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Fashion (Turn To The Left!)	By : DoctorYnot Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 19583 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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>Lincoln gave a long yawn as the light from the morning sun finally blazed down over his eyelids too brightly for him to sleep through. He smacked his lips sleepily and began stretching out on his big, comfy bed. Reaching out blindly to his side to grab a spare pillow, hoping to rest it above his nose so he could block out the day and steal a few more minutes of sleep, he idly wondered why his mother hadn't come knocking on the door yet to wake him up.
>That's when he felt his stomach drop as his hand grabbed at air and he tumbled right off of the couch, landing in a heap next to the coffee table with his blanket tangled up in his legs.
>"Ow." The young man deadpanned to no one in particular, rubbing his head where it had banged against the carpeted floor. Lincoln sat up slowly, surprised to notice the unfamiliar bedsheets slipping off his body. He rubbed the silky cloth between his fingers and blinked, hesitantly making his way to his feet and pushing his fist against his lower back to try and work out the soreness he'd developed after sleeping all night on such a narrow cushion. As his toes curled comfortably against the sun-warmed carpet he groggily inspected his surroundings.
>The fancy hotel room was peaceful, quiet and drenched in daylight, Lincoln cupping a hand over his forehead to stop the sun's rays from getting into his eyes as they reflected off a nearby copper picture frame. The mess from yesterday seemed to have been tidied up. He gave another tired yawn and scratched his stomach, listening to the birds chirping outside. It looked like he was alone.
>"...Oh man." Lincoln suddenly groaned, slapping a hand against his face as realization dawned on him. "The show!"
>All at once the knowledge of where he was, who he was and where he needed to be all came galloping through the foggy morning haze like the horsemen of the apocalypse. The young man instantly began to clamber around the couch and tried to find his pants, which he'd apparently kicked off at some point during the night, but thankfully before he got a chance to truly panic he heard the telephone ring.
>Lincoln rushed over, each hurried step on the plush hotel carpet making his brain throb with his terrible headache, and lifted the old-style handset off its brass hook, puzzling with it as he tried to figure out which end to press his ear to. He desperately hoped whoever was at the other end of the line had an explanation, or would at least be able to reassure him that he hadn't slept through his sister's big gala.
>"Messiour Linky?" He heard the caller ask, Lincoln hissing quietly but quickly deciding not to make an issue of it. The time to do that would have been the first time it happened; if he started complaining about it now it'd just be weird.
>Well, weirder. He was far too hungover to explain to the concierge why he'd been letting him call him by his sister's pet name for him all this time.
>"Yes, this is he." The young man answered grumpily. "Listen, do y-"
>"Terrific! This is Ossu at the front desk." Lincoln grimaced at his booming, cheerful voice, holding the phone a little farther away from his ear. "Your sister left earlier this morning, but she meant to tell you to head across the street whenever you're ready."
>"Across the...street?" He blinked, bringing a hand up to his head to try and get the room to stop spinning.
>"Yes, of course. The Markham should already be a bustle of activity, but I'm certain Madame Laudé would be thrilled to receive you regardless." Ossu cleared his throat, whispering conspiratorially. "You know how those contractors are, you see. I am certain an extra pair of hands would not be unwelcome."
>"I...The, umm, the Markham is across the street?" Lincoln repeated carefully, slowly feeling his wits start to return to him as his morning haze waned. He turned around and cast another glance about the hotel room.
>"I see you have only just awoken, Messiour Linky." Ossu exclaimed, and the young man pursed his lips unhappily. "Yes, directly across from the Grand Salzburg. We here at the hotel are pleased to share a street with such an august institution. It speaks well of us, no?" The concierge laughed jovially and Lincoln struggled not to wordlessly hang up on him as he felt his stomach churn. He suddenly had the urgent need to find something to puke into.
>"Alright, I'll be downstairs soon." The young man assured him through grit teeth as he felt the bile surge up his esophagus. He dropped the receiver back on the hook and sprinted to the toilet as the mapled apricots from the previous night returned to take their revenge.
--
>Lincoln didn't know if he had time to shower, especially not after how long he'd actually spent hunched over the toilet throwing up. Apparently his small town stomach just didn't agree with big city haute cuisine.
>No. That was just an excuse. What it hadn't agreed with was the irresponsible amount of alcohol he'd consumed the night before. He knew he'd messed up.
>Thankfully, however, he was at least feeling much better after the purge, having puked up most of his hangover along with everything else.
>Lincoln knew Leni would still be setting up, so instead of going through his entire morning routine and then risk being late he instead chose to focus on oral hygiene, which is what he really needed at the moment anyway. The young man brushed his teeth, then his tongue, flossed, gargled some mouthwash, brushed his tongue again. Eventually his mouth finally felt clean. He gave a long sigh over the bathroom sink.
>Afterwards Lincoln splashed some water on his face and then dried off with a towel, and after that combed his hair. When he at last emerged back into the bedroom he still looked a little haggard but he was at least presentable, and Lincoln didn't think anyone would guess that he'd spent his morning curled up pitifully on the pleasant, icy tile of a hotel bathroom floor.
>The young man wasted no more time after that, hurrying to the closet to find and change into the clothes he'd packed for that day: a simple white t-shirt, faded bluejeans and his old sneakers. Work wear would be best, he figured.
>However, as he finally stepped out of his hotel room and into the elevator, agonizing over how late he was, he couldn't help but notice the looks of extreme judgement from the hotel staff upon his arrival at the lobby. A few even broke decorum so they could whisper to each other, clearly scandalized, upon which Ossu immediately chastised them.
>Others were a little more tactful, instead making their disdain known by subtly looking away. Lincoln suspected he might have been the first person to ever wear cheap, worn-out sneakers inside the Grand Salzburg. While a bit off-putting, it wasn't something he let slow him down. His mind was still on his big sister setting up since who knows when while he dozed off.
>As he emerged from the nice, warm hotel lobby into the freezing New York street, his teeth beginning to chatter, he idly started to wonder if what they'd actually been whispering to each other about was him thinking he could get away with what he was wearing in this early morning weather.
>He shook it off, not allowing that to slow him down either. There was no way he was going to let something like stuffy wait staff or blistering cold keep him from Leni.
>What finally did, however, was at last coming face to face with the facade of the building in front of him. He'd been too starstruck by the Salzburg to notice the monolith that had been sitting across from it the entire time, but now he had no choice but to take it in.
>The Markham was a colossus of old New York neo-gothic styling: an eclectic variety of gargoyles and stone faces hung off its pale grey concrete masonry, scowling blindly as they seemed to scuttle between the soot-stained pillars that framed the building. The architecture appeared merciless and cold, genuinely making it feel like the sort of place that would eat up someone's dreams and spit them out, and as he stared up the nostrils of a glowering sculpture hanging off one of its domes that seemed to stare judgementally at the plebs milling about the streets below, he suddenly felt very concerned for his sister.
>Lincoln shook his head. He wouldn't be intimidated by ugly statues either! The young man hurried to explain who he was to one of the large men with jackets that read 'security' guarding the building's entryway and, after they confirmed his identity through their walky-talkies, they waved him in.
>"I'm coming, Leni!" He thought to himself.
--
>"Alright, put the spotlight on the left! No, the OTHER left! When she walks by it'll make the second tone on the dress pop. Yes, that's right! Wait, wait, are you using the right kind of bulbs!?"
>Lincoln needn't have worried. The very first thing he'd witnessed upon crossing the double doors was his big sister cracking the whip on a bunch of frightened teamsters. Cowed middle-aged men with their beerguts stuffed into their overalls scrambled in every direction to fulfill the fashionista's ceaseless demands, and, after delightedly greeting her brother and thanking him for the magical evening they'd spent together the night before, the very next thing she did was put him to work too.
>Leni's fashion career had been relatively short, but very eventful. She had interned at a lifestyle magazine shortly after college, her suggestions on presentation and what small alterations could be made to have the clothes appear better on glossy photo eventually catching the notice of one of their established designer clients, Bongiorno Valenti. It'd been her ideas on featuring contrasting yellows during pictures with sunset backdrops, presented of course totally heedlessly of the lowly position she was in at the publication, that had first piqued his interest. But it was only after actually talking to her one on one and discovering that she was truly as innocent as she appeared, her suggestions not offered as some inelegant and ambitious attention-grab, that he became truly enchanted with the guileless blonde and offered her a small place at his clothing label.
>Within two years Leni had gathered huge buzz as one of the most promising up and coming talents in the industry. Her designs had actually been worn across a handful of runways and red carpets across the world. Their family always made much ado of it, throwing small parties and inviting neighbors and friends over to watch the awards shows, waiting for the moment they'd interview some actress or another and ask her who she was wearing just so they could hear Leni's name spoken on television.
>Today, however, was something much bigger than that. After a recent string of professional successes her boss had finally offered Leni what every designer dreamed of: an entire show centered exclusively around her own creations.
>Needless to say the young woman was totally overwhelmed. She'd insisted on directing almost every aspect of the event personally to make sure it went exactly the way she wanted it, painstakingly planning the whole thing out for months, but the project had been so exhausting that she was left even more fragile and scatterbrained than she normally was.
>'But that's what Lincoln's for.' She thought happily, gratefully receiving the bolt of cloth she'd sent him to fetch earlier.
>The young man huffed and puffed, barely able to keep up with his sister's frenzied rampage across the auditorium. "Leni, please, don't you think you should take a break?" He wasn't sure whether he was asking for her sake or for his. He wiped the perspiration from his brow as his sister unfurled the cloth around the runway and aimed one of the spotlights at it.
>"No! See? I told you! It needs to be SPECIFICALLY two hundred and fifty watts or else the reds are going to look muddy! Go see if they have any backstage, quick! If you're not back in two minutes I'm, like, calling your supervisor to tell him how you totes ruined my show!" The blonde squawked indignantly over the narrowly-avoided disaster. The frightened intern scurried away to do as he was told.
>Leni could be kind of ditzy, but whenever she was talking about clothes she really found her stride. It gave Lincoln a strange sense of secondhand accomplishment. His sister, the famous designer. He got why Lori liked to brag about it so much.
>"What was that, Lincoln?" She finally turned around to ask, managing to find a sunny smile to give her little brother even in the middle of the stress and chaos of her big chance to make a splash almost getting ruined by the wrong kind of lightbulb.
>Lincoln's shoulders sank in defeat but he couldn't help but laugh, and his attitude helped to take Leni's mind off the near-catastrophe. She laughed too, just because he did. She liked the sound. Someone rushed over to hand her a pen and form which she quickly signed, authorizing something or other.
>"Nothing, Len. Listen, can I get you anything to drink?" Lincoln sighed, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.
>"Hmm." Leni brought the pen up to her mouth in thought, wrong-side up, and ended up drawing herself a cleft chin.
>Lincoln cracked up. She brightened up again right away, eager to find out what was so funny, but he just licked his thumb and delicately cupped her jaw with his hand.
>The young woman froze, totally unprepared for the sudden and, especially in such a public space, intimate gesture. She felt the pad of his thumb, warm and wet with his saliva, press against her chin.
>Leni stood ramrod straight and almost yelped when her little brother started rubbing slow but insistent circles over her skin, near her mouth. There was a moment when he brushed her bottom lip, just for a second, and tipped her head towards his and brought his face in close, leaning over and staring down at her mouth, and she wasn't quite sure what exactly was happening and oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh, why here? Why now?
>As Lincoln finally finished making sure he'd properly cleaned her up and let go of her face, grinning happily, his big sister just gawped at him, holding her hand up against her chin.
>It was still warm.
>Eyes wide, the blonde wordlessly shooed away a young man that came up to her for another signature, not even looking at him. Her brow was knit together in concern. It seemed like she was thinking about something. Really hard.
>Lincoln was surprised to see her suddenly put her big show on the backburner like that. He waited for some kind of explanation but Leni just kept staring. After a while he finally began to fidget and look away, the intensity in her eyes starting to agitate him.
>"L-Lincoln..." His big sister suddenly spoke his name, neither a question nor a statement. He'd never heard anyone say his name like that. Leni's expression carried deep, powerful expectation.
>"W-what? You scribbled on your chin." Lincoln explained meekly, suddenly feeling very sheepish, as if he'd done something wrong or crossed some kind of line. He couldn't meet her gaze, finding himself blushing.
>Leni's eyes suddenly widened and she stared down at the pen in her hand, quickly looking back up at her brother. Even as dense as he could be he knew she was mortified.
>"Nope! Nothing to drink!" His big sister's voice came out in a tense chirp, even more high pitched than usual. "OkayLincolnIgottamakesuremyshowgoesokaysomaybeyoucanjusthangaroundalrightokayseeyoulater!"
>Before he could get a word in edgewise Leni had practically sprinted away. Lincoln stared after until she disappeared behind the backstage curtain. He still didn't quite know what to think. The young man brought his thumb up and stared at the ink smeared on it.
----------------------------------
>Leni had gone totally absent after the the pen incident, and no matter how hard he tried he wasn't able to meet up with her again. It was like wherever he was she made sure she wasn't. Lincoln attempted to make himself useful the rest of the day, helping the workers fulfill his sister's panicked, neurotic requests, but the closest he got to reuniting with her was spotting her from across the venue at one point several hours later. He'd waved and Leni had waved back but the moment the young man tried to approach her she'd bolted. It was making him feel quite a bit restless, especially since he hadn't even been able to wish her luck before having to take off back to the hotel room to change into his fancy clothes.
>He'd needed to leave a little ahead so he'd have time to clean up, that meaning stripping off the dirty jeans and t-shirt he'd worn to set-up and showering. Thanks to how sweaty he'd gotten the New York air had chilled him to the bone upon exiting the auditorium even worse than it had that morning, the short trip across the street between the temperature-controlled venue to the temperature-controlled hotel surprisingly grueling. The sun was already going down.
>And that wasn't mentioning the looks he'd gotten inside the Salzburg itself.
>He had been in such a state by the time he returned to the hotel lobby, shivering, sweat-soaked and covered in soot from helping install some of the hardware needed for the show, that they had almost kicked him out! Lincoln had had to drop Leni's name just to be allowed into the elevator; Ossu did not seem to be there at that hour and the receptionist had not recognized him.
>But all of that frustration had melted away the second the hot water from their room's shower touched his skin, Lincoln finally getting the chance to try the amenities out for himself.
>The young man gave a sigh of bliss as his resentment over big city people treating him like a hobo just for working a day in his life evaporated, replaced by a deep sense of opulence and luxury as he felt the fancy showerhead vary the water pressure in some kind of pseudo-musical rhythm. The knots in Lincoln's muscles loosened under the flood and after a moment he actually noticed himself getting a bit sleepy, the suffocatingly hot steam giving him an irresistible feeling of drowsiness. Once he realized he was actually starting to talk himself into skipping the show and just crashing in the hotel room his hand flew to the gauge and turned on the cold water.
>After giving a loud yelp of discomfort as his hands scrambled to find the knobs again, Lincoln turned it back to lukewarm. He'd deserved that.
>Feeling like himself again, the young man quickly shampooed his hair, soaped up, rinsed off and jumped out from under the magic shower before he got any more bright ideas.
>As he emerged from the steamed up bathroom, humming happily as he cocooned himself in at least three different terrycloth towels, Lincoln couldn't help but luxuriate in the decadence of it all. This was a far cry from sharing a cramped bathroom with five different people like he usually had to do, drying himself with a bathrobe to put off doing the laundry. It was as he was musing on how there was something to the way rich people lived that he finally spotted the suit laid out for him on the bed.
>It must have been there since this morning. Lincoln had been in such a rush to meet Leni at the Markham when he woke up, and then when he got back in such a hurry to get out of his sweaty rags and scramble into the shower, that he hadn't even noticed it was there.
>The young man spotted the card propped up on the nightstand. Pale pink stock with a couple of hearts doodled on the corners. He walked over to pick it up, but he already know who it was from.
~Lincoln, I made this especially for you. Sorry I didn't tell you about it before, but it was a surprise! I found a special shade of white for the shirt that'll look extra nice with your hair, and I know you like orange so that's the color I made the tie, except I made it kind of a burnt orange because it's a gala and you always want darker colors at fancy events, even when they're supposed to be bright colors most of the time! The pants and shoes are special too, but you're banging at the door telling me we're going to be late and telling me I better get a move on so I guess I better get a move on! I'll see you in a little bit! I'm so excited you're coming to see my show. I love you so much. You're the best little brother ever. XOXO Leni~
>He remembered that. She'd even gone through the trouble of scenting the note, even with him howling at her from under the jamb as she was dressing to hurry up before they missed their flight. Lincoln held the card against his nose and took a long sniff, getting a little self-conscious over how strangely lascivious the gesture suddenly felt, and got a lungful of his big sister. Flowers and kaleshakes.
>He smiled. Tucking the card into the coat pocket of the suit, the young man happily started picking at the clothes Leni had arranged on the bed for him one by one, impressed at how soft and silky the cloth felt beneath his fingers. He began by slipping on the underwear and the dress socks, pleased at the comfortable fit, then moved to carefully pull his new pants up. Given that he was able to tell just by touch how expensive the material was, he was irrationally scared that he was going to somehow mess up the crease simply by sticking his feet down the legs. Coming from a home where hand-me-downs were the norm, Lincoln wasn't very used to costly things and didn't know if they had to be handled any differently from normal slacks.
>He managed, though. Soon after that came the white button-up shirt, then the tie. He made the knot just like his dad had taught him.
>After the most careful dress-session of all time, Lincoln at last pushed his hands into the sleeves of the jacket and straightened himself out, turning to look at the mirror expectantly.
>And a few seconds after that he actually recognized the person in it.
>Lincoln had always filled in as Leni's dress dummy whenever she needed it, even back when they were kids, but he still hadn't had any idea of just how complete his big sister's understanding of his body was. He'd looked good in the off-the-rack clothes she'd bought for him, but this was different.
>He stared mystified at his reflection, holding up his sleeve and marvelling at how it simultaneously clung to and had give in all the right areas. Each section of the suit she'd tailored complimented and worked with the contours of his frame, making him somehow look both leaner, taller and in better shape than he actually was. There was another moment of awkwardness as he realized that even the inseam on his pants felt millimetrically perfect, but it was an easy thought to shake off in the face of how good he looked.
>"The name's Bond!" Lincoln laughed, patting himself down to see just how resilient the illusion was, when he suddenly heard a crinkle as his hand passed over his coat pocket. He stopped chuckling and thought of Leni, all alone during her big day while he was in here goofing off in the clothes she'd taken the trouble to make for him.
>"I'm a terrible cad." The young man announced in his best british accent. He gave his reflection one last excited glance and turned on his heel, pushing open the hotel room door. His wallet and room card sat in his sweaty jeans, totally forgotten in his hurry to meet his sister at her date with destiny.
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>It was on his way back to the venue that he realized it wasn't in his head and Leni somehow really had made him look that good. An adjutant had approached him instantly upon his appearance at the hotel lobby, asking a series of rapid questions/statements about what a dashing figure the gentleman cut, why hadn't the gentleman rang ahead to let them know he was coming down, was the gentleman going to require anything upon his return, would the gentleman enjoy a chilled bottle of champagne waiting for him in his room? No charge, of course, no charge for the gentleman, only a room number was required.
>It took everything Lincoln had not to laugh. The same person sucking up to him had mistaken him for a lost daylaborer not an hour ago, trying to shoo him out of the hotel by claiming there was a payphone down the street he could use if he needed to 'call one of his cousins to pick him up'. Now he thought he was some kind of big shot.
>Lincoln assured him that the gentleman was fine and hurried out the gilded revolving doors. The brisk night air hit him like a bucket of cold water, but rather than making him stumble like it had before, it instead energized him. He felt like a new man and his secondhand excitement for Leni, his anticipation of being there for his sister's big moment, put a spring in his step that carried him across the street and into the venue before he knew it. He was flagged through the line of photographers practically barricading the entrance by a big guy he'd helped rig a camera inside earlier, who thankfully had managed to recognize him.
>Lincoln almost gasped as he walked through the doors and was met with the sight of the utterly transformed auditorium. He'd only been gone for an hour but it might as well have been an entirely different place. When he'd left they'd still been setting up spotlights and pointing out where seating needed to fall. What stretched before him now was a velvet and brass dream, with long sumptuous curtains hanging from the walls and the entire main area illuminated by warm, ostentatious chandeliers. It looked like some kind of oddly proportioned ballroom, yet somehow it worked. Lincoln wondered whether this was how the Markham was always set up or if his sister had had it arranged this way especially.
>He didn't have time to pause and take in the incredible make-over, however. Heck, he didn't even have time to enjoy any of the appreciative looks of the beautiful, glamorous women milling about, hanging off the arms of men much older and, he supposed, more important than him. Right now all he could think about was Leni. This was what it had all been leading up to. She'd want to see him before the show started. He was sure of it.
>Lincoln, though, was disappointed to find that his sister was nowhere to be found no matter how hard he looked. It was only now, after the heady excitement of the trip over and his sudden, near-irrational desperation over letting her down had worn off, that he realized he should have expected that. He didn't know much about fashion but he doubted that famous designers worked the crowd before any of their big shows. These didn't seem like those sorts of people.
>It was as he considered that that he began to feel increasingly out of place. He now finally had enough time to really look around and process who and where he actually was.
>Leni's magic clothes gave him the look but it was as he cast his eyes about the glimmering auditorium, filled with the obscenely rich and famous, that he realized that not only were their lifestyles laughably mismatched, these people's entire worldview was probably totally alien to a small town kid from Royal Woods like him. He supposed it had been the same at the restaurant, but he'd had Leni on his arm then. Those kind of thoughts hadn't even entered his mind.
>Now though, alone and feeling like he was wearing some handsomer stranger's clothes, it really started to sink in how far out of his depth he was. He quickly went from feeling like James Bond to feeling like a kid in a James Bond costume.
>Even then he couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering back to his big sister. She'd been handling people like this easily all through the trip, totally unintimidated, wrapping them around her little finger without even trying. They were all hopelessly charmed by her. The young man thought back to how anxious he'd been in the car ride to the restaurant, wondering if this was where Leni was meant to be. What was worse than the sensation of inadequacy and see-through phoniness he was experiencing now was the persistent feeling that he was losing his sister to a world he had no place in, that she was being pulled, inevitably, somewhere he couldn't follow. At least not without embarassing her.
>He started wondering if that creep from the hotel had the right idea from the start. Maybe he really was just a lost daylaborer.
>"Champagne?" The sudden question knocked him out of his impromptu pity-party before he could totally disappear into his own insecurities. Lincoln blinked down at the waitress that had appeared in front of him, when exactly he hadn't noticed, and it ocurred to him that he had been so dazzled gawking at the tragically glamorous and feeling like he didn't measure up that he hadn't even noticed the approach of an actual human like him. No wonder people got hammered at these things.
>She was a very pretty young brunette in a dress-shirt and gold and black vest, the same uniform all the other waitresses working the floor were wearing. The only difference was the small but noticeable smirk on her face that let him know she was in on the same joke he was.
>"Loosen up, kid." It was like she'd forced the glass flute into his hand by sheer force of personality. Before he could even regain his bearings she was gone again, giving him a quick wink over her shoulder as she disappeared back into the crowd. "Just enjoy the show~"
>If this was how he felt, Lincoln wondered, staring down at his newly-acquired drink, what must Leni be feeling? This was HER show. He'd been here two minutes and it already felt like he was getting bullied by the help. Meanwhile his big sister had managed to dominate a squad of union labor, monopolize local magazine coverage and hornswoggle a bunch of celebrities into attending her first big event. He had always been proud of her, but when the full scope of her achievement finally sunk in, he was awed by it.
>'Leni needs our help.' That had been something the family had often said to each other.
>Maybe not, he thought with a bit of melancholy.
>"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The show is about to begin." The voice from nowhere stated, booming to the crowd from the elegantly hidden speakers placed throughout the venue.
>Just like that a legion of fancy suits and bouncy dress gowns began shuffling down towards the runway. Leni had made sure to tell her brother exactly where he was to be seated earlier in the day, and had stressed to him how important it was that he sit there and nowhere else. He supposed that she'd be looking around for his mop of white hair from backstage, and that just seeing a friendly face where she expected among the big crowd it would help calm her nerves. Lincoln was happy to oblige, glad for any small way he could help.
>The ushers knew who he was and how important it was that he be in that spot (he chuckled at the memory of his sister drilling it into them) and frantically flagged him through. To his bemusement it became a sort of spontaneous procession to get him to his chair, so that by the time he actually sat down a good number of the A-listers attending were glancing over in curiosity at just who exactly this VIP was, just like what had happened back at the Figaro Eh. This time however he was close enough that he could hear their guesses.
>Lincoln played along and tried his best to look the part, the champagne slowly working to diminish his class anxiety and making him feel just a bit more confident. He sat up straight and proud, but his clothes did most of the work.
>The young man tried to keep a poker face as a murmur went up around him and several people speculated about his identity, some sounding surprisingly sure of themselves for how out there their notions actually were.
>"The duke of...something or other, I'm sure. His father's around here somewhere. That's who you want to get in with."
>"Oh, I know him. He has a movie coming out this summer. Miramax, I think. Maybe Warner Brothers? He's already huge in China."
>"That promising new middleweight. From Haysville, isn't he? Set to fight Morales next month, although I haven't the foggiest what his interest in women's fashion is. Clearly just here to be seen. Tacky but you know how athletes are."
>Lincoln was relishing in the entertainment provided by his new mystery man status when suddenly a voice cut through the murmur, elegant, crisp and clear. The words that followed were spoken in a british accent and with the kind of self-assurance that belied no argument. "He's the designer's boyfriend."
>It had come from right next to him.
>As much as he was enjoying his newfound hype, that one had really gone down sour. Lincoln instinctively crossed his arms, shifting in his seat so he could get a look at who had just slandered him. Eyes wide, lips pursed and, he suspected, nostrils flared, he fully intended to stare them down.
>Who he saw almost made him fall over.
>Auburn hair. Soulful green eyes. That famous impish smile.
>Emily Hawthorne, the actress, had just declared with total confidence that Lincoln Loud was dating his big sister.
>"I heard they might even get married soon." The waifish girl added, kicking her legs happily, just a little, as she stared directly into Lincoln's wide, horrified eyes.
>His stunned silence, combined with his obvious visceral reaction to her words, immediately sent the rumor mill into overdrive. Meanwhile the starlet just drank in his flabbergasted expression, trying hard not to laugh as the young man cycled through myriad looks of disbelief and bewilderment while the people behind them reached the conclusion, quickly and efficiently, that his sister was pregnant. It took everything in him not to screech at them, but he suspected at this point that would just make it worse.
>The mischievous young nymph positively basked in the chaos she'd just unleashed, looping her arm around Lincoln's elbow and pressing it affectionately against her side without looking at him, as though wordlessly asking him not to ruin her game.
>This was unnecessary, as he was still far too staggered to intelligently defend either himself or his sister. Emily, however, took this as him being a good sport and laid her head against his shoulder playfully.
>"Nice suit," she giggled.
>Before he could answer the lights at last dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd. The young man kept his arms crossed and his head forward, spending what should have been the moment of greatest anticipation instead trying to process what had just happened, while also attempting to ignore the sensation of the hair of the starlet he had a huge crush on tickling the side of his neck.
>He was so flustered that it would have been understandable if he'd been unable to focus on the show at all, but as the low-fi electronica Leni had chosen for the show began to reverberate from out of the speakers and into the auditorium-
>-Leni had explained to him while setting up that she believed music that was mellow but energizing helped people appreciate visual patterns better-
>-The spotlights came on and illuminated the runway, and the first of the models appeared from behind the curtain.
>He heard Emily gasp next to him as the light struck the model's long, flowing dress, illuminating the subtle veneer of gold interwoven among some of the material. A glow moved across the cloth, like sunlight off the scales of a tropical fish, displaying all the subtle shades that Leni had managed to weave into a seemingly one-color garment.
>Lincoln knew very little about fashion, but he knew when something looked good, and this looked good. It seemed that the people around him agreed as he could almost sense the atmosphere of the room change from one of suspicion, knives sharpened in preparation of recreationally skewering the untested designer, to one of surprised delight over an unusual but worthy offering.
--
>The night unfolded mostly the same way. Each time the the audience thought they had figured Leni out and were preparing to get cynical, she dazzled them with something new, knocking the crowd off-balance and starting the whole process over again.
>The starlet sitting next to him, too, seemed to be in a good mood, although why that was he couldn't guess. Lincoln himself was so excited for his big sister, so elated by the response to her designs and the simple beauty of her creations themselves, that he didn't even think to tense up or second-guess himself as the actress nestled a bit closer to him. He was simply too distracted to be starstruck.
>"Sorry, it's cold." Emily had explained simply and Lincoln, beaming over yet another of his sister's homeruns, just accepted it.
>As awkward as he naturally was, he was catching so much energy off Leni's triumph that he'd ended up inadvertently charming the young woman next to him with his friendly indifference and good vibes. He wasn't even thinking about her right now, even if she was Emily Hawthorne. All he could think about at that moment was how proud he was of his big sister.
>She smiled quietly against his shoulder and Lincoln uncrossed his arms, moving his hands to his lap and leaning forward just a bit in anticipation as the lights dimmed one last time. Emily brushed his wrist with hers and, when he didn't push her away, gently placed her hand over his.
>He didn't notice.
>"Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the final design of the evening..."
>A hush of anticipation fell over the crowd. A few leaned in just like he had. It seemed like there should have been more fanfare than that after everything they'd seen throughout the night, but there simply wasn't. That was all the warning they would apparently receive as from behind the curtain emerged the most beautiful creature Lincoln had ever seen.
>The gown she wore was aquamarine green, streaked with a vivid, violet sort of purple at the midsection. And up near the neckline, so narrow you almost couldn't see it, a dab of orange. The whole ensemble was long and flowing, the material falling over her shoulders and ringing around her arms, pooling at her feet and shimmering in the light. It seemed the logical conclusion of what the designer been driving at all throughout the evening, as though all the other pieces had been hinting at this one all along. Leading up to it. The way she walked down the runway, with a shyness that was noticeable yet somehow elegant, was enough to take his breath away.
>It was her. Leni. She'd chosen to model the last dress herself. Whether it was because she didn't trust any of the other models to move the right way while wearing it or because she wanted to make this night just a little bit more special Lincoln didn't know, but the way she looked in that moment triggered a cascade of emotions inside him.
>The dress reminded him of something Lori once owned when they were all very young, a mermaid themed dress she'd worn to a dance. He remembered that night had been important to her. The crush of nostalgia, of youthful innocence and days gone by, contrasted with the vision of his gorgeous older sister, now grown and in total control over herself and the world around her. All of these people were eating right out of the palm of her hand. Even him.
>Standing there, looking so demure, so shy, but so happy and proud...Leni paused at the end of the runway and turned to smile at him, right where she knew he'd be sitting, tears welling up in her eyes as rapturous applause went up from the audience. He felt his heart clench.
>That was the moment he knew that she'd pulled it off. That she was a success.
>He wanted to stand up, to hug her, hold her so it could be something they'd share forever. This was it. The crazed, joyful excitement mixed with the champagne and the heady smell of Emily's perfume and it made him dizzy, feelings bubbling up inside him, powerful, troubling ones that would have mortified him if he wasn't just so happy for her right then.
>But then a small shadow suddenly passed over his big sister's eyes. Lincoln followed her gaze down to the pretty girl next to him, who was now openly clinging to his arm and staring up at Leni with an expression nearly as gobsmacked as his was. The blonde hesitated for a moment as she looked at them, and between the way Leni was dressed and the famous actress on his arm the whole situation felt so intensely surreal that Lincoln wasn't quite sure he wasn't actually dreaming. The fashionista tore her eyes away from the two and just stood there, seeming conflicted, as though struggling to understand something and maybe even in a little pain.
>Finally, she pursed her lips and turned away, walking back down the runway, applause following her all the way behind the curtain.
>His brother watched her go, Emily clapping beside him. The feeling of vertigo he had was intense, but he forced himself to clap too. This was Leni's time. Her big moment. He didn't understand why he had such an awful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
--------------------------------
>Lincoln had struggled to sneak backstage as soon as the afterparty began, but then so did a hundred other people. Without his wallet he wasn't even able to prove he was who he said he was and even if he could something told him his sister wouldn't have allowed securite to let him through anyway. He ended up having to piggyback off Emily, whose fame afforded her easy access. Thankfully she hadn't seemed to have gotten bored of him yet, hanging off his arm and explaining to the bouncers how he was the governor of Montecarlo and my word, how is it that they didn't recognize him? Emily lied with confidence, which admittedly was an important skill for an actor to have, and though the ease with which she misled people would have made him uneasy at any other time he was grateful for it at that moment.
>"That last dress was AMAZING, wasn't it?" The young actress offered, trying to make conversation. He was too distracted to answer, brow furrowed as he attempted to discern his sister from the mass of sycophants and well-wishers milling about behind the show curtains.
>"Oh come on!" She complained playfully at Lincoln's continued silence as his eyes scanned the hustle and bustle backstage, "You haven't said a word to me all night! Drop the mystery man act already. Can't you see I'm trying to flirt here?"
>Even in his current predicament, with all the worries he had about Leni, with that hurt look she'd given him bouncing around in his head like a pinball with a lit fuse, he couldn't help but feel disbelief and chagrin over how thoroughly he'd charmed a girl that was just earlier in the night the ultimate unobtainable fantasy. And without even saying anything. Maybe BECAUSE he hadn't said anything.
>"I'm a lot more charming when I don't talk." He realized out loud with just a hint of bitterness. The memory of his ex-girlfriend cursing him out popped into his head; Lincoln's mind went negative in high-stress situations. He craned his neck and narrowed his eyes to confirm whether he'd finally spotted Leni, but it turned out to be some other leggy blonde. Lincoln's emotional distance and vague, grumpy manner seemed to excite the starlet.
>"Aha! You're an American!" She declared loudly, as though she'd caught him out in some intrigue, which drew a few curious stares. Emily brought a hand up to her mouth and bit the tip of her thumb with a smirk. She was having fun. "Well, it's a start..."
>"Leni!" Lincoln finally yelled, startling the actress. He at last located his sister by spotting her reflection in a mirror inside one of the dressing rooms. He wasted no time rushing over, his date following him curiously as he muscled past the throng outside.
>The drink in her hand was the first thing he noticed. There were several people surrounding her, all talking at once, each trying to get her attention. She was still wearing the dress from earlier.
>She seemed unhappy.
>"Wait, you really do know her...?" Emily muttered in wonder as she finally caught up to the young man.
>Leni's expression went cold as she noticed Lincoln. The faceless crowd excused themselves apologetically and quickly began filing out of the the room at just a single irritated gesture and quiet word from the sullen, newly-minted diva.
>It was foreboding. At home she might have been the sweet, helpless older sister that needed his help, but here she was an empress. Leni was in her element at the same moment Lincoln was the farthest he'd ever been out of his. It couldn't but make him feel a little nervous.
>"You know you're not supposed to drink." Lincoln offered gently, smiling.
>The blonde took a long sip of champagne in response. "I'm a grown woman." She announced humorlessly. "I can drink if I want."
>"But...It doesn't play well with the medicine." The young man delicately reminded her, trying not to irritate Leni anymore than he apparently already had.
>This time his sister answered him by taking a full on gulp, tipping the flute up while staring directly into her little brother's eyes. Lincoln winced. She was upset.
>"Aren't you going to introduce us, Lincoln?" She finally asked, setting down the empty glass.
>Now it was Emily's turn to be startled. She considered herself an intelligent woman, and well-known besides. She was accustomed to socially dominating every room she entered. But the atmosphere around these two was so tense and their apparently shared attitude of her so dismissive that she hesitated. Emily sensed she was walking into a situation that she didn't have a clear understanding of, and she suddenly found herself feeling something she hadn't since before she was famous: the fear of boring someone more interesting than her. Still, at least she knew her date's name now.
>Gosh, this was turning into a really weird night. She'd just thought the guy was cute.
>"H-hello there, I'm Emily. Emily Hawthorne." The starlet announced, giving a nervous smile.
>"Hello." Leni responded curtly. "Did you enjoy the show."
>It did not have the ring of a question, but to avoid any further awkwardness the young woman answered effusively, turning on the charm. "Oh my, yes! Your designs were remarkable! My agent sends me to these things to be seen but it was really-"
>"I'm glad you liked the show," Leni interrupted her, uncharacteristically nasty. She swiped another flute of champagne off a tray placed next to her on the make-up table and took a long sip. Lincoln almost went to take it from her but at the first sign of movement Leni shot him a look, just a look, and he felt rooted in place. He was suddenly acutely aware that she'd handcrafted the clothes he was wearing, and somehow felt naked.
>Emily glanced between the two, her mind quickly jumping to conclusions at the obvious tension.
>"Oh goodness, is he actually-" She began, quiet panic seeping into her voice as she assumed the worst.
>"He's my brother." Leni cut her off again, her lips curling into a sneer at the taste of the alcohol. She had always hated it. Leni only drank to get drunk. "Just my little brother." She repeated under her breath, bitterly.
>"Oh!" The actress' eyes widened. "Oh, my word. Thank heaven. I was terribly worried I might have made a fool of myself."
>The fashionista obviously wanted to seize on that statement but she bit her tongue. Leni turned her eyes down to look at the drink in her hand and ran her finger across the rim. Her anger had seemed to at least wane in its intensity, cooling off into simple seething resentment. "So how did you two meet?" She asked in a low voice.
>"A-Ahem, well, I..." Again the starlet was forced right back into the hotseat. What could she say? 'I was making up rumors about you two'? And lord, the rumors she'd started. No wonder Lincoln had looked so startled at the time. "Umm..."
>And people said she was a good interview. Emily was mortified.
>"'Umm'?" Leni asked, her tone even, finishing off the second glass of champagne. The second that Lincoln had seen her drink, anyway. The young starlet felt herself wilt under the designer's stare. She felt like she was in finishing school again, getting scolded by the headmistress. Emily rubbed her arm self-consciously. The young man noticed what was happening and interjected, hoping to spare the girl from any more awkwardness. Things had gotten weird enough already.
>"I asked her for an autograph. You know what a big fan of North Of Northampton I am." He offered simply.
>The way he'd been carrying on she'd almost thought he didn't know who she was. Emily felt herself blush ,-actually blush!-, at the compliment. She also couldn't help but thrill a little at him lying to his sister for her like that.
>'Oh my God,' she thought. 'I really am a schoolgirl.'
>"Y-yes." She squeaked. "And Lincoln looked so handsome I just couldn't pull myself away from him all night!"
>The line was meant to be delivered flirtatiously, jokingly, that's how she'd heard it in her head. Instead she'd sounded totally sincere. Emily flinched and shut her eyes, bringing a hand up to hide her face.
>Lincoln turned to stare at her, unable to stop himself from giving a perplexed half-smile. It had felt weird enough to hear his famous crush say his name, but hearing her gush over him like that was something else entirely. His attention was ripped away however when he noticed Leni standing up from her chair.
>"Handsome, huh?" His sister repeated coyly, dangerously. "...Yeah, I guess he IS handsome." She licked her lips and Lincoln, from one second to the next, suddenly felt hugely stressed. There was an outright physical sense of impending doom descending upon them. He tried to make some sense of it but truthfully he'd been unable to find his footing the entire night, and that didn't look like it was going to change anytime soon. "My handsome little brother Lincoln. I bet you want to do all kinds of things with him."
>The young man immediately gave a forced laugh and stepped forward, first to get between the two girls as the starlet recoiled, and then to try and corral Leni into his arms and maybe somewhere away from here before she said anything else. But his big sister resisted, pulling away from him. "No, Lincoln, it's true. You're really fucking good looking."
>He grit his teeth, his forced smile faltering as he heard her curse. She was drunk.
>"I bet lots of girls totes want to fuck you." She added thoughtlessly. "Lots of pretty, famous girls like her. Hey, who wouldn't, right?" As Leni rolled the idea around in her head Emily and Lincoln both just stood there, letting her words hang like a tombstone over the good vibes from earlier in the evening. "Lots of girls want to FUCK my LITTLE BROTHER." She hissed.
>Lincoln pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. Oh, he hated this. Luckily his sister had terrorized the help enough that when she asked to be left alone, she was, and they guarded her privacy to boot. There was no one around to witness this scene except for poor Emily, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I bet you, like, want to fuck her too, huh?" Leni bluntly speculated.
>"Leni!" Lincoln chastised her, angry for the first time tonight. She turned from him back to his date.
>"You know his cock's huge, right? I made those pants he's wearing. Trust me. It's huge." The actress just stammered helplessly, unable to think of how to reply.
>"LENI!" Lincoln yelled, embarassed for her, embarassed for himself, at this point badly upset.
>"What!?" She countered cattily. "It's true! I bet she'd fucking scream if you fucked her with that thing. 'Oh, Lincoln! Oh, fuck me, Lincoln! Fuck me, Lincoln! Fuck me! Fuck me!'" His big sister screamed the words into his face, staring into his eyes all the while. Hearing her say that made Lincoln's skin crawl but, worse, it generated a response from his libido that he couldn't quite control. He was starting to feel sick. "...T-that's her." Leni explained her outburst, shifting her eyes down to the floor self-consciously. "That's what she'd say."
>"That's enough. We're going back to the hotel." The young man declared flatly. His voice was calm and even, which just made his big sister want to act more bratty. He'd spotted her hotel room key on the dresser earlier and now he picked it up, placing it in his pocket. Lincoln grabbed her by the wrist and, though she struggled, he held firm. He began to drag her away.
>"But don't you, like, want to fuck her? She's cute!" Leni insisted frantically. "Hey, you can fuck her in my room! It's fine, I'll watch! Come on, LINCOLN! Don't you want to have fun, LINCOLN? You're so handsome, LINCOLN!"
>"I'm sorry about this, Emily." He apologized to his date from over his shoulder, his tone composed and formal but with an obvious tense edge. It was clear he was trying to control his anger as his sister became increasingly hysterical the more firmly he ignored her. Lincoln did not even turn to look at the actress as they left. At last they crossed the doorway and were gone, leaving the speechless young starlet alone in Leni's dressing room.
>Emily Hawthorne's life had not always been so shiny and glamorous. There was a time when all she was was a little girl from Derbyshire, playing with her dolls and listening to her parents argue loudly outside her bedroom in their small, humble, middle class home.
>They would scream, they would fight, they would throw things. And then, finally, when all the broken glass and shattered porcelain was swept up, they'd be too upset and bitter to show their daughter any affection. Little Emily would pretend to be different people and things, conjure up all sorts of fantastical worlds that existed only in her mind and storybooks. She even told her classmates lies sometimes about how wonderful things were at home, how much mommy and daddy loved her and how they played with her all the time. Anything that could help her deal with what was really happening.
>She supposed that's why she did what she did now. Both the acting and all the stupid practical jokes. Attention. That had always been the main unresolved issue of her life, she felt, and as a child she'd always hoped she'd discover some magic formula or secret character she could pretend to be that would get her parents to stop fighting and just show her some attention. Some love.
>It was as she reflected on this, the adrenaline of the painfully awkward situation at last wearing off, that she finally realized just how soaked her panties had become during Leni and Lincoln's messy spat. Emily hated herself so, so much in that moment.
>"...C-Call me!" She squeaked after the two.
--------------------------------------------------------
>"Let go of me!"
>"You were way out of line, Leni! Do you even realize what you just DID? Who that WAS?"
>"Oh my GOD, who cares!? She was just another one of your sluts, you have a million of them!"
>"Leni, WHAT THE HELL are you talking about!?"
>Their argument echoed down the city streets as the two shouted at each other. The pedestrians milling around, tense and frightened, did their best to avoid the two. They were trying hard not to get involved; this was just another glorious evening in the big city for them and nobody wanted to deal with a sloppy drunk. Most were careful not to even look as they shuffled past, afraid of getting dragged into it, instead just quietly pitying the poor SOB trying to get the girl under control.
>"Hey mister!" Leni broke from Lincoln's grip and bolted down the sidewalk, latching on to an elderly gentleman's coat. The poor fellow winced and prepared to experience some New York.
>"Leni, let him go right now!" Lincoln shouted from down the street, chasing after her.
>"Hey mister! I'm pretty, right? You'd fuck me, right?" She asked, eyes wide and frenzied.
>"LENI!" Lincoln yelled again.
>"He doesn't want to fuck me! He doesn't want to fuck me!" She pointed at her little brother accusingly, who at this point badly wanted to die, or at least disappear off the face of the earth forever. "He'll fuck every girl in the world, even ones he barely knows, but he won't fuck me! Isn't that sad, mister?"
>"Yes miss that's terribly sad, please let go of me." The man muttered, trying hard not to make eye contact.
>"SEE!?" Leni screeched, letting the poor pensioner go so she could whirl around on her brother. The old man instantly scrambled away while Lincoln was left to deal with a whole new set of problems.
>"HE thinks you should fuck me! Why won't you fuck me, Lincoln!?" His big sister demanded. "You take care of me! You cook for me! You drive me around, take me places, show me things! You LOVE me! You just won't FUCK me!"
>"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?" Lincoln howled at her, recoiling when he heard a police siren going off in the distance and grabbing his sister by the wrist again. "Do you even understand what's coming out of your mouth right now!? Do you recognize me? Jesus CHRIST, Leni! You're acting like a crazy whore!"
>The slap, the sound of her flesh hitting his, rang across the street like a gunshot. It very nearly knocked him loopy, his big sister showing huge hidden reserves of strength. That's when he realized the only reason he'd been able to drag her away in the first place was because she'd been allowing him to.
>"I'm not crazy." She stated flatly, cooly, and unlike her earlier screaming she said it in as quiet a tone of voice as she could. Lincoln understood instantly that in his own fit of pique he'd done his sister an enormous wrong, even considering her behavior up to that point. He'd struck at the place where she felt the most attacked by everyone in her life already. Everyone but him. Until now.
>Leni stared down at the pavement, hands hanging at her sides, and he finally noticed the tears flowing down her face. She licked her lips and pouted, but it was not a childish sort of pout. Rather, it looked like it was taking all her strength not to break down.
>"I'm not crazy." She repeated hoarsely, and Lincoln got the sense she was trying to convince herself more than him. "I don't care what anybody says. Not mom, not doctor Greenberg, not anybody. There's nothing crazy about the way I feel." She announced defiantly. There was a pause before she suddely gave a long hiss. "I'm not going to take those pills anymore."
>"L-Leni?" Lincoln probed softly, still rubbing his cheek. His blood had cooled off by then. He'd gotten caught up in his sister's meltdown without even realizing it, and it felt like he was at last back in control of himself. At some point he must have become just as hysterical as she had. Lincoln supposed that kind of thing was infectious.
>"And I'm not a whore either." She declared hotly. "Do you know how many men have, like, tried to have sex with me, Lincoln?" Leni brought her gaze up from the cracks in the concrete to stare into her little brother's eyes. That question made him incredibly angry for some reason. He wasn't sure if it would have upset him as much before tonight, but here, in this moment, the thought of anybody trying to put his hands on his sister infuriated him.
>"A lot." She finally croaked, welling up again. "But I never let them. I'll never let them. I have...I'm your..." There was a long silence as she shut her eyes, trying to gather the courage to say something. Both of them stood facing each other in the frozen city air.
>"...Dang it!" Leni finally shouted, though at a much lower volume than she'd been yelling earlier. "This was supposed to be the big night. My night. Why'd you have to do that, Lincoln?" She whined miserably, wiping her flowing collar against her cheeks and drying her tears with the silk just in time for more to wet her face.
>"...Let's go get some sleep, Leni." Lincoln answered. He held out his hand and, after staring at it for a moment, Leni took it. Soon both began walking quietly down the street.
>"I'm sorry about what I said." His sister rasped quietly, her voice exhausted.
>He wanted to ask which part, but knew that would just upset her. Lincoln squeezed her hand reassuringly.
>"About your sluts, I mean," she clarified softly. "I know you're not like that."
>The young man couldn't help but laugh, and the sound made Leni relax instinctively. Eventually she started giggling too. She rested her head on her brother's shoulder to get warm, grimacing for a second when she smelled another woman's perfume, but eventually shrugging it off. She was too drained to get mad again.
>"Do you know how many women have tried to have sex with me, Leni?" He asked, and she reacted to the question just like he had to hers. Seething, she pushed her body against her little brother's subconsciously, as if to claim him.
>"...Not a lot." He revealed wryly.
>His sister processed this for a while before laughing. A good, long, honest laugh.
>"They're crazy." She finally murmured against his arm as they reached the gilded doors of the hotel.
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Fashion (Turn To The Left!)