He puts her to mind of those statues in the museums during their little absolutely worth-it struggle to finish his outfit; just imagine, wrapping up Michelangelo’s David in lingerie and sighing at a display of marble and silk– or the discus thrower, draped in pearls and lace, twisted about like she has to do in order to clip the further garter straps: The man deserves his own podium in Florence, a display at the Louvre, but he’s already got those crowds and many more in his satin pockets, now doesn’t he? What a shame those ancient artists missed this!
He’s a work of art all his own, and Ari adoringly clasps hands to rest cheek atop knuckles to show precisely how ‘right’ she finds his costume to be- “Glorious!”
While he worries with his cigar, Arienette poses just as one would when on display, precisely how she’s been taught– left leg slipped on ahead of her, hands planted on hips, chin up high: she’s dressed to impress, and fully prepared to strut as one would expect her peacock comrades do! Whether she belongs locked up in an aviary or stood on a pageant stage is up for debate–
but EXQUISITE! he said!
Of course, his approval is all she needs, and has her promptly dropping pose, flitting wrists in a coquettish display of dismissal: oh, stop, don’t stop! “Hush, Freddie, you’ll make me blush– then I’ll clash with the turquoise, we can’t have that.” But both hands are already shielding her cheeks, darlingly embarrassed over the prospect of any party-goers thinking the same as he does.
Nodding along in agreement now- “Brutal, brutal,” obediently and absolutely dripping with purpose; she wastes no time dumping out the contents of her purse on the floor at their feet. Like a child, Arienette plummets down to the tiles, thumbing through an array of stray dollar bills, little shot bottles of liquor, tissues, loose cigarettes, a couple hair ties, uncontained pills, a really lovely pinked glass bottle of perfume– a pause in their search, so she can spritz herself and smile, before it’s set off safely to the side– FINALLY, three tubes of lipstick are brought to proper attention, each lid abandoned with a single slip of her thumb: “Okay, Darling, I’ve got… some cherry red, it says, but not so much like the fruit, more a Red Light District sort tone, you know… this one, it looks purple next to the gold, but I assure you, it’s a truly villainous maroon, look now,” Ari draws a tad of a line across the curve of her thumb, to show him what she means, holds up this example of a paw while showing off the final choice. “Oh, but this one, it’s my favorite but it won’t do, just a blushing pink, matches my pointe shoes–” FAR TOO SOFT TO BE BRUTAL! “I suggest the maroon, you’ll be able to eat them all right up, put a chill in their bones and tighten their trousers, brutal indeed!”
The two deemed worthy are held out in offering, and Arienette goes to fumbling through accessories to scoop them all back into her purse– “Where did you say we were going, after this?” she hasn’t the slightest idea what’s next in their adventure, but is more than willing to fall right in line. “Pending your answer, I may need to break into one of these,” said as she squints to read tiny print on a caramel-colored little liquor bottle…
And this is precisely why he barely knocks about with the lads, he validates to himself as he thinks of being chastised for dashing off to his car after a gig- instead he plucks the darlings right off their arms and steals away with them into the night. It’s low hanging fruit really and they’re quite an easy snare as many are partial to his company when they find themselves accomplices in escapades that end in something far grander than a rumpled nest of hotel linens and cottonmouth. And he much prefers them as well for as fair a maiden as Roger is, surely he doesn’t possess the fortitude to withstand the tedium they’re currently indulging in nor will three shades of luxe war paint be falling out of his clutch! Freddie titters to himself as the contents of her purse disperse at their feet, the pearly gates have opened with their herald angels careening over marble. He gingerly deposits his cigarette through the crystalline neck of an abandoned coke bottle that teeters nearby and comes to roost on his haunches (hardly an easy feat in his present state but he clings to modesty like a Titian muse) to examine her wares for himself.
“Trust in lipstick and trust in life,” he murmurs, surely the echo of some great prophet, simpering as raven lashes crest the prominent rounds of his cheeks almost in reverence, as if reciting a hymn, genuflecting before a holy idol as he lifts the maroon stick from the soft cradle of her palm and looks to her, “Praise be, Goddess, Grrrrand Empress of maquillage and couture!”
Was there really any other choice in the end? They both led Victorian lives surrounded by exquisite clutter, he trusts in her utterly and completely, she’s proven to be the Venus to his Earth, the entirety of the evening’s fate hanging in the delicate balance of her painted thumb and this glimmering capsule. Well-versed thighs elevate him back into the heavens and he struts back towards the mirror, unsheathing the lipstick to christen his pout with Ari’s chosen poison. Its painstaking work but he has a steady hand and suddenly he’s transformed, hastily brushing away the impure thoughts that he may be outshining Liza, but it’d truly be a terror to confront her now and have that elephant in the room. His thumbs slot beneath the bands of his garters and there’s a victorious thwack as he takes hold of the mirror like a tempestuous lover, crushing himself sensuously against it, and impresses a villainous stain, leaving a streak of maroon leering back at them. And then he turns towards Ari, his trance breaking as he hears the telltale signs of his driver's floundering attempts at conversation as he attempts to entertain their now deeply inebriated shop-owner.
“The Drake on Park and 56th, I heard about it in the coat room before we left, it’s whisper down the lane so don’t hold me to it but I swore I heard something about a live boa constrictor,” he dutifully answers her- he and the boys nearly stayed there for their New York leg until they heard someone nipped about 200K from Zeppelin’s safety deposit box, “it’ll be wild so a little elixir wouldn’t hurt. I have another bottle of Pérignon we can crack into on the way there!”
romaincrisis
jbbartram-illu
titsay
blakekathryn
2087
areudirty
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
jacobvanloon
