— ginger —

Eat me, drink me. GINGER // Carmen Monroe. A Flower and a Drink named for a mixer that goes well with anything; a stripper at Forbidden Vices straddling two sanctions. Runaway.

[coneyislcndqueen-blog]

where: Allegra’s room, Eden when: late afternoon who: @dclphiinium

Both Delphi and Ginger were booked for later that night, so at prep time—about three hours prior to having to show face—Carmen gathered up her bag full of makeup, another bag full of jewelry and costumes, faux-fur jacket in bubblegum pink, and a few pairs of shoes and headed next door to Allegra’s room. “All-eee!” Carmen sing-songed at the closest thing she had to a roommate as the door opened for her entry. She kissed the air next to both of Allegra’s cheeks. “How’s my alleycat today?” she asked as she unceremoniously dumped her things on Allegra’s couch, knowing they’d sort through them in good time and head into the better lighting of the bathroom—but before that: “Shit, I forgot one thing, be right back, babe.”

Quick as a rabbit, Carmen popped back into her room and picked up the cupcakes she’d made for Allegra earlier that day but had forgotten due to lack of hands available to carry them. Locking the door behind her, Carmen went back into Allegra’s, nudging the door open and then closed again with her foot as she lifted the cupcakes slightly into the air to show them off. “Lemon cake with fresh lemon zest and a tempered tart strawberry jam filling, sweet strawberry swiss buttercream frosting—thought you might like these! God knows we have to shove our faces in advance. Or at least, I do. Your clients probably don’t care, but where I come from, apparently eating isn’t sexy unless it’s phallic shaped.” Carmen rolled her hazel eyes to the ceiling for emphasis, and then made fun by licking an air-ice cream.

“Who do you have tonight? Anyone you love to hate?” Carmen asked, her eyes alight; she didn’t push too many buttons, but she liked to hear the stories Allegra had when she did her work. Domme wasn’t a profession Carmen could see herself in—she had enough trouble being forceful—but she admired the work of the other girl and thought her clientele were so interesting. “Mine are always the same—wife, daughter, what’s a girl like you—you know. Occasionally somebody interesting, but not often.” She made sure Allegra took a cupcake before shoving one unceremoniously into her own mouth. When she ate among other sex workers, it was a completely different level of comfort-norms than among regular people.

[coneyislcndqueen-blog]

salvatin‌:

where: outside of eden  when: late afternoon who: @coneyislcndqueen

molly seems to be aware of where they were headed, excitedly bouncing alongside him, if she wasn’t impatiently tugging on the leash in an attempt to hurry her him along. they’d just started their training and isaiah tugged her back every time she bounced along too far, tugging on the leash. though, he understood why the pup was so impatient, barely able to wait until she could play with her friend again. she liked gatsby and carmen too. they’d met once at a park, both dog immediately hitting it off, running together over the grass in a mess of limbs and fur.

‘ we’re almost there. ’ he tells her as they wait to cross a road at a traffic light. ‘ just a few more blocks. ’ the pup’s excitement only seems to grow, her tail wagging so much she barely stays on her feet.

true to his word, they arrive shortly after, gatsby and carmen already waiting. molly, barely able to contain herself, rushes forward, greeting both of them with bounces and licks. ‘ hey—- ’ he greets them too, ear scratches for gatsby who’s mostly busy sniffing around molly and a cheek kiss for carmen. ‘ molly was quite excited, quite in a rush to get here. ’ he offers a somewhat sheepish smile on his lips. ‘ she’s quite fond of gatsby I’d say. ’

Carmen remembered when Isiah got Molly; they weren’t quite as close then as they were now, but the pup had opened up something in him, at least as far as she could tell. He wanted—it seemed—a true companion and the only way he could get it was with a dog. Carmen understood that. It was one of the reasons she got Gatsby, after all. Her golden was a mush, overly excitable and, while trained, every now and then still piddled out of the sheer joy of being pet. When Gatsby met Molly at the dog park, the two had a natural affinity, and now Gatsby looked after the younger dog with steadfast fascination.

Carmen had a bit of time to herself before she had to drop everything for a client later and then pull a late shift at Vices. She’d be an hour late to work, but it wasn’t like she had much say in the matter, and her Drink family knew it. Normally, anyone late would get some shit, but all she saw was pity in their eyes. To Carmen, who hated being blackmailed into being a Flower, that was worse than any consequence or fine. The first few times it happened, she’s just hung her head in shame when she entered, and after that she’d tried not to let it show how much it got to her. Outings like this, with Isaiah, almost made Carmen feel normal. Almost.

It was close to meeting time and so Carmen went down with Gatsby from her room at Eden for Isaiah to scoop her up. Immediately, Molly bounded over and Carmen couldn’t help but break into laughter with delight as she was licked all over, Molly’s little pibble stub of a tail wagging the whole of her butt behind her. “What a delight,” Carmen said through her laughter and soon Gatsby was egging his way into the middle of it all, wedging himself between Carmen—his person—and Molly—the one he wanted to greet with some insistence, sniffing the other dog’s rear and wagging his tail with pleased surprise at the visit.

“As are you,” Carmen cooed at Isaiah, smiling under the kiss he gave her cheek, her eyes beaming at him. “Thanks for coming to get me out of the house!” she added, touching the side of his face softly with the cup of her palm. “Was it Molly who was eager, or you?” she teased. “Either way, I’ll take it. Do you want to go to the dog run or did you have something else in mind?” she asked, looking around the street, the sun still high in the sky. “How did that—thing—go that you were working on last week?” 

[coneyislcndqueen-blog]

mephistopheles, lucifer, azazel & jezebel

mephistopheles: have you ever helped a loved one destroy themselves?

“No, I haven’t! I’ve broken some hearts here and there, who hasn’t, but nothing worse than that,” Ginger says with a light laugh—not a dismissive one, though. She knows there are worse things than breaking hearts. She knows the variable arts that can destroy a person and the grand majority aren’t liquors or drugs, but emotions, situations, complications. Those, she knows intimately, and the thought of them makes her shudder inside.

lucifer: what are you most proud of?

Ginger pauses. She doesn’t have an answer for this. It used to be her voice, but now her voice only brings on flashbacks that have fuzzy edges and sound like ringing in her ears and remind her of the colour of merlot. She doesn’t know what she’s proud of any more. Her way with people? Her intuition? That she got away from Salvatore? (But it wasn’t far enough.) So she gives a coy smile and just says, “Probably my Allegra splits, or the Music Box.”

azazel: talk about a time when you were falsely blamed for something

This one is far easier and the laughter is just as easy as a Thursday night shift. “Oh, man, there’s so many. Taking dollars off the stage that weren’t mine, copying another girl’s costume choices, stealing another girl’s song, stealing another girl’s man—all part and parcel of the trade at tiger clubs. Too catty for me. I like it better when we fence for each other, you know? Everyone’s got a type, it’s fine if it’s not me—you send your joe my way, I’ll send mine to you, we both make money! But yeah—never fuck with a girl’s standard music. Never.” She would never tolerate it, that was like stealing a show.

jezebel: talk about a time you used your sexuality to get your way

Ginger just smiles, warm and genuine with a touch of amusement, and winks. When doesn’t she? It’s become part of who she is; what she wants and how she gets it are intrinsically tied to her sense of sexuality. She’ll forever support sex work as work and won’t stand for belittling or devaluing that work. Anyone who says it’s easy has never tried. Anyone who says it’s degrading is a misogynist and most likely also classist and racist because of who it serves and the roots of it. She’ll take those opinions to her grave if she has to.

[lunar-butch-deactivated20160510]

"ask me about my demons"

[valentinexbomber-blog]

lilith: what was your biggest rebellion against authority? why did you do it? raum: do you have a tendency to hoard anything? if so, what? jezebel: talk about a time you used your sexuality to get your way mephistopheles: have you ever helped  a loved one destroy themselves? verrier: do you find yourself disobeying or obeying most authority? asmodeus: on whom do you want revenge and how would you take it? baal: if you were a god, how would you prefer to be worshipped? lamia: how do you feel about children? lucifer: what are you most proud of? sonneillon: do you hate anyone? batibat: talk about the worst nightmare you have ever had abaddon: what person, place, or thing have you most wanted to destroy? belias: do you gossip? abraxas: do you believe in any higher power? if so, what? ornias: talk about a time where you felt drained of energy lix tetrax: if you could travel by wind, where would you go? astaroth: have you ever falsely accused someone? carreau: do you consider yourself compassionate or harsh to others? why? leviathan: what do you believe lies in the unexplored areas of the ocean? belphigor: if you could pick 3 forms to shapeshift into, what would they be? azazel: talk about a time when you were falsely blamed for something mammon: when were you most greedy? for what? verrith: are you a patient or impatient person? pythius: out of all the lies you have ever told, which is your favorite? berith: do you often argue with others?

[toxicityrp]

                      GINGER ● THE RUNAWAY ● CLOSED

       ❝ This beauty is just as fleeting as the word that   describes her. She’s been places but you really can’t   fuckin’ tell where. She’s a sight to see at the Garden    and the Vices. My preference? The Forbidden Vices                        Club for sure! ❞

THE SINNER. TW: IMPLIED EMOTIONAL ABUSE, MURDER, PTSD

Carmen was born a poor suburb on Long Island—an area off the coast of Manhattan, where poor was relative but all the same, they struggled. Carmen’s earliest memories were of darkness. The colour of night, the colour the room was without electricity, the colour of a flame in the darkness. Rent was hard to make and bills were harder. Both of her parents worked full time; every now and then, some relative would come and stand-in. Mostly, Carmen grew up knowing the word ‘want,’ knowing what it was to be without something. It wasn’t all terrible, but it was formative.

Her parents managed lower middle class by high school, but it was of little comfort to Carmen: they found a note her girlfriend had written her in her trash can. Confronting her, Carmen didn’t have the right words, then—not that it would have mattered. Bisexual was just as bad as gay, to her parents, regardless. At seventeen, she was disowned and kicked out of her house. She relied on the kindness of friends and strangers, couch surfing to finish her last year of high school, but she wound up relying also a little too heavily on alcohol to get her by.

Carmen didn’t actually get to finish high school, making a mess of the kindnesses she’d been shown. Without an education and without any true allies, Carmen moved out to Brooklyn and got a shit one bedroom apartment she split with three other girls. She didn’t have the experience or skills to live on her own, but she picked them up—she had a charming smile, after all. Carmen made her way, at first, as a grifter and a thief, hustling tourists in Manhattan and stealing whatever didn’t make ends meet. She was poor, but then again, that’s all she’d ever known, and she had bottles of moonshine for company.

She had dreams, as teenagers often do, of being a singer—and she was pretty good at it, but she didn’t have the connections to make it happen. Scraping her life together left little time to get gigs or plan for a future. From her bedroom in southern Gravesend, she could hear the sounds of Coney Island taunting her with a jubilation she couldn’t feel. Carmen grew jealous of her flatmates, whom she assumed were trust fund kids, able to lay about all day in the apartment laughing and drinking while she was on the streets hustling. After a comment she couldn’t help slip, they fixed her assumption.

They told her they were pros, and were willing to show her the ropes. Learning to separate love and sex in order to survive didn’t seem like that bad an option at the time: she was eighteen and alone and these girls were the closest thing she had to a family any more. It was more work than Carmen expected, learning how to adapt to each client, putting on a show, learning how to act half in love with everyone she met. The learning curve was steep, but Carmen found it worth it. She made connections in bed she couldn’t have made slumming it from venue to venue with a tune in her heart.

And who said sleeping your way to the top wasn’t hard work?

Carmen was a natural, a Coney Island queen. She got a regular, a promoter who helped her get gigs and soon she was performing on stages as well as in bedrooms with songs for each. At one of the venues, Carmen met the friend of the owner, a man named Salvatore who took a liking to her—and she to him. Her work transitioned from the streets into the strip club, where he promised her she didn’t have to do extras. Their relationship also included some sugaring, which she delighted in—for the first time—feeling spoiled by someone else. Having her needs not only met but her wants indulged.

For a girl of 21, this was heaven, and she still got to perform her songs once a week for anyone who’d come to listen. She conflated money, power, and attention with love—but it was her first requited love. And like anyone in love, Carmen had more than a few blinders up around Salvatore and how he ran his strip club, the Dollhouse. While she loved making connections to get where she wanted to go, charming the right people and saying the right words, she didn’t understand the darker side to such connections yet. For years, for the wildness of her 20s, Carmen was lost to the lights and the liquor and the glory.

Around the time Carmen was 25, her music career really kicked off. She received an offer to record and album and took a lot of time in the studio to get it right, though she was very nervous about it. Unfortunately, it took her time away from Salvatore and his club and he was very protective of her, to the point where Carmen felt suffocated. It almost seemed like he was trying to sabotage her music career just to keep her under his thumb. She broke off her relationship and arrangements with Salvatore, thinking it was that easy in a world where men like him always got what they wanted.

Shortly after, she found the producer she’d been working with dead.  Two in the back of the head.

Carmen wasn’t naiive. She knew she had to get out—out of her apartment, out of this life, and get far, far away, to some little town she’d never get found in. Dertosa fit the bill: across the country and often overlooked by the rest of the world, full of curious figures and drenched in mystery. Carmen thought she could run and recreate herself there. Her dreams of being a singer were lost perhaps forever to the PTSD that ripped through her as a result of that moment, but she’d been through hard times before and would make herself strong again. She just had to get out. And so Carmen disappeared in Dertosa.

After the midnight move, Carmen made sure to clean up after her trail. She took a job at Forbidden Vices doing what she loved second-best: stripping. The Drinks became her family; they named her Ginger, because she was a mixer who went well with everything and everyone. For 4 years, Carmen hung up her dreams and aimed instead for safety, only slowly, so slowly, learning to exhale and look over her shoulder a little less. That is, until last year; she had the misfortune of meeting Eve. Eve herself wasn’t the issue, but apparently Eve knew Salvatore, and Salvatore was not a quiet man when licking his wounds. Eve had half a mind to throw Carmen over to him for a favour—but Carmen begged her not to.

The only way Eve operated was to never give something for nothing, which is how Carmen came into a three year contract as a Flower: the price of Eve’s silence, the price of Carmen’s freedom. Being a Flower was more emotionally degrading than anything she’d done before, but if she could really be free of Salvatore after, it would be worth it. And if worse came to worse, well, Carmen wasn’t a little girl any more. Stripped bare of her dreams, if it came down to it, Carmen would end Salvatore. This, she knew in her heart. She’d find a way to freedom by word or by deed, one way or another.

And in the meanwhile, she’s Eve’s little spy inside Forbidden Vices. Sure, Carmen goes out as a Flower when the price is right, will strip at parties, will be arm candy or the girlfriend experience per her expertise—but the real boon for Eve was winning a Flower at her beck and call that was entrenched body and soul in another sanction. Except now, Carmen’s soul was sold to Eve. So when Eve says jump, Carmen says how high… though jumping is rarely the dirty work Eve has in mind. And so Carmen remains a stripper at Forbidden Vices, not the head dancer, but one you don’t want to miss.

THE FACTS.

Carmen is personable, sweet, flirtatious, and playful. She’s charismatic and outgoing, easy to talk to, easy to approach others. Carmen is genuinely observant and attentive, the kind of person who notes your favourite soup and brings it to you if you are sick, or picks up a gift “just because” you mentioned you liked it in passing and she was thinking of you. She’s a sunshine sort of girl, on the surface, but she hides a bitter heart. Love is a missile, and people will do a lot for those they love; so Carmen loves to have people love her. Nothing turns faster, though, than love betrayed—so she needs to make certain no one finds out exactly what she’s up to, or at least, the extent of whom exactly she sold out for what. Secrets and favours will take you farther than money, in the right hands. Dancing is a prime job for an informant and spy; it’s a passing place between strangers, people who assume they’ll never see you again, or will pretend not to know you if they do. They’re here to vent, to feel seen and loved, and to move on. A client will tell you anything if you phrase the question right. They make the mistake of seeing dancers as unimportant. Carmen doesn’t at all mind playing second fiddle to the head dancer at Vices—it’s better for her to be just out of the spotlight, anyway. In a way, Carmen has grown up in the gutter but always had rose coloured glasses; the kind of perspective that believed the best in the world and also in others. Even when grit showed itself to her, she believed that people were just doing whatever they needed to get by. She could never blame someone for the methods and defenses they created to survive; Lord knows she had enough of her own. Lying, stealing, cheating—these were soft offenses to Carmen, things that were—if need be—revocable. She didn’t take what the person couldn’t get more of, metaphorically; she didn’t take lives. A life, you can’t give back.

THE MUN.

☾ May | EST | She/Her

[lifeinpoetry]

Home doesn’t exist for girls like me.

Fox Brown, from “I Am Asked to Surrender My Things,” published in Winter Tangerine 

[anachronisticfairytales]

She tastes like nectar and salt. Nectar and salt and apples. Pollen and stars and hinges. She tastes like fairy tales. Swan maiden at midnight. Cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue. She tastes like hope.

Laini Taylor

[glaceions]