her smile doesn’t falter when kamala asks the question. if anything, it softens — patient, almost thoughtful — the way someone might look at a child who’s asked something earnest but slightly beside the point. she tilts her head just a fraction, resting her fingertips lightly against the rim of her glass. “niche?” isla repeats gently, like she’s simply clarifying a misunderstanding rather than answering a challenge. her gaze flicks briefly toward the theatricality of the whole thing, before returning to kamala. “oh, nothing scandalous,” she says smoothly. “just… a moment in time. a specific kind of fame.” another sip, slow and unhurried. “disney has a way of creating that,” she continues. “very bright, very beloved, very of its era.” the smile widens slightly, still polite. “it’s like a perfectly preserved little capsule. people remember exactly how it felt when they were twelve.” she lets the compliment sit there, shiny and harmless on the surface. then her eyes drift back to kamala with quiet appraisal. “which isn’t a bad thing,” isla adds easily. “nostalgia is incredibly powerful. half the industry is built on it.” she sets her glass down on the bar with a soft clink. “you’re lucky in that sense. people already know how they want to feel about you.” her tone is still conversational, almost admiring. “that’s a huge advantage.” a beat passes. then her gaze sharpens just a touch, still smiling, but studying kamala the way someone studies a performance they’re not entirely convinced by. “most of us,” she says lightly, “actually have to convince them.” she lifts her glass again in a casual little toast. “but like i said,” isla adds with a warm little laugh, as if none of this has been anything but pleasant conversation, “finding your lane is half the battle.” her eyes flick briefly to kamala’s tightened smile. “and you seem very comfortable in yours.”
turnnoffyourmind
romaincrisis
prguitarman
kianamaiart
