under the skin

sugar and spice and all things nice t h a t ' s what little girls are made of

[ariakingfisher-blog]

adinabianchi:

         Aria Kingfisher; lovely, wild, Aria. A familiar face in a sea of new possibilities. Strangely enough, Adina considers herself almost pleased by the sight of her, her lips pulling into a wry smile as she shifts along the couch to make room. 

         “Must everything be a trade for you?” she remarks, brow rising as she examines the drink passed along to her, swishing the pale liquid around the rim of the glass. She dips a finger in, then, allowing a drop of pink to fall onto her tongue. “Interesting choice of drink,” she continues, grimacing even as she takes a further sip.

         A chuckle falls from her lips at Aria’s next choice of words. She’s heard that line before, countless times, and yet it still seems a little surreal coming from Aria’s mouth. “I’m well aware. I do believe in consuming a whole manner of all things that are bad for me, you ought to know.” She has a subtle feeling that Aria does in fact know - but she says nothing, for that is precisely how Adina Bianchi works. She lets beautiful thoughts linger in her mind until they become horrors instead.

         “How are you finding New York?” she asks, instead. “Is it quite everything that you dreamed of?” She is curious to know Aria’s thoughts, because she isn’t sure of it herself yet. There’s ichor dripping from these clandestine streets, secrets toppling from the very precipice of these buildings. It is less than Venezia, and yet so much more. But if she can’t discern her thoughts, perhaps Aria can.

Must everything be a trade for you?

Her stomach lurches. It was meant as a friendly sort of remark, she knows, friendly and perhaps even between friends, but the words settle at the base of her soul, and twist. Yes, she almost says, of course. Nothing is forged without loss, no one can become without sacrifice. For a moment, she feels her skin begin to itch, under her palms at first and then all over.

But it’s forgotten as her gaze passes over Adina’s smile, and then at the space she’s made beside her on the couch. For Aria! For me! Her fingers flutter at the thought, her heart caught somewhere between her chest and her throat, and she is reminded that it feels good to be something kind, something loved. She is reminded that sacrifice is loss and gain, that nothing can be traded without something given in return. She grins, wide and only with the falseness in her fingertips, no more. She grins, and takes a seat.

And then, at the question, it falters. If only for a moment, as quick as a beat of a butterfly’s wings. “It’s like,” she begins, slowly and carefully – she doesn’t wish to lie to Adina, not any more than she is already. “It’s like a lucid dream, I think.” She glances around the dusky room, all golden and shimmery as if from a film. “It’s like anything is possible, in a way things aren’t anywhere else, but there’s no waking up when things go wrong. Even when you know that you’re dreaming and none of it’s real, there’s nothing to do but wait until morning.” She pauses, looks back to Adina and the ridiculous drink in her hand, remembers who she is and the skin she’s in, and then she laughs. “It’s exciting, no?”

[ariakingfisher-blog]

weightlessaries:

They spot her a million miles out, like some bullshit detector, drawing them towards her because she was just so full of it. Bright smiles replace once growls that had fallen from the now delicate lips of this “ballerina”. Aries approaches her grandly, a terribly false smile mocking her as they practically shout the name of a girl, forgotten by everyone but them. “Lucy!” Arms outstretched as though they’re looking for a hug. Their behavior draws the eyes of a few, causing them to smile, hoping they’ll pick up their adorable pet name for the aerialist. They take a few steps closer, before pausing and pulling their brows in, face contorting in confusion. Their arms fall to their side and a forced laugh slips out. “So sorry, you just look so much like someone I once knew.” Another pointed smile, they hope this one hurts. “Talk about ghosts of Christmas past, right?”

“Lucy!”

She feels her stomach clench. Not out of anger, not the way a fist might clench. She feels her stomach clench and her heart jump and it’s a voice from long ago that tells her to run! Now! Do it now!

She doesn’t – it’s been a long time since she’s done anything she hasn’t told herself to do.

Instead, she turns with a smile – the Aria Kingfisher smile, all sugar and syrup and pearly whites – to find that it’s Aries. Of course it’s Aries. Her chest thumps and her hands shake but the smile does not falter, not even when they laugh, when they speak, when they shoot her a hollow smile, though she feels it all like a kick to the chest, a chill down her spine. “A trick of the light,” she says, still smiling. Her voice is steady, and there’s no malice behind her words. She feels the weight of them in the air between them, regardless.

[ariakingfisher-blog]

invisiblebluelily:

Another newcomer. She didn’t like that the woman spoke to her as if she didn’t know her own home, as if Lily was the one who had just arrived from Italy and not her. She said nothing as she tucked her cigarette back into her pocket, raising an eyebrow at the woman next to her. She was being friendly enough, but Lily was not sure about the Venetians yet. The only thing she was sure of was that she was wary of their presence in New York.

“If anyone has a light, it’d be Theo, actually,” she said, “I highly doubt flames are much Simon’s style.” The name dropping was as intentional as it was emphasized. I know everything about this place, it said, I know all the people and everything they do, not you. “I’m Lily,” she greeted, not taking Aria’s arm, but instead holding out her hand, a pleasantry if anything. She knew how to interact with people she wasn’t very sure of. Lily had been interacting with people she didn’t know ( or didn’t like ) for as long as she could remember. All she had to do now was dig into the recesses of her former self, before her mother finally began to allow her to leave her hair blowing wildly, covered in thick black jewels and nail polish. 

She knew the taste of hostility, and was not surprised to find it in the air between them. The terms of the exchange were made clear in Lily’s words, a stiff exchange of pleasantries – this is my home, these are my people, and you will play by our rules. The girl was cautious – Aria plucked the observation from the scene and folded it into her sleeve.

She smiled something sweet and saccharine. “You must be one of the performers here!” She ignored the outstretched hand, leaning down to pull the girl into a hug instead. It was quick, not more than a brush of her arms around Lily’s shoulders, a skim of her cheek against auburn hair, but the invasion of her space was clear, regardless. (She’d be embarrassed, in another life, perhaps even sorry for her actions. But she was a girl born anew, and Aria Kingfisher did not greet this way out of malice, or contempt, and thus could feel no remorse for her actions.) “I’m Aria.” she said as she pulled away, then sat herself down next to Lily. “One of the new kids...obviously.” She took a moment to look down at her feet, for what might appear to be a moment of uncertainty, or trepidation. “I guess I have a lot to learn about this place.” 

[ariakingfisher-blog]

adinabianchi:

         Adina, Adina, Adina. Despite the myriad of festivities adorning the rooms, the brokenhearted girl could only focus on the empty glass set in front of her. But in the truth of the matter, she was not so brokenhearted - at least, not more so than usual. No, the copious amounts of alcohol was the main culprit for the downturn of those ruby red lips, the creasing of the forehead. The several glasses she had consumed prior had left blurs around the edges of the vision, and an odd tinge to the world around her. 

         She would descend onto the dance floor later, she decided. Once the alcohol stopped dulling her senses and focused on brightening them instead. For now, however, she remained reclined on a couch, the - now empty - glass balancing precariously on her lap, a half smoked cigarette perched between scarlet fingernails. 

         Adina looked up only when a shadow fell upon her figure, lips pulling into a small smile as she recognised the familiar face. ( She had always been good with names. ) She allowed her cigarette to fall away from her mouth, smoke exhaling with it “I do hope you’ve brought me a refill,” she said, nodding to her empty glass. “I’m positively drowning in sobriety.”

She stood alone by the wall, drink in hand, and felt, for a moment, like a worm split in two.

One half a stranger to this city, with soft, amber eyes, who would swallow the lights, devourthem if she could – a souvenir, to sit in her stomach as a reminder of who she was now. One half of a worm who could grow anew, yes, finally rid of its mangled tail, who could bury into soft, warm earth and feed, and rest. Here was a strange land, and yet here she could be home.

And one half the city’s wretched child, born from soot and grime and oil stains, who could never escape her maker. She walked the room with lowered eyes, a shadow upon her face for fear of being recognised. By whom? a voice asked, and she found she could not answer – no one from her past would ever make it within these gilded walls, surely not. But you have, the voice said, so they could.

She thought it best, then, to sit with someone who was from in-between. She spied Adina’s silhouette from across the room, waded through the crowd to stand by her side, and, at her words, smiled. “Let’s do a trade,” she said, then plucked the cigarette from Adina’s fingers, replacing it with her own drink. It made for a funny picture, she mused – the glass was filled with something pink, something fruity, something the new Aria would like. Something that did not suit Adina at all, but it would have to do. She peered at the cigarette in her hand, dangled awkwardly in her fingers as if she didn’t know what to do with it, as if she’d never held one before. “That’s bad for you, you know.” The new Aria, of course, did not smoke, and did not condone smoking, never mind the cigarettes hidden in her bra.

[ariakingfisher-blog]

It is easy, in a crowded room, to forget that you are not, in fact, invisible. It is easy to fall into a mirage of tassels and tobacco, as if in a film, or in a dream, a paralysed spectator watching your existence unfold before you. (Once, there was a girl in the back room of a bodega, who stood proud draped in her mother’s pearls, who dreamed of balls in darkened halls.)

Part of her aches to take to the floor, to twirl in red slippers until she falls in a heap to her knees, toes bleeding and raw, and she supposes this is Aria’s influence – this new Aria, who giggles into her drinks, who might even wear a ribbon in her hair. The other parts itch only for a cigarette. So, instead of choosing either, she stands still in a dusky corner, arms crossed and back pressed against the wall behind her, and contemplates for a moment longer.

[ariakingfisher-blog]

ellakogo:

She practically floated into the party, her lips curled with a gracious curve of a smile. Her eyes focused on every aspect of the different rooms, her eyes narrowing for a moment, before turning wide and peaceful. She made her way into the champagne room, taking a gentle flute of Dom, and pouring it into her open mouth. Her eyes flickered around for a familiar face, placing herself on one of the barstools.

“Come here often?” She asked, a sparkle in her eyes as she leaned in, a laugh in her tone.

She almost let out a snort. She was being mocked, surely. Not by the woman, who seemed warm, like someone who would warm. By the sky, then, and the moon, the fickle stars. Come here often? she’d asked, as if it was nothing, as if Aria hadn’t spent her entire life running from this sordid city.

(Yes. My soul is forged from oil stains and pavement, bound together by the grime on city lights, and thus I can never leave.)

(No. I am from all places but this, made from all things but here, and thus cannot exist inside the border – I am but a vision before your eyes.)

But it was not the woman’s fault for not knowing, for asking. And these were not thoughts that belonged in this skin, in any of her skins. She let a smile curl her lips, open and friendly, turned to the stranger beside her. “First time, actually.”

[ariakingfisher-blog]

invisiblebluelily:

Winter— when the days get shorter and the snow reflects light in every direction it can, sparkling light a diamond necklace, black ice causing danger wherever it has decided to take up its residence. And Le Cirque has always done winter so beautifully. Lily watched with ice blue eyes from the wall of the Champagne Room, watching as couples danced with one another to the loud and bouncing swing, giggling and throwing their heads back. She lifted her cigarette to her mouth and reached into the pocket of her dress for her little black zippo, cupping a hand over the end and trying to light the damn thing. When it wouldn’t go, she turned to the person beside her, “Considering it’s the 1920′s tonight, I don’t suppose you’ve got a lighter that works?” and slipped hers back into her pocket, pulling her long red hair back over her shoulder, smoothing the curls slightly as she raised an eyebrow in question.

“No,” she said, apologetic, turned to the stranger with a rueful smile. “I’m afraid not.” She did not flinch for lies anymore, not for a long time, perhaps not ever. She felt the outline of her lighter pressing into her hip, along with three cigarettes wrapped securely in a crumpled napkin, but it would not do to have them revealed – Aria did not smoke. Of course not.

Aria was also friendly, she reminded herself, was kind, was lively and alive. She slipped the skin carefully over her features, lips stretched into a playful smile. “I’m sure there’s a budding magician somewhere just aching to show off his new tricks. Lean forward a little as he pulls a dove from a flame and abracadabra, you’ve got a lit cigarette. Magic.” She paused for a moment, as if in deep thought, and then laughed. “Or we could, you know, just ask him for a light if that’s more your style. If anyone’s got a light in here it’s a magician.” She pushed herself to her feet, offered the girl her arm. “Come on, let’s hunt him down.”

[ariakingfisher-blog]

K I N G F I S H E R A T T H E P R O H I B I T I O N P A R T Y

          {     she descends the steps like a thief in a night, and when she sees that eyes do not drift and heads do not turn, she smiles. good. she is not dressed to be pretty – she is dressed for war. she has cloaked herself in azure blue, tassels that fall like feathers over her form, and her nails are filed to talons, painted dark as the midnight sky. see now, how the kingfisher eyes the tumid river. she wears this new name like courage, like armour – this sordid city will not take her a second time. must not. she makes it clear in every word, every movement, every nuance of her being, that she is a girl reborn. she takes a breath, grits her teeth, and steps into night.     }

[psych-facts]

“At what point does a man turn into a monster? I don’t believe that it’s when he does horrible things, but when he accepts that he’s able to do them, and that he does them well.”

(via viciously-yours)

[seygabriels]

Seychelle Gabriel at the Sundance Film Festival 2016