and the sky was all violet i want to give the violent more violets and I'm the one with no soul one above and one below i told you from the start just how this would end when I get what I want, then I never want it again.
Malia’s walls lay bare still, nothing but smoke stains and flecks of dried paint cover the flashy wallpaper. There’s a mattress pushed to the corner of the furthest point of the room, an ungodly number of pillows piled up along with a couple blankets, a milkcrate beside it posing as a nightstand. She’d purposely chosen a room that was completely empty, something she could build up, something she could have her mess in, something she could flee from easily. Her clothes all hung haphazardly in the closet, all smelling of lilac perfume and menthol cigarettes. The carpet’s been ripped up, revealing the wood floor beneath it that much like the walls, is speckled with various colors of paint and stains from spray paint pieces gone rogue. There’s a large table in the corner of the room covered in art supplies, forgotten projects, canvases pile up all around, some unfinished, some unbought, and some completely blank still. Empty bottles of alcohol are found around, containing dead flowers, paint brushes, discarded cigarette butts, as well as various dime bags, empty pill bottles. The bathroom, which is to the right of the door is fairly pristine despite the counters, which too are covered in paint from hours cleaning brushes, half empty bottles of vodka line the mirror and various prescription pills are found in front of them, all labeled with different names from the people they’d been stolen from. The tub has various shampoos, body washes, soaps stacked along it’s edges, a painted rubber duckie named Todd balancing on the square facet.
“…You know, surprisingly, this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten that?” Dexter jokes lightly as he meets her gaze a moment, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips before he’s turning to glance back at the of food on the table beside him. The thought of food still made his stomach lurch more than a bit but… he reaches into it to take a fry, taking a bite of it just a moment before he glances back up to Malia and promptly chokes at her comment, coughing a bit as his ears redden ever so slightly, before he’s glancing back up to her with a twinkle in his eye. It takes him a minute to find the words to respond, and when he starts he starts slow,“… although both of those things sound very fun…I’m having fun with you right now. And I didn’t need to grab your ass to do it. Or fuck you.” Dexter gives Malia a long look that almost edges on fond before he’s saying, “And I won’t ask if that means you’re not having fun. From your last answer I’m assuming I’ll get more than I bargained for with that.” Dexter gaze flicks to her bitten lip before he can think better of the action, and he finds himself drinking in Malia’s appearance almost analytically to avoid being embarrassed. From her soft curves to her pretty blue eyes. And she’s right of course. She’s stunning. And so Dexter has to acknowledge her point. “You are very good at your job.” Dexter replies with a nod before he’s meeting her eyes again with a quiet, “… but that wasn’t the kind of distracting I was talking about.” Dexter goes silent for a moment as his brows furrow, his lips thinning with thought before he says, “… I meant that… you tend to fill up all the space in my mind while you’re here. Even if I wanted to think about something else, something worse, I can’t. Because… you’re here, and you’re all I can think about for the duration of our time together. Sometimes the time following too…” Dexter pauses a second before he nods, meeting Malia’s eyes with a soft, “It’s very helpful.” He lets the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips as he gently says, “It’s hard to be… chased by my demons when I’m distracted by how amusing it is to watch you devour a burger.”
She can’t help the way her features soften at his words, it was sweet, a sort of affection she wasn’t quite used to receiving so genuinely, and so in response she simply let out a heavy sigh, “Careful Dexter,” She taunted as she leaned over, playful smile on her lips before pecking his ever so softly, chaste and easy, something she figured wouldn’t send him spiraling, “That was almost romantic.” Malia giggled to herself as she leaned back, giving his cheek a slight pat before turning her attention back to her burger, “You know everyone has a shitty past, something that keeps us from being who and what we really want,” Malia had her own demons, a life so full of guilt and regret and self-hatred that it had molded her into whatever creature she was now, nothing worth remembering, something that could be easily thrown to the side, it’s what she was used to, what she deserved really, as her mother had always reminded her. “But I mean, I guess not drowning yourself in pussy and drugs is something to be proud of?” The blonde pondered, a quizzical look painted her features before shrugging, “Why don’t you tell me… one true thing about yourself you haven’t told anyone before, something from your past, and you know you can trust me, so just… lay something out there… get it off your chest, maybe it’ll help with the weight.”
Dexter honestly can’t understand how Malia says things like that with a straight face. Honestly, he couldn’t imagine doing the same himself, but maybe that was for the best. He opens and closes his mouth a second as he ducks his head slightly, ultimately stifling a smile, “Thank you, Malia. I appreciate that…sexual implication and all.” Dexter scratches the back of his head as he watches Malia for a second with a mumble of, “so it’s a win-win situation then?” Before he glances at the flask thoughtfully, only pausing a moment before reaching forward and taking it. Getting drunk right now was… probably not the best idea. But getting tipsy might make him feel better. Dexter carefully begins to unscrew the cap of the flask as he tells Malia half the truth, “maybe I just missed your company.” It was true. No one really tended to visit Dexter’s room but Malia, and it was notably emptier once she was gone. Like the little space she took up just expanded to be glaringly obvious the moment she was no longer in the room. Dexter takes a sniff of the contents of the flask once he’s got the thing open, wincing for a moment but ultimately taking a smooth swing. He swallows and licks his lips before he’s flicking his gaze to Malia again, “… I like having you around, you know. You’re…” Dexter pauses a second as he tries to find exactly the right phrase before settling on, “fun. And…very distracting. It’s hard to focus on anything but you when you’re around.” Dexter pauses another moment before he adds, “I mean that as a compliment.“
She can’t help the snort that left her at his comment, her eyes rolling as she wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, peridot eyes piercing back up at him as she chewed, watching him slowly drink from her flask. “You’re too uptight Dexter,” She murmured, hand in front of her mouth in attempt of a feeble form of matters, setting her burger back down on it’s wrapper and took the flask back, gulping down more tequila with little to no reaction from the stinging it caused in her throat. She ignored the pesky little flutter in her stomach at his words, meaningless rambles of sweetness, something normal boys used to get her panties off, though normal boys would’ve done that much easier, especially when sliding her a twenty for her company. “Fun,” She mocked softly, a little smile twitching at her lips as she sighed some, shaking her head, “I truly don’t think you even know the real definitely of fun, because fun is not spending all night talking about emotional shit, fun would be fucking me, or at least trying to grab my ass or something,” Malia truly couldn’t help herself when it came to making the poor boy squirm, it was like a game for her, to see how far she could push him, how many buttons she could press and turn until he finally snapped or gave in to the primal need anyone needed, especially one as lonely as poor Dexter, “But I am very distracting,” She went on, biting her bottom lip before humming, “Sort of my job in’it? Sit here be pretty and soft… I’m really good at it I think, don’t you?”
Dexter didn’t know what he was doing with his life. Working all day at a job that bored him, and taking his sizable paycheck to pay for a cheap motel room and the company of a pseudo sex worker was not exactly how he pictured his early twenties. And yet here he was, sat in said cheap motel room, with said pseudo sex worker, once again having to gently refuse sex. Because somehow that was crossing some sort of line. “Is that your way of telling me you’d prefer sleeping with me to having to endure a conversation with me?” Dexter asks as he opens up a bag of food, steam curling in the air as it seeps out of it. “Should I be insulted or flattered?” Malia was a beautiful girl. Dexter wasn’t blind. But he also wasn’t exactly… forward either. At least not sober. And besides, generally, when he felt lonely enough to call her, well… he wasn’t exactly horny. He just needed company. Someone to be around. Someone to talk to. And Malia, while clearly not the happiest about it, was that. So Dexter took what he could. He reaches inside the warm bag of food and opens up a box to check the contents before handing it to Malia with an arch of his brow as he glances at the flask. “… something to soak up the alcohol? Or does that defeat the purpose?”
The company wasn’t something she minded too much, Dexter, he was nice to look at least, with soft brown curls and sad green eyes, he was someone that she personally would’ve chosen to spend her time with, a short-lived tryst that left them both empty in the morning. But alas, the boy preferred speaking, sometimes he welcomed a comforting touch, a brush of his hair, her hand on his back and lips on his cheek innocently… but nothing too much, nothing too intense. “Oh you know I love the sound of your whines,” She teased, a playful sexual undertone that made his cheeks flush and her smile brighten, accepting the food he handed over to her and rolling her eyes, “Trust me, not even In-N-Out can soak this up,” She laughed lightly offering him the flask and unwrapping the messy burger in her hands, “What’s the problem now Dexy? I am all ears just for you,” The blonde barely finished her sentence before biting into her burger, not caring too much about being lady-like, it wasn’t like she had to impress him any, she was literally just being paid to play therapist at this point.
Malia worked with her fair share of odd men. Typically, they talked for a bit, told her how pretty she was, then got to the real business with a few lazy thrusts and passing out on the pillow beside her in bed. She tried to keep work outside of Starlit but… she wasn’t going to say no to a couple easy bucks, and Dexter well, Dexter was definitely one of the more odd individuals that paid for her company. He didn’t touch her, he didn’t try to kiss her, in fact, all he really did was talk… he’d go on and on about life, about anything really, and Malia would pretend to be interested even when she really wasn’t. Tonight, was one of those nights, after a pathetic text from the pretty boy, she knew to make her way to his room. She greeted him with a short kiss on the cheek, head tilting as she brushed passed him to go sit on his bed, pulling out her flask from the inside of her jacket, “You sure you just wanna talk?” The curvy blonde asked, crossing her legs as she took a sip from her flask, “Cause you probably could work out your stress in a lot more meaningful ways.” @dexterhowley
The walls twisted and spun around him, a kaleidoscope of stripes and swirls dancing in front of his eyes like beams of light reflecting from a disco ball he couldn’t see. If he stopped moving, the monster behind them would poke a hole through the fabric with its massive claws and swallow him whole. He looked down at his hand. When had he pulled out a cigarette? Why were his knuckles bleeding? He felt the slither of something wet on his lip but ignored it in favor of lighting the cigarette held between his fingers, swelling and shrinking in time to the cartoon image of an anatomical heart spraypainted on the wall of the motel. When he pulled it away the filter was stained red as if he’d dipped it into the motel pool. “Shit,” he breathes, acid hitting him harder than a freight train gone off its rails. He stopped, swaying on his feet, the growl of his stomach making him flinch. Was he the monster he thought was behind the fabric?
The sight of Alfie like this most definitely wasn’t new to the patrons of Starlit. If anything, when he wasn’t baked out of his mind on something, it was far more shocking. Few people simply waved at him, appearing to him like various creatures of the night or simple blobs of color slinking along the ground. He reached his door, hand going for the knob and sliding right through it one, two, three times. After the fourth, he gave up with a groan, forehead resting against the cool wood of his door, dragging slightly. If he was lucky a few splinters would graze his skin like makeshift acupuncture and get rid of his increasingly irritating headache. “Time is slowing and god has locked me out from the gates of heaven,” he mutters. “She’s saying I’m not ready to sleep yet but I’m so exhausted.”
Blurred faces kept flashing behind her eyes, like looking at someone’s reflection in rippling water, faces, sounds, grunts and moans, they all bled together, they all became one giant ball of disgust, disappointment. She could still hear the voice, her mother’s voice constantly in the back of her mind, sneering and looking at her with such utter hatred that it continued to haunt the small blonde, continued to shape each and every choice she made. Whore. Whore. Whore. Malia shook her head as she walked towards the shining star, the beacon letting her know that she was home. She wasn’t anywhere dangerous now, she could finally breathe again…
It was a waste of energy. A waste of breath. A waste of life really but Malia wasn’t that much of a pessimist on good days. And today was a good day, in theory, she’d made at least three grand. She had minimum bruises, and only two guys had forgotten to pull out. A good night’s work in the eyes of the green-eyed whore, at least that’s what she was telling herself as she wobbled her way back into Starlit, heels too high for her fuzzy mind and drunken strut. The motel was full of nefarious types. Whores, criminals, runaways, junkies, psychopaths, they all made a home in the motel, and it was clear to her which group the boy practically petting the wooden-water damaged door belonged to. Malia didn’t often pause to take in others, especially on night’s she worked.
Though as she turned to stare at the sleepy muser, she found her interest peaked, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip before humming some, “God is dead and you just need to turn the handle,” Ruining his high seemed like it could be fun, though as she stepped closer, she wondered if she could have some sort of another fun with him, verdant eyes quickly flicking over his figure, taking in the slop of his nose and the pout of his lips, he was pretty. “If you turn quick enough you may see the way out, I always heard portals open up without us ever knowing because we move too slow and get caught up too much in our own self-importance.” The small blonde gave a shrug, head tilting.
The skeleton of the day sinks in low and warm on Cliff’s shoulders, scarlet sunset bathing the motel parking lot pink where the neon doesn’t reach. He looks up and spots something fervently wrestling the tree branch it’s stuck on. He sighs – “I hope that condom isn’t used.”
The night off was all she needed. A short break in the chaotic and not so gratifying work she did at the fancier hotels and nightclubs, best way to make easy money for such a small and pretty girl, but the most tiring as well, she thought. So rather than her usual tight dress and high heels she left Starlit in during the low light time, she was in a pair of sweats and a tank top, cigarette between her fingers as she walked along the parking lot, a bag of paint swung over her shoulder, going to work on her latest project. She only stopped when she saw cliff gazing up at something, “Oh it’s definitely used, repopulating the world one gust of wind at a time.”
“You know what the barista told me? ‘I think you’ll be a good mother one day. Your children will be the sweetest little things ever.’ I just wanna know, is that true?”
“That depends on if you like kids,” Malia muttered, barely looking up from her book as the other girl spoke to her, humming some, “Cause a mom can really fuck up their kids.” With that the girl’s verdant eyes peered up, shrugging her shoulder, “One little thing gone wrong and your baby boy becomes the next Jeffery Dahmer you know? A real shot in the dark.”
feet in the pool and a joint dangling from her lips, virginia halloway was content. contentment wasn’t a feeling she was quite used to, especially not as of late, but the setting las vegas sun on her skin and the tiny high she was feeling put her there. a movement behind her pulls her out of her thoughts, and she turns around, grinning, “hello? y’come to share?” wiggling the joint playfully, she raises her brows.
It was a late night. A late night of nothing but sickly-sweet breath, sweaty palms, and the stomach-churning sounds of a thirtysomething year old trapped in a loveless marriage he kept going on about. She didn’t care to remember, but the longer she was trapped in her room, the more she recalled, so despite needing to rest, Malia ventured out, nothing but a pair of shorts and a baggy t-shirt on, pulling her hair up into a loose ponytail as she made her way out to the pool, spotting Virginia lounging peacefully. She offered an uncharacteristic smile at the other, reaching out to pluck the join from her dainty fingers, “You may just be my new best friend yet Ginny,” The petite blonde muttered as she kicked her sandals off, taking the spot next to the girl and dipping her legs into the water, a soft sigh leaving her lips before taking a deep hit from the joint, holding it back over to Virginia as she coughed a little, eyes closing in relif, “I take that back, you are my new best friend.”
“hi, um, weird question !!” elsie laughed nervously as she approached the other. “do you know where a gal can get her hands on the supplies to fix some drywall…?? and… do you know how to use them ??”
With a tilt of her head the girl sized up the other as she walked over. Elsie, nervous and timid, like a little innocent baby deer. The girl didn’t quite seem to ever change her stance on speaking with others, and Malia hummed at her question, tapping her pack of cigarettes against her palm, “Did you have a rough go at it in the bedroom Els’?” The blonde chuckled shortly, unwrapping the plastic from her pack and moving to pull a cigarette out, “Let me guest, you got hot and heavy with someone and when he tried to fuck you against the wall you guys fell right through, too caught up in the throws of love making to care until now huh? Sucks. Try Home Depot.”
HELLO, ALL YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE! first of all I just wanna say I am so fucking stoked for Starlit, and to get to write with you all! Anywho back to the task at hand, under the cut is a little bit about my hot garbage child Malia Roux, she’s an old muse but a goodie and I can’t wait to develop her more with you all! If you want to plot just like this or hmu via direct message and I will eagerly respond, i’ll be sure to include any trigger warnings below! Oh also, I am Mon, love me.
TW: domestic abuse, statutory rape, abandonment, prostitution, drug abuse, alcoholism, car accident, implied murder, death.
AESTHETICS:
lipstick-stained menthol cigarettes, empty spray cans, fake smiles, and humorless laughs, glassy dull eyes, dirty knees and whispered secrets, acrylic paint and empty canvases, unwavering loyalty and bruised knuckles, paint-speckled backpack full of clothes, tight dresses and high heels, hushed compliments and chipped nail polish, night terrors, and paranoia.
( her actual aesthetic board on pintrest here !!! )
BACKGROUND:
malia’s always been a lost soul. she grew up in phoenix, arizona, living in a tiny little suburban community, raised in one of the copycat cookie cutter homes just the same as the rest of the kids she went to high school with. when she was about five-years-old her dad walked out on her mom ( an aggressive & unloving woman who preferred her wine bottles to sippy cups ), leaving malia alone with her and her older sister ( who was eight years older than her ).
after her father left her mother got worse, now full of resentment and alcohol, she took everything out on malia. malia was too young to understand why, it wasn’t until years later she figured out the truth, that the reason her father had walked out on her mother was that he had found out that Malia, his pride, and joy, wasn’t even his daughter, but that’s neither here nor there.
as her mother’s rage grew, the more malia got in trouble, the more malia was ignored. by age ten the girl felt like a ghost in her own home, living in the shadow of her perfect, beautiful, older sister alice. no matter what malia did, what sport she joined, what trophy she won, what prize she brought back home to her mother, she still treated her like an invader, like a pest she had to put up with until the girl was finally 18 and she could kick her out.
eventually, malia stopped trying, stopped caring, shut off every emotion, every feeling she ever had towards her mother and turned it all into an apathetic gaze. she hated her mother, she hated her sister, and rather than try to be perfect, rather than rebel, she put herself into the role her mother wanted. she was a guest.
by the time malia was fourteen she was hardly home, spending most of her time at friends’ places, out partying, hanging out with boys way too old for her, doing things with them that were meant for people way too old for her. she didn’t care anymore. she played her role as the ghost in her own home, but she was tired of feeling sad... of feeling numb, and at least they helped her feel.
she figured she’d go through the rest of her life filling the void until she could finally leave… that is until her mom remarried. her step-father was an interesting man, loud and charismatic. boastful, charming, demanding. he took malia and her mother in. he was a man who put her mother in her place for being cruel, for being uncaring… and that was something malia liked… something malia exploited.
it truly didn’t take long for malia to tempt her step-father into sleeping with her, he wasn’t a good man after all… and rather than hide their dirty secret, malia rubbed it in her mother’s face. let her call her a whore. let her call her disgusting. she didn’t care because at least it got her mother noticing her finally.
malia didn’t really care for her step-father, she never really cared about anyone romantically, they were a means to an end, just like he was. but he didn’t like that… he didn’t like malia being with other boys, other girls, and after a while things began to get violent. he was controlling, and abusive, and malia wasn’t the type of girl to put up with it, even with all the traumatic reminders she had to. and her mother? didn’t care to help… even told her she deserved it.
so rather than stay in her cookie cutter home, with her resentful mother and her abusive, disgusting step-father, she decided to leave. she had packed her bags and stolen the keys to her step-fathers range rover, planning to sneak off in the dead of the night without a trace. but of course, things didn’t go as planned.
she had managed to get in the car when her step-father caught her, she can’t completely recall what happened, but she remembered locking the door, she can remember putting the car into reverse, swinging out into the road as he chased after it, and the next thing she remembered was a loud crash, and the sound of the engine revving and the spider web cracks forming on the bloodied windshield as she sped off.
that was two years ago, two years and she still hasn’t even attempted to return home, to call, to figure out if her step-father was okay or not… she’s been living in starlit semi-happily, spending her nights partying and sleeping around just like she had back in arizona, making easy cash by selling herself and selling her art.
she’s the usual culprit for all the graffiti around starlit, an avid fan of street art and a struggling artist, she’s constantly walking around in paint covered clothes with spray cans in tote.
TLDR: so basically malia is a spray can toting sarcastic little smart ass who is an insanely good friend and self-deprecating human being. she sleeps around for fun and for money, spends her nights drunk or high, works off nights at the fremont street experience doing street art. while loyal she can still be selfish, something she doesn’t really mean to be.
WANTED CONNECTIONS:
THE CONFIDANT: the sole person malia trusts. though trust is used lightly. she trusts them enough to talk freely, to share how she feels more than she does with anyone else, the one person she finds herself actively searching for, her only true friend... she’s loyal to them above all else, and she tries not to spoil it, though she figures knowing her it’ll get fucked up in the end.
THE EX: There was a period of time where Malia attempted to love another. though she couldn’t find herself falling into place like they wanted, they were perfect, better than she could’ve asked for, and yet she still found her eyes wandering and after a few mishaps, they found out she was sleeping around, they don’t speak much now but when they do it’s never good.
THE FREQUENT FLYER: Malia tries to keep work from following her home, but after a drunken desperate night for this starlit resident and her, she found herself making an easy twenty bucks for practically nothing, and they’re not bothersome, most of the time the poor soul just wants someone to listen to them talk.
that’s really all I can think of in detail but any sort of plot connection can work with malia, friendships or enemies, people who hate her because she slept with their boyfriend or girlfriend, people she fucked over because they liked her and thought they had something and she just ghosted, whatever your heart wants I am honestly down for.
