"Shit." I murmured, staring at my hair in the hall mirror. I'd just taken off the bandanna that the on-set stylist had wrapped around my hair, shielding it from the dreary rain that had plagued October. The director said that, based upon a few diary entries and police records, my character had naturally blonde hair, like mine, but died her hair brunette and cut it short after running away and apparently it'd be absolutely impossible to make the movie if I didn't dye and chop off all of my hair. "Who could imagine, stretching reality in a film? The atrocity!" Was what I wanted to retort, however I only nodded, agreeing to attempt to fit his vision. He'd directed several box office hits, including several cliched, somewhat racist, set in the deep south, ultra pro-military romantic films that were adaptations of the equally cliched, somewhat racist, set in the deep south, ultra pro-military romance novels; my mother was hesitant to let me do the film in the first place, if she heard that I was disobeying, despite her promise to try and make amends by being less overbearing, she'd be, to put it the most eloquently way possible: really fucking pissed off.No cursing.
No romance between my character and the Linus character.
No nudity. Even with a body double.
No gruesome, bloody, or suicidal scenes.
Those were the demands that mum had presented the screenwriters and director with and, since she technically was only loaning the rights to the story or whatever and was being given a producer credit and the lead was her daughter, they obliged, other than the last thing. Considering my character's mental state, it was difficult to not include the last one, at least a teeny bit... How could you refer to bloody, gruesome, suicidal things without being offensive? You didn't want to romanticize illnesses, though you didn't want to be crass or triggering.
"Hey Veronica?"
"Huh?" I glanced away from my horrid dye job, flinching. My hair was jet black. Not dark brown. Not "coffee with a liberal amount of cream poured into it" like I was told. Onyx, raven, pitch, obsidian, jet, however you wanted to describe it black.
"Wilson and I are going to this frat party and it seems lonely to leave you here, so, uh- fuck, what's with your hair?" He paused, staring at me. They were going to dye my hair today, cut it tomorrow... Apparently now the plan was to bleach it tomorrow, dye it hopefully a lighter brown, then chop it all off.
"Stylist screwed it up."
"I-I... Looks good. Do you wanna go to the Halloween party with us? It's in, like, an hour." I had an essay to write for US history, something about the French and Indian War, and an art assignment that I probably should finish before we started filming my brunette part of the movie, though I could easily do that them between scenes on set.
"Sure. Is it a costume party?"
"Yeah, but... You're my littler sister and you're underage, so-"
"Preferably nothing slutty that would put you in an awkward position and have to threaten some drunk frat boy for staring at your sister and scream 'if you think a short skirt is consent I'll kick your ass to Montana'?"
"That was one frat party." His cheeks flushed bright pink, as Wilson came out from the kitchen.
"The Alpha Alpha Delta?" He asked, attempting to suppress a laugh. "Dude, you were hammered."
"You know, you're the only person I know that goes into feminist rant mode when they're drunk." Wilson teased.
"Better then angry or racist rant mode, besides shouldn't every be a feminist?"
"Hell yeah." Wilson and I said in unison, before I turned to face him. His hair was in dreads and he was dressed in a yellow t shirt and flared jeans.
"Who are you dressed as?"
"Either Bob Marley without the beanie or that white guy who thinks that, by telling him cultural appropriation is wrong, we're being racist and oppressing his rights."
"Okay, so reggae singer or ignorant asshole who doesn't have the word prejudice in his vocabulary and lacks a basic understanding of the Civil Rights movement and racism in America and..." Harrison was dressed in a white lab coat and navy slacks. "Too lazy to change out of his lab uniform?"
"Doctor."
"Lemme guess, you're..." Wilson stared at me. I was dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and capri yoga pants , my hair was messed up, and my face was bare of makeup. "A D-list celeb who got caught leaving the gym?"
"Close. An unfamous far as from celebrity as humanly possible who just returned home after suffering from a bad dye job."
"I have to say, A for originality." He chuckled. "Don't you agree Harrison?"
"A for effort."
"Guys, I need a real costume. Like, I have a blue dress... But I can't be Alice. I have a plaid skirt and a sweater crop top, knee highs, and Mary Janes so I could be Rachel, or there's always red leggings and a black tank top, so Buffy, but... Dammit, why are all the easy characters blonde?"
"You could be the queen of hearts."
"Or Monica." Harrison offered.
"Or Drusilla."
"Or, dammit. That comic series we studied in that pop culture class, what was it, Harrison?"
"I dunno, I didn't take that, I got my social history credit through that women's studies class, because, ya know."
"Lyla?"
"Yeah, Lyla." Lyla? Harrison hadn't mentioned a girl, he hadn't had a serious girlfriend, to my knowledge, nor did he ever mention going on dates or anything. Mum always joked about how handsome he was, so surely there must be somebody, male, female, bigender, agender, or whatever, but surely somebody. I didn't really give a damn about Harrison's love life and I didn't really want details, so I didn't pry, however I was curious.
"Superhero? No, not Marvel or DC..." By the time I reemerged int he conversation, they'd moved back to trying to figure out which comic character I could be. "Oh, I know! I got it. Archie. That Archie character... Veronica?"
"Yeah?" I looked at Wilson, a bit perplexed. I didn't read Archie, it wasn't like I'd know.
"No, no, her name's Veronica, like yours. How perfect is that? You just need, like, a red top and blue skirt adn with your hair you'd be the perfect Veronica Lodge."
"That'd work." I was honestly indifferent towards what I went as, I had yet to officially drink alcohol and I hadn't made out with any annoying philosophy majors or guys who considered beer pong a sport, so my college party experience was rather tame. "Thanks." I hurried up to my room, opening up my closet. Red top, blue skirt. I threw on and a a mini skirt and one shoulder tie blouse, slipping into some simple black pumps. I quickly applied some red lipstick, cat eyeliner, and pressed powder. I stared at myself in the mirror. Not perfect, but sufficient for a Halloween costume. Sufficient worked.
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