I'm Yours (PRN)

ɘviɿᗡ buolƆ ɓuᴉʎʅꓞ

"I wrote you a song."

Iris' attention is zoned in on the swatches she places against the pale skin of Susannah Melvoin. Scanning for the proper undertones, Iris struggles to find a fair fit between her initial patterns and shades laid out when Prince called on her. His new Frankenstein Monster needs a look and though he selfishly hangs on to Iris with both hands, he'd like her to start the fashion journey and let someone else take over. 

In the center of the rehearsal section of his warehouse, Prince begs for Iris attention like a child looking for his babysitter's approval.

Susannah stands in place, giggling at the curses Iris mumbles in Prince's direction after he came in and started rehearsals early on a whim. "Okay, with your hair being a little darker than Wen—"

Prince steps to the microphone. "Irisssssss... You hear me, Iris?"

Her tunnel vision finally being split in half, she looks up to the guitar-holding bandleader in a white tank top and boots. "Huh?" Bottom lip hanging as she squints in concentration, she struggles to comprehend his words.

"I wrote you a song," he repeats. Iris struggles to buy the dream being sold, pushing Prince to call in for reinforcements. "Didn't I, Susannah?" His index finger sending all eyes to the giggling brunette sitting underneath Iris' steady hand, he knows she'll believe him more if Susannah backs him up.

Susannah continues to giggle, her laughter mirroring her twin sister's, "He did."

A smile sprawls across Iris' lips, head turning between Prince and Susannah before she catches Lisa giggling as well. "What is it?" Lisa's giggles become legitimate laughter. "Is it bad?" Being left out of the joke leaves her feeling uneasy. The way her pitch lifts, teetering a shriek, when she's her most inquisitive has always made Prince laugh.

"No, it's funky," he chuckles, swinging the microphone back and forth as David rushes to get Wendy's freshly tuned guitar back to her. "We gonna do it after this. You gots ta' listen."

He didn't tell her directly, mostly because who he uses as a muse is a personal part of his life he hates to share in total transparency, but her ear has been used as his personal A&R executive for since the year started. What she likes and doesn't like are taken into account as she's his closest figure in life with not a single clue of how this music things works. She's his peek into the normal realm of digesting music, especially with her replicating his core demographic.

The song isn't for her in the sense of lyrical content, it's for her because he knows she'll like it. If she does, so will thousands of others, he hopes.

Basic tracking of High Fashion's demo is done before the room's eyes. Fifteen minutes after, Prince's careful eye on Iris pays off. She sits with Susannah, the other half of another new one-sided relationship he's waiting to admit to, tapping her foot as she hums to the catchy synthesizer line looped throughout the song. Prince waits another two minutes for her to stop and she does...

Only to return to her mindless singing six minutes later. It is now that he can stake his claim over his earned prize. 

"Told you!" Prince yells to Lisa. The boisterous laughter leaving everyone's ears ringing grasps Iris' attention. Lisa lifts from her seat to slap a crisp green bill with President Grant's face in the middle. "She was groovin', boy. I shoulda had a camera. Fifteen minutes later an' she still singing!" Laughter raising in volume, Prince stuff the bill into his hip as Iris catches on the transaction she's witnessing.

"You made a bet on me," she yells at him from where she sits. "You made money off of me?"

Mischief muddying his childlike grin, Prince doesn't directly answer her question by choice. "I made some money alright. Easiest fifty dollars I ever got," he says, a chuckle taking over his joyous delivery. A ping of sincerity hits him on the spot. He can't stop the incoming ideas, brain overflowing with possibilities. "Hey, y'all know what'd be cool?" As smooth as they come, he jumps off of the stage lift with as much effort he uses when walking. "What if there was a bed in here?"