Title: Seeds of the Pomegranate (pt. II) Author: Kelandris the Mad Fandom: View Askewniverse Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob Rating: NC-17 shading to PG-13. Fun for the whole...oh, never mind. Status: New Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net Archive: Yes if you tell me Series/Sequel: Answer to Meghan's Goth Bob challenge. Disclaimer: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the View Askewniverse, save for Avriel, who worked very hard at the Spirit Superstore during the Hallows season here in Spokane. Very cool lady; I hope she comes in to the shop soon so we can talk more. Notes: Yes, Avriel is a real person, but this is my creation of her, not actually her; not that I need to make the point, but still. This was written in slashes to three strange soundtracks-scattered childrens' programming, New Age music, and repeated viewings of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode, "Once More with Feeling". And "Curl Up and Dye" may be somewhere in New Jersey, I haven't checked; but I know it's here in Spokane. Sadly, it's not a goth outlet. Warnings: Some chick action with Bob. Oh, please, deal�he gets Jay in the end. :> Summary: Bob helps a girl by going undercover in a goth club. "Seeds of the Pomegranate" by Kelandris The Second Step: Orpheus Plays for the life of Eurydice It was three o'clock and Bob couldn't take it any more. Jay had been twitchy all this morning. He hadn't let Bob out of his sight, and he'd been behaving very oddly-even for his normally odd self. Bob had finally gotten tired of the suspicious glances, and called a cab. He figured, the extra expense was worth it. Plus, anything to get rid of the new Jay-on-paranoia motif he'd started. He sighed, leaning back into the back seat of the cab, thinking. The sad thing was, he'd started this, because he didn't feel he could tell Jay about what Avriel had asked. He didn't think Jay would understand; moreover, might want to interfere somehow. And that wouldn't help the situation. Half an hour went by as the thoughts circled in his head, heavy. Avriel had told him about her sister, trapped in the bad relationship with a control freak. "If we get her away from him, I'll have a chance to talk with her," she'd said. "If this is really what she wants, then I'll step out of it. Good or bad, it's her choice. But if he's holding her against her will...Rob-my-lad, you have to help." He smiled at the memory. She was still the only one who could get away with calling him anything other than Bob. It made him smile. On the other hand, what she wanted him to do...wasn't really the lace and makeup type, though he understood the drive of high fashion. He just wasn't a fashion plate himself. Normally, he left that for Jay. Of course, Jay had some pretty strange ideas about what looked good. He still remembered that one Christmas Jay had him dress up as Santa, and he'd played one of Santa's elves, but his version of an elf was complete with torn black mesh tee and fishnets. Not that it had been unattractive, especially with the Star Wars ornaments and the little flashing lights. But it had been very odd. Now, as he pulled in front of Trieste, he shook his head again. Import shops now. And Avriel inside, waiting for him. Shit...what had he gotten himself into? He steeled his resolve, flipping a twenty to the driver and stepping to the curb. He swallowed, walking inside, and immediately had his bones pounded to jelly by an old Sex Pistols track on high volume. "ANARCHY!" Sid Vicious screamed. "ANARCHY IN THE UK!" Latex hung in various shades from the walls, leather lined the forward racks. He saw tees and boots painted with the Union Jack, and one mannequin wore a corset that looked like it would cinch down to a ten-inch waist. He shook his head, turning to leave, and Avriel walked in from the back room. "Rob-my-Rob, right on time," she murmured, and took his arm. "Let's get you in mufti for your mission." He rolled his eyes, but went with her into the back room. Boxes were piled haphazardly, some spilling out boas, some spilling out whips. He swallowed again. "Now, Bob...you're not nervous, are you?" He just shrugged. She smiled, tweaking his chin. "And that's why you're so unbearably cute," she said, then turned to the nearest box, digging through it. "We just got a shipment in of larger size stuff. The demand is incredible." She pulled out a white shirt, the front a precise line of pearl buttons, all the way to the throat. She pressed it against him, gauging the size. "Or would you prefer this?" She pressed another one against him, this one a soft, stonewashed silk, lined with faceted jet buttons that couldn't be more than a quarter-inch in diameter. His eyebrows went up, and she nodded. "The black it is. Okay, leather pants? Or, we do have black denim from the Rue de Punk collection?" **Rue de...** He shook his head. "Leather, leather..." she mused. She began to rummage through boxes and bins. "Let's see...accessories, well, here!" She tossed him a black spiked collar, and then a second one flew out of the air at him. He caught both, and his eyes grew wide. One buckled on and had what looked like four-inch daggers spraying off it every inch. The other snapped on, and had small, square studs. He held up that one, but shrugged. "Hmm...maybe you're right." She rummaged deeper in the bin, then shrieked. "Oh, *yes!*" She turned, holding up what looked like a collar at first, and then Bob pursed his lips, thinking. One side of his mouth quirked up. Yeah. Maybe that. Yeah. He took what she was holding, seeing if it would buckle around his neck. It fit perfectly. She led him to a mirror, and watched as she took his hair out of the ponytail it was in, laying it over his shoulders. The collar buckled on in back, but that would be hidden by hair. It wasn't a simple band, either-it angled down in front like the front of the corset he'd seen in the store, and was a narrower band only near the buckle. The rest of it wasn't studded, it was just unrelieved black leather, but it was carved--twin rose cut-outs trailed down each side of his neck, from thorn ends to blooms at the front of the throat. And dangling from the bottom of the arch, a sterling ankh. It seemed to rest at the hollow of his throat as if it had been designed for him. "Oh, that's too perfect," Avriel whispered behind him. He could only nod and smile, turning to face her. She pecked a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Now, for the rest of it..." He spent the next hour trying on various things. It turned out the first black shirt wouldn't fit him, but the third one did. (Avriel apologized for that--"Imports, you know, sizes are never right"--and he just nodded, feeling uncomfortable.) Finding leather pants in his size was looking grim indeed, until she remembered the lace-ups in the very back. He put a pair on and then shook his head, stepping away from the mirror. "Oh, no," he said, looking over the changing room doors. "No." "What? Let me see." He shook his head, backing away. Contrary to protocol, she stepped into the changing room to see him. When she did, she looked him over with a critical eye, and then shrugged. "What's the big deal? So there's more of Bob than we expected." He frowned at her, gesturing at the pants. There were large gaps along the sides, showing a considerable amount of thigh. She just shook her head. "All right, you big baby...Hold on." She went back to the storeroom, humming something ethereal as she dug through the back box. She made some triumphant noise, and suddenly a length of black was sailing towards his head. He caught it. It was soft to the touch, glimmering under the fluorescents, and decidedly not leather. He raised an eyebrow at her and she raised her arms. "Like you're complaining over me making you more pettable. It's panne' velvet, bonded to a cotton blend, in case you're curious. Should fit. At least, I hope so." He tried them on, and they did fit, after a fashion. The waistband was a bit tight, but with the black silk shirt untucked, the hem fell to mid-thigh and covered up the waist. Okay. It could work. Within moments, then, he'd tried on the boots she'd tossed him, and the suede duster she'd handed back--it drifted like the silk shirt, so unlike his normal black leather I-am-a-tank outfit. He changed back, bundled everything up, and stepped out of the changing room. She was just finishing up writing down the product codes-- "Inventory,", she said briefly--then led him out of the storeroom, and out of Trieste, grabbing a bag for his outfit as she went. Next door was Curl Up and Dye, and several white-faced boys in torn clothing sneered at Bob as they went in. He looked back, putting everything he had into Menacing Man Shopping, and apparently they bought it, fading back from the door as he stepped into the place. He shook his head, and Avriel just snickered. She walked over to a man leaning against a full-length mirror, cleaning his nails with a small dagger. "Hey, Tone," she said, smiling. "Avriel, my darling girl," he purred. "And what do you have here?" "Larval goth," she said. "We need hair and makeup, at least, if not a full consultation on movement. And," she added, glancing at the pendant on her chest, an ornate silver watch, "we need to be out of here by nine at the latest." "Hmm...Tricky," he purred, his gaze nearly groping Bob as it drifted down from nape to heels. "I love a challenge, though...All right, my boy, into the chair." **How do I get myself talked into these things?** he thought, but walked over and sat down. Avriel took the Trieste bag, holding it as she perched on a stool. What followed would have been fascinating if he was watching someone else. As it was him, it was by turns uncomfortable, painful, embarrassing or just downright weird. First, Tone called over a girl who carefully shaved his face everywhere the beard wasn't, and plucked his eyebrows. That hurt a *great* deal. Then Tone carefully foiled his hair and beard, applying a strong bleaching solution that burned whenever he inhaled. It took his hair up to a reddish shade, and Tone washed it carefully out before applying a coating of hot oil to his scalp, rubbing it in while he clucked over his hair. "You have lovely hair, my lad, and I'm mutilating it for you. The things I do for a fellow merchant...Just don't do this at home, all right? Or you'll lose it all." Bob doubted he was in any danger, watching in the mirror as Tone applied more foil and bleach. Another round brought him up to a strawberry blond, and another application of oil later, Tone had one of the other stylists wash out his hair while he prepared the dye. Bob had to admit, it was interesting having his hair washed by a girl in a blue spiked Mohawk. He thought, he might be able to come back here on occasion, if only for that. Once back in the chair, Tone applied dye carefully to the newly bleached hair and beard, and then very carefully across his eyebrows. Because of the plucking, he thought, it burned slightly there, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his chair. "Try not to open your eyes," he muttered. He shrugged slightly, keeping his eyes closed. Tone applied something cool and minty- smelling to his face, neck and hands, smoothing more of it over the upper part of his chest. It was a long forty-five minutes until the next washing. This time he got a girl in a bi-level bob--the top layer was dyed blonde, the bottom layer was dyed pink, and the roots were just coming in copper-penny red. Interesting. Then he blinked, as she was towel-drying his hair. That wasn't him. He leaned forward, blinking. That was *him?* In the mirror was a man with jet-black hair and beard, and arching eyebrows over gleaming seal-brown eyes. His skin was as pale as Avriel's, even before makeup. He looked at Tone, who only shook his head. "Trade secret. And yes, it will wear off." Well. Okay, then. Mystified, he took one more look, and then Tone grabbed him, spinning him around. "And now, makeup!" he announced, in a very self-satisfied tone. This time, both Avriel and the girl with the bi-level crowded around him, applying green concealer to even out his skin tone, powdering his face and neck with rice powder and talc, outlining his eyes in black. Avriel straddled him and he shifted in the chair again. "Lips, silly," she muttered. But it still felt terribly intimate to have her lean forward on him, while she painted his lips a deep purple-black. The other girl, meanwhile, was humming that same ethereal tune while she painted his nails black. "What is that you're humming?" he asked after Avriel stood up. "Chainsaw Babies," the girl said, her voice sounding younger than her face. "Don't kill me too soon." He must have looked baffled, because she smiled, shaking her head. "It's their newest single--`Don't Kill Me Too Soon'. They're playing at the Pom tonight; you're in for a treat." Bob blinked. Ooooo-kay...He'd heard stories about the Pomegranate, of course--cops liked to raid the place, searching for drugs and other contraband. They never found any inside. Sometimes the parking lot, but that wasn't the Pom. Still, the cops watched the owner of the bar, simply because he owned a bar that catered predominately to the counterculture-goths, punks, subs, doms, freaks of all descriptions. And tonight, for the first time Bob was going to go inside. He wasn't as thrilled about the idea at this point. Avriel glanced at her watch. "'Bout that time, bruiser. Go back and change. I'll call a cab." He grabbed the bag, and Tone led him back to a storeroom, where he changed into what still felt like costume attire. Dear God, he hoped this worked. END ***** Kelandris the Mad one more veil to fall