✧·˚.-—– inez. @bloodyinez - Tumblr Blog

— ALICE:

tw drug use

call it a treat to allow her the slack, venturing to the heart of Over for what was nothing more than work—though she hardly saw things as they were. yes, a treat, she tucks a pill into her mouth, letting it rest beneath her tongue while she is bathed in golden light as she walks in and walks over to the bar not far from the entrance.

(in a past far away in many respects, she remembers this place—trailing behind her father—so much taller then, nearly looming. the fountains water playing with a gentle gurgle in the background, a glittering in her eyes.)

wrapped in silk white, draped across the soft planes of her body, revealing where revealing must, a coy curve of her shoulder as it slopes into the soft bare skin of her arm—a tenderness seen in the unmarred skin, the way her eyes dilate, stretching, as she waits gently at the bar for the man to show up, the bartender noticing her with a silent understanding.

it is as mother always had taught her: tardiness was never to be tolerated—in the matters of men, you must wait upon not be waited upon.

instead of the expected heaviness of a hand at the center of her back, a guiding gesture as if the bar were a pretense and perhaps it was—a voice she had not heard in years, a bright spot in her dreamworld that she turns to as inez slides into the seat next to hers easily: “ah inez—what a surprise! it has been quite a while hasn’t it? my, it really has been over a year now.”

her smile is nearly as bright as the gleam of gold that surrounds them, the chandeliers that dangle their crystalline faces to glint in the light.

she hardly needs to look at the time. this is Over and so it moves regularly here, “i’m a bit early for my engagement,” ambiguity, discretion which has been asked for all packaged in the soft lilting voice that emerges from her, “so you’re welcome to join me, of course. i’m surprised you’re here as opposed to poivre, wasn’t that always our favorite?”

past lives; perhaps they are doomed to haunt.

the past had been as hazy as the present, clouded waves that smashed against eroded rocks, failure to maintain the presence of everlasting friendship — friendship that fizzled and strained with the fallen angel. but in a sense they were both falling. falling deep into the eroded depths of despair and angry beasts that growl and moan, bitter eyes and hungry teeth, yes, they’re waiting.

inez understood that her failures were not the same in comparison to klara’s, but how inez’s were kept under tightly pressed lips and klara’s misfortunes traveled around the office like gossip and wildfire. devilish flames sparking the damnation of someone that could of had it all.

“it has been so long klara,” she mused, turning her body ever so slightly to face the other, thigh crossing thigh, her black dress slightly rising. how time flies in the undeniable world that they both called home, how years could feel like seconds or days can feel like years trapped in twenty four hours. “you sure have disappeared from the circles! the girls miss you so much. though your spot at the poivre table was filled by someone else within the instant, you still come across conversation here and there at the soirées!”

inez sighed, gesturing the bartender to come over so she could order the same martini she was accustomed to when venturing into the depths of midas’s glory. “lemon drop please,” she paused, glancing over at her company, “and whatever she wants. you know what tab it will be under of course.”

she tapped her finger atop the marbled counter, golden flecks embedded into the polished rock. “the midas has a place in my heart all in the same. well that was until the silver veil became known as second place, and now the midas is the hottest spot! which is odd,” inez glanced around once more, the restaurant was still barren excluding the three tables filled, “this place is looking a little dead.”

#✧·˚.-—-- alice.#✧·˚.-—-- thread one | alice.#✧·˚.-—-- event two | fires of hell.

WHEN: SEPT. 24, 8PM WHERE: OUTSIDE THE MANGLED MERMAID WITH WHO: MARY-ANN

the cold slapped against her skin once she exited the mangled mermaid with nothing but a grimace. hugging the coat around their body, inez glanced around, careful not to venture too far out into where they knew they shouldn’t be. it had been another successful conversation over drinks with someone else, someone that needed to just shut up. inez sighed, dramatically as one usually does after a long day of work—after unprecedented hours spent laughing at dry jokes, pretending to enjoy the mangled appetizers on the shitty menu. why did she have to come out here for dirty business? couldn’t it have been at the silver veil, where she knew she wouldn’t run into someone from her socialite crowd, somewhere to conduct business over actual flavorful cocktails?

inez stood outside for a simple minute, back pressed against the wall directly across from the mangled mermaid and what seemed like five minutes, they stared at the neon sign dazzling in the night, attracted drunk bastards and low iq goons. she did not have to be deadly here, not unless she was provoked, but reputation precedes her and some (if they were smart) knew not to anger an heiress. waiting for her town car had seemed to take eons, something that she was sure to bring up. how could her parents gift her with personalized car service, but make them slow? the horror of waiting.

finally something interesting happened, something that surely would pass the time. it was the mangled mermaid’s very own server. an older woman with orange hair, and to inez’s surprise looked nice — but even she knew there could be horror under false glances. “hello,” inez started, garnering the other’s attention. “how’s it like working in the slums of wonderland? do you ever get tired of it?”

#✧·˚.-—-- mary-ann.#✧·˚.-—-- thread one | mary-ann.#✧·˚.-—-- event two | fires of hell.

sulfade

#✧·˚.-—-- vanity | bandersnatch.

inez navar; bandersnatch

» hell is empty, all the devils are here

#✧·˚.-—-- moodboard.#✧·˚.-—-- edits | bandersnatch.

— PIG BABY:

there is a kind of startling when you approach them, wide eyes snapping from the Nothing before them to the darkness of your eyes. the way they look at you is much too searching for someone who barely knows you. who has no reason to.

“the mangled mermaid? oh, i… i was just on my way there. if you would like, you could walk with me?”

a lie. there is a smudge of dirt on their cheeks that indicates a long day finally finished, skin on top of fingertips peeled and pink-tinged from their work for the day. chances are they are more homebound than looking to spend the night at some pub, but there is a sincere kind of earnestness glinting in eyes that makes their words a kind of truth you could believe in.

besides, it wouldn’t hurt to drop by for a little bit. just to say hello. who has that ever hurt?

“is it your first time going? i do not think i have seen you there… or around these parts. i can hardly imagine there is much reason for you to need to be in the black hollows. there is hardly anything around here worth seeing.” quiet, pleasant. there is still an air of politeness held, the same head-down courtesy they would give to her back at poivre. “it is best not to stay in these areas for too long. the mangled mermaid tends to be… busy.”

the low growl from the nearest alleyway, the sunken dreams that were left to rot in midnight suns. they did not take their eyes off the busser, studying them as an art exhibit in one of wonderland’s richest museums. the dirt smudged on cheeks, the tired, yet startled eyes, the rosy fingertips with peeling skin. they just got off work. “oh how perfect! i’m on an important schedule and i do love an escort from time to time—it’s very lux.” finally she glanced around, the streets were deserted—how odd—and yet she still felt a tinge of worry. inez never liked being late, and being thirty minutes early than intended was a priority. “we can’t be late, so let’s go.”

it was true, inez has never stepped foot in the mangled mermaid, she heard the stories from her ex boyfriend, the stories of drunken nights and bar fights, the owner being strong and scary looking. the drinks were harder, less convoluted than the ones served in the midas or even piovre. but inez loved drinking the midas champagne, bubbly with friends ands frienemies alike, how even playing socialite was a game of chess in the grander scheme of things.

“i’ve never been to the mangled mermaid,” she finally spoke, standing next to the other, realizing she never asked for their name, but what was the point in formality? she was just being escorted—and did she know the names of any of her drivers? no. “have you? is that were you frequent when you’re not scrubbing down tables and gathering dishes?”

it was true. there was nothing to see down in the slumps. the vibrancy was gone, dulled down to nothing but shadows and rodents. “of course this isn’t my scene. i live in the upper echelon of glory, busser. queensland is nothing but roses and lux champagne compared to all of this.” she sighed dramatically. “but a job is a job and well—i can’t be late. i have to meet with an investor tonight. orders from the one and only.” inez knew it was not a surprise, everyone in wonderland (above and below) knew of her secretarial position for the red queen. “busy? that’s nothing to worry about. i’m sure you know how many checks i’ve written just to get my favorite seat in the house.”

#✧·˚.-—-- pig baby.#✧·˚.-—-- thread one | pig baby.#✧·˚.-—-- event two | fires of hell.#( i went a little ovr board im sorry dfgh u dont have to match )

WHEN: SEPT. 19, 8PM WHERE: MIDAS GLORY WITH WHO: ALICE

inez believed in the luxuries of fine dining, of course as the poivre was her favorite location—the countless dinners with her parents or the similar socialite circles she gathered in. however, when it came to winding down from the highs and lows of working a desk job, inez needed a pick-me-up, the kind that was lathered in gold, and it was with her pleasure that she dressed in her finest cocktail dress and headed to the midas glory hotel.

through large glass doors, inez walked with an air of rich dignity, of importance, as she handed off her coat the front desk with a smile—don’t talk, just do. the bar and restaurant was to the right, past the golden fountain of youth, grecian features etched into stone. her heels echoed off the golden halls, like haunted ghosts dripped in the finest metal, the first place finishers: the winner’s circle.

it was to her surprise the lack of energy inside the restaurant and how the crowd was not as exuberant as it was at the poivre; however it came with such great pleasure that she was able to spot someone sat proudly at the bar, a familiar face from familiar backgrounds—an old friend. if inez were able to call her that now, if they were able to call inez a friend themselves. how ghosts from the past were never truly done haunting from beyond the graves of under, “well look who crawled out of the rabbit hole.” inez smiled, eyes finally catching their’s as she took the seat next to her, “is this seat taken? or have i interrupted something rather important, klara?”

#✧·˚.-—-- alice.#✧·˚.-—-- thread one | alice.#✧·˚.-—-- event two | fires of hell.

— OYSTER:

FOR: @bloodyinez DATE/TIME: 09/26 AM 1:45 LOCATION: the Dollhouse

Feathers are the main culprit this time—feathers and glitter, a classic combination meant to annoy the wearer and, what, entice? the viewer? Who even finds this kind of thing attractive? As though in answer to his rhetorical thought, the cheers coming from the audience increases in volume, applauding one of the other Dolls during a solo performance.

Rolling his eyes, he retreats backstage and into the wings, already working on disassembling the evening’s costume. At least he won’t have to go on again for another hour or so, not that Time means anything down here. And no doubt some emergency or other will pop up meanwhile that will demand a last-minute change in schedules, so, better make the most of his break while he can.

He’s weaving through the crowded foyer just beyond the seating area when he spies a familiar face. Oh what the hell. It’s not like he has anywhere else he needs to be right now. Sidling up with the practiced ease of someone used to navigating through spaces in between, dodging unwanted eyes, he joins her to take in the view from a spectator’s role. “Huh, I guess the feathers don’t look so bad from this distance. Doesn’t make them any less of a hassle. Anyway, you not escorting someone this time?”

it had been weeks since the last time she walked into the dollhouse; how she was kept so distracted by the red queen and other mishaps in wonderland to be able to afford the long trip to the valley of the dolls. inez took a seat in the back, they were never fond of being front and center, never did they really care about the performances the dollhouse showcased—she wasn’t here for pleasure, never that.

she was here on her own accord, sheer black gloves crossed in her lap, her large sunglasses obscuring half her face in the most obnoxiously way. she wasn’t meant to be the spectacle, and how could they when others were adorned in feathers and glitter? oh the feathers and glitter, inez had to take their sunglasses off to get a better view. the feathers were obnoxiously large, but they still were not up to the par of inez’s interest—they weren’t ostrich. they were large and colorful, the glitter didn’t sparkle as much she would have hoped, the glitters she was accustomed to shined like millions of star clusters under midnight lights. but as the crowd cheered, inez mustered up the interest to follow suit.

then she saw them, how an oyster effortless weaved and bobbed through a crowd reaching out for the closest patron of sexual desires. inez managed a smile, for decency purposes. “if you want my humble opinion,” she glared back to the stage, “they’re not bad for what they’re suppose to do—i would’ve preferred ostrich. and no. not tonight i finally have time to run personal errands. how’s the night going?”

#✧·˚.-—-- oyster.#✧·˚.-—-- thread one | oyster.#✧·˚.-—-- event two | fires of hell.

WHEN: SEPT. 22, 4PM WHERE: NEPENTHE WITH WHO: RED ROSE

through the doors and passed the velvet curtains of emerald stain—luxury of finer excess, the overwhelming smell of lust, greed and desires beyond the imagination. inez walked with power, with knowledge of how well perfumes can intoxicate as much as the mangled mermaid—or whatever. they mastered the skill of scents, how pheromones were the easiest way to hook a man, how easy it made them sink—down, down, gone.

glass bottles adorned with precious gems of rubies and sapphires, emeralds and diamonds. notes imported from around the globe: jasmines and bulgarian roses, how oud and orrises could make a product so expensive. inez was a top buyer, a jeweled speculation of their own accord, how they walked, proudly chin tilted upwards, a wrist lathered in samples, intoxicating herself.

the door clicked opened, the sound of footsteps echoing in an almost empty storefront. inez turned, carefully, eyes half shut as the smell of ambergris filled her senses. “i never expected to see you up here,” they said calmly, almost mockingly, almost, just almost. she placed the bottle down, sighing in exuberance. “i could stay in here forever, what about you?”

#✧·˚.-—-- red rose.#✧·˚.-—-- thread one | red rose.#✧·˚.-—-- event two | fires of hell.

WHEN: SEPT. 23, 7PM WHERE: BLACK HOLLOWS, MANGLED MERMAID. WITH WHO: PIG BABY

dirty—the grime and grit below her feet, hollowed souls of the damned with begging hands, greedy fingertips matted in dry blood—the dirt beneath clawing fingernails. inez walked carefully, each click of stilettos on unbalanced, cracked pavements. she sighed, desperately wanting to be anywhere but here—how even a red queen could make inez such a fool for such silly tasks. why don’t you make someone else do it, i want to go to midas for cocktails. that didn’t bode over well enough it seems—or else they wouldn’t be in the depths of rodent-infested alleyways, in reaching distance of her trusted switch blade.

as if it wasn’t enough, inez was sporting her expensive garments of espionage, black always looked best on her, but what a shocker that wearing heels in the slums was not the best decision—why couldn’t fashion insinuate comfort at all times?

“oh god where the fuck is it?” inez muttered, turning corners and into various alleyways. no place for an heiress of her stature. oh how they hated running errands for the red queen, how they were damned to this position. “excuse me,” inez finally stopped, staring across the street at the bus stop under the single dim street light. “where the fuck is the mangled mermaid?” it wasn’t until she stepped closer that she realized the stature, the undecided mystique of the poivre’s finest—the busser.

#✧·˚.-—-- pig baby.#✧·˚.-—-- thread one | pig baby.#✧·˚.-—-- event two | fires of hell.

:// I N E Z N A V A R [ B A N D E R S N A T C H ]

#✧·˚.-—-- about | bandersnatch.

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✧·˚.-—– inez.