Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Fairytale City ❯ Prologue ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Andrea Sinisterra 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Hentai / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.15.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 982 | Visits: 420 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Hentai / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.15.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 982 | Visits: 420 | Status: Completed
Fairytale City
By Andrea Sinisterra
Romance
Rated PG-13
Standard Disclaimers Apply
Author's Notes: This is my entry for this year's `Church of Lemons'. It consists of a two-part story. The first part will be only PG-13, and the second part will be a lemon, but since I can't post anything above R, I'll edit it and post a not so lemony version here.
I started writing something... ENTIRELY different, but it was leading nowhere and turning a little too cliché for my liking, so I decided to write a fic with a semi-plot... But really, it's all just smut.
Warning!: Sexual innuendos, major OOC on Heero's part (I'm unable to write Heero in character when it's an AU), and... ^^" my lame humor! ::sigh::
.::.::.::.
Prologue
I've been working for Claire Van Seiche's house for over 9 years. I started as a seamstress for Seiche back in Paris when I was 13 years old. It was a well paying job, especially at my young age. My mother had taught me how to sew to help her with the business whenever it proved to be too much for her. My mother, Elena Darlian, was said to have the hands of an angel, which was why the rich Parisian matrons enjoyed her amazingly soft threading so much; her work made a simple handmade fabric look like a million dollar designer dress.
One day, I entered my mother's shop after school and saw this young woman talking to her in hushed tones. The woman trailed her fingers unconsciously over a scarlet, silk, imperial cut dress which I had designed and my mother, as a birthday present, bought me the most beautiful fabrics for. It was the very first article I had designed and sewn entirely by myself, and I was immensely proud of it.
But then, as my mother pointed at me and the woman turned around, I wondered if I had unconsciously drawn something that already belonged to someone else. I was so nervous at that moment it took me a second or two to realize both women were smiling, my mother's eyes dancing merrily.
I looked at the stranger's face and was amazed at the latent glamour, yet simple, innate elegance this woman held; her poise, her taste in clothing, her make up, everything about her was Paris made flesh. She was everything I admired and much more. I caught myself thinking that if I was ever to design my own line, I would want every single model to be just like her. Clothes themselves, are just pieces of cut, styled fabric, but the magic, their essence, is given by the person who wear them.
She offered me a job as her seamstress, and introduced herself as Claire Van Seiche, owner and founder of Paris' greatest design house. I was hesitant at first but my mother had been more than thrilled at the prospect of having her only child working for such an important house.
After that, everything else seemed to fall from heaven and into my hands.
From the moment I started working for Claire, `til the moment I turned 18, every day was a new learning experience. Claire would make me sit with her whenever she was working on a sketch, to ask me for my opinion. She would often let me give her suggestions on things I felt needed to be modified or removed completely. Likewise she would join me whenever I worked on one of her dresses, often complimenting the seaming and patching of my work. She would always say our work was a design from the gods.
Claire would always buy me sketch books, saying I was wrong if I thought I would live under her wing forever. I would draw whatever came to my mind, from leather clutch purses, to satin stilettos, to the most conservative, elegant suit. I had drawn many sketchbooks to their covers, and Claire would go through them, analyzing every single line, every single detail of each page, measuring its potential.
“Haven't you ever thought of designing?” She asked me one day. “Or are you planning on sewing clothes for the rest of your life?”
I was taken aback by her question. “Designing is just a hobby for me. I don't think people would wear my clothes.”
At that, the 50 year old woman threw her head back and laughed at me. “Sweetie, first of all, designing is a hobby. At least, it always starts as one. And second, the moment I first saw your work—I still remember that dress you made, it was perfect. Just look at yourself, you're just 18, yet you have the taste of a goddess.”
I had blushed at her comment.
“Relena, my darling,” she continued. “I'm going to terminate your contract as my seamstress.” But before I could protest, she held a hand up to silence me. “But, I'm hiring you to be one of my designers. Relena Darlian by Seiche. It does have a ring to it, don't you think?”
I started writing something... ENTIRELY different, but it was leading nowhere and turning a little too cliché for my liking, so I decided to write a fic with a semi-plot... But really, it's all just smut.
Warning!: Sexual innuendos, major OOC on Heero's part (I'm unable to write Heero in character when it's an AU), and... ^^" my lame humor! ::sigh::
.::.::.::.
Prologue
I've been working for Claire Van Seiche's house for over 9 years. I started as a seamstress for Seiche back in Paris when I was 13 years old. It was a well paying job, especially at my young age. My mother had taught me how to sew to help her with the business whenever it proved to be too much for her. My mother, Elena Darlian, was said to have the hands of an angel, which was why the rich Parisian matrons enjoyed her amazingly soft threading so much; her work made a simple handmade fabric look like a million dollar designer dress.
One day, I entered my mother's shop after school and saw this young woman talking to her in hushed tones. The woman trailed her fingers unconsciously over a scarlet, silk, imperial cut dress which I had designed and my mother, as a birthday present, bought me the most beautiful fabrics for. It was the very first article I had designed and sewn entirely by myself, and I was immensely proud of it.
But then, as my mother pointed at me and the woman turned around, I wondered if I had unconsciously drawn something that already belonged to someone else. I was so nervous at that moment it took me a second or two to realize both women were smiling, my mother's eyes dancing merrily.
I looked at the stranger's face and was amazed at the latent glamour, yet simple, innate elegance this woman held; her poise, her taste in clothing, her make up, everything about her was Paris made flesh. She was everything I admired and much more. I caught myself thinking that if I was ever to design my own line, I would want every single model to be just like her. Clothes themselves, are just pieces of cut, styled fabric, but the magic, their essence, is given by the person who wear them.
She offered me a job as her seamstress, and introduced herself as Claire Van Seiche, owner and founder of Paris' greatest design house. I was hesitant at first but my mother had been more than thrilled at the prospect of having her only child working for such an important house.
After that, everything else seemed to fall from heaven and into my hands.
From the moment I started working for Claire, `til the moment I turned 18, every day was a new learning experience. Claire would make me sit with her whenever she was working on a sketch, to ask me for my opinion. She would often let me give her suggestions on things I felt needed to be modified or removed completely. Likewise she would join me whenever I worked on one of her dresses, often complimenting the seaming and patching of my work. She would always say our work was a design from the gods.
Claire would always buy me sketch books, saying I was wrong if I thought I would live under her wing forever. I would draw whatever came to my mind, from leather clutch purses, to satin stilettos, to the most conservative, elegant suit. I had drawn many sketchbooks to their covers, and Claire would go through them, analyzing every single line, every single detail of each page, measuring its potential.
“Haven't you ever thought of designing?” She asked me one day. “Or are you planning on sewing clothes for the rest of your life?”
I was taken aback by her question. “Designing is just a hobby for me. I don't think people would wear my clothes.”
At that, the 50 year old woman threw her head back and laughed at me. “Sweetie, first of all, designing is a hobby. At least, it always starts as one. And second, the moment I first saw your work—I still remember that dress you made, it was perfect. Just look at yourself, you're just 18, yet you have the taste of a goddess.”
I had blushed at her comment.
“Relena, my darling,” she continued. “I'm going to terminate your contract as my seamstress.” But before I could protest, she held a hand up to silence me. “But, I'm hiring you to be one of my designers. Relena Darlian by Seiche. It does have a ring to it, don't you think?”
.::.::.::.