by Alexa Davis
“Now, I should go change, and you aren’t so lucky that I’ll just let you wander in with me to look at all the half-naked girls that will already be in there. Go wander around, and I’ll meet you back here in an hour, okay?” He feigned a pout, then kissed me soundly on the mouth and walked off. I should have known he couldn’t stay mad at me. He was off like the place was on fire, visiting gamer-geek mecca. It was like watching a toddler at his first visit to the “Santa’s Playhouse” at the mall, just waiting for a chance to peek at Santa on his special throne.
Meanwhile, I undressed and applied all the lotions and powders that all the cosplayers used, some to prevent sweat, others to keep our skin from drying out and then on top of it all, base and sealant for the makeup, whether it was going on our faces, or anywhere else. There were a couple other models in there with me, girls I’d seen around, who worked for Budweiser and Blizzard games. We acknowledged each other, but it was quiet as we all prepped for our dressers and makeup. Shelby was the first to arrive, punctual as always.
“Hey, I already picked up the new “Cards Against Humanity” deck, and a cool “Call of Duty” bobble head. You wanna see?” I chuckled as she pulled out her treasures from her organic-cotton reusable shopping bag and placed them in front of me. I still had lotions all over my hands so I didn’t dare touch, but I nodded and agreed that her finds were the best of the day, and she was brilliant for talking the merchants into selling to her before the doors were open to the public.
Truth be told, most of them were artists and small business people who needed every sale they could get. Shelby put her toys away and got to work, pulling out her list for the day and having one of the gofers pull the first costume. It was, as usual, an oversexualized female character from a popular first person shooter, and I was grateful that I’d managed to stick (mostly) to the smoothie regimen when I shimmied into the thigh high opaque leggings and matching spanky-pants. The bodice laced up the back like a proper bustier, and Shelby told me to breathe out and hold it while she tightened the laces. I watched my face purple while she worked, and not for the first time, thanked God I’d found someone so good at what she did. I’d never seen anyone tight lace as fast as she did, and I knew it would last the three hours I’d be stuck in it.
She kept the makeup fairly character neutral, with big dark lashes and thick eyeliner that could go with almost any costume. We’d have to alter it later, but it was the best place to start to cut down on time for changes later.
Once she applied the cotton candy-pink wig and helped me with my elbow length, gauntlet style gloves, the gofer wrapped an ammo belt low on my hips, and slung a fake automatic rifle across my back, and I felt magnets in the gun snap as they connected with their mates in the back of the costume. It had been Shelby’s innovation to begin with, but now they were standard as they kept the weapons in place when not being used for picture poses, but didn’t slide around when not in use.
All dolled-up, I practiced some poses in front of the tall mirrors in the backstage dressing area, then strutted out into the throng as it was reported over the loudspeaker that the doors were being opened. We always tended to gravitate towards others who were in characters like ours, and I ended up taking pictures for a few minutes with the male lead character from the same game I was dressed for. We posed with children and infants, teen couples, and middle-aged fantasy enthusiasts; everyone on the gaming spectrum.
A few other streamers were there as well, waiting for their Q&A panels. Some were there for team gaming tournaments, and we all had our pictures taken together. Jackson strode up, a large bag of purchases in each hand, just in time to get me some copies for my own stream.
Sheepishly, he shrugged and set them down, and pulled out his camera. He took a dozen pictures of me with fellow streamers, and he was even able to get in a few himself. Once the other streamers were introduced to him, they lost all interest in me, and he was dragged off toward the beer garden, glancing back over his shoulder in dismay as I waved goodbye.
My assistant grabbed the purchases, abandoned as they rushed him away, and promised to make sure they got back to the secured area with my competition costume and bags.
Time flew by as I was cheered and greeted by gaming fans of all ages and, before I realized that my feet were beginning to hurt, Shelby found me and warned me that it was time for me to bolt down lunch and head for my panel discussion. I glanced around for Jackson on the way, but couldn’t see him anywhere. It was our one chance for me to introduce him to the people who could really make a difference for him, and the guys had disappeared with him.
Frustrated, I jogged backstage to change into regular clothing and quickly drink the protein drink Shelby handed me, before sending her on a last-ditch rescue effort for Jackson, with instructions to take him to the panel if she found him.
She yanked the pink wig off my head as I tried to leave the dressing room, laughing as she quickly pinned a blue bobbed wig in place, then slapped me on the ass and sent me out to the lion’s den.
Panels were my least favorite part of any convention. Some guys were downright cruel to females on panels, as though we didn’t have a right to know as much as we did about the industry. They seemed to regularly forget that women wrote, designed, and programmed for their entertainment as much as men did. Fortunately, this panel was all about the models and voice-overs for the games, of which I had done both, so I gave a quick prayer that I would only suffered from harassment related to my looks. It was the easiest to ignore. Most of the time.
I sat in the seat marked by a place card with my call sign “@C.J.Rivers” on it, and chuckled to myself. I could almost guarantee the men who would be asking me to justify my place in the gamer world were the same ones who would tune in religiously to watch any girl play a game, so long as she showed enough cleavage. How was it their fault if they worked the system they were given?
I looked out past the blinding lights and tried to see if Shelby or Jackson had made it, but could barely make out the shapes of the bodies in the seats in front of us, let alone faces. A known voice actor sat next to me, and I covered my microphone and asked him if he’d ever been a model as well. The six foot something behemoth was almost as tall as Jackson, with chiseled features and long dark hair that would be great as a Viking, or an extra in “Game of Thrones.” He shook his head and laughed, explaining he was just another streamer, named Matthew. I asked him to find Jackson and I after the panel if he could, and he said he’d bring his girl with him, another streamer I’d heard of.
I was torn between excitement at finally being viewed as competition for big streamers like Matthew and his girlfriend who were professional gamers, far better at actual play than I was, and disappointment that I couldn’t show off my handsome tech genius to the players, who were more potential clients for him, and a bit of validation for me as not just another “cleavage streamer.”
My companion pointed behind me and when I turned, there stood Jackson and Shelby, thumbs up and grinning. With their passes, they could snag sponsored seats at the front and out of the lights, so I could see him even as he sat. I waved him over and introduced him to Matthew and his girlfriend, who sauntered over as we were talking. My face got warm as I watched the other girl check Jackson out. I wanted to be angry, but Jackson was completely oblivious, happy to hold my hand over the desk in front of me while he talked to my companion and they exchanged numbers. He reached up and kissed the back of my hand and winked, before rejoining Shelby in the audience.
The panel started better than I’d hoped, with Matthew and a couple other guys stepping in when the catcalling started, but then one round, sweaty, red-faced guy who had to have had a few too many beers, started in on me, telling me he knew where I lived, and he was going to post it online so I could be gang-raped. I hadn’t recovered enough to even speak when I saw a big blur pass beyond the lights, and barely recognized Jackson as he tackled the fat man, taking them both rolling down the steps to the front.
Jackson
was on his feet in a flash. He put the bully in a chokehold and dragged him to the side where security waited. I stood and watched in horror as the security team took both Jackson and my harasser out if sight. My fellow actors on the panel all stood with me, and Matthew held me back, talking to me softly and begging me to finish. I sat, but couldn’t seem to hear the next few questions asked as the panel tried to get back on track. Matthew squeezed my leg under the table, and I realized the next question being asked was directly to me.
“How often do you have to deal with men who talk to you that way?” I sniffed and dropped my gaze to the table while I blinked back the tears that had finally started to sting my eyelids, not from the heckler, but from the questioner who had so much compassion in her voice.
“I deal with men like that on a daily basis, both online and on the street,” I replied. I cleared my throat and went on. “Men who stream get salty viewers who complain, and say they’re going to stop following them. Female streamers get threatened with violence, rape, and all sorts of nastiness just because these guys think they have anonymity on their side.” I had an epiphany as I sat there, and I felt so excited that I blurted out my thought. “That’s why my boyfriend and I are starting a techie private investigating company. He is the best at chasing the trails attackers leave, and I’m going to fund his startup.”
“Was this advertising then? Was that guy paid to attack you?” A voice shouted from the back of the auditorium.
“No. In fact, Jackson, the guy who jumped fatty McPottymouth back there, he’s my guy, and he doesn’t know about my idea, because, as usual, my fans and viewers were the first to know, seconds after I thought it.” I grinned at the laughter that followed. “I’m sure he’ll agree to it. It’s got to be more fun than being held up by security. More laughter, and the strange miasma that had taken hold of us all after the man had proudly thrown ugly words like daggers at me, dissipated. Back on track, the aisles flooded with fans asking about their favorite games and actors, quoted the best lines back to us, and even a few fans suggested a tip stream to start Jackson in his new venture, to which I replied that I should probably convince him it was a good idea, first.
Probably because of the interruption, the coordinators let the panel run long, and as we were finally walking off stage, I got a panicked text from Shelby, asking why I wasn’t in my costume yet. I didn’t waste time stopping to reply, but picked up my pace and ran full out to the dressing room, where Jackson and Shelby were waiting for me. The first peek at my competition costume was set for only fifteen minutes from now, when I would be seen first by the judges in a private room, then I would wander the convention, with a member of security and Jackson by my side, to get the fan reactions, before the bigger presentation the next morning.
I was so grateful to see Jackson hadn’t been kicked out, or worse, arrested, that I wanted to jump into his arms and cry. Instead, I put on my big girl britches and sucked it in again while Shelby did up the rubber-covered under brace that supported my wings. At the same time, Jackson lifted my feet one at a time and slipped my blue flame spanks up over my hips, pausing at the top just long enough to get a handful of ass before moving on to the boots.
He remembered to switch them on before pushing my toes in, and Shelby snapped at him to hold me still, as she whitened my face and neck and added blue eyeshadow, and blue sparkling flames up the sides of my neck and face. Jackson slid the gloves up my arms and Shelby tried not to stab me in the head too much as she secured the black and blue striped wig to my head, which was already beginning to ache from the previous wig changes. The real leather whip was attached to my belt, Jackson helped by plumping up my breasts, earning an eye roll from Shelby and I, and I stomped a few times to make sure the flame-effect was working.
Shelby air-kissed my cheeks for luck, and Jackson kissed me full on the lips, smearing dark blue makeup over his mouth, forcing Shelby to redo my lipstick. I took a deep breath and cocked my hip, while Jackson and Shelby stepped back to watch. Jackson nodded and I flipped the switch I had sewn into the lining of the costume. The new brackets that Jackson had built let out a whoosh, and the wings spread to the sides in a smooth motion. Shelby let out a whoop and Jackson clenched his fists at the sides of his head in victory, letting out the breath I’d seen him holding.
“You’re up, Gorgeous. Go get ‘em.” We fist bumped and I turned off the switch that kept the wings unfurled and they dropped back into place with a hiss. One last look over my shoulder showed me Jackson and Shelby holding hands, wearing twin expressions of nervous hope. I waved to them and made the walk to the judges’ chambers all alone. I got a nod and two thumbs up from the beefy security guy manning the door before he said something into the microphone. He paused, then flashed me a quick smile and opened the door for me.
I cranked my head to each side to pop my neck and breathed out. By the time I walked through the door, I was War Angel. I uncoiled and snapped the whip, praying that all the practice had paid off and I wouldn’t hit myself or anyone else. I could hear pens scratching on paper, but I ignored everything but the security guys standing against the far wall. I wasn’t the first competitor in for the day, and the guys holding up the wall had their game faces on. I wondered how many geeks before me had used them as props as I uncoiled the whip again and dragged it behind me as I stalked forward. One big black man, his “Security” stamped t-shirt pulled tight across his pecs and upper arms, stepped forward with a grin.
I gave him a wink as a thank you, then we circled, pretending to size each other up, while giving the judges a chance to see the costume from every angle. I played it up more than other cosplayers, but it was already afternoon, and I couldn’t even imagine how many of us they’d already seen. What had always set me apart was that I did more than just strut around like a catwalk model, even though I was one of the few who’d done fashion week. I nodded and stepped back like I was going to strike, and waved the security guy forward. As he feinted a lunge, I popped my hip and let the wings go. There was an audible gasp as they opened to their full wingspan, and I saw him give me a little fist clench and a wink of encouragement before he returned to his post against the far wall and I stood with my hands on my hips and stared down the judges in turn.
My mentor and friend, Yaya Han, looked like she was about to explode right out of her too-tight corset with pride. She had discouraged me from doing the War Angel project because of sheer difficulty and how new I was to cosplay, but I could see nothing but sheer appreciation for the hard work I’d put in.
The judges all had questions about my materials, my building process, and how much I’d hired out. The one fear I had with the private judging was that I had to admit that Jackson had helped me improve the wings. I explained the initial process, and how Jackson had used an idea from his own experience to make the wings lighter for me, and I confessed that the opened and closed better as a direct result of the changes. I saw a couple of the men make some notes, and tried not to let my disappointment and fear show in my face. So much of these competitions was based on the artist’s ability to be innovative and creative themselves from start to finish. Letting Jackson improve my design might well have cost me the entire competition.
Yaya dismissed me and wished me good luck, and I made my way back to the dressing area, where Jackson and Shelby waited anxiously.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jackson
“Any idea how you did?” Shelby blurted out as C.J. sat on a tall backless stool to take the weight off her feet for a minute before heading back out into the mad throng of people that had flooded the convention center.
“I was good. I got help from that one security guy who is always helping with costumes… Ray, I think his name is? Anyway, he was in there, and let me play off him for a minute.” She sighed deeply. “They asked how much of the work I’d done on my own. I don’t think they liked that Jackson helped me with the wings.”
I cursed and kicked the nearest clothing rack. “Well, you should’ve j
ust said you did it. I didn’t build anything, I just helped with some final additions. I wouldn’t have had the first idea how to build that from scratch.” I took her hand in mine and rubbed my thumb across the back of her glove.
“It’s better to be honest, Jackson. If I won because I was supposed to do these amazing designs, and then I couldn’t replicate them without you, how would that make me look?”
Shelby nodded. I looked for something else to kick.
“It’s better to get a slower rise to success than a fast drop to infamy for being a fraud.” Shelby reminded us. I shook my head, but kept my feelings to myself. I was worse than an idiot for not asking her to leave me out of it. That costume was her baby. She’d spent hundreds of hours on it; I’d spent maybe six. It wasn’t fair to her to lose out because of that.
“It’s okay Jackson. Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. What happened with you and security?”
I pulled up another couple of stools so Shelby and I could sit with C.J. and told my story in short form. “I thought I was going to be eighty-sixed. The guys were sympathetic, but that was a lot of muscle, and once they got me out of the line of sight of the audience, I was up against a wall with my arm pinned so high I thought they might actually break it.” C.J. gasped and a stupid grin split my face. “They asked what I was thinking, and I explained that I was not going to let any asshole threaten my girlfriend with rape. Dude was lucky to be alive, and conscious,” I shrugged. “They agreed. Said you take a lot of crap because you’re a legit model, not just a cosplayer.”
C.J. shrugged and looked at the floor, and Shelby nodded. “Hell yeah, she does,” she drawled. “Mostly from the same guys who stalk her and end up at whatever functions she’s doing.”