"A child weaned on poison considers harm a confort" G.F Madeleine Reed. "Bella" Receptionist at the St.Vincent. Flower. Dominatrix {RP blog for Toxic City}
When Frenchie was assisted by Bella, she marveled at the girl’s efficiency; a picturesque and yet practical bow, crafted expertly in mere seconds at the girl’s hands. She briefly wondered how she managed to run a whole club and yet couldn’t even manage her own dress, but the thought immediately left her when the posh Flower spoke.
“Thank you, for the help and the compliment.” Frenchie replied with a smile, “It’s definitely not as impressive in its mechanisms as it is in its appearance.” She then regarded the girl, the pretty pastels against the sultry black hose making for a perfect balance, “You look marvelous. I’m sure you didn’t come alone though, right?”
“Well, no one needs to know that. The appearance alone makes half of the champagne colored dresses in this room look like the over-priced rags that they are.” Nothing gave Bella more pleasure than to shit on the fabulously wealthy. Particularly because she wanted to be one of them. And yet, something in those sorts of environments always struck her as dull, reminiscent of the sorts of parties they’d dragged her to as a promising young violinist. She liked the excess, and some members of the elite really did take blandness for class. “Honestly, if you can’t buy taste, why not just give me the money?”
She grimaced at the question, thinking of the honorable Mr.Patterson and his bloodshot eyes. “Thank you! Oh, no. But he was being quite rude so I thought I’d give him a little timeout.” The reply came with wink and a sugary smile. That was the extent of the insinuations she was willing to make about her work in public.
“I am indeed, for the well known Brighid Donaghue, otherwise known as Dimitri” she said and gestured to the crowd of socialites in which her boss had been amongst “Women in high places like her need the extra muscle” she added.
“It sure as Hell has to be better than some of the shit that I eat on a regular basis, I don’t do the whole self care or nutrition very much. The word pretentious springs to mind.”
“They do”, she agreed, a hint of fascination to her tone as she glanced at the woman’s boss. Donaghue was the exact sort of woman Bella wanted to be. Powerful and absolutely fucking loaded. “And what would be your name? You do look the sort of woman a girl would be wise to know.”
The comment on the food got a genuine smile out of her. She might have been one of the pretentious people, but she truly didn’t care about what people thought of her habits and even less about what they did with their own bodies. With a dainty hand, she gestured for a passing waiter and took another pretty desert from the tray. She then handed it to the woman, shrugging. “Someone told me this was the best thing they’d had the whole night.” Bella trusted her client’s taste. He had been wise enough to pick her after all.
“Fucking shit.” Frenchie mumbled as she angrily fiddled with one of the two only ribbons on her doily gown that kept her from completely exposing herself to everyone in Dertosa. The woman normally donned a much more casual look, but for once she wasn’t working and she made sure that everyone knew the usually tough girl had come to play. She donned what looked like practically one garment of black lace, clad against her front, back, and left arm only as the material met at her ribcage and the curve of her hip. It was that one on her hip that was giving her issue, threatening to expose her womanhood upon entrance to the event. She pulled herself aside, resting her champagne flute (that she was in a hurry to get) next to an empty table closest to the mirror-covered walls as she tried her hardest to tie the ribbon in a knot that was both secure and still “fashionable.”
When she was having no luck, her dark eyes darted to the entrance about 10 feet to her right, eyeing each person that filed in to see if one of them would be trustworthy enough for the job. The last thing she wanted was to flash everyone when the night had just started, spending the rest of the night as “the girl whose coochie was served before hors d’oeuvres.” When the first familiar face came through the door, Frenchie hissed and beckoned for them to come over to her, clutching the two fragments of the silk ribbon in one hand. “Now normally I’d ask you to get me a drink before I had you feeling all up on me, but I’m desperate.” Frenchie rolled her eyes before offering them a small laugh, “Not like that. Just do me a favor and tie this in a bow that’s gonna stay, but not look like a huge, lumpy knot.”
She’d left her companion with a whispered command, heels clicking against the floor as she searched for the nearest bathroom. It wasn’t as if she needed it, really, but the almighty prosecutor had been behaving quite haughtily the whole night, and Bella knew leaving him alone in the corner would help her put him in his place.
Of course she had immediately noticed the girl. The dress left very little to the imagination, and lord knew her companion for the night hadn’t been much to look at. With a placid smile, Bella walked towards the girl, tying a dainty-looking but strong ribbon. Years of practice.
“Lucky me”, she replied. “That should get you through the night. And not that I have anything against your usual working garb, but that is an impressive dress.”
Eris gave a huff of amusement at the others words, her gaze turning to look upon the blonde “Water unfortunately, should probably keep a painfully clear mind whilst I work, no matter how much it fucking sucks” she admitted, looking over the glass of water, but she wasn’t about to let herself go and drink like she really wanted to. Not with Brighid needing her like she did, being a personal guard came with its costs. “I could indulge in the food, but nothing is really standing out to me” she mused, her tone low and yet not completely averted to the conversation with the Flower she’d seen around the club often enough. But this little Flower was brave for approaching her, most knew not to.
“You’re a bodyguard?” It made sense, Bella supposed. She certainly looked like the kind of woman one would want watching their back. And yet, whatever occupations they held under the artificial light of a gala was hardly all there was to the inhabitants of Toxic City.
Thruthfully, she regretted her cookie already. It would have looked better dangling from her hand while she saved the calories for something bloody. “You’re not missing the world. A lot of it tastes like cardboard. I think it’s just meant to be pretty.”
In truth, Eris had no idea what she was doing at this Gala, parties weren’t her, she detested dressing up and found that most couldn’t handle their drink well. Oh yes. That was why she was there- she was working unlike others, her role was one that had to extend to such events and she was a woman of her word in such a regard. A personal guard that also seemed to be a chaperone and date all in one. “Ugh” Eris huffed, giving an eyeroll as she took a slight breather between her boss’s socialisation, the guard trailing her finger around the rim of her glass of water- she had to keep a clear mind, no matter how much the bar screamed to her….Along with the voices of the past that were no longer silenced in her mind with soberness.
She was partial to the luxury. It truly did delight Bella to know the high price of the flute of champagne she held and of the dress she had forced her irascible bull of a client to procure for her. But there was only so much that golden and pink could do for a girl. What Bella adored above all else was knowing that she was amongst people that mattered. Drifting away from her companion, she allowed herself the indulgence of a cookie from the tray of a passing waiter. Raspberry, she noted, 100 calories. It was then that she spotted a vaguely familiar face, and made no attempt to return to her companion.
“Water?”, she asked, playful. The woman’s face was familiar to her. She had seen around the clubs the Flowers often frequented. Of course, she wouldn’t mention it amongst polite society. But she couldn’t resist speaking to someone who was no bored socialite, no inconsequent bore. “I think the obscene wealth of the hosts ought to merit leeching at least a glass of champagne out of them.”
Arsenic’s eyes moved over the petite frame in front of her. Maybe she was the sharp, silent type, but this one had something else. Someone so small was immediately written off as innocent, not a threat, and Arsenic was sure she was using that to her advantage. “What gave it away?” Smirking, she raised her glass to her lips, eyes never leaving Bella. Now she had something to watch. “Was there a reason for that? Or did the orchid look thirsty for a glass of cab?”
“You keep it short. Those types tend to.” She tilted her head, twirling what was left of her wine. “I didn’t want to drink the wine and the flower pot was in my way. It seemed reasonable. Besides, how else does one draw the attention of interesting strangers?”
Yes, he’d seen the befoulment of the plant. No he didn’t particularly care one way or the other. Though he’s mildly curious as to the - why. A little act of destruction to ensure the death of the thing… Something that would corrode and damage and likely even - kill - over time. For Bane, ‘death’ tended to be a sudden, decisive moment. He’s never been one to draw things out.
That, or she simply didn’t know what would happen. Maybe even thought she was giving the little orchid a drink…
“Is this the point where I say ‘yes’ and you reply ‘so do I’, before disappearing off into the night with a ‘subtle air of mystery’?”
He doesn’t do air quotes. He’s never done air quotes in his life. But the twist of tone as he offers the words make the emphasis - and his own amusement at the thought, clear enough.
“If that’s the case - and before you do go… Perhaps you could answer something for me… Your - gift - back there. Cruelty or kindness?”
“Yes. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
For all her scheming, Bella rarely had the opportunity to ponder on her own reasons for acting the way she did. She had needed to get rid of the wine. To her, pouring it into the pot had been a matter of practicality. Sure, there were easier ways. But wanting to see beautiful things suffer was an added delight, an inescapable part of her nature.
Asking the question, on the other hand, had been about boredom – and now she wasn’t bored anymore. Success. She’d bite.
“Nobody looks at beautiful things without wanting to destroy them a little. But it may not kill her. And now she and I – and, well, you - have a secret together.”
For the past few weeks, Nightshade has been visiting The Garden of Eden for intel on that anonymous message she received regarding Anthrax’s death. Despite being more than prepared to crush any flower that might know something, Night remains calm and mindful. She doesn’t want anyone to know of her personal vendetta, as it would cause an uproar for the rivals against the Poisons. Knowing this, the Alchemist visits the Garden but is careful about who she approaches. Lately, the brunette has been doing a lot more gawking than talking, which pulls her out of her element when she catches a young girl pouring wine into a flower’s vase. “Pouring alcohol into a flower pot is hardly a reason to keep a secret,” Night responds, giving her a once-over. “You a flower?” she follows up with.
The question had been bait, candy, an attempt to draw a stranger over a shared but ultimately meaningless transgression. But the woman didn’t bite. So Bella smirked, biting down her frustration. She’d seen the woman around. They did get gawkers, quiet types working up the courage to talk to the flowers, but she doubted the woman before her was one of them. She seemed too confident to be mistaken for someone powerless. Now why the fuck would that be?
“Yes. Belladonna. Is that the sort of thing you’re looking for tonight?”
Ethnicity: Mostly white, with some argentinian background.
Nationality: American.
Gender: Cis Female.
Pronouns: She/her.
Orientation: Bisexual and, so far, not all that romantically inclined.
Religion: Atheist.
Political Affiliation: Democrat Centrist. She wants a country with personal freedoms, but isn’t concerned about subverting the system in any way. It has served her just fine.
Occupation: Part-time receptionist at the St.Vincent Hotel, part-time dominatrix at the Garden of Eden.
Living Arrangements: Room at the Garden of Eden.
Language(s) Spoken: English, Spanish, French.
Accent: East Coast.
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.
Face Claim: Anya Taylor-Joy
Hair Colour: Brown
Eye Colour: Brown
Height: 160cm, 5’3
Weight: 51kg, 112 pounds.
Build: Petite and slender, but not waify
Tattoos: None
Piercings: Pierced ears
Clothing Style: Most days it’s pearls, silk, polka dots, vintage dresses, pencil skirts, cashmere sweaters, Peter Pan colars, expensive lingerie, braided hair. Sometimes it’s black turtlenecks, high heels, garter belts, form-fitting dresses, red lipstick.
Usual Expression: Seemingly wide-eyed and alert.
Distinguishing Characteristics: Huge, dark eyes and prominent cheekbones that make her slightly reminiscent of a doll.
HEALTH.
Physical Ailments: Bad back, frequent muscle strain from a lifetime of playing the violin for longer than a body can handle.
Neurological Conditions: None.
Allergies: Dust, shellfish.
Sleeping Habits: Bella tries to get at least seven hours of sleep, but she has a part-time job and being a flower is a full-time one. She often has to catch up on her beauty sleep on her off days.
Eating Habits: Ironically enough, being the daughter of a nutritionist didn’t give Bella the healthiest or simplest relationship with food. It’s not as if mother ever had her starve. But she meticulously controlled everything that went into little Maddie’s stomach, the calories and the nutrients and the tons and tons of vitamin supplements she carried at all times. To this day, Bella still finds some comfort in her mother’s habits. She’s a skilled calorie counter and not knowing the content of whatever she puts into her mouth freaks her out. She’s even known to fast on occasion, doing it for the odd sense of peace an empty stomach can give her. Her relationship with food isn’t necessarily disorderly, but it is obsessive. Of course, she does have her indulgences. Once a week, Bella will walk into AVG Joe’s and order the biggest, most decadent burger you’ve ever seen. Lord help you if you interrupt her while eating it.
Exercise Habits: About 20 minutes of squats, planks and push-ups most mornings. She’s not naturally athletic, but she likes to feel strong and healthy.
Emotional Stability: It depends on how one defines it. The issue with Bella is that she is inherently unstable, plagued by sudden bouts of rage and hatred and prone to impish mischief, but she has spent a lifetime controlling them. As a result, she is much better at handling her impulses and emotions than most people. Most of the time, Bella is in control. It’s only occasionally that one can see the fire to her cruelty.
Sociability: While confident in social situations, Bella has a profound need for alone time. It started in her childhood, with parents always hovering and noisy children pulling at her bows. Interacting with people is always a game to her, an interplay of masks and power thefts, and while she wouldn’t have it any other way, she does need her time alone. Alone, her secrets and rituals recharge her. She is free, comforted by the sight of the vacant face in the mirror.
Body Temperature: Cold-natured, with particularly cold hands and legs.
Addictions: Former self-harmer, still bites or scratches herself on occasion. But it’s always been more of a compulsion that an addiction.
Goals/Desires: To become more than just a sex-worker, to star yielding power over others outside of her room at the Garden of Eden.
Fears: Spending the rest of her days as a Flower or in any other kind of entrapment.
Hobbies: Shopping, Reading, Skincare, People Watching and, were it not her job, BDSM. Played the violin for the almost entirety of the first 21 years of her life but it was never, ever a fucking hobbie.
Habits: Digging her nails into her wrist, pressing her hands against sharp things, checking herself in reflective surfaces, tugging at a ponytail or twirling loose strands of hair.
FAVOURITES.
Weather: Cloudy.
Colour: White.
Music: After a lifetime sacrificed to the violin, Bella hardly listens to music for pleasure anymore. She’s still trying to figure out what she likes outside of baroque.
Movies: Her favorite film is Lars Von Trier’s Nymphomaniac,
Sport: Practised Ballet and Tennis, still enjoys the latter.
Beverage: Black Tea.
Food: Despite her generally healthy habits, or perhaps because of them, there’s nothing she enjoys over a juicy, highly caloric and blood soaked burger.
Animal: Snake.
FAMILY.
Father: Harold Reed – Harold is one of those rare, charming, holier-than thou people one can’t wait to fork-stab at a dinner party. A renowned psychiatrist, he is never more at ease than when towering over other people with his superior intellect and stability. Though he adored his seemingly perfect family, he secretly derived some enjoyment from the tension between Madeleine and her mother. Madeleine knew it, and often used her perceived favor to manipulate him. On the surface, she was daddy’s girl. Under it, she resented him just as much as she did her mother, and now thinks of him even less.
Mother: Maria Reed – Oh, Maria could just eat little Madeleine up. She wanted her daughter to be as beautiful, as graceful, as lovely as she could be. She herself was practically perfect, an accomplished nutritionist and a woman who prided herself on not taking part in idle suburban housewife drivel. It wasn’t that she didn’t love or feel proud of Madeleine, it was just that she adored her so much that she was certain that she could always do better. Maria controlled and smothered Madeleine, so she learnt how to get a kick out of hurting her by hurting herself. Bella sometimes sends her parents letters. She doesn’t know if it’s about cruelty or kindness. Perhaps both. Besides, she might need to ask them for money one day.
Sibling(s): None.
Children: None.
Pet(s): None. Her family had a cat named Fergus as a child and she hated the fucking thing. She doesn’t cross out the possibility of one day getting a dog or a snake, though.
Family’s Financial Status: Well-established middle class. Typical suburban family with educated, successful parents. Being an only child also meant that they were able to focus their income solely on her, so Madeleine was raised in some luxury.
JD had watched the entire scene, leaving him puzzled and bewildered, lips parting with questions that seemed to disappear on his tongue. Instead, he leaves it to her to approach a resolve for what he’d just watched. “If I said yes, how could you trust that I would?!”
“You have a strong chin”, Bella replied, shrugging. “It’s supposed to be a sign of trustworthiness, you know?” The playfulness in her features softened, replaced by a hint of the timid expression she reserved for when she wanted to turn on the bullshit. “Look, they were trying to make me drink more than I could handle. I just had to get rid of the wine.”
Gaze narrowed slightly as Eve watched Bella from a discreet distance. It wasn’t about staying hidden or being noticed because frankly, she didn’t care which was the case; she was Queen of her little world and if she wanted to stare she could. That was her right. The discretion was simply a means to an end, a method of observation meant to see what might happen without her direct interference.
What came, was more a surprise than it should have been; sometimes she could look at the younger woman, and forget that she was, by nature, sharper edges and more destructive than most of the other Flowers. It was part of the charm of Belladonna: face like an angel, with nothing else to match.
It was, perhaps, to Bella’s benefit that she was favored; Eve didn’t particularly care for the orchid itself, but she did enjoy beautiful things, and she didn’t particularly care to see one piece of property destroy another. She might have come out harder, approached and chastised her for the destruction, except Bella gave her a pert gesture and a smile.
“Cute,” she murmured, a half smile curving lips, amused despite the destruction. Or maybe it was because of the destruction and what followed; destructive and pretty and compliant… what more did she need? “I can pretend I never saw, pet, but there’s always a price.” Head canted lightly, genuine curiosity coloring features, “What would you pay?”
Pet, she called her. And it was just the kind of part she had to play with Eve: chained little beast, kitten with trimmed claws. It had been naïve of her not to expect her to be watching. Bella might as well have been walking with a chain around her neck until her contract was up. Some of the others liked to fool themselves about the nature of their predicament, about the extent to which Juliana truly had them by the balls. She didn’t.
“A price?” She was still wide-eyed, feigning playful innocence. But the glint in her eye was about more than childish amusement. Each of Eve’s words carried weight, and there was no such thing as a game with no stakes when you were playing with the woman who held your life between her fingers. The magnificent, rotten fucking bitch.
Without averting her gaze, Bella unclasped her necklace. It was a simple enough thing, silver and lovely, with a pair of angel wings as a pendant. She placed in in her palm and held out her hand. “You like pretty things.”
“Christ. Please, don’t. The flower is a recovering alcoholic.”
There’s something in her tone, in the way a tired server might ask a child to stop cramming pizza into the skeeball vents at a Chuck E. Cheese.
Bridget is tired.
Her hair is a dark, heavy mess, pinned to the top of her scalp with a few pink clips. She cannot wait to get home. She cannot wait to fall asleep.
Her shift is over.
Her job keeping the place in one piece, apparently, is not, because she had just witnessed this Gillian Flynn nonsense.
Jesus fuckin’ wept.
But Bridget pauses, for the briefest of seconds. Ah. Ah, fuck. She was always a sucker for pretty girls, and this one has it in spades. Miss enigmatic, with the big eyes. Bridget’s mouth quirks, in spite of herself.
“Only when I’m off the clock.”
Her smile grew wider, showing just the slightest hint of teeth. It wasn’t just the wit that she liked. The girl looked just about at the end of her tether and Lord knew Bella had a taste for a little bit of despair. Still, she didn’t want to cause too much trouble. Bella had her own experience putting up with disruptive costumers, and destruction was much more fun when it was discreet.
“That’s a bit of an overstatement”, she replied, twirling what was left of the wine. “She didn’t even finish her drink!” Her smile turned sweeter then, the eyes wider, in the playful but calculated expression Bella had spent a lifetime hiding beneath. “I won’t tell your boss if you don’t…And our flower friend isn’t much of a talker.”
she smirks as she watches the other girl glance around the room furtively. gotcha. always good to keep your eyes open and waiting for things like this to happen — information always came at a price, and she was good at making those deals. still. bella was one of the flowers. one of her sisters, at least for now.
she winds herself across the room till she stands before the orchid as well, a playful smile teasing at her lips. “depends, sweetheart. what’ll keeping this secret do for me?”
“Ever the entrepreneur”, she purred, and it was not without a hint of flattery. Bella liked Foxglove. She certainly didn’t trust her, of course, and she might have merited a poisonous cup herself if not for their different clienteles. But pretty girls with playful smiles looked their very best together. “Oh, I’m the sweetest thing when I’m thankful. I don’t even bite.”
Her face registered as something similar to him and his brows drew closer. Winston couldn’t quite place it and so attributed it to the clinic. Weeks he had been trying his best with names and faces, but the city dwarfed him and his ability to recall them. But he could still try in spite of it all. When he knelt down to pick up his work, he was mindful to keep his eyes lowered before he stood up straight again. He gently bent the paper back and forth in his hands as he met her eyes.
Her smile drug across his cheeks and shaded them red.
“I, uh, yeah.” Come on now, Winston. He enjoyed talking to new people, loved it even, but it wasn’t written anywhere in his script that he was particularly good at it. And yet, as with all things, he tried his best. His own smile started up and then opened like a window come morning light.
“I mean, yes, I did. I like to doodle while I walk. Keeps my hands busy an’ all.” His eyes flickered down to his drawing and his smile went crooked. “I guess it’s a cat or somethin’. I couldn’t even tell you now that I’m lookin’ at it.”
The doctor took a moment to trace his eyes along her walking path, a question burning in his mouth.
“You alright?” While his hands continued to fiddle with the paper, she had his attention. “I mean, if you came from the center. I work there.”
Well, he sure was sweet. Bella made no effort to look away when he knelt down, amused at the coyness of it all. She glanced at the drawing for only a moment, finding it much less interesting than the blush on his cheeks. But it was the justification for the drawing that got a genuine laugh out of her.
“Well, isn’t that charming?” And fucking stupid. One couldn’t risk not watching one’s step in Toxic City. “Aren’t you afraid of tripping?”
It was the question that made her smile falter. For a while, Bella’s amusement was almost entirely gone, replaced by the harder expression with which she coldly assessed the man before her. Pill, Flower or Poison - anyone that saw vulnerability was a threat. And then it went away. She smiled again, perfectly, charmingly, and lied through her teeth. “Oh, absolutely! I just needed to renew a prescription.” The pain on her shoulder remained hers to keep. Then it was a matter of shifting the focus back to him. “Are you a doctor?”
He might have admittedly thought it was a fucking weird thing for her to do, but Cypress still found himself suppressing a snort of laughter watching it: Belladonna walking with ballerina-like precision towards her prey, the graceful tilt of her glass pouring, and her serene expression surveying the aftermath of her oddball crime.
The look in her eye when she saw him, flat and dead as if he’d actually witnessed a substantial murder, and then beckoning him into complicity with a gesture of her finger and a playful glint in her eye. He’d bite.
Cypress took the few steps required to truly bring him into the place of her audience, close enough to see the remnants of wine soaking away into the soil like blood into a cloth.
“Depends, how long do you think they’d book in you prison for botanical cruelty? Ten years? Fifteen?” He raised his eyebrows at her as he took a sip of his own, mostly untouched glass and then immediately grimaced, quick to add on: “You might actually be onto something though. This wine is shit.”
In a way, Bella had been lucky. She could have chosen no better witness for a crime. Whether in matters of blood or wasted wine, a flower’s voice didn’t matter, and Cypress had been a flower for longer than any of them. It was just the sort of irony she appreciated. She would have loved it even more if she wasn’t just as trapped.
“I wouldn’t put it past the courts. People are very fond of orchids, and I’m told wasting alcohol is frowned upon.” Bella tilted her head, glancing at the liquid in his glass with feigned innocence. Mild poison and sour grapes. She would never understand the appeal. “I know, but it does flatter our skin tones. Are you sure I can’t use it to buy your silence?”
The club was in a slight lull at the moment, not that Arsenic would have noticed that. She wasn’t interested in the club as a whole, no her focus was always on individual people. Singular people made choices, had alliances - they were the ones to be cognizant of. So that’s what Arsenic was doing. She was being observant, watching everyone in the room until certain people stood out. So far, nothing of real note had happened and so her attention was drifting until a quick movement from one side of the room to the other caught her eye. Following the woman’s path, she saw it all - the delicate touch as she approached the flower, the hard gaze, and the quick movement to empty, what seemed to be, half a glass of wine into the pot. With an eyebrow raised, Arsenic met the mystery woman’s eyes, and smirked, the nothingness she had seen in her face gone, but still reflected in Arsenic’s own eyes. “Lucky for you.” she answered. She could keep a secret, whether she would had yet to be determined.
There was nothing to it. A pretty flower, a glass of wasted wine. But it had been the pretext for a game and Bella liked to play them with strangers. It was more entertaining than her original plan: spending her night babysitting drunks, pretending to be just as wasted as them as she went through their coat pockets.
“Lucky me”, she agreed. The woman was hard to read, but Bella was entertained nonetheless. “You do seem like the sharp, silent type.” And probably the dangerous one too. It was Toxic City, after all.
