Open to Runwitch staff, freelancers, interns, anyone who wants to be involved!

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The sun had set an hour previous, making the view from the studio one of inky blue dotted with endless yellow lights. Distant bridges glowed as dependably any constellation; nightfall hardly meant slumber for hall. Certainly not for the group in this room, who were only beginning their work day.

A young woman sprang into the room, quite suddenly, almost as if she had apparated. The look on her face was announcement enough, but she still warned them in words. Any dawdling was immediately replaced with a flurry of paper and clicking heels, wands moving to arrange blinds so that the cameras caught the right light. A second young woman began needlessly adjusting a mood board full of wizarding polaroids, while yet another played musical chairs with a set of pitchers and silver plates on the catering table. A few of the room's task-less scrambled into chairs at a makeshift communal desk, while others straightened up in them.

Violet Islington swept into the room, light dress trailing behind her in place of an assistant.

Said assistants were already busy, one speaking to the photogapher, one out of sight, but each armed with notebooks and quills. A third assistant manned the desk outside of her boss’s unoccupied office, back at Runwitch headquarters, ready to field any and all messages— or at least the ones that made it past reception.

“The September Issue,” were the only words that left the vampire’s lips as she moved slowly through the room and surveyed the scene.

For, despite it being only the start of the summer, the August issue was already printed and packaged for news stands, and would hit shelves in the beginning of July. The magazine’s team had already held every meeting there was to hold on the topic; it was a neat, airy issue, the last parade of summer collections and adverts. A girl-about-town, a promising alum of the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts had been interviewed for the feature article, wearing dresses from the same collection the cover teased with its floaty runway.

It was the September issue that concerned them this month: changing interviews into articles, wrangling looks from showrooms and the clutches of other magazines (admittedly not the hardest task, with Runwitch’s position in the fashion world), editing the pieces and editorials that had already been submitted for review. Securing yet-to-be delivered fall advertisements whose placeholders had already been purchased. In the coming weeks, assistants and editors would be going over third drafts of articles with a fine tooth comb, trimming them down. And before this time next month, credits would be triple-checked. It was the biggest issue of the year, and Violet had no plans for stuffing their October issue with corrections.

And so her words were a wise reminder, that they had better not linger or waste time today.

Violet’s eyes seemed to ignore the desk of worker bees as they swept to the glossy mock-up board behind one of the editors. They gave nothing away as they moved, with keen, almost inhuman reflex, to the door. The single, polite-but-unmistakeble knock, one employed by Violet’s personal team, produced the face of her second assistant and one of the day’s guests.

“Coralie,” Violet greeted practically, as she nodded at the woman and stepped forward to offer a cold hand. “You’re right on time. I believe we’re ready to start shooting.” The vampire did not even bother to look for confirmation in an assistant’s eyes. Hers remained on the witch, assessing. “The rest of the designs you provided were as strong as that cloak,” she noted, approvingly. "Lily has some ideas for the shoot. I think you’ll be pleased.” Violet’s eyes moved on to the stylist, a bold and hard-working young woman whose name was well-known beyond the building. Despite the skill that had gone into arranging Coralie’s dark designs just so, Lily wore a shocking palette of red.

“Some of our interns will be assisting, too,” Violet continued, looking around finally for the team of students.

It was prime real estate for a designer’s debut.

She already knew it was going to be a long night.  It had been long enough, now that her great grandmother knew about the whole Runwich campaign – she’d been waiting to tell her about it, waiting until it was set in stone and things were really moving – not just some samples being requested and things like that.  It could have gone under without a moment’s thought, Cora knew that.  Fashion was fickle.  She supposed it didn’t make that much sense to her great grandmother and their legacy, who had made their fortune partially on the school robes industry which was woefully static.

So, she hadn’t been able to stay in or sleep – her grandmother had seen to that.  Cora just hoped that she’d be able to stay awake for the rest of it – and use her morning off wisely (face down in her pillows).   

For now she was more concerned with her own clothing and how that was going to potentially change things for her – for all of them, really.  One night without sleep that could end up creating a firestorm around her name – the weight of that was worth it.  It’d certainly bring far more people into the store – the September issue, it practically rang in her head!  If witches liked her robes… Cora’s mind couldn’t even wrap around that prospect. 

So, she’d closed up the store and headed out, apparating from the front of Madame Malkin’s robes to the studio in London that she’d been sent the address for.  Her heart was fluttering in her chest, and she didn’t think it was just from the rush that apparating caused.  Smoothing out the detailing on her skirt, Cora knocked on the door and it was swiftly opened. 

When the door opened, Cora’s eyes went wide.  There was a flurry of activity.  There was a ton of movement and things were brightly lit, despite the fact it was late in the evening.  The woman looked at her, and Cora stumbled over her own name, which instantly had her being pushed forward and then she was in the face of Violet Islington again and wearing her cloak!

That was a boost of confidence, for sure.  It was the piece of clothing that had started this, after all, and Cora couldn’t be more grateful.  “Ms. Islington!” Cora greeting brightly with a smile that was still too large for her face, “I’m so happy to hear you say that.”  She really was.  She’d been worried when she sent in the rest of the pieces that they would not live up to the standards she’d set in her outerwear.  She had even more things at home that she certainly wasn’t going to preview in a magazine like Runwitch.  People didn’t even really know she’d ventured into that arena of design unless they asked specifically anyhow…

But, not wanting to get too lost in her own thoughts she looked at Lily – a veritable celebrity in Cora’s mind and she couldn’t believe her luck.  The woman was a genius and known to do incredible things.  “I mean,” Cora licked her lips and bounced excitedly on her toes, “I am just so thankful – I’m sure it’ll be amazing,” she leaned forward to shake Lily’s hand (her own hands were shaking) and then looked back to Violet.

“I’ll do whatever you ask, of course,” Cora explained, eyes going back to Lily.  “If you need me to do any last minute adjustments or even just to stay by the side and watch – anything!” Her eagerness, of course, was out of youth and enthusiasm for her designs.  Whatever capacity she could fill in this space, she’d be willing to do whatever it took. 

Coralie was a much-welcome divergence from the backdrop of frazzled or no-nonsense fashion types in unassigned monotone uniforms.

Not that Violet didn’t love a good monotone, too. The old adage of the devil being in the details was one the vampire had found true in her many decades.

And it was the details— dark and exquisite— that they would be showcasing today. A perk of wizarding magazines was their pictures often moved. The swish of material, a close up of a cut fluttering from a model’s frame, an Amazonian young woman leaping across a studio in a couture sample… they helped emphasize why Fashion was always a marked, superb precursor to everyday ‘fashion.’

Her enthusiasm really was endearing in a way to which Violet Islington was not often beholden.

Lily[1], a bright and beaming personality in her own right, returned the optimism. “You aren’t what I expected at all, which makes your work even better,” she mused, her voice edging on a friendly laugh. If she, like Violet, found Coralie endearing, particularly in juxtaposition to her darker work, the stylist was equally sincere in her admiration. “Not that it isn’t already brilliant. The cut on that cloak on Mina—” She gestured. “It’s exactly what we need for the fall. I put it on earlier and looked I should definitely be in charge of the world.” She grinned, huge and looming. “Which I should.”

Lily had the distinction of being one of the few people comfortable making such comments in Violet’s presence… which made her all the more valuable an employee. 

“No adjustments yet, we’ve lucked out.” There would inevitably be something. There almost always was. It was a luxury to have the designer on set. There were a handful of stylists whose freelancing with Runwitch had been short-lived because they had taken it upon themselves to permanently adjust such garments.

Lily explained the concept, briefly, her ideas for the first piece, and left Cora with a compliment before dashing away to rearrange the garment just so on a model. Another girl was going at the same piece with a very gentle steaming charming.

Violet began to walk slowly toward where the action was happening, assuming Cora would tag along. “You’re free to suggest poses, of course. If you want the models to drape the pieces a certain way, just let Lily know. Our photographer is not as temperamental as some.” Violet had made sure of it.

Just as they approached, the camera began to let off flashes and clouds of purple smoke. The first round of shots were being done on a white background; the model wore vampy makeup and a coat with no top beneath it. After a quick round of shots, Lily dashed in to add a metallic choker that, like the icy shoes, contrasted perfectly.

There were more complicated sets to be arranged for other pieces; props like smoke charms to be added. The barrenness and bleakness of the background were intentional… minimal so as not to detract from the clothes, but enough texture to evoke a foggy London. (And the actual streets would almost certainly be their next destination, if all went as planned. A near-six-foot model walking in a commanding coat— and little else— among lesser beings was sure to catch eyes.)

“We’ll wait a few hours before we take it outside. We might want a crowd at some point, but the general population is rather puritanical about under garments.” As if they had never seen skin. “You don’t mind if we show a bit of skin beneath the coats, Coralie?” Violet stared, calm and appraising. The editrix was generally not phased by lack of attire (only poorly chosen attire, as Felix had learned); one got used to it quickly in this profession. She was sure the young woman had seen her share in tailoring. "We’ll layer her up soon, but we want to get this one pure, on its own.” And, perhaps, at certain angles, with a bank account’s worth of necklace. The theme of the current shot seemed to be a wealthy, ethereal type in heavy mascara, waiting impatiently to model her sharp new coat for a very lucky, mere mortal wizard.

“Can my team get you anything?” The question seemed to have heads poking up.

1.	Descriptions of Runwitch NPCs/Adoptables can be found here, beneath AO character contributors

For someone who was a huge fan of Runwitch, to hear Lily talk about her clothing like that, Cora felt all hot and like her chest and ears were starting to burn from the sheer joy of knowing that her work was being looked at like art.  She was an artist!  She was an artist.  That was perhaps the most exciting revelation to her.  Outside of the fact that she was standing in a shoot – for her clothing! 

It was finally starting to hit her.  This whole thing was so impressive and imagining it on the pages was even more incredible.  When it was actually there?  Cora might faint.  Feeling a little light headed already, actually.  She giggled awkwardly, a little uncomfortable with compliments and overwhelmed by the whole thing.  “I’m so glad you like it,” Cora gushed, “I mean, you have such good taste… and I mean, that’s obvious right?  You work here, so duh…” she laughed again and looked up, clasping her hands in front of her. 

“And I mean – I could make another for you, if you wanted it…” she looked at her eagerly – anything to please.  Cora wanted this to go well for so many reasons, and seeing her things on girls in the room, being groomed and set to perfection, her heart was thumping out of her chest.  The idea was perfect! Dark and sexy and intriguing, Cora couldn’t have imagined anything better for the cloaks and other pieces she’d sent in. 

When Lily bolted off, Cora shook her head a little, trying to ground herself in reality.  This was actually happening – she was really here!  Cora suppressed the squeal that she really needed to let out because this was exciting!  When Violet started to move, Cora followed along like a little puppy, listening to her words as closely as she could.

“I’m sure it’s going to be fantastic – I wouldn’t even know what to suggest,” she babbled honestly, looking around to see someone steaming a cloak and the model with the harsh (fantastic) make-up on and not much else beside her design.  It was racy, but Cora was not fazed by that.  She quite liked the idea – something unexpected and exciting – just the way Cora liked to be. 

She had a few other things she probably could have offered for the shoot, considering how much less they were wearing… but Cora kept those designs to herself, for the most part. Her cloaks were much stronger at this point, even though Thomas never seemed to complain or have anything to suggest about it. 

Otherwise, Cora was just content to be watching with her mouth open and eyes wide.  The whole thing was something she never could have imagined.  Well, she did imagine it, but it was even better than her imagination.  “This is all so amazing,” she breathed, looking back toward Violet.  “I love the ideas – and I trust you and your team,” she looked around at the people in the room who were so engaged with what was going on they barely even looked up, “to make everything look like it should.” She was so enamored with everything, it was like Christmas! She really did wonder if it would have helped to have more of her… risqué garments

And to have things offered to her?  Cora shrugged.  “I mean, I guess some tea would be nice,” she smiled lightly, “if that wouldn’t be a problem – everyone’s so busy…” it seemed, however, that some people had already started moving to make that happen.  Wow.  This was totally unreal. 

Runwitch. Without a doubt, Esther was in heaven.

When the opportunity had made itself known, she had leapt, positively leapt to take it, eager to use it for what it was: her first door to the industry behind the scenes. For all that she adored fashion – admired it, worshipped it with all the fervor of any proper aesthete – she was curious, too, about its nooks and crannies, the industrial aspect as well as the artistic. With its constant growth and changes in both preference and style, it was not just a craft, but practically a sentient entity. Beholden to its interpreters yet slave to none, its capricious nature was the only guarantee. Esther had to take the internship.

But Shizune Morrell had had other plans for her daughter, that it had taken no small amount of pleading, maneuvering, and compromise to get her agreement: she was to ace her OWLs, and all exams preceding them; she was to be on her very best behavior for their annual summer trip to Shikoku; and she was to keep an open mind for a “steadier” career should her dreams of fashion fall through. It might as well be a soul-binding contract. The little witch very nearly cringed just thinking about it.

Nevertheless, it was worth it. Runwitch was the pinnacle of fashion journalism. It had the best spreads and most exclusive interviews. Only the most established or most promising designers had their creations featured in its issues, the most talented of stylists employed. Gaining your experience there was practically gold, in Esther’s opinion. If you made it there, you could make it anywhere.

Of course, that begged the question of why would anyone leave in the first place.

It was, in a way, demeaning, running back and forth for simple errands– small things like fetching color swatches and fabric samples, relaying messages in person when a little Spellnote plane would do—getting drinks, as if a witch needed reminders of superiority that wasn’t hers –and while working beside two of the most fabulous upperclassmen in school was a dream come true (as if Violet Islington and her team weren’t enough—Violet. Islington.), Esther harbored very few illusions about the ‘glamour’ of interning.

Still…  Watching Coralie flit about the statuesque vampire like a satellite fit to burst, Esther couldn’t help but stifle a sigh; dreams were happening right now, glorious, fabulous dreams, and though she didn’t have much of a front row seat the young witch couldn’t help but admit that things were so much larger – grander – from the ground up.

And so it was with that thought Esther perked up at Violet’s offer, turning keen eyes onto the designer and setting off for that tea. This was her job, and by Morgana she would do it any way but right.

Teacup in hand and gently steaming, Esther came up to Coralie and lightly touched her on the arm. “Miss Coralie?” she murmured, and presented her burden with an earnest little smile—making a graceful retreat upon its acceptance.

Lily laughed with the young designer, offering warmth in the face of… the overwhelmingness that was a Runwitch shoot. If the staff were more than used to it, the stylist remembered what it was like to be new on the scene. There was a reason— beyond her talent— that Violet had picked her for this task.

“I think you’ve provided us with plenty to start,” Violet assured Cora on behalf of everyone else, as she accepted a list of notes from Genevieve. Her eyes trailed momentarily from the shoot in progress to neatly summaries. The Italians wanted a sample Violet was shooting for another cover, the French wanted to know when she would be by their offices, and friend with an edgy East London studio had requested an advance private viewing of his newest collection. It was not unusual— most people wanted to please Violet.

She looked up from the notes, making no comment to Genevieve, and instead gestured toward one of the models. Lily read this, as she had learned to do long ago, and made another adjustment.

She did not waste time adding that she was pleased Coralie liked their ideas. It was obvious enough in her countenance. Or not at all. But that was Violet. “This will be a perfect precursor to your first show. September is closer than you would think.”

Her eyes remained on the model.

The request for tea was filled quicker than even a paid employee might do it. When Violet did look away from the shoot, her eyes landed with a calm measure of approval on the youngest intern on the room. Miss Morrell’s was already a name she had learned; the girl was clever. And, of course, supremely sleek for a fourteen or fifteen year old. It was a shame such manners did not always accompany younger models.

“Miss Morrell, which shoes would you pair with that coat?” The editrix asked, having appraised the girl’s own attire briefly earlier in the evening.

In the next couple of weeks, the interns would be ushered in various departments of their choosing. Even if orientation was still resonating, and there was tea to be made, Violet thought the girl capable of multitasking. Genevieve made sure if it when choosing the candidates. This one, she suspected, by her manner speech, had a talent with the quill.

Esther froze in her retreat—that polite, inscrutable expression she had suddenly terribly– tellingly– open with surprise. It was good thing her back was already turned to both editrix and designer, because Morgana only knew what her face looked like now.

Had she really—? Was this really happening? It couldn’t be. But it was.

And it was clearly a testament to the girl’s very poise (or the steel beneath it), because it was with careful grace that she spun around—not quite keeping her shock at bay (and indeed, whatever mask she had mustered wavered in the face of the vampiress’ expectation), but at least enough that she seemed to visibly pull herself together, determined to give an answer that would embarrass no one, least of all herself. Shoes, she thought distantly, turning her gaze onto the selection laid out within the periphery of the very shoot itself. Which one– There were classic pumps and comma heels that would give anyone pause, elegant scarpins and sultry platform stilettos promising the most feminine of sways. Just looking at them all—it was almost too much.

Dark, clever eyes shot towards the model, taking in the severe contours, the long, graceful throat, and the exquisite cloak that was the very heart of the shoot. Bold, warm colors, of course, were out of the question. And given the expanse of bare skin plummeting into the model’s waistband, the heels had to be high, or at least provide a complement in some other way. And there had to be a complement–

Pale, pearlescent-tipped fingers reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her lips, which now rolled—pursed—pouted in thought. “I would choose… those, Miss Islington.” She pointed out a pair of platform pumps, of a deep, subtle blue—black, almost, but not quite, and almost safe in choice were it not for the fantasy aspect of their heels: they were stilettos, yes, but a second, metal frame wove about them, delicate like filigree and offering the illusion of shape and dimension without actually adding any. They shone a cold, almost eerie silver.

Esther looked back at Violet, clinging to a thin veneer of calm over a nervous heartbeat.

Cora was just so pleased that she was here and the clothes she was seeing on the very tall and elegant models were hers that she hardly cared at all about everything else going on – she didn’t even really need a say in what to pair it all with.  She knew what she would have, but she wasn’t running the magazine and her trust was absolute in this case.  She knew Violet had no intention of shooting her clothing with anything less than perfection.   

So, getting her tea, Cora was just happy.  “Thank you!” she chirped happily, beaming at the young girl as she took it out of her hands and took a gentle sip.  It was steaming, which Cora appreciated even if it was warm out.  Summer weather didn’t bother her too much.  She usually just used cooling charms and dressed as best she could for whatever was going to happen.

Raising her eyebrows at what Violet said, Cora let out a deep breath.  “I’m working on quite a few things,” she admitted.  It was a little bit of a departure from what they were going to be taking pictures of here.  She’d certainly tried some of the designs on herself and Thomas seemed to like them, but she was a little nervous about doing something different.  She was very good at cloaks, but that wasn’t very… September. 

Pursing her lips, she took another sip and was equally as surprised when Violet asked the young girl, Morrell, what her choice would be.  Poor thing was probably petrified, judging by the way she stopped in her tracks – though Cora supposed she must have been wrong because as soon as she turned around, the girl looked like it was a standard question.  Perhaps she just had a little more emotional control than Cora, who let almost everything read directly off her face. 

“I love them!” Cora breathed when the girl indicated the shoes she would pair with the cloak and her shoulders drooped a little sullenly, as she realized she did not get to wear them.  “What a good catch!” she was enthusiastic about it and her smile filled her entire face.  As a young talent herself, she liked to encourage other people and the young Miss Morrell at least had an eye for shoes. 

She pressed her lips together before she smiled again.  “Did you just graduate?” she asked the girl, trying to include her.  “You have a good eye for this, that’s for sure!” she added before looking to Violet, “Doesn’t she?” another bright smile before she tipped the tea back and took another dainty sip.   

“I’ll have to come by the shop soon, then,” Violet countered, barely raising a brow but letting her curiosity be known. As if the statement might provoke more detail. She would leave that upon Coralie’s shoulders. “Autumn is a time for testing nature just a little.” As if the vampire had not done plenty of that by most people’s standards. There was an amusement in her tone. “You can make it whatever you’d like.” And in a different way, generally, than spring clothing, which often met the thaw with an overt sunniness. (Granted, many a designer were still putting finishing touches on the lighter spring collections in the race to September runways, and fashion year round was breaking the rules of decades old.) What was hidden beneath fall layers offered a subtlety that suited the editrix well.

Violet was all unblinking gaze and chess player patience as she waited for the girl's answer. Styling, contrary to ease with which some dismissed it, was not easy. To make the model into the perfect fantasy, the conveted creature on the pedestal, it took not only an innate sense of style, but judiciousness not oft found in a fifteen year old. And a touch of clairvoyance— not that Violet was one for divination. Trendsetting, however, had made her very successful.

Cornflower gaze was drawn to the selection, deep navy pumps with metallic detail. A choice that married classic and edgy in the same way Coralie’s work did. The heavy warmth and cold tailoring of the coat would be made all the more apparent by the accessories’ textures. “I would have chosen the same,” the vampiress appraised after a moment, and an assistant swept forward the knick the pumps from the line-up and carry them daintily toward the model, as if tasked with placing slippers on a king’s feet. Others in the room nodded in agreement.

Violet ignored the intermission of adding layers and looked back to Esther with the same still water gaze. As if she could hear the girl’s heartbeat. “Good styling is like good architecture, Miss Morrell. Harder to come by than one initially thinks, and very hard to forget.” And it needed good bones; shoes were frequently the foundation.

She turned back to Coralie with what might have been a smile. That balance of experience— what made a woman more qualified than a girl, usually— and youth, the bravery it allotted, was precarious. But when one found the right combination, it was beautiful in the most envy-inspiring way. It made a good designer, a good stylist, a good model. A good vampire.