Fragrance Pourboire clickety-clacked across the parquet to where Jonas Umbilical waited, camera swinging from his wrist in what was rather too obviously irritation. ‘They’re ready, Jonas.’

‘About time. I haven’t all day just for some publicity shots you know.’

‘Sorry, but it’s… well it’s tricky.’ Fragrance glanced nervously towards the door to the changing rooms. 

Jonas sighed theatrically, his focus on the tripod in front of him. ‘Bunch of prima donnas I suppose? Can’t work out what to wear?’

‘Not exactly…’

Jonas glanced up. ‘Not another set of glamour pics? I think I’ve had enough of bouncing busts for one day…’

‘Well, there are a couple of busts but they’re not bouncing.’

Jonas nodded knowingly, his attention now trained on the lighting. ‘Been enhanced, have they? Goodness knows why they bother getting them enlarged. Makes them look completely unnatural if you ask me, like they’ve been turned to..’ He stopped, his mouth dropping open. ‘…stone.’

Fragrance turned and  followed his gaze. Slowly, indeed almost imperceptibly the next group of models began to emerge from the door at the far end of the hall. If their movements were laboured – ‘glacial’ was the word that popped into Fragrance’s head – the accompanying noise was deep and continuous.

Jonas was quickly by her side. ‘What the f… flip? Are they… statues?’

‘Technically they’re Caryatids and Atlantids…’

‘You what?’

‘They’re supports.’

‘Geez. I’d hate to see the main act. Is there a stage strong enough to hold them?’

Fragrance tutted and moved towards the first sculpture, a marble Adonis holding a red rose. ‘Shall I hold that?’

With mirco movements, but a sound like a cliff collapsing the enormous figure stretched out its arm and gently dropped the flower into Fragrance’s hand. A single tear emerged from the blank eye and bobbled across the scratched cheek.

‘You ok?’ As soon as she spoke, Fragrance regretted speaking as the monument began the laborious and essentially destructive process of nodding. Both Jason and Fragrance watched in growing horror as the head at first shook and then detached from the  unfeasibly muscled torso before dropping with a crash to the wooden floor and then rolling with almost deliberate care into the centre of the floodlit arena where all the cameras pointed.

Jason sighed and moved to his customary position. ‘You were right, weren’t you?’

‘Sorry?’ Fragrance glanced at the photographer, confused.

‘You told me the busts weren’t of the bouncing kind.’ He pointed his camera. ‘Ok,darling,’ he addressed the head, ‘can we ditch the tears and crack a smile?’

Sue Vincent’s latest prompt for her #writephoto series is..