Crystal was something akin to a viper, a girl you’d not want to see the fangs of and just as the tale of a mouse caught in the nasty tricks that the snake played, the men flocked to her, trying their hand at getting under her skirt, but usually she’d draw them in only to draw blood from their veins and show them who was really at the top of the food chain. She’d sauntered across the champagne room already, her dress swaying in the humid air. Whiskey was the drink of choice for Crystal, usually, and she’d find herself with that vice later, but the idea of sipping bubbly at a speakeasy, a special luxury even among the abundance of alcohol that littered the circus.
Soon, she was sure she’d find her way into the pleasure rooms, content to just watch and wait for the opportunity to do what she does best: show off her skills. When she’s buzzed (which is very, very often), her head flying above the clouds and the world below seeming more and more fake by the moment. Maybe then she’ll find a man she’s satisfied with, a man concerned with pleasuring her, and making her way up to those pleasure rooms.
Someone reaches for the same flute of champagne, and Crystal smacks the offending wrist, not thinking twice. “Apologies,” she states, “I always assume that those attempting to steal alcohol from me are my sister.”
Looking up at Crystal with sheer disbelief and eyes as wide and round as saucers, it felt as though she had been slapped in the face and not the hand. Horrified by the woman who had so unexpectedly reached out and slapped her as though she were a child who had no business drinking champagne in the first place, Bella retracted her hand from the table quickly and quietly. Her cheeks flushed a shade of red as bright as her hair, and instead of saying a word, she instinctively huddled into defense mode.
Hugging her arms tightly around her body, Bella didn’t notice when she began to lapse into the cradling technique she had taught herself as a child, when Gertrude had so harshly reprimanded her. “I-I’m sorry, I just... well... don’t worry about it! You can just have that one,” she said, offering a feeble smile at the woman...
However, as soon as her eyes locked with the other woman’s, Bella instantly recognized her. Crystal Belrose. Someone she both feared and admired. Bella would have surely been lying if she claimed not to be entranced by the woman’s act every night onstage; but, as Bella had come to witness, in real life Crystal was equally, if not more so, terrifying than her act. The other woman walked as though she could press the heel of her stiletto straight through your throat and not think twice about leaving a hole, and Bella didn’t doubt that she would. “I hope you’re enjoying the night... it’s great what they’ve done with the place and the champagne is divine! I like the rosé, like the kind they have over there... I’m just going to go... get some toast-- do they even have toast?” Bella rambled with a nervous giggle, afraid that inching away would be far too obvious, and equally as afraid she would make an enemy instead of a friend out of Crystal.
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