It had been a long time, and she'd feared that she wouldn't be able to find it, but there it was: her trusty little tub of Mehron Star White. It had been so long, however, that the white substance within was dried through, and she wondered whether she could get it to work...
A little hot water, a little patience, and presto! there it was.
Lovingly, she daubed the stuff onto a star-shaped makeup sponge, remembering the long-ago days when she'd done this in the back seat of a car, mixing it up with spit, and struggling to see her own reflection in the rear-view mirror... ah, but those were the days when she'd gotten paid for it. Times were much different now...
It baffled her that there were people for whom whiteface Kabuki makeup was not an essential part of existence.
Years since she'd crafted this particular configuration, but her fingers still knew how -- and rapture! she still had half a tub of metallic silver. This was a Good Thing. This meant that she could be the Space-Ace.
She glanced lovingly at the root source of her blissful joy, at the little scrap of paper whose number she'd repeatedly checked and rechecked against arena seating charts. Logic dictated that there was no way anyone could expect to walk into the box office and find a ticket for a show that'd been sold out for months -- but not only had she procured that ticket, against all odds, it was for a front-row seat.
Blissful, joyful, thoroughly enraptured, she daubed white makeup on her face, grinning like a happy idiot.
And a thought came to her.
Why not share this joy with her closest friends?
Thus it was that on Sunday morning, at the moment of sunrise at whatever geographical location they were at at the moment, EVERY SINGLE PERSON listed as having given a permission slip to participate in the war received a visit by four KISS impersonators on a flat-bed truck loaded with sound and pyrotechnic equipment; and at that precise instant of dawn, each War-rior was awakened by the sweet strains of loud, screaming, raucous heavy metal:
"I... wanna rock an' roll all night
an' party every day!"
(insert appropriate wailing of electric guitars)
Along with the portable rock concert, each participant in the War received a small box of Italian pastries from Ferrara, a large cup of cappuccino, a copy of the Aquarian Weekly and a postcard of the New York City skyline at sunset, on which was written, "Good Morning! :-) Love, JamieMR."
And back in her room, the WebGoddess smiled, knowing that she had done a Good Thing. She had, after all, bestowed upon her fellow list members (what she considered to be) some excellent music. What better way could there be to wake up in the morning?
She fully expected that each and every one of her friends would appreciate the gift they had been given.
Humming happily, she put the finishing touches on her makeup and headed off to the show.