As if consideration even entered into her mind. Bennett somehow doubts Delilah had taken the time to think like that. She did what she wanted, much like many of them here. It doesn’t matter that she’s out here, not really. Except for the fact that she’s outside of the club, in the back, with a door that locks between her and the club. And while she can take care of herself, it is Bennett’s job to be aware of security risks.
“Darling, you’re always trouble,” he drawls. “And I’m not here to scold you.” He leans against the wall. “Just here to make sure you don’t get into more trouble. Or make sure no one else does.”
He has no doubt that if someone tried to tangle with Delilah, they would end up being the ones in trouble. But he doesn’t tell her that. She’d get too much satisfaction out of it.
delilah has always been one to push the limits. it’s rare that she needs to face any consequences so it does dull the excitement, but nevertheless she’s happy to try them. she finds fun in toeing the lines and this is no different. bennett is amusing because he cares for the lines she is crossing and the ones she might cross. not due to any particular warm feelings towards delilah, she isn’t that naive to believe anything like that, but nevertheless he does. she needs to concede that if anything, the man has a strong work ethic, so it’s not too much of a surprise that he noticed her escaping for a smoke.
“me?” she fake gasps, as if being accused of being trouble is something she can’t fathom. her act dissolves with a laugh and delilah takes the cigarette back to her lips for another drag of smoke. “so,” the brunette says with an almost jocose smile. “you’re my personal bodyguard while i smoke?” she asks, eyebrows raised high. “what an honor,”
The first time meeting Delilah had been a dream, it had to have been. Women like her didn’t exist in real life and if they did they certainly never thought to talk to Elyse. What business could they have with her? What’s more, what on earth could she offer them? It was akin to talking to Amara, arguably the most powerful of their little sisterhood. Speaking to Amara was never really a conversation, more of a knelt prayer to a goddess with more knowledge than Elyse could even fathom. An ode to a greater entity that might respond, or she might not and either way, she was entirely valid and most likely correct. Elyse spent her days making herself light and lithe to dance around the women in her life; never wanting to bother, only wishing to please.
Elyse stood in her small form watching as the bouncer seemed to forget their previous conversation entirely. She made no attempt to argue the point or to question, rather she just scampered past him and into Delilah’s welcoming arms. Women were phenomenal; this was always most clearly recognized in their arms. They held on with compassion and with a softness that couldn’t be experienced anywhere else. Her sisters seemed to like the company of burly, hulking men but Elyse saw no safety in that, no contentment. They misunderstand discomfort and their hands were always calloused and unkempt. She’d always found women to be pristine, even in moments of dishevelment they were like fresh flowers momentarily being blown by the breeze.
“Thank you for having me!” Delilah probably didn’t own The Lusty Lady but with a gaze as deadly as hers she could probably own the whole world if she wanted to. Elyse did her best to look around, not wishing to just plainly stare at Delilah, the idea of being perceived as impolite surely had the ability to kill her. “No, first time!” Her beaming grin found its way back to the woman in front of her, brightening even more once she found her light eyes. Ignorance was no friend of Elyse Night’s, who thought she’d just been smuggled into a bar. Not much of a drinker but for the sake of friendship she could extend herself to a frilly watered-down cocktail.
as much as anyone could see her profession as plainly degrading, delilah couldn’t agree. she takes pleasure in her occupation as much as her patrons do when the garments come off. she admits there’s a rather deeper conversation to her work, but it doesn’t affect her. it’s not degrading to her to be seen as an object by her patrons because, in turn, she sees them as ATMs at best. it doesn’t bother her when they have their hungry eyes on her because it’s a power play that she enjoys. delilah likes to feel desired, wanted, untouchable - because that’s all her value has ever amounted to. she wasn’t trained since a child to be the nicest or the most compassionate. instead, she was taught to charm and seduce and to entertain. delilah figures her actress background benefits her and to be quite frank, figures her performance on the lusty lady’s isn’t too different from that one on a theater’s stage. that’s a reason why she doesn’t understand the shock value of a stripper club for any adult, doesn’t occur to her that her company isn’t accustomed to the establishment.
she navigates easily through the lusty lady, hand clasped around the younger’s one. delilah is clearly in her element and it shows on her relaxed posture. she is still in but a robe and the jewelry catches the light as they make their way towards the bar. she is always wearing jewelry, usually a gift from a patron. delilah likes to make a statement: she is definitely not cheap. not with her prices, not with her standards or fashion and definitely not with her drinks. so when she slithers in front of the bartender, her eyes are sharp and attentive. she knows how they exploit the patrons and she’s not having it tonight - at least, not for her company and her.
“choose your poison,” delilah tells elyse, an excited smile on her lips. “i’ll pay,” she continues, leaning idly against the bar counter. her eyes move then towards the stages, every one of them a different colleague of hers. delilah doesn’t know what elyse fancies, if boys or girls or both, so she decides to thrust the decision into her hands. besides, she is delilah’s guest, it’s only fair and polite to let elyse choose. the brunette puts her chin on the air as to point towards the stages behind the young witch. “we get to watch a performance. which one of them do you prefer?” she asks as casually as she asked for elyse’s drink. delilah leans closer to her as if her next words are a secret. “personally i think our girls are prettier, but we can watch the boy if that’s what you’re into.”
Stepping over from viewing the dead world to the living world was a lot like waking from a dreaming state. It could even be seen in the way Tia’s brown eyes were still vaguely unfocused on the other woman as though they were looking through her instead of directly at her. For a moment Tia glanced away, spotting the weeping ghost moving down it’s path once more. Silently Tia wondered where she was going, why she was weeping and what she could do to help. But quickly she was reminded that she needed to return to the world of the living before she was lost among the dead.
She took her hand off the woman’s ribs, shook her head as though she was resetting an old sketch pad then smiled up at the other woman. Perhaps if her magic was more powerful she could have sensed the magic that resided within the other. But with few resources for lessons and only her friends to teach her, not to mention her own procrastination to learn magic, Tia’s magic was manageable at best. So she had to think quickly as to explain why she just randomly stopped the woman in her tracks by grabbing her just to claim she mistook her for a ghost. She couldn’t be sure how well the explanation of ‘I’m a witch and sometimes I can see, touch and talk to dead people.’ would go over. Luckily Tia already had an explanation jump to her mind.
“Because of how pretty you are.” While meant as a distraction from the truth it also did hold another truth. Looking at the other woman Tia did find her beautiful. Her looks were elegant with refined features and eyes the color of lucky clovers. If she didn’t have the natural ability to see ghosts and she’d viewed this woman in the graveyard she might have mistaken her elegance for a mournful ghost, abandoned by her loved ones in a time gone by. But she was in her right time and as alive as Tia was. Tia’s hand didn’t disrupt her being when Tia touched her, her colors were vibrant and her voice was as clear as day.
“You know in movies when someone’s in a graveyard and in the fog they see a really pretty ghost who leads them on like a creepy mission or haunts them? That’s what I thought you were.” She hopes the other buys her lie as it’s the best she can come up with.
“I was kind of hoping you were a ghost cause then I’d get to have a ghost buddy and we’d go on ghost adventures.”
her curiosity shifts. she was then interested in finding names like her former one, reading and investigating graves. but now, she looks at the girl in front of her and she seems like she shouldn’t belong here but somehow she does. it’s curious, it’s unexpected that a young girl would feel so at ease in a cemetery. being someone who always looks for the unexpected and ways to turn her tedious life around, delilah feels inclined to abandon her quest in favor to inquire about this girl. perhaps she is just strange, but regardless, it’s a more interesting, solid prospect than she had all day.
the girl’s explanation is hardly surprising. delilah has no reason to suspect otherwise if not for her intuition. she can’t base anything concrete out of sheer intuition, no matter how strong she can grow as a witch, however. therefore she welcomes the answer, nods at it, smiles at the girl in front of her. her beauty is the explanation many humans and other creatures alike offer her for a myriad of things. while some may do it for good or innocent reasons - such as the young in front of delilah - others used it to justify their bad intentions. they did all the time when she was so young and trying to win a role, so young her powers weren’t strong enough to stop them.
her next words are a bit more unusual and delilah smiles again, an amused glint on her eye. she sounds as innocent as a child and it’s been a while since delilah has met people like her. in her line of business, it’s too rare for someone to conserve this kind of naivety. in fact, girls with her job just can’t afford to or else they would definitely perish a step away from the front door. again, she feels curious, wonders how the girl is able to keep such childish wonder about her.
“and what would those ghost adventures entail?” she asks, eyebrows raising.
delilah has ever celebrated a thing. halloween isn’t one of her exceptions. if perhaps she was allowed to be festive as a child, hop around streets trick or treating when she was young, she would see some magic in the holiday. instead, she sees an excuse for people to play pretend and find reasons to throw parties. which is fair, she doesn’t mind this part. she has a drink in her hand and though she feels very dislocated in a sorority party, alcohol is doing its part in dulling her loneliness. delilah takes a sip, it burns. she forgets she’s as alone as you can be while simultaneously surrounded by a group of people.
her costume isn’t the most elaborate. she doesn’t share the same excitement that at least half of the country has for the holiday, but blending in has been one of her talents since forever. delilah dresses as lana winters, stands in her green suit and skirt with an L brooch attached to her lapel. she has done her hair in a way to imitate the fictional character’s bob and is overall satisfied with the result, even if it’s not the most obvious. it’s unique, though, so it should count for something. it’s not a good conversation starter and she isn’t the most approachable so she observes people instead - watches as they get more and more inebriated and how they fall over each other. she almost laughs sometimes, too, though holds it in.
the clock hits midnight and she smiles then, a little bitter. november first.
happy birthday, florence.
she never celebrates halloween and she never celebrates her birthday either. she remembers she celebrated it once, when michelle paid her a luxurious dinner over an expensive bed some years ago. it was glorious and she felt as if life could be beautiful and meaningful. she doesn’t think so anymore. she hasn’t celebrated her birthday since and she definitely never had a chance to celebrate it when growing up, always too caught up on her next appointment.
she turns to the person next to her, tired of being passive. she puts on the charm though she doesn’t uses her magic on her words. she lets the person choose. “how ‘bout you get me a drink?”
ＤＥＬＩＬＡＨ ＩＳ ＬＩＫＥ Ａ ＤＥＥＲ caught in the headlights, any confidence she’d had before now gone. darcy takes pride in that — she did that. she has the power. even if delilah refuses to meet her, darcy doesn’t lose out. she doesn’t need the money that delilah’s father is offering her to provide her with this information, but the world surely does need one less sleaze in it. darcy is simply doing a good deed, though she’s not sure how evident that seems to the other right now.
‘ we can, ’ darcy responds, taking another drag from her cigarette, ‘ but it would be beneficial to you if you choose not to blow me off. ’ at the end of the day, making this woman rich is not darcy’s priority. but she knows that if it was her father who was killed and she didn’t get any money from it, she’d be pissed. perhaps it’s a corrupt concept, but darcy thinks she understands this woman, at least partially: they were both wronged by men who were supposed to raise them. the least they can do is leave them their entire fortunes once they’re gone. darcy’s arms fold.
‘ when do you finish? i’m happy to wait for you. ’ this is delilah’s one chance at amassing wealth that could take her out of work like this. but who knows — perhaps delilah–florence?–enjoys it. either way, darcy doesn’t care. this job has its benefits for darcy, too. darcy eyes the building that hosts the strip club and her brows furrow somewhat, her mind bursting with questions that she knows can wait. right now is all about business: she can work on softening delilah up once they’re sitting down over a meal.
delilah’s jaw locks and loosens up, however she tries to keep her expressions as neutral as possible. she enjoys being a mystery to never be uncovered and darcy just lifted the carefully crafted veil delilah put over her identity. the woman doesn’t equal the sentiment to being naked, she’s comfortable in her nakedness - at least, her physical one. this is the most exposed she’s been in years and it annoys her that it is to this woman by her stripper club’s backdoor. but it matters not, she tries to think to herself. she is a survivor. she’s adaptable and she trusts herself to put herself in a better position than this in the future. it’s by trusting herself and her power that she’s survived all the abuse when she was young, those long and loveless years.
however, the brunette can’t help but to feel the bite of annoyance at her company’s words, or should she say threat? delilah wants to scoff, makes a commentary on how the power play went straight to her fair haired head, but she refrains from it. instead she nods, a sigh falling from her lips. what’s left of her cigarette is thrown to the ground and she steps on it, putting her frustration into it. not only of this situation, but a little at herself. she should’ve killed her father, too. it would be impossible for him to come crawling from his resting hole, then. she can see she got a bit too greedy with him, wanting him to suffer miserably instead of a quick way out.
“in about an hour and a half,” she replies. “meet me in front of the sleepy grove motel and we’ll talk in private.” delilah says before opening the backdoor and slipping back into the lusty lady. she sinks back into her character and she enjoys the power even more, stripping her clothes and her patrons’ money. her worries and the newfound anxiety her encounter pushed to the surface boils her blood and incendiates her performance. delilah barely see time going through her and it seems too soon when she’s walking towards the motel. her appearance is still impeccable when she gets to it, even after completing her shift on the stripping pole. she is differently dressed though, the robe replaced by tight dark jeans, a white top with a plunging neckline and a jacket.
sharp eyes recognize the form of the woman who turned her night upside down. “follow me, they have a room for me,” of course, this room wasn’t destined to their meeting at first. but nevermind that, she will deal with her other business another night. this seems to be more pressing. the brunette gestures the woman to follow her and delilah quickly gets the key for the room before deftly navigating through hallways to it. she speaks not until they’re inside the room and the door is closed. once it is, delilah sighs and strips her jacket. “so,” she starts, looking at the blonde. “you met my dad. how is he?” the stripper asks, though there’s a gleam in her eye that gives away she doesn’t want happy news.
CHALLENGE 002, compose or share the scariest ( long or short ) story you’ve written
so this is a drabble that i wrote long ago and it’s just. pure gorey madness. i have no idea what came over me when i wrote this, but yeah! this is a character that is hired to kill people and this target spills blood on his designer clothes and he goes absolutely insane.
tw for murder, knives, blood, gore, drugs.
The man coughs and a smile spreads through Mitch’s lips. He crosses his lithe arms in front of his chest and watches as his targets struggles to breathe.
“I said before,” He says almost sweetly. “Pick your poison of choice. You thought it was a figure of speech, didn't you?”
His target eyes the glass of wine that sits neatly in the coffee table and his mouth falls agape, shock twisting the ordinary features of his face. “You poisoned me?” He shrieks and Mitch frowns.
“It is true what they said that you’re not very smart.” The boy sighs and looks down as if talking to a child. “Of course I poisoned you, my darling. That’s what I was paid to do.”
“Paid--” He heaved. What was his name again? Mark? Matthew? “By who?”
“Well isn’t it cliché if I tell you all my plans?” Mitch replies. “And chances are, you know by who. I never killed a person that didn’t know why they were being killed.”
Mark becomes very silent despite of his hard breathing and Mitch smiles in approval, rising from his seat and connecting his phone to some speakers. “Do you mind music?” He asks but quickly adds. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You will be dead very soon and the opinions of the dead are irrelevant.”
“And you plan on listening to music while watching me die?” The accusatory bloodshot eyes were on him again and Mitch simply shrugs.
“Well I do have to be sure you’re dead. Plus, I need to dump your body somewhere too. I’m just trying to entertain myself meanwhile.”
Mitch wonders if he could shock Matthew even further in this short span of time that he has left. He is definitely not a fun target per se. Poisoning him was so easy it’s almost laughable, but his apparent naivety now that he is dying is quite amusing. It’s almost a shame that he will soon lose the ability to speak. Waiting for them to die is always terribly boring and he almost always ends up online shopping for things that he doesn’t even need.
The man falls from the couch and Mitch rolls his eyes and steps closer. “Come on, now, don’t go staining my carpet.” He says and he is being friendly. He is reaching for Martin to help him out of the floor when he - the ungrateful little thing - raises his head to spit blood in Mitch’s direction.
It doesn’t reach anywhere near his face which truly, would make Mitch less upset. He draws a shaky breath as if he was poisoned himself and he looks down. Blood was dotting against his sweater and the pale skinny jeans he was wearing. His hands are shivering when he reaches down to hold the fabric between his fingers and his eyes immediately fill with hot, angry tears.
“Do you… Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?” He whispers, dropping the sweater. His eyes are black and shiny and a tear slips through his cheek. His target looks at him with more fear than he’s done the whole night and Mitch drops to his knees next to him, cradling his head to his lap and trailing his fingers through the man’s oily hair.
“Oh honey,” He murmurs almost sweetly and more tears fall from his eyes. “You don’t, don’t you?” Mitch sighs heavily. “This… What you just stained is designer. Not only that, but it’s sold out. It means I can’t buy another one just because you ruined it.” His fingers tighten on Mark’s hair until he’s whining quietly. “This also means, my darling, that you are a fucking ungrateful little bitch.” He yanks the man’s hair now, making him yell in pain. His thumb reaches the blood dotted mouth of his target’s and he smears it until his lips and his chin are painted red. “I would let you die mercifully. I would let you die with almost no pain.” His voice becomes gradually louder. “And THIS is how you thank me?” Mitch shakes the fabric in front of the man’s eyes and with another violent tug in his hair, he crushes his head away from his lap and against the hard floor.
Mitch sighs and sniffs, shakily dabbing his tears on his sleeves. It doesn’t matter anymore. His sweater is ruined no matter how much he loves it. He could possibly find a knock off but he doesn’t wear knock offs. He deserves nothing but the best. He will definitely charge extra because of this little accident.
He raises from where he is kneeled and reaches for a drawer on his tv rack, retrieving a rope. Again, it’s not there for this kind of activity, but it will have to do for now. The heel of his boot dig into Matthew’s shoulder and the man cries which only makes Mitch steps harder on it.
“Shut the fuck up!” He says and quickly works the rope around his target’s wrists in the most painful knot he can manage. Mitch wraps the rest of the rope around his hand and pulls on it, dragging the man through the living room and to the hallway. He only stops by the kitchen, drawing a knife from where it stands on the counter, resuming his journey soon after. He ignores the cries and yells and gasps of the man, satisfied to hear the flesh bumping against wood and concrete. It’s only when he hears the sound of glass rattling that he stops on his tracks, his heel now pressing to Martin’s temple. “I swear that if you ruin my furniture too I will make this even more painful.”
Thankfully, nothing breaks by the time they get to the room. It reeks of chemicals and Mitch drops the man on the cold tiles. His eyes are puffy and red and he is still sniffing which would make a heartbreaking scene if it wasn’t for the distinct sparkle in his eyes while he is holding a knife to his hand.
“You are such a fucking fool,” Mitch says, bottom lip trembling. “We didn’t need to get this violent. But you had to stain my clothes.” He is moving around in front of a counter and the man is heaving against the floor, staining it with his blood as another coughing fit shakes him. “There’s a reason why I use poison. It avoids all the messiness. You know, I value more my clothes than the image of your blood spilling everywhere, but now that my clothes are ruined…” Mitch swallows thickly and tears run through his cheeks again. “And you’re such a cheap target!” He cries, accusatory and upset, pointing the knife to Martin. “What I’m wearing covers more than half of the paycheck I’m getting to kill you!”
He sobs quietly before grabbing his lighter and his knife, stepping closer to the man who is also crying on the floor. It makes Mitch even angrier. What is he crying for? He has nothing to lose anymore. He was going to die anyway. Mitch has to live and he has to live without his beautiful clothes. Matthew is begging by now, his voice echoing in the most annoying way in the room and Mitch closes his eyes, too annoyed and too upset to endure this any longer.
“Shut up!” And Martin doesn’t. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He repeats and repeats, the heel of his boot pressing against his target’s teeth and tongue until Mitch hears the satisfying sound of his jaw popping out of place. The man’s yell is muffled by the shoe on his mouth and Mitch finally smiles a little despite the tears on his face.
“Now that this is taken care of,” Mitch sighs and he drops to the floor, straddling the man’s hips to keep him in place. “You can be a doll and listen to something.” He runs the tip of the knife through his abdomen, cutting the strings that tied the buttons to the fabric and spreading his shirt open. “In movies, they make it look so simple to cut through flesh. But let me show you,” Mitch then presses the tip of the knife to the skin of the man’s belly, but it draws only a bit of blood. “It’s actually not that easy. In fact, you need to put more strength to it, like this,” He raises the knife then and buries it now to the flesh of the man below him. A bit of blood bubbles up and stains the pale skin and Mitch smiles through his tears. “You saw that? Saw how much strength i need to put to break all of your disgusting tissues?”
The man reply with muffled whines and Mitch frowns while looking at his glossy eyes. “You’re going in shock already?” He huffs. “You’re positively boring. I’ll be quicker then.” He retrieves the knife from where it sits on Mark’s stomach making blood raise to the surface. “You could’ve been good.” He draws the knife and stabs him another time and another time. “But then again, I think that if you could be good you wouldn’t have people trying to kill you, would you?” His knife is up in the air again but he doesn’t stab the man. Instead, he runs his hand through the open wounds, smearing blood and scraping skin out of the edges of the cuts. Mitch tries to open it further with his hands and it works a little, making his chest swell with pride. “You wouldn’t be in bars, trying to slip drugs into pretty boys’ drinks, right? You wouldn’t leave them to wake up at a cheap hotel in the morning, would you?” He takes a deep breath now, running his knife up the man’s chest. “And if you were good, you wouldn’t stain the clothes of someone who offered you a death without much suffering, right?” Mitch takes a last look at his clothes before burying the knife on the man’s throat, just above his collarbones.
the torture of decisions. delilah faces its curse now, staring down at her vanity. she supposes no name can be more appropriate than vanity as she admires her own figure on the mirror. she runs a slender hand over her neck, head falling back as her hair cascades past her shoulders. she is a view and she recognizes it, embraces it. her beauty lends her power, lets her stand in such a comfortable life in this day. she is careful about the ways to enhance it and thus finds herself here, staring at the expensive pieces of jewelry laid out for her. most of them are gifts from very generous patrons that she gracefully accepted. but right now, she has a hard time deciding which one she wears tonight.
she is already in her dress, long and feeling luxurious against her skin. to anyone peering from the outside, it might seem that delilah is out for a kill tonight. she is sure using her war armour, nothing but the most expensive, most refined pieces from her wardrobe. delilah has no ambition involving seduction tonight, at least not when it comes to her company for the night. however, her partner is enough to evoke this side of her. the one that values the extravagant and the beauty and the privilege. in this life, they both know that something rarely shines, but when it does, it better be gold.
her fingers hover above her choices before she finally decides for a topaz and diamond earring in white gold. the stones remind her a bit of her counterpart’s eyes and she finds he might like the detail. it sure looks beautiful against her dark curls and she smiles, satisfied. delilah texts him that she is ready and leaving before reaching for her purse and leaving the dark apartment to find her car waiting for her. they’re meeting in the manducare, an ode to the luxury they so much appreciate. although many people would be absolutely delighted to be there, delilah finds it to be more of a distraction. she’s seen many beautiful places. although again, it’s the power that beauty lends to them, the status.
“izador,” delilah says, sharp grin on her face as she walks towards him, green eyes sparkling even in the dark. she takes a few confident steps towards him and the sound of her heels echo. “so glad we have this night for ourselves,”
Aethelwyn was a competent meyr of the sea. More competent than most, from almost any ocean. Her people were resourceful and fierce, adaptable to changing tides and seasons. She was older than any human creature walking the earth today, and wiser than most. Aethelwyn had faced down stiff competition, tamed fierce sea creatures, and read all the books in her mother’s library.
But she still could not figure out self checkouts.
The line for the regular cashier had been very long, and Aethelwyn was in no mood to wait. There was a time and a place to practice patience, but this was not it. All she wanted was to pay for her produce–since it seemed to go bad so quickly, she was constantly having to buy more–and be on her way.
While she was standing in the line for the mortal to look at her items and tell her how much currency she had to pay in exchange, she had noticed a line going much quicker to the left of her. There, it seemed machines were used in place of the human. Always one for a new experience–and increased efficiency–Aethelwyn took her basket (another thing she couldn’t understand: she had brought a bag to put her items in, but had to use the basket from the establishment prior to paying), and moved over. A grave error.
Many minutes had passed, and the usually calm, and composed daughter of the sea was starting to feel like a complete imbecile. Items were not ‘scanning’ correctly, and then the machine seemed to berate her for not putting them in the correct place after entering them into the computer’s system. She could hear the grumblings of people behind her, and only just managed to keep from throwing a baleful glance in their direction. She could not blame them for being impatient; she was impatient.
A body came into her field of vision, and she turned her head quickly, blonde hair flashing over her shoulder, face tight. “It is this stupid machine!” she reported, gesturing impatiently, and trying to hide her embarrassment and frustration. “I am going as fast as I can.”
Don’t apologize. Apologies indicate weakness. You have nothing to be sorry for. You are a Regent of the Arkic. It is the idiotic human invention that is inconveniencing you and everyone else.
grocery shopping is but one of the most disgraced activities in delilah’s book. she despises the filled aisles, all the people leisurely strolling down the tight spaces deciding what they should take home. delilah is more focused, following a mental list of things needed - and things not necessarily needed, like the fancy bottle of cabernet she has inside her basket. she usually tries to have her groceries delivered to her, but when it comes to produce, she feels she can’t quite trust others to make choices so she forces herself to explore the options herself.
she’s a different sight, for sure. not only her presence in the grocery store, but also her styling. delilah is surely still glamorous, her clothes clearly having a nice cut and nice fabric, but it’s a toned version of her night wear. her face is clean and glowing, nothing but moisturizer on it and her hair tied loosely in a low ponytail. it’s entirely different from her valentine figure and yet she knows her looks still can’t be bypassed. she’s sure because some people still gather up the nerve to try and talk to her, despite the intimidating expression she usually wears in places like this. it’s a bit pathetic and she sends them on their way quickly, no one enough to catch her attention for too much time.
when it comes to scanning her items, delilah doesn’t even try to go towards the cashiers. she doesn’t desire to submit herself to any more social interaction than needed so instead, she goes to the direction to the self check out machines. delilah tries to keep herself busy in line, her attention to her cellphone instead of her surroundings. so it takes her a few moments to notice the small commotion and the annoyed murmurs behind her. the brunette looks up and takes in the scene. a blonde woman battles with the machine and delilah can’t help but smile amusedly. eyes rake up and down while delilah decides if she should offer aid.
on the one hand, she isn’t too much fond of interacting with people in this scenario, especially because it means she needs to put on the effort to help. on the other, delilah has a hunch that this woman is more than she appears to be. anyone that spent enough time in this earth knows how to operate the machine or, at least, has a good instinct for it. she looks too young to be this clueless around technology, as well and delilah just wonders - where is she from? and more importantly, what is she?
“here,” she says, softly and even friendly. “let me help you with it.” delilah says and then points to the space on the blonde’s left. “you have to put all your items here. the machine weights it,” she explains. “then you scan these bars under here,” delilah then proceeds to show her the barcode and scan it, before placing it on her bag, on the opposite side. “then you put it back down here, see?”
Where: The Graveyard
When: Fall
Who: Open to anyone
A cold wind weaves through the air chilling Tia to the bone despite the jacket she wears. Gray skies threaten to break into rain at any moment, the only sound through the entire graveyard is leaves rustling in the wind. Tia stands alone amongst the gravestones, the only living being to be seen. Yet her eyes are focused on something not walking on the same plane as her or the rest of her world.
To her the graveyard is packed with people of all ages wandering to and fro with nowhere to go. Spirits walk the land looking for a destination that they can’t seem to find. Each tell a different story without uttering a single word. Just by looking at them Tia can see the ways they’ve passed. At one time she would have been terrified to see other humans in such grotesque manners. But she was older now and numb to the sights of the dead. Her mind had separated the living from the dead. She pitied them yes, she felt horrible seeing spirits with their necks twisted from hangings or their skins turned to leather from burnings. But it wasn’t like if she saw them when they were alive. It was like seeing them as holograms or on film. They were real but not real at the same. It felt impossible to explain.
Tia’s focus was latched so much on the dead she didn’t even realize there was anyone alive in the graveyard. Much less right in front of her. If they were trying to get her attention or just passing by she didn’t see them. Her hand did reach out though trying to touch the crying ghost of the woman before her to comfort the woman. But her hand passed through the woman and instead she touched the living person before her. Tia froze for a few seconds coming back to the world of the living as she stared at the person who she was now resting her hand on. She pauses a moment before very blatantly stating
shadowed green eyes look ahead, to the expanse of land in front of her. the gray horizon is cut and cropped by the silhouette of the headstones, protruding from the earth in uneven shapes and reaching for the sky. reaching, but never close enough. delilah figures it’s such a waste of space, such a terrible misuse of the land. there are so many people who can’t find a home, and yet the dead have permanent residence? the idea seems absurd to her. however, she needs to admit that it serves her purpose at the moment.
humans fear being forgotten and being one, delilah can sympathize with it. so they bury their people on the ground and mark their names in hopes that the next ones will do the same with them, in hopes that someone will remember them. delilah has no one she wants to remember and even if she wanted, her mother isn’t buried in this particular graveyard. she has no idea if she was buried at all. but nevermind that, delilah doesn’t want to remember, but she wants to search. her brief stay in south dakota has taught her of the supernatural and how so many people are like her. granted, they’re not exactly like her - she’s yet to find someone who can bewitch another with her words as she does - but they’re human and gifted similarly to her. except they know the source of their gifts and delilah is but clueless about it.
she’s never been to keen on family, seeing her mother’s abuses and lack of affection and her father wanting nothing to do with her. nevertheless, delilah can’t help but to be curious, to wonder about her lineage and if the attraction she feels for south dakota has any meaning at all. so she cruises the graveyard, eyes fixed on the headstones, looking for the familiar surname that now feels strange. bedrosian, bedrosian, bedrosian - is any bedrosian buried in those grounds?
her focus is on gray stones, but she notices the girl standing on the path. delilah barely pays her attention, not wanting to attract attention to her as well. the touch, however, is surprising and delilah’s delicate brows knit together, staring at the girl with confusion. delilah chuckles a bit at the deadpan statement, turns to face the girl and places her hand on top of hers on her arm.
“oh why would you think that? aside from our setting,” delilah says, gesturing around them. “i’m very much alive, as far as i’m concerned, anyway,”
It has been a long, long, long night for Lucía. One that started at sundown and went on and on until the sun had set again, the next day. Two days merged into one endless night, where she barely got to catch a glimpse of the sunlight, when one of her clients had stumbled off the bed and knocked against the blinds of the hotel room, making them swinging and letting in treacherous rays of light. Lucía had hated that, because she had been able to perceive details of the people in the room that she would have much rather kept literally in the dark. There had been four people, she’s pretty sure. Of different ages. Men, women and who knew what else, the light had been gone before she could pinpoint exactly. But the light from the candles and few lamps lit in the room had blinded the weyr when it bounced off of the wedding bands that they all wore. They didn’t seem to feel them, but Lucía swore she could (even if gold wasn’t supposed to burn her, unlike silver) as they travel along her skin and even inside of her.
And as she laid, face down on the luxurious hotel’s carpet, with a grunting politician digging his meaty fingers into her protruding hipbones, Lucía felt so incredibly guilty. A differently kind of guilt than the one than usually plagued her just for existing… This one had to do with the most piercing green eyes she had ever had the privilege of seeing… And later getting lost in: delilah.
Delilah, with her dancing on and off stage that could hypnotize and make Lucía blissfully forget who she was, where she was and what she did. Delilah, whose hands and lips ripped genuine sighs and whimpers and moans from Lucía’s throat like nobody else had ever been able to do. Delilah, who made Lucía voluntarily renounce to hiding from the world after a long day and follow her wherever she was, trying to hide the eagerness she felt at seeing the brunette.
Lucía is thinking about Delilah’s sharp cheekbones, her eyes, her caramel skin, her talented fingers, her scent, and it is this train of thought that gets her through her last patron of the day, who leaves her crumpled on the carpet, in a mess of dirty sheets, undergarments and erotic paraphernalia. He quite literally throws the wad of cash on Lucía’s battered body and it takes her many minutes to finally be able to get on her feet and into the bathroom. She’s taking full advantage of the hotel this high profile client had chosen and she uses the bathtub, the shower, the minibar and everything that she can (also swipes some things, those towels are soft). Because she deserves it and also because there’s no way in Hell that she’s going to meet Delilah reeking of whatever inferno she had just survived.
Which is why the rare sight of an almost make up-less Lucía is making her way to the motel room where they are supposed to meet. Looking so much younger than she is, freckles and natural, still wet curls, skinny jeans and a tasteful crop top that displays her toned figure. She takes a deep breath to quell the fluttering in her stomach and she walks in, feeling for the first time in forever that she can finally breathe properly, shoulders instantly relaxing and a small heat blooming across her cheeks. She mimics the smile and leaves her bag by the door, stepping closer and licking her lips. “I gotta do what I gotta to do to keep you interested, Dels. Can’t risk you bailing on our little getaways, can I?” She steps even closer, itching to reach out and touch the other woman, but reigning the eagerness. It’s how they did things.
delilah thinks her excitement should decrease now that lucía is finally here, just an arm’s reach away. anticipation reached its climax and now she’s here, all soft decorated skin and wet golden curls and delilah can’t seem to get her heart rate to a sensible speed. if anything, it beats faster, adrenaline and oxytocin and everything else running thick inside her veins. her heart lurches against her chest, propelling delilah forward, leading her closer in lucía’s direction, closer to drowning in her eyes. she thinks she might have to take a breath soon.
a step closer and delilah huffs a laugh. what a silly notion - that she might bail on their encounters. of course, the brunette doesn’t dwell on thoughts about the nature of their relationship. she thinks of their intoxicating moments, she thinks of how much lucía colors her nights and breathes life into her. however, she thinks not of what they are and how enamored she already finds herself. she can’t admit to herself, doesn’t know how. in their world, love comes with a price. how can she justify giving it willingly? no payment except lucía’s smiles and sighs and the deep satisfaction in delilah’s very soul. it’s uncharted territory, so she doesn’t dwell on it, rather prefers to enjoy the present. and the present brought them here.
but then again, there’s something she can admit: it’s very unlikely she will trade these encounters for anything else. terribly unlikely to see her interest in the weyr decrease. and delilah looks at her, affectionate and amused, as if lucía just told her an amusing, endearing joke. “as if you need any of these tricks,” she says, taking another step forward and closing the distance between them. “you suffice to keep me interested in our getaways,” green eyes stare at her then and she says it almost as a whisper.
“you smell good,” delilah observes then. she reaches for a curl, fingers tangling on it before moving her hand upwards. she brushes a thumb over lucía’s collarbone, mouth watering and licking her lips. upwards, caressing a slender neck and her jaw. delilah figures that she can just kiss her, lay her on the motel bed, but it feels too thoughtless. it feels as if she’s another one on her bed and the brunette feels she doesn’t want that. no - she wants lucía to remember her. she wants the best in her bed, wants to plague lucía’s thoughts just like the blonde plagues hers. her thumb brushes lucía’s cheek then and delilah’s lips follows it. one cheek, then the other, then the corner of the blonde’s mouth - lips lingering, inviting.
Elyse never thought that she’d find a friend that brought her to such a place but she wasn’t the type to judge. She was usually told who judge and how to harshly or kindly to view them, but when left to her own devices everyone was welcomed with open arms. Elyse didn’t quite understand the concept behind why the Lusty Lady seemed so enclosed, no windows to peer inside. Didn’t they want to look out? See the light and the people passing by? Or even just to see time pass with the sun?
‘Yeah they all say that kiddo, I’m not lettin’ a fuckin’ twelve-year-old in here. We’re at capacity.’ The bouncer easily towered over her, intimidating and burly. Elyse didn’t want to bother him but when a promise was made she didn’t break it. No white lies, no rainchecks, Elyse Night would always find a way. Ideally, it was never too dramatic she wasn’t the type to barrel through and make a show of herself and her powers; mostly because her powers were very hit and miss at the best of times.
“I’m technically half a person.” True in many different ways, but she spoke mostly of her height. To that, she got a gesture for her to turn around and so she did. She stood to the side of the small line that had formed behind her and chewed her lip. The last thing Elyse wanted was the woman thinking that she was late or that she’d even forgotten to stop by. Politeness was so integral to keeping her grounded in what little semblance of self she had. The least she could do was send a text.
“Hi Del, it’s Elyse! The security are saying you guys are full up. I can wait until you finish your shift, I’ll just be out the front.” And so it was sent, she fully content to spend her evening in the fall chill.
delilah goes through the motions in an easy, rehearsed way. routine comes easily and she can let muscle memory lead her. her body moves and she is shedding layers and earning dollar bills. honey-like smiles, just on the tasteful side of suggestive and they’re on their knees. or rather - on their foot. they rush to the stage and money is thrown at her, put on her stockings, around the strap of her shoe. she loves the power rush it gives her and she loves to leave them dangling, hanging to this flimsy thread of hope - of love - that she offers them. and she does so once her number is over. but her eyes promise she will be back so she knows they will as well.
familiarity leads her through the hallway, easily holding her thin garments inside her fist. the next steps are easy. she stands in front of her mirror, makeup thrown around her vanity in disarray. dabs her face and with a fling of brushes her makeup is once again flawless - not that she needs much. but she enjoys the dressing up and dolling up that her job entails. delilah is just slipping into her next outfit when her phone vibrates and she reaches for it, smiles at the name that lights up on the screen but frowns at the actual text.
“hi sweetheart! so excited you could make it! don’t worry, i’ll be right out” she types quickly before slipping onto one of her robes. nobody was to see the merchandise if they’re not paying, after all.
there’s a smile on her face as she goes to the door, though. elyse is as sweet as one can be and delilah learned to adore her in their short time together. surely, one wouldn’t think that inviting someone like elyse to the lust lady would be prudent, but delilah just doesn’t see no harm. she is a grown up and besides, by twenty-two delilah was already an escort so in her mind, it’s no different than inviting elyse up to her apartment or a cafe.
“elyse!” she calls once she is just out the door, trying to pull her towards the door but not wanting to drift too far. potential patrons are watching and again, nobody can have a show if they don’t pay. delilah turns then to the bouncer, sweet smiles and sweet stares and absolute honey in her voice. “she is with me. she can come in,” the last part doesn’t sound like a command, but again, familiarity rushes through her and delilah means it like a command. the bouncer immediately complies, nods and ushers both girls inside.
delilah reaches for elyse, excitement clear on her smile and her stance. she hugs the younger girl as soon as she’s in the reach of her arms. “i’m so happy you actually came!” the brunette says. “c’mon, have you been in the lusty lady yet? you’re gonna love it.”
“And yet you don’t sound surprised that someone might just stumble on back here,” Bennett said sarcastically. He knew that Delilah had an ability to keep herself out of trouble, to protect herself from rowdy patrons, but it was still his job to make sure all the girls were safe. And that included the ones who slipped out the back exit. The ones who had an uncanny ability to slip away from even the post persistent hands.
“They’re not supposed to be here, but neither are you.” He crossed his arms over his chest, biceps bulging from under his short sleeves. He made an intimidating figure to those looking to cause trouble, and that was usually enough. Not that he was trying to intimidate Delilah. He hadn’t yet seen the person who could do that.
a smile graces her lips when she hears her company. she doesn’t mean it to be charming, she barely ever does. but it translates so, if with sharp edge to it. delilah is hardly mocking bennett, but she does think he is amusing. for a man, that is. it’s equally amusing to use his powers when he is paying attention to her patrons. if she was a tad more cautious, delilah should probably let patrons bother her, just so it doesn’t become evident that she is the only one that never seems to need the bouncers’ help to deal with them. however, she doubts anyone notices. bennett seems to be an exception, though she isn’t quite sure.
her cigarette burns when she inhales again and she drops her arm to the side to tap the ash away. she licks her lips and looks at bennett from where she lays against the wall. delilah is completely relaxed, doesn’t see the reason for bennett to be so tense. “oh i was just trying to be considerate, not smoking inside,” delilah says, smile on her lips but an amused tone that betrays the lie of her sentence. “am i in trouble?” she asks him, sarcasm not failing. “are you here to scold me?”
ＤＡＲＣＹ’Ｓ ＬＩＰＳ ＱＵＩＲＫ ＵＰＷＡＲＤＳ, her gaze lowering in thought. she likes this one: it would be a shame for delilah to ruin it with insolence, but luckily, all darcy sees here is wariness. delilah is protecting herself; she is playing innocent. the blonde sees some of herself in the other, but she’s just not sure how much — darcy, too, must be wary. the human pulls her lighter from the same pocket she pulled her cigarette packet from, lighting it up and taking a short drag before she asks, ‘ did your mother? ’
it is a question that is intended to stun, and so darcy waits a moment before her brows rise questioningly, the movement reaffirming her question. yes, it’s a serious one. she takes a drag of her cigarette before she exhales, her head tilting upwards in order to avoid the smoke flowing in her direction. if anyone passed the two of them by, it would look like a casual conversation — darcy keeps things too casual in order to keep delilah on edge.
darcy continues, ‘ did she do charity work, i mean. ’
there is another brief pause before darcy frowns somewhat, reflective of the new thought in her mind — one that isn’t really a new thought at all. she knows where she’s going with this. her statement is risky, and in truth it is inconsequential, but it is meant to grasp at delilah’s attention rather than provide her with an answer.
‘ no, ’ darcy frowns, ‘ that wouldn’t line up. you know, your father told me a lot of things, but there are some things that don’t add up. i was actually hoping you could help me with that — it would save us both a lot of trouble down the line, florence… and it could certainly make you a lot of money, too. ’
delilah has barely any passion for anything in life, charmspeak and other curses dulling her excitement. one thing is for sure, however - if there’s anything that holds value to her is herself. she was a late bloomer when it comes to self preservation but she quickly became a master at it. that’s the reason why she’s been protective of her identity and her past - no one can exploit her vulnerabilities if they don’t know about them. she’s become so good at it that the nauseating feeling in the pit of her stomach when the blonde asks about her mother hits her like a punch. the notion of fear is strange now, she hasn’t felt it in so long. but delilah definitely feels it now - it flashes on her eyes, only if briefly.
her brain reels, going a mile per hour, racing her heart to the finish line. green eyes look down and delilah scoffs, stretches her lips in a mocking smirk. the bluff is on the tip of her tongue - i don’t know what you’re talking about - before the woman beats her to it. her head snaps up again, jaw setting at the mention of her previous name. she hasn’t been florence in so long she almost forgot that’s the name her mother bestowed on her. fear shifts and turns inside her gut and she feels a bit sick, not comfortable to be in the losing end of this power battle. delilah looks at the woman for no longer than a minute, deciding, measuring the possibilities she has. well, if she knew of florence, what good would pretending be?
she chuckles then, dry and humourlessly. delilah looks down, takes another drag of her cigarette. there is little humour to the situation, but so much irony. her father said he never wanted to know about her again the last time he saw her. eyes peer up again. “well, dear old dad is looking for me, huh? ain’t that a first,” she says, between the bitterness and sarcasm. the brunette takes a moment to think - she can’t do this now, not here. “it’s no surprise daddy’s story doesn’t line up,” delilah continues. “i’m willing to talk, but not here- this is my workplace. i’d prefer my personal business remain personal. can we meet somewhere else?”
the moon is already low on the sky when delilah exits the lusty lady. her body is heavy with the toll of a long night entertaining patrons and satisfying their thirst for love. she can never understand how they can find any fulfillment in the shallow interactions they hold in the strip club. granted, all the girls - delilah, especially - are good in creating the illusion of love and attraction. after two years, delilah is but an expert in flirting with patrons but letting them think nobody receives the same treatment. one suggestive look and there are dollars in her stockings. a secret smile and she has them on their knees for her, emptying their wallets of money and their chests with promises. delilah lets them think she believes them, that they just gotta keep coming one more night and soon she will be theirs. people can really be blind when they’re desperate for love.
hands tighten the coat around her frame, the autumn chill biting as she walks away from the club. for once, she is not going home to fall in bed as soon as possible. although said perspective would upset her usually, it’s not the case for this night. she expects she will fall in bed eventually but not by herself. there is a smile on the corner of her smile, subtle and barely there, but one she cannot seem to push back despite her talent for acting. this smile is all for her - lucia.
they met when delilah was just a newcomer and the nature of their relationship caught delilah by surprise. she is very well used to be the magnet, attracting people and their affections like metal scraps no matter where she walks. she would think that another magnet would repel her instead of attracting her, but lucia proves her wrong. or perhaps, lucia just changes something deep inside of her and delilah is metal and she is magnet, pulling the younger hopelessly in her direction. either way, delilah doesn’t seem to be able to resist the pull lucia has on her or the smile that permeates her face whenever she is to meet her.
so for once, the end of the night means the beginning of something exciting. delilah puts herself on the way for the motel they agreed on. she would bring lucia to her place but she doesn’t feel like dealing with annabelle, not wanting to ruin her peaceful night with any sort of quarrel. that, and the uneasy feeling that accompanies it. somehow, meeting her inside her own space, her home, feels too intimate, too close for the unspoken arrangement they have. they are not yet, delilah doesn’t think so. then in the motel they meet.
delilah arrives first, denies herself to think why lucia isn’t there yet. instead, she takes the smell of the strip club to the shower and washes it off, slips on her own bathrobe when she feels finally clean. thankfully, she doesn’t have to wait for much longer, for she hears the door clicking and a smile appears on her face as she turns to welcome her company for the night.
“you sure know how to keep a woman waiting,” delilah says, soft and with no heat on her voice. she approaches the other, relaxed and even happy. “i’m just kidding. hello lucia,” and her smile grows, bright and warm.
