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Fifty Pounds of Cake

An-nasr Altair Hasani | Allen Winters; November 30 - December 2, 2009

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An-nasr Altair Hasani; November 30, 2009

HIGH SOCIETY x2:

Grow (Establish, really) x2

Coming back from his trip, feeling about as enlightened as he expected (read: not very) Altair finds one of his darling catwalkers - whatever-her-name-is - all sick from eating nothing but tomatoes.

Poor girl.

Altair, kind soul that he is, "consoles" the fainting waif - and discovers, much to his surprise, that she tastes like tomatoes!

A dark idea begins to boil over in the cauldron of his brain.

He tells her not to worry, that they're going to do something awesome - by which he does not mean fire her because she's a fatty who can't hold a decent figure without fainting - no, they're going to celebrate food in a shoot.

He calls Alashain (who normally handles such things) and tells her to set up a shoot. Things that will be needed:

  • A photographer
  • Black and green screens
  • A makeup crew with flair
  • Fifty pounds of cake
  • Buckets

Fashion magazines are invited, as are magazines that like to make women feel bad about themselves (Cosmo and the like) to the shoot.

"This is a time of year when America eats," Altair will say. "We wanted to celebrate that, see the beauty in gluttony. Eh, not gluttony - um, healthy self-expression? Can you not print that I said gluttony? Thanks.

Anyway, yeah. There's something exotic and sexy about a woman frolicking in fresh baked goods, don't you think?

Bold, fierce, and fearless. It's what we do at Aquilae."

(Aquilae is apparently the name of the design firm. Now we know!)

When all is said and done, Altair crosses his fingers, hoping that whatever-her-name-is' eating disorder turns into a chance for him to taste delicious cakeblood someday.

Influence Response:

You find out the tomato-afflicted girl's name is Violetta and help her to her dressing room - being all gentlemanly and all. After sampling her saucy hot blood and coming to your half-baked conclusions about the nature of flavoring mortals and the subsequent half-baked hope of of cake in your future, you give Alashain a quick ring to start demanding your various zany items of seemingly grave import.

The eventual shoot confuses the photographer and borders on something you'd find at a very Internet-specific fetish site. Your agent loves it.

You have the make-up artist brush layers of frosted sugar on a few girls whom you arrange in a helpless, vulnerable and artistically creepy fashion on a bed of cake, evoking ideas of overdose imagery. You have underwear clad nymphets suckle on the raspberry tips of a Pavlova in a manner somehow suggesting underage lesbian curiosity without outright saying anything of the sort. You have one set done of what seems to be an orgiastic mud wrestling scene culminating in a shot of one girl strangling another in a literally imagined death by chocolate.

It's brilliant.

When all is said and done, you have plenty of hypersexualized, ultra-sleek photos of girls tangentially related to your actual product while frolicking in a mass of sugar that sadly none of them will deign to consume once the camera's off them.

Cosmo is thrilled beyond measure. Your fingers uncross in slight vexation as you realize that even if you are about to engender a great wave of pretention across your scene, you shall be denied the enjoyment of cake blood.

Pity.

GROW successful. You have 2/6 GROW points.

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Allen Winters; December 2, 2009

PERSONAL ACTION:

Looking for any talk or even whispers on a new new Kindred of the city, Altair, to see if any of the things he rambled on about last Elysium have any truth to them.

Influence Response:

Altair Hasani, proud member of the Clan of Wu-Tang has recently made quite the splash in the world of high fashion with his scandalous new photo shoot framing his Winter line of clothing.

The people in the know are all abuzz about the fantastic line up. Turns out most of the clothing was shown draped over chairs or flung onto the floor, as the models themselves were barely clothed, and were busily engaged in artistic poses over mountains of cake and other baked confections.

"An immaculate symbol of our consumer society," you overhear somebody comment.

Looking over the prints somebody deigns to share with you you note the artistic arrangement of bodies to depict vulnerability, sexuality and ahedonia in the midst of excess. Lithe-bodied girls are positioned with deathly white coats of sugar outlining their features as they nest in a grotesque mass of spiraling frosting, conjuring up chthonic images of yore. The winter coats they've cast aside aren't so much show-cased as they are incidental to the piece. In another shot you see women amidst a struggle, their couture caked with the splatter of dark chocolate, which symbolically replaces the bloodshed one would expect from the violent panorama. An amalgam of death, competition, lust and food is displayed for all to see.

The man obviously has a flair for the theatrical if nothing else.

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