The Famoux

Chapter 1

emilee

"It's such a shame, it really is. We could have never anticipated a thing like this to happen, especially just a few short months away from the annual Famoux anniversary gala. It has surely opened all of our eyes, and will hopefully enable us to take a step back and evaluate our safety precautions regarding the members. Henceforth, the Famoux will be protected far more heavily, but I can assure all of the fans that these measures will not restrict them from seeing and interacting with you all. The members appreciate your condolences deeply, and continue to need your love and support––now, more than ever. With extensive investigation, in addition to a special tribute ceremony to take place at the gala, we all at the Famoux Headquarters hope desperately to bring our fallen member to justice. We again value the viewers––you are all a mainstay onto which we so graciously grab ahold of to keep us afloat. We dearly hope you stay with us as we commemorate Miss Bree Arch's life and embark on the search for a suitable new member. Of course, no one will ever be able to replace Bree, but we acknowledge the Famoux terms, which decree there must be six members at all times. Since this all occurred so quickly and recently, we have been granted an extension for the time being, and will begin the member search directly posterior to the gala. To all watching, I leave you with the nine parting words of our Famoux mantra, holding now stronger than any time before: Ad Bonum Tendo. Ad Altiora Tendo. Ad Ferox Tendo."

"What a load of bullshit," says Dalton.

I glance away from the television to look at him. I didn't even know he was in the living room, but sure enough, there he is, standing behind the couch. Brandyce is here too, sitting cautiously on the arm of a recliner, looking as if she could spring up and run out the door at any moment. It's confusing, how we all found our way to the living room. I don't think we've all gathered in here together in a while. Not since . . .  since mom. 

Dalton's got this outrage in his eyes towards the screen, and I feel my own eyes mirror it, but curiously, towards him. I have to force myself to hide the strange hint of a wrath creeping up in my chest, because I'm supposed to be agreeing. We're all here together, in the living room, for what feels like an eternity, and I shouldn't go ruining it with another one of my glitches. Besides, it's a completely regular, nothing-out-of-the-normal Parvenu's job to hate the Famoux. Too bad I can't find a reason to.

Brandyce snorts. "You're so right, Dal. That Norax chick doesn't give a damn about this girl. You can tell by the way she's talking."

"Look at her! She looks so bored! She's not even remotely paying attention to what she's saying."

"She could be asleep right now, she looks so damn tired."

I want to scream at them, and I don't get why. It's not like Norax Geddes owes me anything, she's the head of the Famoux. I shouldn't feel the need to ruthlessly defend the bags under her eyes. I shouldn't want to shout at Brandyce about how she should be a ruddy expert on how losing someone can lead to sleepless nights. We all are experts in that department.

"It's like she's reading off a script or something," continues Dalton.

"She definitely is," Brandyce says. "I'm sure she practiced it and everything."

"You know what I think?"

"What do you think?" 

"I think that this girl probably isn't even dead, you know? It's probably just some sort of publicity stunt so the stupid Famoux can always be relevant."

I notice his accent, and how it pronounces Famoux so harshly. Fame-ox. Some of the aristocratic kind say fame-oh, as if the X is silent. But when Norax Geddes says it, the X is always included.