Author: Briar firstname.lastname@example.org
Fandom: AtS, rated G
Disclaimer: Do I look Numfar to you? Joss owns.
Archive: list, & just tell
Summary: futuristic Cordy/other ficlet, with lack of major spoilage
Cordelia shook her shoulders, feeling the shift's caress and the tafetta rustle around her bodiced figure. She looked at her watch again. The jewel-encrusted Cartier was really too gaudy for daily wear, but David had gotten a peck on the cheek for his trouble and she was wearing it now, wasn't she?
Now if only he'd get here more than a little on time, for once. But this was a special occasion, where she'd be in her element amongst the stars, even if she remembers when the concealer wasn't almost as thick as pancake batter and yet still not cutting it.
Sometimes, many times; always dark circles. But tonight her eyes were fresh, her scent delectable, the head marvelously clear and free.
Tonight she felt absolutely delicious, and she knew she looked exactly how she felt.
Angel would be fine with the others; the strengthening wards on her person were sometimes even curiously effective against the throbbing Industrial-strength Symphonies of Pain forwarded from the Powers. Gunn was resting peacefully, buried proper. Wesley and Fred had called from Seattle just the other day, a pronouncement on having decided to name the twins "Charles and Cordelia" and who knew anyways that she'd live to see a namesake born? SO tres Dynasty, and she loved them both for doing it.
She loved them all.
Now if only David would get here soon. As an afterthought, what came to mind was that lateness would ensure the fanfare entrance. Again, in one of those moments where she still surprised herself, Cordelia mused on how she probably wouldn't mind the lack of flare if they weren't to have entirely too grand of a red carpet walk, and that the reason would be closer to indifference than humility or shyness.
Shy, her? PUH-lease.
She took out her compact for a final look. Impeccable lipstick. Decolletage brimming with diamonds, which could've been hers had she agreed to David's insistence on keeping them. These were entirely too heavy for regular nightly use. But it _is_ sweet. He is. If he asked her again for her hand in marriage, if the bubbles of tonight's champagne got to her head, who knows? She might finally grace the question with a Yes.
... maybe the thirtieth time's the charm.
The mirror shows her the self she's always known, the unchanging part within. It only gets better. Perfect face, and she's included the long jagged scar zigzagging like lightning across her left temple. There's character, and that's sexy. The silver glass eye blinks with the brown. Gorgeous.
Hey, sometimes it's good to be vain. To enjoy yourself. Especially when you know you've got it.
The circumstances certainly were a little different, how and when she'd pictured her first Oscars.
An arm encircles her waist. The kiss on her cheek gets a smile just as warm.
"I'm glad you made it, " she says dryly, but there's no mistaking the affection.
He hands her a tulip from behind his back with flourish.
"Well, this is new. Thank you, David."
"You. Are. the most beautiful woman alive."
She laughs, long and hard and very honestly.
"Thank you. I know."
Cordelia. Watch. Alive. a Dymphna challenge-in-a-can.
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