Summary: Set during the episode "Starbright: Falling Star". Pizzazz's life has become a kind of eternal slumber party, which she likes more than she's willing to admit - if she could only figure out just where Roxy fits into it all. Um, it's Misfits-centric Jem!fic. With gratuitous mermaid costumes and Roxy dressed in pink spangles. With a wand.
Dedicated to kannaophelia, for dragging me into yet another fandom I now couldn't live without. Beta'd by the wondermous shortcakegreen.
Totally Above it All
Pizzazz never really thinks about happiness. She has people for that.
Scores of people, in fact, make it their sole purpose in life to keep Pizzazz very happy indeed. After all, she's Harvey Gabor's sole and presumably cherished child and heir as well as a rock star in her own right. Pleasure comes with the territory, a natural side product of beauty, money and fame. Anything else she needs, she can buy.
Pizzazz has a lot of fun. If she's not happy as well, then that's probably Jem's fault for getting in her way.
But, of course, she's perfectly happy.
Roxy and Stormer are like leeches, Pizzazz complains. She always knew that the moment they caught a whiff of her family's money, they would latch on and start sucking her dry. Lousy freeloaders.
If she's honest with herself, she loves the way her life has become a kind of eternal slumber party. After all, the Misfits need somewhere to go back and play after a hard hour or two of work at the movie studio, and Pizzazz isn't about to slum around in whatever dumps Roxy and Stormer have found for themselves. Then it's too much effort to kick the other girls out at four in the morning, Stormer curled into a ball and drowsily sucking the stem of the silk flower she wears in her blue curls, Roxy sprawled on the couch with her hair, sticky with hairspray, spreading out over Pizzazz's lap. Pizzazz fingers the silvery white locks, and figures it won't hurt to let the girls stay over, just this once. Nostalgia for boarding school, she tells herself, and laughs at the idea of Roxanne Pelligrini with her low-class mouth and lower attitude swaggering around an exclusive East Coast school. The teachers would have hated her worse than they hated spoiled little Phyllis Gabor, and having her as a friend would probably have speeded up her expulsion by an entire year.
It would have been a lot more fun.
Pizzazz surreptitiously traces sleep-relaxed orange lips with the tip of one pink plastic nail, and remembers some other things about boarding school. It would have been fun to have Roxy as a dorm-mate. Pizzazz remembers Roxy wound around Jeff's arm, face close to his, and her skin prickles at the throat. What kind of loser would choose Kimber Benton over someone like Roxy?
Stormer sits up and stretches sleepily, and Pizzazz orders the guest rooms made up before she embarrasses herself. Certain things are better left to the indiscretions of adolescence, and Pizzazz has movie stars to chase, now. Male movie stars.
Still, after the doors to their rooms close, Pizzazz feels… Happy. She's going soft, she tells herself. Pizzazz consoles herself with the fact that if she feels warmed by the casual way Roxy slings an arm around her shoulder to say goodnight, the sloppily sleepy press of slightly opened lips against her cheek. Roxy is the toughest and least sentimental person she knows; if Roxy is so casual about embraces, they can't be all that bad. It's perfectly okay for rock stars to walk with arms around each other, to fall asleep on each other's shoulders. Handy for the paparazzi, who can get two Misfits in one shot.
She smiles as she falls asleep, imagining the shots she could give paparazzi if both she and Roxy were so inclined, or if she felt like encouraging Clash a little more. The thought of Eric's horrified reaction is enough to give her very sweet dreams.
Without any discussion of the subject, the wardrobes in the rooms next to Pizzazz's bedroom begin to fill with zebra-print miniskirts and leather bodysuits, and the servants start to refer to Miss Phillips' room and Miss Pelligrini's room, taking their presence for granted.
Pizzazz wonders sometimes if her father even notices he seems to have acquired two extra daughters. It seems unlikely that he has missed it, considering the amount of noise and mess they make, but he never mentions the girls. Not that she ever wanted sisters muscling their way into her father's limited attention. Still, Stormer comes in handy when Pizzazz can't be bothered waiting for the servants to fetch her coffee, and there's something deeply satisfying about Roxy sitting on the kitchen counter in very short pyjamas, grumbling through a mouthful of donut. Satisfying in a way that has little to do with sisterhood, but Pizzazz has already picked up that Roxy answers unwanted advances with her fists, and plastic surgery is painful as well as injurious to dignity.
Mornings are lousy, anyway. Just… less lousy with the other girls around.
Pizzazz gets used to the new routine so quickly that when she comes down one morning and there's only Stormer, cuddled in a fluffy dressing gown and sipping tea, she feels vaguely aggrieved.
Stormer seems uneasy, her husky voice even throatier than usual, her gaze not quite meeting that of Pizzazz. "I don't know. I guess she went back to her own place after you fell asleep last night. She said she wanted to go out for a while."
"Why?" Pizzazz snaps, but the answer is too obvious to be stated and knowing this makes her mood worse. She picks up the intercom and shrieks for more coffee. It's not her concern if Roxy went out on the pull. Roxy has no need to explain anything to her. Even if Roxy obviously confides in Stormer and not in her. She wouldn't even know Roxy couldn't read if Stormer hadn't blabbed; she'd just have gone on assuming Roxy was too freaking lazy to learn her lines. She'd told Stormer, though, and Stormer had spent hours helping her learn her lines, when Pizzazz would just have hired a coach if Roxy had bothered to tell her there was a problem. Far better.
Pizzazz slams her coffee cup down on the saucer, and swears as it spatters her.
"That irresponsible creep better be on time for filming," she spits, although she's never worried about being late before. The party never starts until she arrives. But, she decides, Roxy damn well better be there throwing confetti when it does, or she's out.
Stormer jumps up, nervousness in every swing of her curls. "I'll call and remind her," she says, and is out of the room before Pizzazz realises she herself has no idea what Roxy's phone number is. Not that she's ever needed to. The girl is always hanging out at the Gabor mansion… except when she's picked someone up, obviously.
Pizzazz is in a foul mood all day, and even the publicity shoot doesn't cheer her up. Roxy is far too animated, flashing a confidential grin at Stormer when she turns up at last, her snarl in response to Eric's lectures about punctuality as much a matter of form as his scolding. She's wearing purple lined with gold, shoulders padded high and too much chunky jewellery, all bare legs and cleavage and glitter. Pizzazz storms at the wardrobe mistress until her own outfit is exchanged to something flashier, only slightly soothed by Clash's wide-eyed admiration at the skin-tight, low-cut bodysuit. She's not having Roxy show up late and outdo her.
What would some macho street scum from Philadelphia know about class, anyway? Pizzazz was born to it.
"I don't believe this. Why mermaids?" Pizzazz glares at her reflection with an expression that would have sent any self-respecting Andersen heroine home sobbing into her lobster. "Who wrote this stupid script, anyway?"
"Well, Pizzazz, they were right out of witch's costumes."
"What was that again, Eric?"
He sighs, theatrically rolling his eyes. "Look, Pizzazz, sirens are creatures of legendary allure, with voices that can drive men berserk… I mean, voices of seductive beauty. What could be more suitable for you?"
"Hmmph." Pizzazz doesn't so much soften as blur around the edges a little. She considers her reflection again, pushing her lower lip out thoughtfully, trying the effect of the glittering scales of her tail. Eric beams at her and visibly prays
"Pizzazz!" Clash, her miniskirt riding up to almost pornographic heights, is probably not Eric's ideal of an angel, but her appearance is providential nevertheless. She clasps her hands together, eyes shining with sincere adulation. "You look incredible!"
Pizzazz's pout fades into a smirk. "Really?"
"That is the sexiest costume I've ever seen. You look gorgeous! I mean, you always do, but…" Clash is practically bouncing in her stiletto boots. "Huh, if only my cousin Video was around to film you. You make Jem look like a librarian."
Pizzazz flips her shimmering hair. Clash, she thinks, certainly has her points.
At that inopportune moment, Roxy flounces into the room, scowling in quite a creditable way for a girl currently dressed entirely in pink sparkles, followed more sedately by Stormer, teetering in her azure mermaid's tail. "This is the crummiest idea you ever had, Eric. Fairytales are for kids." She parks a shapely bottom on Pizzazz's dressing table, crushing her flimsy wings rather badly.
Pizzazz's expression immediately sours. "This lousy thing chafes. Why doesn't Roxy have to wear a stupid shell bra?" Pizzazz yanks viciously at her shells, causing such a dangerous disruption that Clash sucks her breath in sharply and turns bright red.
Roxy grins, her foul temper suddenly dissipating into a cloud of glittering fairydust. "Because, unlike yours, my tits are too bi -"
Eric clamps a hand over Roxy's mouth. "Because someone had to be a fairy. And after all, Roxy's fairylike delicacy is legendary. Ow!" He drops his hand, inspecting it for blood, but only finding orange-red lipstick and distinct bite marks. "If I have to have rabies shots, it's coming out of your pay, Roxy." The delicate pink fairy flips a finger at him. Pizzazz, for reasons she's unsure of, tries not to notice how cute that is, the same as she hasn't registered how adorable a butch fairy in pink is. Not at all.
"I think it's sweet," Stormer says helpfully, adjusting a starfish in her hair where her flower usually resides. "Didn't your parents read to you about mermaids and fairies when you were little girls?"
There is a huffy silence. Simultaneously, Pizzazz and Roxy turn their backs on Stormer so that she can fully consider the folly of mentioning sappy family-type stuff neither of them would have wanted anyway.
Eric sighs. "Look, girls, am I producing this movie or not?"
"Only until I talk to Daddy, Eric," Pizzazz says with ominous sweetness, wrestling with her shells again. She loses control of one, and Eric squeezes his eyes shut as if he's in pain.
"Pizzazz, cut that out before Clash faints from over stimulation. Girls, I expect to see you on set in five minutes, or else…"
"Or else what, Eric? You'll cut off our allowance and tv privileges?"
Eric slams the door behind him, and the girls collapse into giggles.
"Eric is getting way too big for his britches," Roxy says, wiping her mouth on the most convenient surface, which happens to be Clash's shoulder. Clash doesn’t seem to mind, even when her jacket is streaked with orange. "If he keeps this up, I'll jam my wand up his ass." She looks reflectively at the weapon. "I bet that star would really hurt."
"Oh, who cares? He'd better do as I want or I'll replace him." Pizzazz flops in her chair, idly registering the rip of torn fabric and crunched coral as she did so. She never liked that stupid mermaid tail anyway. "Don't let that stop you, though." She feels a little disloyal, remembering that without Eric, the movie would still be a love story starring Jem. Now, not only had Jem walked off in a self-righteous fury, but Pizzazz had fired the romantic lead the day before, and Eric hadn't blinked an eye. Well, he'd turned purple and yelled a lot, but that was nothing.
Nick had tried to steal all her scenes, anyway. What a loser he'd turned out to be. Almost as bad as that pathetic Jeff Roxy had so inexplicably hit on, although Pizzazz was all for putting a spoke in Kimber's wheels in any case. At least she was almost sure Jeff wasn't the reason Roxy had vanished last night. He'd had none of Roxy, although Pizzazz couldn't for the life of her see why he'd prefer that wimp Kimber to someone like Roxy, all brooding fire.
"The important thing is that the movie is a success," Stormer says earnestly, checking her reflection.
"Of course you'll be a success! You're fantastic." Clash slips to the floor, glowing at them all. She's still rather flushed in the cheeks.
"The important thing is that we're rid of Jem for good." Pizzazz stands up at last. "I suppose we'd better go down, Misfits."
"You girls go ahead. I need to talk to Clash." Roxy taps her wand on her knee.
For a moment Pizzazz considers objecting, but she's suddenly overwhelming curious as to what Roxy has to say to Clash who is a nobody, albeit a cute, useful nobody, without her around. It seems Roxy confides in everyone but Pizzazz, for all they're as close to best friends as Pizzazz can imagine having. The conversation probably isn't anything important, just combining their destructive talents again, but… Pizzazz feels a surge of fury. Not hurt fury, of course, just fury.
She leaves with Stormer, then claims to have dropped something and runs back, easing the door opening gently when she can't hear voices, just…
Clash is seated on the dressing table again, arms wound tightly around Roxy's neck, moaning into her mouth as Roxy's hand slips up under her skirt, caressing the top of her thigh. As Pizzazz watches, Clash's legs lift and wind around Roxy's waist as the kiss deepens.
So that was where Roxy was last night. Pizzazz leans against the door and considers things to smash, but for once in her life she can't fully summon a destructive urge.