Not Your Kind of People

Joan had to admit, it was a little ironic that she was doing the makeup for the new campaign brainstormed by Theía Modeling Agency. "Love You for You" was the tagline that she couldn't see eye to eye on, despite its truth. She couldn't come to terms with it and accept the statement for what it was: to be forgiven by it and overwhelmed by it at the same time. She just simply couldn't accept that her form at night was a beautiful and hideous monster and to admit that it was still her.

Yet here she was. She held her tongue and criticisms, thinking they were too personal. This meeting, they would have to finalise the bulk of the concept.

Always forward-thinking, the fashion industry was full of predictions based on past trends, while still innovating something bold and new. Which was why this campaign came as some surprise to her. It wasn't rare that advertising would play on emotional and personal heartstrings – these tactics proved to be effective, even if they were criticised as being secretly insincere and manipulative. But for Manta Carlos, it would likely work out in their favour.

"One design concept states that they will keep the background simple in a bright, pastel colour, and focus mostly on the tagline and the portrait of the subject." Joan commented, while looking over at the designer's work process, flipping between pages. "That seems to be the core idea. Other ideas pitched were to have the models placed in the setting of Manta Carlos Islands to retain a more 'organic, laidback and adventurous' feel. The makeup for either looks will have to be slightly adjusted, but it has to look natural and non-fussy, in my opinion."

"There are a few more concept ideas, but these seem to be the main directions the pitch is taking. What do you think, Ms. Tor?"

"I agree. It gives the ad context as opposed to their original pitch. Having different shots of the models in everyday scenarios should make the clothing more appealing to the consumer."

Man, Joan hated meetings. She hated using this kind of language, but they were in a business and they were selling products, not dreams. Though admittedly, using this kind of language did give her the illusion of power from her often shy, cautious and mousy personality. She was surprisingly more articulate and outspoken in meetings when the mood called for it, but it was not like she exercised any real form of authority.

She found herself nodding in agreement for Malara's plan for the TV advert makeup, though admittedly, she found herself stuck on a few concepts, and adjusted her round spectacles before deciding if she should speak up. She couldn't let this one slide.

"If I may say something," Joan looked at Malara, but she couldn't find herself making direct eye contact. She could feel her palms sweating. "I feel like the use of the human shape charm could become problematic in the TV ad. If our target audience are for those that fall outside of the Narrow Reality, I feel like the human charm can inadvertently depict conformism to human standards of beauty as a marker, and maintaining the Veil of Secrecy."

She felt her skin was dampening, but she couldn't tell if it was from sweat, or something else. Joan cast her eyes at the window. It still looked bright outside, but the shadows were growing longer. They were already going overtime, and they were soon to be the only ones left in the meeting.

"W-What I think we should do instead is uh... Smash the Veil of Secrecy. Smash the human shell. Depict the non-human models brazenly for who they are."

Despite her strong, seemingly anti-authoritarian words, they were delivered with a whimper. Joan, for all intents and purposes, was a normie. She shouldn't be talking about these topics as though she knew about them.

And she was reminded of where her powers came from: from a man who spoke up against authority, and was punished by being strangled alive by sea serpents.

Joan felt cornered. Granted, it was pretty easy to make her feel this way, but she keenly felt this as some kind of prey for Malara. The mention of lamia and scales was just enough to disrupt the facade that Joan kept up in everyday life, and her eye visibly twitched in something like fear and irritation, but only for a microsecond as Malara closed in on her.

As twilight drew near in the autumnal season of the island, Joan's hair was looking rather... damp, as though coated by some kind of oil or viscous liquid, starting from the roots. Her skin, usually dry and matte, started to take on a... some would say, 'glow'.

"That's exactly what I can't agree with." she said, a little more bitterly than the usual jovial, cheerful and spineless Joan that she usually was. Her breathing made a rattling hiss. She needed Malara to back off from her. She needed space, and her actions came instinctively without even thinking.

It was her turn to close in on Malara, as she slowly leaned her body towards her boss, becoming more assertive.

"That pitch still acknowledges the use of human charms. I don't want some idiot on the internet to even write about the human form; how it was better, a solid 10 or whatever drivel he comes up with. I want to fly in the face of authority. A big 'fuck you' to the Veil of Secrecy by not even acknowledging human forms."

She slammed her hands on the desk, and gave a conclusion to her dangerous speech.

"I won't give any chance for anyone to celebrate the "beauty" of the human form." she sneered. "There will only be love for monsters and aliens."

By the end of it, Joan's breathing was hard. She wasn't even half aware of what she did, but she knew she had slipped up. She was trembling with adrenaline and fear. A change was happening in her, in her appearance and her demeanour. She could tell, because Malara was now blurry in her view of her spectacles. She took them off; they were giving her a headache. She wiped the lenses on the hem of her shirt, looking away regretfully.

"... It's been a long meeting. I must be spouting nonsense. Could we take a ten minute break?"

Joan's eyes gave furtive glances at the clock on the wall, and to the orange glow of the setting sun outside. Time was running out for her, and being assertive only made Malara seem to take more of an interest in her. Maybe it was time to take the other strategy.

"Then if we can both agree on this, I can send a follow-up email and the meeting notes to the others. I'm sure you don't intend to stay here longer than necessary," Joan suggested, though her eyes avoided Malara as she gathered up the papers on the table and the laptop. As she collected everything, she left a trail of venom droplets on the papers and on the table. Joan paused awkwardly and stared at the wet imprint of her arm on the table, and got a couple of facial tissues to mop up the mess, though it only drew more attention to what she created.

Her eyes started itching, and were bloodshot. She faked a sniffle and tried to appear weak and frail again, but this time it wouldn't be easy to fool Malara.

"I— I really must head home, Malara," she insisted. "My hayfever gets quite bad this time of year. And I think I'm catching a cold."

As she talked, there was a glint of something sharp in her mouth. Joan was sweating intensely.

"So you think you can spit in my eye just because you're my superior? Or that I'm just some powerless fool?" Joan hid her eyes as best as possible, but anger boiled underneath her words. Her hair took on a completely different quality; wet, tousled and darker in tone. By the time Malara had packed her things, it was as though a completely different person was standing in the room.

"Well, I got news for you."

She struck out with a triumphant hiss as she flipped the fucking table over.

"Meeting's over, Malara. I'm gonna get you sick for pulling these tricks on me!"

The other person in the room — it was still Joan, but her sclera were pitch black and her eyes blazed olive gold. She laughed at both of their misfortune, and her pale blue mouth and needle sharp fangs only meant one thing: venom. Without her makeup, it was still recognisably the new villain terrorising victims on Manta Carlos Islands: Stone Snake. Her gaze was fixed on Malara, and the demigoddess would have to be careful in where she trained her gaze and how she moves her body, lest she become paralysed or even worse, petrified.

"You put me in a tight spot because of this meeting going overtime. There's a reason why that coward Joan goes home before dark, and that's me." She smirked, for effect.

"So I wonder how should I punish you? Maybe I'll blind you, or better yet, turn you into a statue..."