Flashback Kid's Only Club

[Amelia]

13 Autumn, 510AV

“The thing about make up,” The thirteen year old Amelia glanced over her shoulder towards her audience, who remained transfixed on her, silently astounded by her talent, “It should accentuate one’s natural gifts, not hide them.” She twisted back around to face the mirror and leant forward, puckering her lips to accentuate the cheekbones that her father proudly stated was part of her ‘Trisswell charm’. She swept her fingertips diagonally down her face, from her ear lobes to the corners of her lips. Once on the left side, and once on the right.

The end result was not quite what she had expected.

Instead of a subtle emphasis of her bone structure, Amelia had somehow applied too much of her mother’s make-up to her porcelain-like skin. A dark brown streak ran lopsidedly down her face She looked quite the horror.

Still, the show must go on…

“As you can see,” she said, trying her best to dress her humiliation and sudden nervousness up as casual amusement, “this is not the desired effect, but one that the novice make-up artist might recreate if she’s not careful. Fortunately, I am no such novice.”

She allowed the appreciative titters of quiet laughter to die down from her enwrapped audience before turning back to her mirror and beginning the process of carefully removing her clumsy error.

“Amelia Trisswell!”

Jona Trisswell, herself wearing a face full of subtle make up and a silk evening gown, stood at the now open door of her daughter’s bedroom. “I have told you to stay out of my make up. Your father has bought you your own make up to play with.” Her mother rushed forward, arms outreached to gather the various powders and pots Amelia had laid out on her miniature vanity table.

“No, he bought me kid make-up.” The teenager sulked, throwing a moody glance to her adoring fans who had, once more, turned into a large pile of soft toys laid out on her bed in two orderly rows. “Not proper make-up like you have.”

“Well, you’re not a grown up.” Jona replied tartly, still gathering her cosmetics, “so you won’t have proper make-up until you’re older.”

Amelia pouted, but her mother was too busy checking that her pots of tint, powder and kohl were undamaged to notice. Whilst she was somewhat insulted that her mother had wrongly thought she would not care for the make-up, Amelia could not help but notice Jona's outfit. “Are you and Papa going out?”

“Yes.”

The short, huffy answer was all Amelia needed to know that the outing would be one with her father’s business friends, which her mother always dreaded and never enjoyed. “Where are you going?”

“For drinks and a meal. Chloe will be coming over to look after you.”

The pout was back. Accompanied, this time, but a whine. “Mummy, I’m old enough to stay home alone for one night!”

Jona Trisswell sighed as she left her daughter’s bedroom. Not for the first time, she reminded Amelia: “You’re thirteen, Amelia. Not thirty.”

[Amelia]

Jona had only just closed the door to Amelia’s bedroom when her daughter burst back through, her tiny figure barely containing her fury. “Daddy-y!” She called out in her finest, neediest voice as she stamped her way to her parents’ bedroom, “why can’t I go with you and Mummy? I don’t want to stay at home with Chloe. She’s mean.”

Jona knew as well as her husband that Chloe, the firm but fair child minder who cared for many of the local children and pre-teens, was far from mean. Rather, she maintained the boundaries and rules that Jona and Cliff Trisswell attempted (and typically failed) to enforce in their home.

Amelia did not like boundaries.

Amelia did not like rules.

And above all else, Amelia hated not getting her way.

“I don’t understand why I can’t come with you,” she whined, her tone of voice changing from demanding to suddenly vulnerable, heartbroken. Jona felt a gentle maternal tug on her heartstrings, but knew better than to fall for her daughter’s wounded bird routine, “are you embarrassed by me?”

“My darling girl,” Cliff’s voice now, low and calm – or was that a hint of exhaustion? – as he gently explained to the pre-teen that this party was a grown-up affair and that there would be no children present. Jona remained in the hallway fixing her earrings for a moment, half-listening to the conversation and wondering if her daughter would ever come to respect her mother in the way she seemed to respect her father.

A knock on the door broke Jona’s train of the thought, and she wandered over to the front door to welcome the ever prompt Chloe.

Only, Chloe was not alone.

“You see, Mr and Mrs. Trisswell, my youngest child is sick. So I’ve bought over Libby, who is very responsible and will be able to look after Amelia until my husband gets home later on. Then I can come here and take over from Libby.”

Jona and Cliff exchanged glances. Libby seemed much younger than Chloe, and as yet had said nothing. The meek and quiet did not survive when thrown in the Lion’s pit with Amelia. Their daughter was demanding, spoilt, quick-witted and cut-throat. It had taken them no less than seven childminders before they met Chloe, who somehow managed to tame Amelia’s ways for at least a few bells.

“This is an important evening.” Cliff murmured to his wife.

“She’s never even met Amelia before, Cliff.”

But the wellbeing of the stand-in babysitter was not her husband’s main priority this evening: “Jackson will be there. And Amanda. Plus Evelyn. All the big names in my department.”

Defeated, Jona welcomed the two women into her home and briefly explained to Libby – who looked increasingly worried for her own safety – the general rules of bedtime in the Trisswell household. Only she missed the part where Amelia demanded to stay up, refused to go to bed or be read a story, or woke her parents up throughout the night because she was thirsty, or hungry, or bored, or cold, or too hot…

“Behave, missy.” Cliff said to Amelia, wagging his finger towards his daughter as he and Jona departed from their home. He was only half joking, and as he closed the door behind his wife, Cliff said a silent prayer to all the Gods that Libby would survive the night.

Amelia had been watching the whole scene unfurl from her bedroom door, leaning against the doorframe like a jaded scam artist searching for her next victim “Libby?” She said, trying the older girl’s name on her tongue. “I know a boy in my class who has a sister called Libby. His name is Hari. Is he your brother?”

“Yes, he is. I have another brother called—”

“Eli.” Amelia finished, a satisfied smile on her face. “But he’s a little bit older than you, right?”

Libby nodded. She had been given a quiet warning from Chloe about the child standing opposite her. The words challenging and pugnacious had been used, which were about as close to curse words as Chloe got. But she was determined to not let this pre-teen get the better of her. “Yep. Right, go play in your room, Amelia, whilst I cook your dinner. Your mother said she had saved some soup for you from last night.”

“I don’t want soup.” Amelia said sweetly, hands folded in behind her back like a child in a choir, “Mummy makes it too spicy for me. Can I have cheese and bread instead? She won’t mind, honest.”

Libby had just planned out her reasoned, fair argument to Amelia when the adolescent gasped dramatically and rushed to her side. Her tiny hands – so manicured, so cared for! – fingered the silver bangle that Libby wore on her left wrist. “This is so beautiful! Where did you get it? Oh, you must tell me!”

inspo :

https://giphy.com/gifs/filmeditor-mean-girls-movie-26uTqnJsZu1rdiK0E

Blindsided by the sudden hollow compliment, Libby paused momentarily and touched the bangle herself “It’s new.” She replied, suspicious of where this apparent innocent comment would lead her.

“My cousin has one just like it.

“Oh?’”

“You might know her. Dorothea Trisswell?” Amelia watched the older girl carefully for any trace of recognition. A minute pause, resulting in a small splash of soup landing onto her otherwise pristine blouse, betrayed Libby.

But she denied it. “No, I don’t recognise the name. I know Sara Trisswell though, is she a relation?”

“Of course she is.” Amelia said, harsher and more impatiently than she intended. She resumed her facade of an innocent child, and placed her hands serenely on her lap as she took a seat on one of the kitchen chairs. She swung her legs idly, her socks making a soft but bothersome swsh swsh sound on the wooden floors. “Are you quite sure you don’t know Dorothea?” swsh swsh, “only, I could have sworn that at Hari’s birthday celebration two seasons ago, she attended as one of Eli’s guests. They were a couple at the time, I believe.”

“I don’t think I ever met her.”

swsh swsh

“That’s funny.” Amelia pursed her lips, touched her chin in a rendition of someone solving one of the universe’s great mysteries, “Just because I remember after Dorothea left the party – she went home early as her father, my uncle, was ill – your brother was bragging to his friends about how he was going to... Now, what did he say…”[/b] The swsh swshing was now briefly accompanied by the percussion of Amelia drumming her elegant hands on the table in front of her, “something about how he had just been ploughing her field?”

The severity of Libby’s flinch resulted in the ladle slipping from her grasp and clattering on the floor noisily. She gasped and hurriedly picked up before cleaning up the red and lumpy mess.

Swsh swsh.

Amelia allowed herself a smirk as she watched the older girl hurry and fret.

[Amelia]

”And then, shortly after Hari’s party, my dear cousin Dorothea found herself in quite the situation. The type of situation that causes a young girl quite some trouble for the best part of a year. Are you following my meaning?".

Libby nodded silently, her cheeks flushing and stomach clenching in a strange combination of both fear and rage towards the egocentric little provocateur sitting innocently opposite her. “Amelia, you need to go to your bedroom. This soup is hot and it might burn you.” A lame instruction, but Libby found herself unable to say the words she truly wanted to say to Amelia. Words that included every curse word the young woman had ever heard.

Of course, the insolent little brat completely ignored her. “Dorothea never told her papa which boy had gotten her into this awful situation. But she told me – us Trisswell girls are close, you see – that it had been one Eli Rotherham. And then her papa, my uncle Jeremiah, died.” Amelia gave a great sigh, allowing her eyes to cast a sad little gaze down to her feet. “And my papa promised his brother he would do all he could to look after his family. Why, I wouldn’t even like to imagine what my father would to do your brother if he found out...”

“So you want cheese and bread for dinner, Amelia?” Libby stood up sharply, the cloth in her hand dripping cold soup onto her feet. She fixated a somewhat psychotic, desperate smile onto her face. She was defeated, but she wouldn't let Amelia see it.

The teenager allowed herself another mischievous smirk and nodded, “and then after we can play my favourite game.”

--------

“Ouch, Amelia! That hurts!”

“No it doesn’t. See how when you style your hair this way, your nose doesn’t look so grossly big?” Amelia pulled upwards, yanking another piece of Libby’s auburn hair to the top of her head. The older girl winced and gasped in agony, but Amelia either did not notice or – more accurately – did not care. She continued to gather up sections of Libby’s hair until she had formed single ponytail tail on the crown of her head. She began to twist the hair into a tight chignon bun, which she then pinned down. “See?”

Libby looked at herself in the mirror. Begrudgingly, she nodded. The little shyke had certainly had a sense of style, she had to admit.

“Now let’s do your make-up! Wait there, I’ll be back with Mumma’s good stuff.”

[Amelia]

“You have quite nice skin.” Amelia said matter-of-factly, in the same blunt tone with which she had insulted Libby’s nose. “But I imagine that your skin burns easily in summer, yes?” She didn’t wait for an answer, so confident was the child in her dermatological know-how, “which is why you really ought to invest in a good, wide-brimmed hat. See these sun spots? They’ll fade over time, but probably won’t disappear completely.”

She turned away from Libby for a tick or two, rifling through the wooden chest that stood at the foot in her bed. Libby shared an exhausted glance with her reflection in the mirror just before Amelia turned back to her, armed with two hats.

“See this blue one? It’s too narrow for you. You’ve got quite mannish shoulders, so you want something with a broad rim to counterbalance that. Something like this one.” She held up a pretty straw hat next to Libby’s head, not wanting to disturb her hard-worked chignon. “But of course, not in this colour. Maybe green, or white. Something to really make your hair pop and eyes stand out.

“Now, shall we move onto lipstick?”

The pre-teen hoisted a wicker basket full of various lip pomades and tints onto her vanity table. Impressed, Libby momentarily forgot how much she despised the brat and eagerly leaned forward in wonderment of the haul.

“Redheads and red lips should never be seen together.” Amelia said firmly, in the same way a priest might share the words of their chosen God. “But a delicate rose pink would match your complexion beautifully.” She twisted Libby’s head towards her, ignoring the woman’s winces, and gently dabbed on a small amount of pink tint. “And with this sort of colour, you don’t need to line the lips as it’s really just to add a bit of colour, rather than enhancing or emphasising your lips.”

[Amelia]

“Now, shall I let you in on one my secrets?” Amelia smiled conspiratorially to Libby, and for the first time since they had met, Libby saw the purity of childhood within Amelia. She was, for now, just a young girl doing what she utterly loved most in the world. There was no cruelty, or brattishness, or even overt selfishness in her actions. Just pure child-like wonderment and joy. “With delicate lip tints such as these, I like to dab a little on the cheeks to add a tad a of colour. If the tint is oil-based, like this one, you can put a bit of powder on the cheeks to make it matte again. Otherwise, you’ll look like you have sweaty cheeks!”

“That’s actually very clever.”

Amelia chuckled and shrugged, “I know.” She said immodestly.

Twenty of so chimes later, Libby was listening intently as Amelia explained the many different ways one can line their eyes, when Chloe’s sharp, cheerful voice rang down the corridor, “Knock knock! I’ve come to take over the shift; you’re free, Libby! Run whilst you can!”

And Libby almost, almost didn't want to.

[Madeira Dusk]

Grades Awarded!

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Amelia

Skills

• Teaching: 3xp
• Cosmology: 3xp
• Persuasion: 4xp
• Rhetoric: 1xp
• Intimidation: 2xp
• Intelligence: 2xp

Lores

• Teaching: lessons to a teddy bear audience
• Lore of the persuasive art of the whiny brat
• Intimidation: blackmail
• Intelligence: gossip and secrets

Awards & Retribution


Notes
What a fascinating character! I loved how you handled the threats and balanced Amelia's cruelty with her childishness. This was a great read, and I hope there's more to come.