it’s on track.” And that the girl might have a career beyond modeling, should she choose. “I commend your thoroughness.”

“Let’s find the photographer and discuss it together. But yes, generally, whatever comes the first time is the strongest and most natural.” Surely he had an idea, too, just as Violet did. As they headed out of the tent, the scene was markedly more productive. Anyone who had been on a break seemed to have pepped up and was at the attention of those in charge. “Your parents and professors don’t mind you working these hours?” She asked as they walked. Usually Violet did not concern herself with these matters; there were people who did it for her. But if things were going this well, as they seemed to have done last time, it didn’t hurt to take an interest. Parents could also get in the way, ruin careers, or push their children into shadowy places. There would be replacements, but it was a shame when good talent went dry. She glanced to her side briefly. Her voice wasn’t unkind as she added: “I don’t need owls of protest.”

"Learn something new every day.  I had no idea you were a vampire," Erin commented.  She probably should have been a little bit more wary after that omission, but she was fatigued.  That, and the vampire paid her gold.  Between the two, she was hard pressed to care about Violet's drinking habits.  As long as she did not ask to drink Erin's blood, she did not believe there would be any issue.  Still, Erin was curious.

"What's the most interesting thing about it?  Besides the blood," Erin asked.  It was not everyday she got to speak to a vampire, and she doubted she would ever get a chance to speak to another one under friendly circumstances.  After Violet commented about SPF creams and shook Erin's hand, Erin was surprised by how cold it actually was.  It actually jolted her a little bit awake.  That helped a little bit.  As they began to walk towards the direction of the photographer, Erin answered her reply.

"I honestly don't think my professors care as long as my grades do not slip.  I will not be valedictorian, but I pass my classes.    My mother actually got me into this.  My dad..." Erin paused for an instance.  Even though Michael Dark was wanted by the ministry, she wondered how much she should say to someone she had known for all of three minutes.  She really did not want to go to far into her utterly weird family dynamic, but guessed the question had no other way around it.  She spoke candidly, but did not elaborate.  "My parents got divorced when I was pretty young.  This coupled with his ministry problems ensure that we seldom see each other.  I do not think you will get howlers over this shoot," Erin commented.  In all honesty, Erin probably had enough family issues to justify Freudian psychology.  They were here to shoot photos however, and not psychoanalyze Erin.  She did not realize it, but she visibly relaxed when the photographer started talking.

"Lovely dress - lets get some shots - ooh hold this candle.  Actually, maybe some action shots.  Her hold this and hover a foot off the ground or so" the photographer swiped her candle for a broom of some kind, she inspected it briefly before doing as he instructed.  Erin had no idea why she was doing action shots in this dress, but honestly did not care at this point.  A barrage of flashes from her left, right, and front made her think that she had somehow managed to get into her final set of the night.
"Brava belladonna! Now lets get some stills...sit on this" another barrage of flashes, and she heard a comment about that being good for that dress and go put on the next.  Looking at a rack, she saw what was labelled next.  Erin was not impressed.  Though she was tired, she still had to look after herself.  There was no way she could pull this off.  She doubted anyone could, unless it was one of those things muggles did screaming on stage with weird costumes and funny makeup.  Though not the foremost expert on culture, she managed to recall that it was called opera. 

"Erk, I really think you should look at this before you put it in your magazine.  This thing looks like...well, I'll let you decide.  But opera reject and dragon dung are what I'm thinking," Erin told Violet. 

It was surprising, if not unwelcome, that the girl did not seem to be particularly fazed by Violet’s condition. “Interesting?” Most people did not phrase it like that. “People’s reactions.” They were also the most tedious and least interesting; but the occasionally unique one made up for the rest. It was not that Violet cared exceedingly about what others thought; she would not have lasted as a tastemaker if she were afraid of the public’s taste. She was interested in the deviations and how they might help her change things.

It much was less surprising that professors were not overly concerned with the girl moonlighting. Her mother might have introduced her to the industry, but as long as the girl didn’t seem to be in distress— which she did not— then all was well; she seemed to handle herself well enough (despite also having handlers), and so if she wanted to model with parental and teacher consent, she could do so, and Violet would likely not probe further. (Though the vampire was prone to hiring slightly older girls.) “If you are enjoying your work and both you and your… supervisors… are responsible about it, I’m sure it’s fine, then.”

She could wait until adulthood to put with up not liking work.

Violet and the photographer approached one another, seeming equals as they shared a pair of kisses to each other’s cheeks. “So lovely to see you, you look well,” the vampire greeted, notably warmer than she was with the assistant. Such were the politics of fashion. Those assistants would earn their keep in time— or move on to other careers.

The vampire stood back and watched, with the occasional underling whispering at her side as the shoot proceeded. Things seemed to be going well, and she could tell that some of these shots would make into the magazine. Erin was a natural, apparently unguarded. There would be only one more look for the evening, one they had already picked out.

As the camera catnapped and the photographer downed a bottle of water, the dressers approached to change Erin again. But as soon as the girl spoke, their well-trained eyes and ears had them freezing in place.

Violet turned to stare the girl. “Dragon dung?” She asked, voice placid. It was the kind of calm and accompanying stare that her assistants knew well, and roughly translated to gird your loins. “This is a dress from Olivier Archambaultus’ spring couture collection. The colors are earth tones, inspired by the very landscapes that surround your school, which he attended. The scene on the front was hand-painted and the silk comes from a worm that hatches under a full moon every four years. The designer waited those four years, patiently, and traveled the globe to watch them hatch, because he had a vision and a passion. And he executed it, and managed to bring it into the present— or, rather, the future, because four years from now, every passé, spoiled suburban school child with access to their parents’ Gringotts account and a loftiness set to peak at Hogwarts graduation will be wearing these colors and devolved versions of these cuts, poorly styled, without knowing Olivier’s vision or why they’re wearing what they’re wearing. My stylists know this, they are not simply paid to know this, they live and breathe it. You, on the other hand, are paid to wear it, not give your opinion.”

Violet reached out to pinch the fabric carefully. “This is not a game of Merlin’s new clothes, Miss Dark. I was not born yesterday and I do not print subpar, uninspiring content. I do not print what everyone else prints. If you want basic and pretty, go to Witch Weekly. Beauty is a layered thing, and fashion is not as surface as you might think.”

Violet hardly waited a moment to change course. Work did not stop for an education. “Here, let’s have the dressers put it on. Do you see the lightness of this fabric? Do you you see how it’s cut? It will be remarkable when you move.” At hearing their titles, the dressers came rushing forward.

It was one thing for the editrix to ask the girl about the progress of her shoot, what she liked to wear personally, even, how her job in general was going. Much could be gleaned, and it was the mark of an attentive model that Erin had been so detailed. But it was another issue entirely for a model to do a stylist’s job. Models often complimented the clothes— especially backstage at shows, when they were walking for the designers. Networking. But strong and negative opinions were generally kept in one’s head. She was young yet. She had time to earn those opinions. In ten years or more, when she was was the target audience for said dress, when she actually attended operas, perhaps then her opinion might hold more value… and she might be more guarded with it.

Though Erin would normally be interested in fashion, designers, and their histories...the way violet spoke of it almost put Erin to sleep.  Though not entirely understanding what she said, Erin got the general gist of what was spoken.  Somewhere, they had gone into the standard do as I say speech.  Erin did not particularly care.  One of the few advantages to living in Slytherin is that it attracted ambitious personalities, and Erin knew how to deal with overbearing classmates bosses.  The fashion industry had its number of divas too, which Erin was beginning to imitate.  Standing in front of a mirror, Erin quickly put it on and looked at herself.  There was no denying it.  She looked like a turd with a blond head and pale arms.  She did have to admit the fabric was nice.

"My job is to look good and sell clothes.  If I don't look good in something, I should not be wearing it no matter how nice the fabric is.  Likewise, layers of fashion will not matter if no one bothers to look twice.  This industry is highly aesthetic, and it says alot when I look better in a standard Hogwarts uniform than this dress.  If anyone can honestly tell me I look good right now, you might want to check for a confundus charm.  You want to set trends - I get it.  I really do, it's part of my job.  But you don't tell your seeker to catch the snitch when your chasers are hot.  Let me explain that another way - this shoot has been going incredibly well.  The outfits have been avant-garde, daring, and that last purple number almost had that surreal effect with the broom.  The dress is a desperation move when you do not need one," Erin commented.

Taking a deep breath and another drink of orange juice she continued.  She had seen this problem before.  The pureblooded prince types had this nasty problem of having too many alliances and too few friends.  Erin hoped she didn't wind up in that position, but with Slytherin she could never tell.

"I have the distinct feeling that not enough people tell you when something is a bad idea.  Or if they do think it is a bad idea, they will only mention it behind your back.  You do not have to answer, but when was the last time someone called you Violet?  I've heard Ms. Islington a number of times, but the only time I heard your first name was when you introduced yourself.  I'll be the last to criticize professionalism, but it's surprising you are not on a first name basis with anyone at your own magazine," Erin commented, as professionally as possible.  It was difficult to do when she pretty much just called the old woman out.  Erin would have been more diplomatic with the implication that Violet had no friends, but was tired and she still had a job to do.  Erin still had more to say though.  After finishing off her orange juice, she continued. 

"Look, it is your magazine - and as you have stated before you do pay me to wear things.  If you think you can do enough post processing or other tricks to make this dress into something worth wearing, I'll still do it.  Though I'll be a lot more skeptical about your claim of not having subpar content.  Anyways,  I would be...oh whats the word...ethnically miss?" Erin struggled to remember the term, but could not succeed.  She continued regardless. 

 "Forget the five galleon word, it would be wrong of me not to warn you when something looks this bad.  Look, I'm tired and you have a magazine to run. Just decide quickly.  The sooner this shoot is over the better" Erin said, clearly exhausted.

Violet stared. “You’re right. It is your job to sell clothes. And since I must waste my time repeating myself, it is not your job to decide whether the clothes look good. If you feel so strongly about it, though, we will easily hire someone else, lest we waste more time.”

A model's opinion did not matter. The smart ones knew it. This was not a rare instance of the editorial being about the model. It was about the clothes. The people who hired her— not the fourteen-year-old lucky enough to have features that looked good in print— were the ones responsible for the final product.

“You mightn’t understand the layers I mean, but the target buyer will. It is not desperation, it is trendsetting, and it is something I have done since before you were born, and successfully so. We are selling a fantasy, one very few can afford. You are playing a character. Your personal opinion is not relevant. If you cannot play that character, I will find someone who can. I do not need quidditch analogies to understand my job, though no doubt someone has forgotten to inform you what yours is.” If the searing words were half meant for the girl’s handlers, Violet’s eyes remained on Erin. That the girl should pause to drink orange juice in an unpriced sample was only more indication that she had no respect for the people who employed her. Professionalism and puberty did not always go hand in hand.

“People call me what do they do because it is a sign of respect. One I have earned, just like my position, Miss Dark. This magazine is a collaboration of many people who have spent many years in this industry while you have been coddled for your lucky genes. You may think you are proving yourself beyond your station, but the only thing you are proving is that you have been raised without manners and do not know when to keep your mouth shut. There are ten more girls who can do the same job, and quicker, because they have the sense to employ those basic social skills and carry on.”

"I do not know what word you are searching for, but you do not need to waste it on me. If in the next several years you have built up a styling portfolio and can prove your opinion worthy of this entire team, you may wait in line at my office. But presently, the dressers will remove the garment in which you are clearly suffering, and you can go back to school with your professors, with whom you are obviously on a first name basis since you happen to share a castle. You will be paid for your time. That is all.”

Violet turned away, leaving the dressers to do their job. An assistant approached. “Please bring me someone over the age of eighteen for a reshoot.”

As Erin listened to the tirade, her heart sunk.  She was tired, hungry, sleepy, she did not have any chocalate the past week  because of this job, and she had just gotten fired for the first time in her life.  At this point she half expected an owl to show up saying that her mother died too.  Erin did not think this day could get worse, and she took it about as well as a fourteen year old girl could.  She started bawling. 

"I have been wokring for over twelve hours now and," Erin was barely coherent at this point.  Tears were running down her face.  There was lots of heavy breathing staggeringher sentences, clearly showing that she was upset.   "I finally think I find someone to call me Erin in this buisness.  Everyone who doesn't like me calls me Miss Dark.  My professors call me that.  People who want something from me call me that. And a women who just fired me called me that.  I finally found someone real in this industry, someone who calls a pot and kettle black, someone to call me Erin...and," Erin sobbed to the point where no one could really hear anything over her wailing.  She calmed a little bit, but she was still crying.

"No one on the quidditch team calls me Miss Dark.  They call me Dark or Keep because of the other Aaron, but all of my classmates call me Erin and," Erin's logic or reasoning was never her strong suit, but her true colors were showing far more than normal.  Erin did not lie particularly often, but the amount of honesty here was rare for the Slytherin.  Her thoughts jumped to the cause of her breakdown.

"This was because I tried to be nice.  I didn't think the dress looked good, said something.  Tried it on, and said so again.  I never even said I would not wear it, just that it looks bad and because I try to be nice and honest and all those other things they teach you as a little witch..." Erin continued to cry.

Erin's makeup was a mess.  Her hair was not a mess yet, but at the rate the conversation was going it would probably be a matter of time.  She was tired, hungry, and had just been fired.  She grabbed the closest person to her and cried in their chest.  She did not know who she was holding nor did she care.  If she could stop crying, she would ask that person to just hold her.  Unfortunately, that did not seem likely in the near future. 

Violet was not the type to volunteer dramatic expressions. Her face on its own, with its stark pallor, placid eyes, and occasional show of teeth usually did all of the work for her. Never mind that she had come to control her countenance quite masterfully over the years, had learned to emote discreetly. But the editrix’s eyes could have rolled back into her head as the tears came on, crocodile or spoiled rich girl or broken faucet waterworks. She did not which brand they were— perhaps all of them, or something different entirely— but the way her lips pursed, the way her eyes blinked lethargically only seemed to confirm her burning desire to hire models who were not in the deep end of puberty.

The team over at Teen Runwitch were perfectly capable of babysitting.

Her back was still to the girl as her assistant sought to read Violet’s face as if her boss were a mime. But since no one else was going to say it, Violet had to do it herself.

“Miss Dark, my advice to you is to raise your chin, dry your tears, and act like an adult witch if you want to be hired to wear clothes made for adults.” Violet was already ghosting hands over a stack of papers the assistant had produced— unrelated to this theater show. “But do not forget how old you are, and that you must earn your place in this industry, even if it seems volatile. Your superiors deserve your respect, and if you shut your mouth and open your ears, you may learn something and receive theirs in return.”

Violet took up a quill, dabbing it into scarlet ink, and penned her name to the bottom of the first sheet of parchment.

“You must realize that no one owes you nice. You owe one another professionalism, and that is almost entirely dependent on your recognizing what your job is and doing it. Presently, it would be wise not to drip makeup onto a runway sample. My team does not send garments back in disrepair, and my dry cleaners are very busy.”

The dresser coddling the girl seemed to take this as a warning, and moved to touch the shoulder of the dress even while patting the child comfortingly.

Violet was in the middle of signing another document, her back still to the little group. “We will keep what we can of the shoot, there is no use in wasting resources. But we will bring someone in for the rest. Do yourself a favor and take a lesson from this. You are as replaceable as you make yourself.”