her shoulders rise and fall in an easy sort of shrug, as she plucks a cigarette from the case. closing it with a snap she tucked it away. "maybe i'm just a little old fashioned," she said, lighting the cigarette. "i like to repay my favors, and you've done so much for me," she said. the other woman had saved her, twice over now.
julia was slow as she sat down beside her. still recovering from her injuries, the pain made her stiff, but every day it was getting better.
"another favor huh?" she asked, taking a drag off her cigarette. "then i think i might owe you two," she said. "what do you want faye?" she looked over at the other woman, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. "all you'll ever have to do is ask, you know."
Faye made a face of disgust as she finished the last of her drink, placing it aside. “ is there anything good in here? ” she grumbled, more to herself than anyone else.
“It’s a casino, honey. No. Nothing good can be found here. Just a matter of picking your poison, honestly.”
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Casino.
Not the typical den of sin this she-wolf hangs out in. Her ears ring with the clacks of spinning roulette, rolling of dice, beeping of machines, chiming of spare change, calling of numbers, and whispers making deals. Her nose stings with cigarette smoke and scotch and the stench of people who have been sitting in their seats all day or even longer.
But she won’t complain about a new adventure given a pinch-hit gig. The manager found her name and number to fill the slot of a lounge singer called off sick (or so she hopes, for how the story goes), and she can always use the cash which comes with a contract padded in this kinda luxury.
Jazz.
Not her strong suit. Unlike the matte silver three-piece she’s wearing, which looks pretty damn good, honestly. A sleek look for a slick place; a classy cover for her curves in a crowd of less than savory customers than the usual.
Besides, the job description read clear enough. She’s not to be the center of attention tonight. Performance from a small, velvet stage plants as an accessory, a background, a soothing song streaming in the heads of those spilling out their money, making them feel comfortable enough to keep doing so.
The nature of it raises her hackles, but it ultimately boils down to a more meaningful experience - hope. Hope keeps them at the tables. People who somewhere in the depths of their souls believe they can win, come out to try - they swarm the place. Their lien bleeds out from their wallets and her heart bleeds for their misplaced faith. She can still make the command her own, twist words to shepherd the lost in the best ways she knows how.
Harmonizer sits off to the side, plugged into some sweet ass amps provided by the house. The instrument holds a pre-programmed melody of simple, echoed beat and basic strums. Briar clicks play and dress shoes step to the mic stand. Her voice flows smooth and sweet, tail and body swaying in similar soft waves. Hands twist and worm in gestured emphasis, like a child’s stuck out of a car window and riding the air currents, like a creek bubbling over pebbles after a spring rain…
♫♫ This is my brand new day in the light
Trouble rising up on the left and the right
I keep my eyes fixed on where I want to go
The rest will follow
And this is my prayer without ceasing
the negative releasing
and as I rise above my burden is easing
This is my brand new day starting now
Letting go of the ways that I fall down
The old can be made new, the lost can be found
the lost will be found
This is my prayer without ceasing
the negative releasing
and as I rise above my burden is easing
I bring the pure flow, like water around
the rocks of life won’t pull me down
I bring the pure flow, drink so deep
the river of life, my soul at ease
I bring the pure flow, like water around
the rocks of life won’t pull me down
I bring the pure flow, rising above the storms of life
to live and love… ♫♫
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°୭•.═══ singers would come and go in lounges . faye hadn’t always paid attention to that , and she knew none of the others did . as far as a singer was concerned , their voices were meant to add to the ambiance . to let a few men who’d lost a game cry over their drink - and then return to their houses of cards and chips and broken lives . they’d drown in it, watch it all collapse on them and take everything they had away ….
but they’d still return .
faye knew she still would .
one thousand points. not bad . today’s round of pinochle was far better than the last few -
she eyed her lien , counting it in a dedicated , practiced manner . her mind was running through a checklist , things she could do with the amount . three hundred ….
she could go for a game of blackjack . the men there -
seven hundred lien .
or poker . no . the old guy there was hustling the others . sounded like a boring game to her . and definitely not an easy win .
the singer today was different . they always were . but the song was different too . out of place - not what you would expect in a place like this . too raw . too straightforward . and the woman wasn’t sad-faced or thin or red-eyed . she wasn’t just her clothes, and she didn’t have a volatile presence . the opposite of all that, actually .
different .
eleven thousand lien .
faye settled for a drink - ‘almost blue’ , the house special, intrigued her . looked like a smoky drink , with a sizzling campfire dying out in the rain . ninety lien . hah , daylight robbery .
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Seven hundred lien. Rent.
Three hundred lien. Food and supplies.
One hundred lien. Utilities.
Robbery, indeed. No free drinks for the employees here, so Briar sticks to water while sticking to a tight budget. Unless someone could repay some cosmic kindness…
Tempting, to take an immediate chunk of tonight’s gig and toss some on the table just to see what happens. Slip a coin in a machine. Test her poker face for one round. But, no, Briar’s full speed ahead, whole hearted lust for life doesn’t always know when to stop. Sometimes best not to start at all.
She gets it, though. Really, she does.
What a fascinating place. The people? She’s still working on. A loose lean supports her back on the lip of a bar counter as she gazes out and sips a goblet of water like white wine. Briar’s used to bar crowds looking heavy and tired. Or an audience raring and ready to rebel. These folks lie somewhere in between, if she had to say.
Most wear weary bags beneath bloodshot eyes, in the middle of a never-ending all night bender, yet they come alive every time they go the next round.
If she could bottle that feeling and bless her music with it, some of the world’s problems might be solved overnight.
Damn, does money motivate. But… there must be more to it than that. The atmosphere. The winning. The losing. The cycle of both. The immediate payoff and the promise of more. There’s a song waiting somewhere in here…
Humming, tapping toe of a dress shoe on the tile, she loses herself in the beat of her own thoughts, until someone slides into the seat she stands next to.
She smiles, full of friendliness almost too genuine, and casually asks, “What’s the feel out on the floor today? Hitting it big?”
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°୭•.═══ the presence from the stage drifted to her. her first instinct was to ignore her companion. drink up, go back to gambling , probably amass a few more debts and try not to get outed for the con woman she was. but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do , right ? no one thought about it that way , though . real pity .
she rested her head on her arm, frowning into the drink in a kind of weary , bored manner . ninety lien , and it tasted like complete crap - plus , the bartender didn’t seem to be the friendly sort . beer would have been a way better choice , honestly .
faye tilted her head , eyeing her companion for a moment or two . the singer . up close , she seemed a little more open , unlike the stuck up , sadder ones that usually cried for a solid hour at the counter , mascara running down their cheeks .
this one was worth her time , she decided . but not enough to con . she seemed sharp , smart . not the best victim to pick a gamble with .
she spread out a hand in flippant manner , red nails glinting under the light . “ just the usual . one thousand wasn’t much , but it wasn’t her usual amount either . it was normally much , much lower . not that she would admit it .
“ this place’s got easy wins . ” the truth ! half the men here didn’t seem to know they were being two-timed .” dim wits . ” the whole lot of them . women were smarter , in her opinion .
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Survival is tough. Tastes like grit and blood and shitty food and drink you must suffer through because you already paid for it. Human nature to want better, even if it means taking it with your own cunning hands. Most people here to see what they can scam from the laps of the more deluxe, whether by luck or by patience, or cheating and praying to the gods not to get caught.
Tiring to the bone, no matter how you slice it. But a girl’s definitely gotta do what she’s gotta. Sometimes it meant showing life and its rat race how that girl can put on an even tougher act.
Or, in Briar’s case, a fresh face with golden eyes aglow.
A dance within the gray of dim weather.
No need to con this woman; Briar would offer freely anything she had to give to someone without, if they only ask. But the other woman doesn’t. Drooping disinterest makes her appear too used to cutting her losses.
Yet cockiness in her comment says to the contrary, perhaps not tonight. She carries herself lowly but speaks of others as even lower. What an attitude to have. Fierce in the face of a hall of many failings.
Hips turn towards trash talk, and an easy laugh falls from Briar’s lips, “You sound like an experienced player, my dear. But I’d bet there are many who underestimate you.”
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°୭•.═══ many underestimated her, alright. that was part of the fun, really. gave her more opportunity to hustle a few of her opponents. play the shark. men took women too lightly in general – and she found some kind of twisted triumph in showing them their fallacy.
but that was superficial. like so many, many things about her. a patchwork of clothes from different people she never knew tailored to provide a mask of sorts. she supposed that everyone wore masks – especially in a place like this. but some people here were themselves. like they had broken that mask a long while ago.
like this woman here. that made faye wonder who she’d lasted for this long in a world like this. survival of the fittest. truth had no place here. everybody lied – so why not her?
experienced? well, you could say that. she let herself seem flattered – albeit in a coy, sly manner. tilted her head at the woman, a sea green eye studying her. a confident smile rested on her lips. all an act, through and through – a projection to hide her insecurity.
“ they wouldn’t know what hit them if they take me lightly. ”
her past self had been sleeping for years. then who was she, right now? she just had her first name at hand, her surname a placeholder. hah – she couldn’t even call her name hers.
valentine was a lie – and valentine was who she was. ‘faye’ wasn’t there anymore.
she made a face of disgust as she finished the last of her drink, placing it aside. “ is there anything good in here? ” she grumbled, more to herself than anyone else.
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Briar knows all about patchwork clothes and acts and masks made of others. Masks made for herself too, a performer. And maybe the secret is that after so long, it’s too hard to tell the difference. You can only wear a mask for so long before your skin gets used to the feel, before it starts to shape the contours beneath.
Some people do pull it off, some people do break it. Briar can’t remember the last time she donned or doffed one, not intentionally. She absorbs them, makes them her own, until changing personas came as simple as changing her own expression, no need to pretend, no need to hide, every facet of the soul a part of her.
What the woman sees is not the disowning of a mask, but acceptance that everyone wears different faces for different reasons.
Admittedly, though, hers is not as painted up today. Lashes which blink as Briar meets her side-eye and listens, not as full.
they wouldn’t know what hit them if they take me lightly.
Another sip of water, and then she thinks, hard hitter then. But doesn’t ask if that means the games or the people.
She doesn’t ask her name, either. Not yet. Briar sees many people come and go, finds what someone is called less important than what they have to say. Names only important if a need to ever address a person beyond a single interaction makes itself known. And she has a hunch that this is the type of woman who likes to fade away, disappear just like the dregs of her drink; force a finish, win or lose.
Another sip of water, and then laughter huffs and shoulders bounce at the question, and Briar smirks. Her paycheck only dictates the words offered on stage; after and aside she can say whatever she likes.
Her lean sinks further against the counter, and her head tilts to the side as if she shares some great secret of life, or at least something bigger than the drink menu, “It’s a casino, honey. No. Nothing good can be found here. Just a matter of picking your poison, honestly.”
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°୭•.═══════ she’d been expecting to hear the woman’s name, the moment she’d stepped onto the stage. they usually announced their ‘ special stars for the evening ’ . all the estella’s, the rouge’s, the rosemary’s, diamonds, pearls, gold teeth and violent eyes. the whole shebang. not this one. they’d conveniently forgotten her name – like they’d expected everyone to know it. and maybe they all did. not her. not faye. exchanging names was a DEATH sentence and that came with being a grifter —–— a part of this tiny, pretty package with gift wrappers, ribbons and a cute little card on the top to go with it.
she never went around chit-chatting. not unless she could wrestle something for herself out of it – money, a favor, food, drink. you get the picture. this woman didn’t have anything but herself, her company to give. nothing but her gypsy voice, syllables taking in the sweetness.
there was a lonely child in her heart, and she hid herself under the hills and twisted paths. she’d heard some song, and now her skin was being pried open. the girl wanted out. wanted in. wanted, wanted, wanted, wanted.
tall, woman of mysteries, but all that was rolled up in those fancy clothes of hers was GENUITY.
mm. maybe she’d be interesting to talk to. provided she didn’t end up being one of the people faye didn’t want to cross paths with. people she’d pissed off. the law. people she really shouldn’t be messing around with.
rosewood lips parted, an amused breath curling out. her voice was a bubble in a glass of cheap champagne.
“ it’s a mess, alright. ” her gaze darted up to the bartender, nails rapping the glass with a dismissive flick of her wrist to indicate that she was done. “ that isn’t even poison. i’d like to call it sludge with a drop of alcohol.”
a remark that drew an ugly look from the bartender. poor aim, though. the bullet missed her by a mile. better luck next time, old man.
hands were clasped in front of her, elbows propped up on imitation-mahogany. lips curled into an artificial star-strung smile. fingers flashed nails the same color as her lips. always looked her best. dressed to kill, so to speak. emeralds were trained on her companion, watching, studying, reading. no cards, not an opponent, no game here.
“ none of the people here tonight are good looking, either. ” her gaze darted to the sea of faces around her. “ the only things that’ve ever been good here are the men and women. the ‘company’. ”
fingers danced idly on the wood, sights turned to the woman. her eyes were gold, she observed. gold, like sunlight haunting windows. what a map of obscurity. she could barely get a glimpse of this woman.
lost meme ❥ ┇ @alreadyafairy said:' what can i say ? trouble's my pet. ' ( for mia; aa )
She couldn’t help but laugh at that, everyone seemed to be troubled and in ways that seemed to make her job a lot harder. She’d wondered how common this was, had law school really made her ready for people like this? No. They definitely made her feel like she was on a boat in a never ending storm— some made things less complicated, the woman in front of her? Made things hard but not impossible.
“I can imagine.”
Mia’s pen tapped at her paper, “I do need you to answer things for me so I can at least help.” She did this seeing as she wanted to help people, she didn’t want those wrongly accused to go down ever. “Just start from the beginning, anything you remember no matter how silly it might seem… it could really be useful.” Mia wears a sincere smile, she really hopes she can help— she just needed a little more information, could she get it here? She only hoped.
" well, aren't you a charmer. i'm sure all the ladies just LOVE that attitude you've going. "
“the ladies, huh?”
vermillion eyes lift from following the patterns of his fingers along a glass tumbler and slide to corners as his head pivots and tilts towards the source of interruption in his thoughts. qrow is tired, and he hurts while he’s here; his heart perpetually bleeding out on the bar. he huffs with the faintest trace of a frown, not even fazed enough for a full effort one. his own mind says far more hurtful things than her little dig.
never hides his trainwreck of a personality, in whatever form it choses to act out. she doesn’t like it, she doesn’t have to talk to him.
qrow looks the owner of a slick voice up and down as she curls around her stool, notes shows of skin and biting edges on world-weary features of a pretty face carved by cynicism and sarcasm just like his own, stiff drink held in her hand, too; the wafting stench of a cigarette fills his nose and irises then roll as he turns back to whiskey on the rocks and keeps the sting from traveling all the way down his throat by blocking it with a swallow of alcohol’s burn.
you deserve a lot of love, for real. you make me feel things with your writing, you're incredibly sweet, and what's not there to love about you?? i'll follow you forever! <3
I held on to this for a little bit! But you are so sweet Nita. And you are a joy and pleasure to write with and talk to. And I’m SO glad I get the pleasure of doing both.
