i actually started reading kuroshitsuji when i was still a kid, around? 13 or so, when i was really getting into anime and manga like the weeb i was born to be. anyway the jack the ripper arc really stuck with me bc well, ive always been into horror and gore and that sorta thing so i just absorbed it all like it was nbd, and when i read it i immediately fell in love with grell and even watched the anime solely so i could see her animated even if the anime is a giant disappointment in the portrayal area for her. im biased im sorry i hate the anime.
anyway, it wasn’t until i joined tumblr about... 4 or 5 years ago that i started rping after a while, and grell was my first canon muse that i’ve rped-- since before tumblr i was in oc forum rp groups and even used to rp on facebook back in the say as my shitty oc that i had that still brings me embarrassment to this day to think about
ive rped grell on and off since then, but this is the first time in a long time that ive felt her muse so strongly it’s such a nice sense of nostalgia my god.
Will you need training?: nah i’ve been kickin’ but and looking good while doing since forever
A little something about yourself: i enjoy cats, wizards, bad fanfiction, and long walks on the beach
Why should you be hired?: if there was an award for most fashionable during the apocalypse i would of won it, that’s a straight up fact.
❝ I have a feeling that you’ll enjoy working with Sirius. He seems to like wizards as well. Cats though…they’re..hm..uh well, anyway! let’s not dive in my personal interests, I’m sure that you’ll do great here, Roxy! I’ll be setting you under both of the positions that you’ve asked for! Welcome to Polka Dots! ❞
>> “H-hey, just because I’m a robot doesn’t mean that give you express permission to mess with my programming. How would you like it if I stuck my hands in you and started shuffling around all your insides? Yeah, doesn’t sound too pleasant now, does it?”
After you so heartily sobbed your eyes out for what seemed a decade, but was no more than ten minutes, you decided to get up and go. Sitting in an alley with a bunch of spectators to your mental breakdown isn’t something you care to entertain anymore. After the first few times people questioned or laughed at you, it grew to be tiresome and you decided that you weren't having any of it. To be so cruel and to kick someone while they were down. It was a sickening thing, you came to discover quickly, and as you tugged the collar of your coat up and began to walk, you ignored the jives of a young group, jesting with mockery. They were only trying to provoke you more, anyway.
Now it's safe to say that you're completely out of it by now. Your head feels full and snotty, your nose would give Rudolph a run for his money and your eyes appear as if you stuck your face in front of a fire. You are, to put it bluntly, a hot mess as of right in the now. Everything about you, ranging from your appearance to emotions, are just well, not you. And to make matters worse? You are alone. You are by yourself. There is no way for you to run home, leap on your bed and pull your phone out to pester your friends or hell, maybe a stranger. There is no way for you to snivel towards a friendly face and complain or whine for their attention to better your ego. There is no way for you to do anything but fester. Fester in your feelings and relive them each passing second you continue to step down the street.
Except for when you finally manage to glance up and see a figure, a scarf, and a set of blond, curled hair.
That's when everything changes.
For a moment, you debate whether or not to catch her attention. As far as you can tell, that is, indeed, Roxy Lalonde and she is in fact here; but after how Dirk acted? You're really doubting if you should even try to talk to anyone else you know. He made it clear he didn't want you in his life, so why wouldn't they be the same? ...Still, though. You feel as if you need to try. If she rejects you, then you'll know for sure and won't even bother with Jane if you so happen to come along her. If not? Then maybe you can at least leech off of this friendship and once more, flee the grasp of loneliness from nabbing you.
So you make sure to wipe the last of your tears along your sleeve before you reach out to her, with a quiet, cautious call of, "Rox?"
——— ★ The clock on the cafeteria wall makes it quite clear that the day
has since slipped through Giorno's fingers. Time-telling hands
tell the young blond it's approaching midnight, yet he has no
intention of moving from this plastic seat. One leg folded across
the other, reclined in the chair with the utmost relaxation, he takes
a careful sip of piping tea. As he lowers the cup to a saucer, he
detects the motion of an opening door from the corner of his eye.
Giorno turns his head, connecting blue gaze with another blonde.
His head tilts slightly to the side as he says, "I suppose you
weren't expecting anyone else to be here."
A meme for a meme I always say A STAR IS BORN!! As if roxy wasn't famous enough already.
THIS GOT REALLY LONG(AND SHIPPY)? I AM SORRY WOW
A STAR IS BORN
A life of modesty is never one that Roxy or Ringabel has wanted to lead, what with all the studious nights and break back jobs. No, as selfish as it was they were both rather interested in becoming part of the bourgeoisie and flinging themselves into a bright lime light of gleaming glasses and gold encrusted chocolates.
She lingers around his apartment on the nights where the clubs aren’t her scene for one reason or another (maybe she didn’t have the right vibe, maybe she actually just wanted to spend some time with him). In one hand, Roxy holds her phone, choosing one pop song to the next. The music follows her as she wanders between the living room, where Ringabel is mindlessly lying on his sofa, journal open on his chest.
"You get so boring when we’re not out," she says, a sigh and groan in her voice, and he smiles at her. He doesn’t respond until she does another walk from the bathroom and back, martini glass miraculously empty.
"Finding time to collect oneself is good for the soul."
Roxy looks at him then, stopping just in front of the glass coffee table. Her weight sways on her stocky thighs, purple lipstick worn just at the edges and perfume lingering just enough so he can smell it under the vodka.
"You’re so gay," she smiles, and his mouth curls into a soft laugh. Setting down her phone (not the glass, despite it being empty), she steps about the table and doesn’t bother to motion him up. Ringabel is too considerate to not have already sat up and pat the pillow on the left side of the couch for her drunk ass.
"What’re you always thinkin’ soooo hard ‘bout anyway?"
"Hum, you make me sound so droll. I was under the impression women loved introspective types."
"Ya can’t put us all under one umbrella, dumby."
There’s a pause here, as if that had never occurred to him. He nods then, leaning back and saying nothing as she reaches to grab the notebook from his lap. With delicate fingers, she flips it open to a middle page and spreads it on the table.
The rim of her glass rests dry on her bottom lip, as if out of habit.
There are drawings here. Dresses, skirts, blouses. Some observational, some maybe not— Roxy can’t really tell.
"This one’s cute," she says, voice delighted and painted nail tapping at a dress with an open back.
"Is it? I was going for sexy, actually."
—
Turns out, it is more of a sexy look. it fits snugly around her thighs, and she feels bare in it— which is great. She loves it; feels even more confident than usual in it. Really, Roxy has to hand it to him. All that oggling does Ringabel (some) good, because he knows just how to make a girl feel like a pretty amethyst gem.
"I look so hot!!" She gasps, turning her neck to look at her rear in the mirror. "Daaammmn!"
Ringabel looks just as proud of it as she does, nodding in approval with that smug, satisfied grin on his face. “I have to admit, this is some of my finest work…” He sighs pleasantly. “having a muse to work off changes the whole experience.”
"Muse?" Roxy snorts, putting her hands on her hips and peering at him.
"Why, of course! An inspiration! A dress is to fit the woman, not the other way around. Doesn’t it feel that way when you wear that?"
For a guy who’s borderline a pig, he really does love women. It weirds her out sometimes, all the worship and then doublesided ignorance. He blathers on for a bit more, something about how she, Roxy, has been particularly easy to work off of with all her languid stretching, lopsided stumbling about the apartment, and high treble R&B music.
"You’re sooo gay."
She goes back to looking at the cut of the dress down her back, half smiling.
—
Ringabel seems to have no real trouble finding other muses after that. Women seem more than happy to hang around him at the prospect of getting a dress custom made— it’s weird, Roxy guesses. Of course, Ringabel was pretty popular even before that.
He has this weird way with being just the right degree of raunchy, cheesy, and then smiling and showing you the handsome line of his jaw.
But now he doesn’t have to hunt them down so much— they fling themselves at him, and it’s (again) weird, but he shows a pretty good amount of discretion when saying yes or no. Out of the many that have approached him (and been honest with their interests), Ringabel took time to take maybe a third on a date. And in the end, he’d only began to work on a dress for one out of those.
Under the dim light in his kitchen, Roxy is sipping Svedka out of a souvenir shot glass. She remains resigned, half pouty— he’s on the phone with someone, and it doesn’t sound like a girl. It sounds like someone offering him money. Permanent money, and notoriety too, probably.
—
He finishes some of the sketches from that night, and she flips through them in the morning, hair frayed over her brow in a hangover. They’re good, of course. There are a lot of half finished ones on the pages earlier, as if he contemplated the dress for only a moment before he decided he couldn’t invest his heart into her that way.
Er, it. Not her.
She blinks tiredly to herself, expression tightening mildly as the sun starts blaring through the window.
"Here," Roxy hears him say. Suddenly, there is a cup of coffee (with cream) and two tablets of aspirin on the table. "I’ll shut the blinds in a moment."
Here, a fond smile colors his face and Roxy feels weird again. Before her mouth can catch up to her brain, he’s speaking again— one of the perks of not being hungover.
"I’ve got to take my leave now—" (Who says somethin’ like that? What is this, the 1800’s? She miles inwardly.) "make yourself at home."
"Glaaaaaaadly," Roxy replies, shutting the sketchbook with a firm pat.
—
Ringabel isn’t back by the time she wakes up from her sleep. The coffee has gone cold, though she did take the aspirin before knocking out. The sunlight is still twinkling through the blinds of the balcony doors, vents humming quietly through the apartment.
