GarniGal's Journal:

Volcanoes erupt – spewing poison and changing the very shape of the earth as red hot lava paints glowing trails down the mountain side.

Boilers burst – venting steam and melting the very paint off of the walls as heat and water find every invisible crack and fissure in the seeming solid concrete.

Tempers explode – spewing poison and venting steam. His father’s temper finds every crack in his armour, and paints red welts on his heart and mind that can never be erased.

To be safe, Wesley keeps his poison and his steam inside, where it can hurt no one but himself.

Shows: Angel
Story Title: Graumann's Chinese Theatre
Character/Relationships: Cordelia Chase
Rating: PG
Warnings: None

The breeze down Hollywood Boulevard was crisp and sharp. She didn't remember it ever being cold in Sunnydale, no matter what she wore and no matter what time of year it was. Didn't matter; there wasn't anything she could do about it now. She just smiled wider and willed the goosebumps away through sheer mental focus.

She looked awesome, at least she was confident of that. She'd put her hair up in a ponytail in a defense against the wind; that was a risk, a little too casual. But it showed off her neck and at least she wasn't pushing tangled curls out of her face every ten seconds like the blond beside her. She'd almost worn a white shirt, thinking it would stand out in the darkness. But her tan wasn't as perfect as it should be, and she'd looked washed out when she tried it on. She'd made the right choice with a short sleeved burgundy knit dress, shot with hints of metallic thread. The lights for the red carpet made everything look like daylight, and caught the metallics without making her look like a disco ball, like the red-head three down. And there'd been no question about the boots; no matter how badly her feet hurt, the knee highs with four inch heels were the only choice.

The cars started to arrive. Just town cars at first; people with bit parts and crew. Most of the girls around her were slouching, bitching about the cold, but Cordelia kept the smile on her face, kept her back straight and made sure she caught the eye of everyone who looked her way. It was good practice, and you never knew who'd go from nothing to something.

Finally, finally the limos pulled up. Girls adjusted bras, swiped fingers over teeth and tried to tame their tangled hair, but Cordelia was ready. She smiled, trying on a different smile for each person so they could see how versatile she was. Shy for the producers, sweet for the director, her old Queen C bitch smile for the female lead, and welcoming for the male lead.

The doors closed, the lights abruptly flicked off. It was dark and cold on Hollywood Boulevard, and there was no limo waiting to take her home, no photographer asking for one more shot. She turned away and walked down the street to the nearest bus stop, head still high, back still straight.

Next time, she'd be the one walking the red carpet.