#the starlet

[themakeupbrush]

Paolo Sebastian “The Starlet”

[strigwrites]

The Buckle

“There’s a new treatment going around, heard it’s something they’re doing at Studio 9. You might’ve already caught wind, so stop me if you know this already.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Girls are finding a good butcher and getting the thinnest slices of quality beef they can manage. Sirloin, I think, was the preferred choice. Or was it a shave of skirt steak…? No, no, it was sirloin, I’m sure of it. But it can’t be just any sirloin, right? They’re calling for cuts that come specifically from cattle with a highly restricted diet, so you can’t just settle for anything or it won’t work. The cow’s diet and humane slaughter are crucial.”

“Huh…”

“They’ve got guys now who are boasting so-called platinum-grade shaved sirloin, which if you ask me is rife for fraud, but that’s how it always is with these things, someone’s always looking for easy money. So anyway, contrary to what you might be thinking, the beef is not for eating.”

“Ah…”

“You’ve got to get them as cold as they can be without freezing—absolutely no ice crystals or you’ve gone and ruined it and that’s a good chunk of change down the drain—and make sure you only handle them with perfectly clean, stainless steel tongs fresh out of the freezer. What you do is drape these dainty little meat-sheets over your face and gently press them into the contours of your skin so it’s like you’ve got a mask on. If they’re still a little bloody, apparently that’s even better. So it sounds crazy, but as you lie there, it gradually takes on the heat from your body and the fats and nutrients in the meat permeate your skin very deeply through osmosis…No, maybe it’s not called osmosis, but something else...”

“Ehh…”

“You might be skeptical, but I’ve seen the results first-hand, and these girls are prancing out of the spas in-can-descent. Something about the meat brings healthy bloodflow to the cheeks—we’re talking a natural blush that requires absolutely no makeup and makes you look pinched for weeks without a lick of makeup. You can pick them out of a crowd, babe, I’m telling you. Oh, you’re a bleeder, aren’t you?”

The young woman craned back on the dentist’s chair wrenches her eyes shut against the blinding overhead light as her mouth floods with a rich flow of fresh crimson. The ruddy dentist crowding over her prone figure hums to the swingy brass crooning from an overhead speaker and casually begins to fold up gauze packets to stuff into the newly-opened pits in her raw gums. “Last time I saw a geyser like that,” he crows, “I was on vacation with the wife and kids at Shimmering Wells. They went wild over the hot springs and we were lucky enough to catch not one, not two, but three eruptions. No offense to you, but it was a much prettier sight out west. Have you ever been?”

A deflated ‘uh-uh’ answers him now that his woozy patient has closed her mouth to bite on the red-drenched gauze wads, her glassy eyes fixed to the ceiling beyond the dentist’s right ear and bright orange sideburns as though to will herself into an out-of-body experience. Better out than in, the same thing she said about the extraneous molars that now gleamed like polished ivory from their place on a metal side tray next to an array of hooks and pokers. How vital could two teeth be, really? Especially in comparison to the importance of maintaining immaculate facial structure and symmetry under the white-hot set lights well into the future; after all, she had a whole mouth full of other perfectly good teeth, but what she didn’t have was an extra set of cheekbones. The buckle, they called it, as though to treat her face like a construction site, knock out a few support pillars, and then stand back and watch the delicate structure of her face cave in.

“I’d advise you not to bother with the mirror for a good week or two,” the dentist proclaims crisply, as though reading her thoughts directly. His bright blue gaze over the lip of his mask hurt to look at nearly as much as the bulb of the overhead lamp. “You’re going to look like an overripe plum, sweetheart, not pretty at all, but if you do as I say and eat soft foods and apply ice daily, I promise you’re going to be thrilled at the end result. Did you have any questions?”

“Ah…” Before she can answer, the taste of sterile gloves replaces the taste of her own blood as the doctor goes rooting around for the soiled gauze without warning, plucking one soaked wad and then the other. With cheerfully indifferent efficiency, more cloth is packed into her jaw and a hand under her chin coaxes her to bite down once more.

“Terrific. Up you go.” A mechanical hum jolts the chair awake and begins to lift the addled patient back into a reclining position with a look of drenched misery. The dentist pulls his sullied gloves from his hands and piles them next to his mask on a tray. “Let’s get you some painkillers and get you on your way. Do you have a driver waiting…?”

“Ough…” she mouths around the bulk of the gauze. “Ah row hee…” Her nose crinkles up at the indignity of speaking in such a state while the dentist helps her to her feet, her ankles momentarily threatening to upend her entire weight onto the floor under the strain of high heels.

“Easy, now. One foot in front of the other,” he soothes, letting her hold onto his arm for balance.

His charge twists to look behind herself to check for anything forgotten when she spots just such a thing. “Ay—wayh…” she insists, trying to break away from her newly-appointed chaperone to retreat the way they came.

“You’ve got your purse in your hands, miss,” he reminds her with only the slightest patronization, but it’s enough to break her last mote of patience. The young starlet gives him a brusque shove with one hand and turns fully to march back into the examination room with renewed purpose and only the slightest wobble. “Did you forget something?” he insists, now growing impatient in kind. “You may be feeling the nitrous yet, but I promise you all is well.”

A doe-eyed assistant who had just started cleanup in the examination room appears surprised to see her patient return so soon, and the puffy face of determination greets her in kind. “Oofh,” the surly, gauze-packed woman commands. There is no understanding that passes between them, so she reaches out and grips the assistant by the shoulders and begins to drag her away from the dirty medical tray, where she spots her prize. “Ma’am?” the assistant begins, bewildered by her strange behavior, but is soon answered when the chipmunk-cheeked patient turns and shows her the two long-rooted molars gleaming in her blood-streaked palm, closes her fist, and marches out the door.

[modaesthetique]

[jeepjep]

Paolo Sebastian | “The Starlet” S/S 2019

[rayon-du-soleil-blog1]

paolo sebastian | the starlet 

ss 2019

[the-angel-of-filth]

The Starlet

[filthman-arts]

The Starlet with her original form as a human, Monica Palm, who is high af 24/7 an art student studying photography. Unlike Anton, she never learns about her personal guardian angel nor the fact that demons are at every corner, trying to kill her.

Below Starlet/Monica is her adorable 5 inch tall guardian angel (and demoted lesser foot soldier), Nettle! As sweet and small as they may appear, they are not to be trifled with. With Nettle swearing like a sailor, being rather wrathful in nature, and the fact that they’re quite agile and calculating, it should come to no surprise that they make a worthy opponent to even titanic-sized demons. As for interacting with Humans, they are not very good at it. Nettle seems to be Good Pals™ with Mildew.