Opulence

Hello. My Name Is Opulence Vincent Tempest. My life is like a perfume commercial. It’s bright, colorful, filled with beautiful people and entirely scripted. Of course, how could I expect it not to be? When you are the ‘child’ of the creator of LiveDream Fashions and a man who makes over a nonillion dollars a day, you could never have a normal life. Well, there are always exceptions.
In a perfume commercial, you always see the man doing something extremely odd, like sitting in a crystal bathtub full of purple rose petals and smelling his hands like a weirdo, while the woman is in the other room. She’s also doing something equally as odd, like putting on perfume whilst getting undressed to sit in the tub with the man for whatever reason. Or maybe she’s already in the tub with the man and he is smelling her hand like a lunatic. See? Doesn’t make a lick of sense. Just like my stupidly glamorous life.
I know that everyone and their aunt likes to think that I just ride on the coattails of my father (who is America’s biggest Wall Street hot shot) and my mother (who is a world famous fashion designer), but they would never say that to my face. Just like how people never tell me that they’re only “friends” with me because my family has more money than we know what to do with, or one of the two most gorgeous people in the world. I save that for later though. Let’s talk about the more important topic.
My sister and I aren’t natural. We are practically god-like. We are are literally perfect. The definition of perfect. Perfect in every way shape and form. Exactly six feet and three-and-a-quarter inches tall. We have dark chocolate hair so dark it could be called black. Skin like ivory, eyes like dazzling emeralds.  Strong, defined, jaw lines and high cheekbones.
Muscular arms, but lean and defined torsos and lower legs. The perfect balance of muscle to soft curves. We have slightly almond-shaped eyes that seem to “reflect the light of the heavens”, as I have heard them described. Skin that never scars or blemishes. Luxuria has long, seductive eyelashes and full, sunset pink lips. It’s half the world’s dream to kiss them. I have a chiseled chest and stone shoulders that the other half of the world wants to run their hands over. The Tempest Twins. The world’s most biologically perfect humans. The best actor and actress. The best male and female models. How could anyone not be attracted to us? Especially when we're hardwired to be the two most attractive people on the planet. We never have to exercise to keep our shape. We never have to worry about making mistakes. When you're perfect you learn how to do something perfectly the first time.

Even our immune systems are perfect. My blood is a match for anyone in the world, although I am not allowed to donate it. I’ve never had so much as a common cold in all my beautiful life.
It is true, though. We are biologically perfect. After my mother’s creation of LiveDream Fashion, our parents became the richest people in the Americas. Today, 19 years later (almost 20) there is barely a person on the Earth who doesn’t have the telltale white outfits that project the pictures that my mom have made. The way that LiveDream works, is through special contacts that you can sleep in.
People buy clothes made out of a certain type of nanobot, which is Mother’s trademark, and the contacts project designs and such onto the clothes. They can be changed in a flash. You simply tell your contacts to change it and presto! You’re in another glamorous matchy-matchy outfit. The company practically has a monopoly on fashion. Not to mention you have to pay for both the LiveDream application on your contacts and the clothing your purchase with it. And it would be a sin for you to not buy a subscription to LiveDream Magazine as well.
        Anyway, Mother and Father now having more money than they could ever desire, and the growing greed that goes with it, decided to have kids. Who would want kids after having everything in the world handed to them? The answer? To make more money. As the richest and most envied power couple in America, they couldn’t possibly have normal children, so they elected a group of the smartest and most intellectually talented scientists in the world to create perfect children. The logical solution.
      Our parents never told us exactly how were created. God forbid if we knew. It could scar us for life. Besides, they weren't ever home enough to even tell us to put the house into low-power mode when we go to sleep. We had to figure that out for ourselves when we were four, then program the house to do it on a timer.
      But we did get our friend Nocturne to dig up some records for us. Zenobia, his mother, was one of the head scientists that were in charge of growing us. Eighteen years ago our parents gave copious amounts of money to have us created. They gave DNA samples which were combined to create the ideal humans. It took months of editing and programming additions into our genetic code. They finally created partially synthetic fetuses which were then incubated by the scientists until we were ready to be born. Once we were “born” they implanted multiple pieces of nanotechnology within our bodies. In the span of a two years there were two tiny humans, each with fifty chromosomes in each cell, were living without anyone but the few involved knowing. Plus we were extremely cute babies. The perfect babies. We didn’t cry, we didn’t fuss. There was never any question if we would grow up to be even more amazing as well.
        They announced that we existed to the world when we were ten years old. Apparently that was when society would be able to handle the idea of us being real; things like us were only scientific theory. There likely was some government involvement that was delaying this announcement. Our parents threw a huge party for us. Ever since it is customary to have a giant blow-out birthday party every year. They were always perfect birthday parties for the world’s only perfect people. This year would have to be the biggest and the best. As it is the year when we become legal adults.

Luxuria seemed to notice that I wasn’t as focused as she was. She was scrolling through the list of caterers that our mother had formed. The menus they boasted skyrocketed into the billions. But that kind of money was pocket change to our family.  I was supposed to be assembling the guest list.
“What’s wrong Lance?” Her Dementia Rouge lips pursed in light concern as her perfect, angled eyebrows drew inward. She wasn't even looking at me. She always seemed to know when something was bothering me. Of course she would, a perfect person would be incredibly receptive to another person's emotions. I shifted in my chair to turn back to the screen, not really perusing it. I was peering through the platinum coloured words at the skyline.
“Doesn’t it matter to you that none of these people are actually friends with us? That they only hang around us to be seen as famous?” She nodded thoughtfully before turning back to the holographic screen that was projected into midair. I could see that she was absent-minded too through the translucent gold text that floated around her in a semi-circle. The noonday sun sparkled on the metallic city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. We both knew that we didn’t have any true friends except for each other. Even now our interactions seemed like play dates. Since a young age we had only mixed and mingled with the children of Mother and Father’s high class associates. Anybody that had ever tried to get close to us had either ended up selling out our secrets to the paparazzi or was just trying to get our money or fame. A large chunk of the population claimed they were in love with us, when it was clear they were suffering from painfully keen infatuation or attraction. The remaining thirteen percent does it because their parents forced them to, or our parents paid them off.
“A bit, but there is nothing that we can do. You know that Father would go through the stratosphere if we ever thought of bringing a middle to this house. You remember last year.”
We both shuddered; last year a low-level news anchor had “doctored” some photos and made it seem like Luxuria was dating a trash-man. The resulting month was horrible. Locked in the penthouse for what seemed to be weeks. Not allowed to communicate on the outside. Just torturous boredom. At least until we discovered DaRcwEb and hacked our way to freedom. I shouldn’t be talking about DaRcwEb, though. That could get us in quite a bit of trouble.  She flicked her virescent eyes back in my direction for a split second.
“I think I know what will make you feel better Lance.” She raised her shapely eyebrows, “Joseph’s?”
I immediately straightened up. Joseph's was a diner a few miles (like a hundred) away in the hills and it had the greasiest and most delicious food you will ever eat. Of course it didn't matter what we ate, our immune systems were augmented to attack any useless fat cells. The issue is, I have 20 professional chefs. We were supposed to have “healthy diets” to inspire people to be more physically aware. If Father or Mother ever found out about us going there, the restaurant would go out of business quicker than you can say, “Oops.” It was taboo for us to go out in public unscheduled. If we randomly appeared anywhere it would be dangerous for our well being. We had some...passionate fans.
I stood up and fixed my white three-piece. Lux and I didn’t have to wear the contacts because we had the technology built into our optic nerves. Miraculously, it reprogramed itself to the best technology whenever it was sanctioned to us. I decide on a dark gray suit and vest with a light gray oxford underneath; Lux quickly changed into a tight-fitting dress with and open back and stomach. The light pink sheer fabric shifted with the light, and the small strip of fabric that held her chest and bottom pieces together clung tightly to her abs. Her perky D-cup breasts seemed to be overflowing the top, but still managed to hold some modesty. Way overdressed for brunch.
“Perfect.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”

Luxuria

“Okay, here you are,” the waiter brought out large plates piled high with breakfast food. Not the food that our parents made us eat to keep up with our image. But honest-to-goodness breakfast food that makes you feel completely guilty for eating it, but then you realize you don't care at all. I tried not to think about the people staring at us as the old fashioned plate clinked against the table. The patrons, thankfully, we're mostly older folks. Otherwise we would have an issue.
   I had ordered red velvet waffles. They were the closest thing to desert, without being called desert. Opulence started cutting into his french toast which was, by the way, filled with sweet cream cheese and slathered with sugary strawberries. I leaned back for a moment against the plush booth seat. Instinctively I knew my food was too hot to eat right at this moment. It would require about four point seven seconds for it to cool to the optimal consuming temperature. I watched my brother eat.
   He chewed for a moment before his mouth fell open. “Oh my god. That's best thing I've ever eaten.” My knife cut into the scarlet perfection and placed a square of it on my tongue. I had to stop myself from talking with my mouth open.
“You're right,” I cut another piece off the corner, “It's like an orgasm in my mouth.” I gasped over-dramatically, “It’s a foodgasm.” The waiter burst out laughing, he almost lost control of the coffee cup he was pouring. It would've ended up all over the floor. He set down the cup of coffee and walked over to us with a jaunty smile. His blonde hair was hanging into his deep blue eyes slightly.
“I assume your food is good? I'm sorry,” he started apologizing, “It's this your first time here?” Lance flashed his teeth at the table and swallowed a sip of coffee before answering.
“No, we have been coming here since last year. We rarely get to eat anything so delicious.” He said before popping a mouthful of cream cheese filling between his lips. He then began to scoop strawberries into his face. I smiled with my lips closed, there were very few times when we could be anything close to impolite. My fork danced between my fingers.
“It figures, right.” The waiter just made a slightly puzzled expression in response. As if he had no idea what I was talking about.
“You do know who we are, right?” He just got even more confused and started studying my face as it he was trying to recall it.
“I don't think so…” Opulence looked over to me and smiled. This would be one meal where we wouldn’t get assaulted by waiters and waitresses that fawned over our every move.
    “We’re The Tempest Twins.” saying those words was borderline suicidal for either of us; if we had said that in a busy metropolitan area we would be instantly mobbed. He still looked mildly baffled. It was impossible not to know who we were. Nearly every night we were a topic on a different talk show, we were constantly invited to red carpet events and other affairs, we had our fair share of movie stardom, it was a difficult feat to avoid a Tab that didn't have either of our faces on the cover and we were the first and main models for the world's largest and most popular fashion company in the world. How could he not know us?
       “Uh, I lived on a island in the middle of the Pacific for the last fifteen years of my life. My dad is a really… committed ecologist. I started to work  here Monday. So I'm a little behind on Pop Culture… I’m Anise by the way.” He said it almost shamefully. To never have to stay up for three nights in a row to host a marathon of fashion shows. To wear anything you wanted, or nothing at all. To have nothing to do but relax. That would be paradise.
     “Do you want to come to our birthday party?” I said completely without thinking. Why would I do that!? That's completely stupid. Our parents would have him shipped back to that island in a blink if they found out. We would have to disappear for a month if that got out to the public. Why did I say it in the first place? I pursed my lips, regretting my thoughtless decision.
      “I-I don't know,” he stuttered, “Is that really okay? I just met you guys. It'd be better if I didn't come.” I didn't even realize I was finished with my plate. I must have been eating it on autopilot. We had to get back to get ready for a party tonight. Our personal assistants would be worried if we were late. I blipped the time to Opulence. I saw his rush of comprehension as the time must have projected itself on the front of his eyes. We really needed to go.
      “It was nice meeting you.” we got up and ran out. I paid the bill by nodding my head in the direction of the cash register and we dashed to the train platform. It only took a few minutes, of course we had the speed of Olympic sprinters. There were so many perks to being perfect. Opulence must have called ahead to our private train because it came zooming right up to us. The door slid open and we hopped on.
“Well that was fun.” Lance was sitting in his favorite recliner, watching tunnel, then landscape, then tunnel rush by. He snapped his head around to look at me, shock evident in his eyes.
“Fun? Fun?” He raised a hand and swept it through his hair as he laughed nervously. “What were you thinking? If Father or Mother found out that we invited a-a waiter  to our party… I can’t even begin to think of what they would do!” I bit my lip. I knew it was a awful idea. Yet I did it. But why?
“I was joking, we’re never going to see him again anyway.” I traced my hand along the intricate pattern on the ornate chair I was sitting in. Tonight was a fancy mixer at a brand new night club. It had a theme of some sort that I didn't feel like trying to remember. Anyone who was anyone in Tinsel Town was going to be there. That means we had to go deal with getting dressed up. With fashion consultants, makeup artists and a whole host of other people to make us look even more perfect. We were going to have to wear actual clothing, the kind they wore before LiveDream Fashions. Only the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor wore them anymore. Silk, leather and any other natural clothing products were incredibly difficult to find.
To coordinate a party like the one tonight must be a nightmare. The Tempest Twins are very hard to get if you want them at your event. For some odd reason everyone likes to gravitate around us. Everyone forms a big swirling mass to try to get our attention. There are always people on the outskirts who are either too intimidated or too low class to compete for our attention. There is always someone trying to ride our coattails.  Laughing at what we laugh at, drinking what we drink and dancing how we dance. It's best to ignore them as much as possible.
Then there is the press. Everywhere we go there are paparazzi. It's futile to escape them. We know full well that when we go out in public that they will swarm us. Reporters and social media stars trying to get holos of us talking with them. Some places are safe if we go there unannounced. Good thing most venues have a strict invitation-only policy.
We have some nutty fans too. Sending us endless love letters. I can't tell you how many marriage proposals I've had to turn down. It can get very depressing. Having to leave a young man or woman in tears. Several times in one night, occasionally. But then there are the crazies. They think we’re aliens or androids and try to “expose us.” We’ve had a few try to dump buckets of chemicals on us or try to shoot us with toy laser guns. They’re almost as bad as the tabloids. In fact, we've had a number of people break into our estate. It's not really our home, it's only a front so people won't bother us at our real house. When we get there, we take an underground warp train to the LiveDream Fashions Headquarters. We have a secret elevator that takes us to the penthouse. It's only connected to mother's office and the elevator. It’s one of the most secure places in the country.
The train jerked to a halting stop and we had to disembark. And there were our personal assistants. My personal assistant's name is Antony. He always treats me like I'm three, he looks down his nose at me, even though I’m taller than him. He has grease brown hair and it’s rare to see him without a cup of quadruple-shot espresso mocha latte from CAFÉ, the most high brow coffee shop in the city.
There was always a three minute wait before the doors of the train opened because of the safety system engaging itself, so I turned to look at Lance.
He had a far away look in his eyes, and he wasn’t paying attention to anything that was going on. I pushed his shoulder and he quickly snapped his gaze to me and blushed.
“I knew it! You have a crush! You, the great Opulence Vincent Tempest of The Tempest Twins, has a crush on a lowly waiter. Oh, the horror.” I flipped down ‘sunglasses’ and held out an imaginary microphone. “What do you have to say about these latest accusations? Will you be acting on your newest infatuation? This will surely be leaving many a lady and gentleman disappointed, don’t you agree, Luxuria?” I flipped the ‘sunglasses’ back up, “Why yes, I think it will.”
“Lux, stop it, I was just worried about how you invited him.” he said smacking me on my arm. I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Otherwise he might have accidentally given me a bruise. It wouldn’t matter anyway, it would heal in seconds.
But nonetheless, I did not stop, “Don’t you want to do the-” I commented, elbowing him twice. Leaning in, I gave him the “Tempest Eyes,” one of the many things we were famous for. The door swooshed open.
“Children, children,” of course, Tiffany. Good old Tiffany. Five feet three inches and one hundred and ten pounds of pure determination and straight-up personality. She started clapping in my face. Again. She always acted like whenever we weren't looking directly at her that we weren't paying attention. She was our personal manager. So Tiffany basically ran our social lives. She was the ultimate multi-tasker. She could balance a checkbook, apply her makeup, email an upset client and handle a hysterical super fan on a video-chat all at the same time. Her sunshine blonde hair was always in a Lob and there was a holo-pen stuck behind her ear. Tiffany was only twenty or something, but she definitely was an old soul. She was like the sassy mom I never had...or wanted. It was a good thing she was kept busy most of the time, otherwise she’d literally be stalking us.
“What the everliving daylights were you two thinking? Leaving the house on such an important day as this? And completely without notice! We have less than ten hours until you both are expected to arrive at Stardust. Ten! Hours! What do you expect me to do with only ten hours?! This is a nightmare!” She walked over to the wall and started hitting her forehead softly against it. “Have you even discussed with your fashion consultants what you’re going to be wearing tonight?” We shook our heads, expecting the worst. Through this all, Antony was standing behind her with his head hung in faux disappointment. He always followed Tiffany’s lead. He was still nervous that he was going to be fired because he was fairly new. Also because you don’t ever pick a fight with Tiffany unless you desire a high-heel shoe penetrating your skull.
“Of course not. This is the thirteenth biggest party of 2167 and you don’t even know what to wear!” She pivoted on her seven inch high heel and waggled her finger in my face, laughing hysterically. The finger then swept around and the bubble-gum pink fingernail was pointing at the elevator. “Upstairs. Now.”