#r.annette

[bharisinclair]

Bhetty circus au

3 Sentences (as if) AU Meme ❈ !! FROM THE INBOX VAULTS !!! *always accepting* @nettyfawn                              [INSPO]

It was a Friday when the large striped tent first poked the grey sky of his little town; but it wasn’t until Saturday he first saw her slipping behind the painted canvas of a sideshow tent on the far end of the lot. He reckoned he would have just missed her were it not for the green sparkles on her translucent wings, and boy was he glad she was wearing them.

The small admission fee burnt a hole in his pocket, but that was nothing compared to the heat in his face upon looking through the peephole and seeing her there, sat atop a comically sized thimble as she removed her stockings. The blush of her cheeks and the pale curls piled atop her head kept him from noticing or remembering anything else of the performance as he watched Tinkerbell move about her jewelry box scene. 

Aphrodite was in the next box over from what he’d heard from the whoops and hollers of the other men crowded in that small tent, but he would never see her. He could not bring himself to leave the keyhole-shaped opening that allowed him to see the fairy.

Five minutes felt no longer than the flap of a bird’s wing, but it was all he was allowed before being pushed back out to the flashing lights and calliope sounds; shocked like a newborn as he was forced into the second act of his life. Nary a single sign of his heart remained in his chest. 

He waited for her until the animals were put in their cages and de-nosed clowns smoked cigarettes behind the food wagons, but she did not cross his path.

On Sunday a few more coins were exchanged to enter the little tent, but a nude Snow White had taken her place, along with a dwarf that sucked at her toes. 

He left immediately with the hopes that whatever was happening in the main tent would replace what he’d seen, but no amount of dancing dogs nor marching elephants could ease the disappointment he felt. 

Alone in the egressing crowd he felt he was on a death march, feeling the weight of every lost hope falling behind him with each step towards the night. A roustabout operating a spotlight caught his forlorn gaze, which followed the beam about the large tent, round and round until it landed near the base of the circular stand. He was just about to exit the tent when he realized that overhead light caught the moon-like complexion he had only seen once before, and it seemed, then, that time stopped entirely. 

There were no sparkles, no wings or stockings, but he would have recognized her eyes anywhere. Those eyes of bright green were looking right at him—or so he would say. In truth, she could have been staring just beyond his head, but the truths of his reality never made for good stories.

The crowd around him took pause, the acrobats clearing the ring became statues, and the myriad sounds of animals went altogether unnoticed by his ears. In that paralyzed moment, the writer was compelled to move to her as he stepped into the center ring. There was no music playing, though later in life when looking back on this moment he would have told you there had been. 

Only a few steps into the center ring, a cap gun firing in the hands of a clown pulled him back down to earth, and forced time to move again. Though he was suddenly aware that there were other people in the world besides himself and the young woman who had turned her back to leave the tent with another blonde performer, he could not have cared less.

If he had cared, he would have realized he should have chased her in those few seconds it took for her to leave his sight. Instead, he lost her in the sea of patrons, no less a stranger to her than the rest of them.

Upon returning home that evening he would write only this in the yellowed pages of his journal: 

They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that’s true. 

What they don’t tell you is that once time starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up. 

Tonight I met my destiny. 

Almost.

The writer would go on to wait for what felt like a lifetime of checking the train station for those red and yellow posters every day, just to see if the circus would return. 

It only took a year for that familiar train to roll back into town.

It was a Friday when he found the woman he was going to marry.

[bharisinclair]

“ do you love me ?”

Drunken Confession Meme ❈ accepting.

The sound of her breathing as she laid beside him grabbed his attention, thankfully, as the topic of love was a complicated one, growing more so as the days went on. He’d told her, twice already, but the score on his end was still naught. 

It was alright, though. At least that was what he told himself until his head began to believe it. 

“Yes,” he said bluntly, quietly. He could smell the alcohol on his own breath, no doubt a major factor in what pulled the word from his chest. 

Bhari thought of the number 5, and of blue ink. He often did, but those thoughts tended to stick around longer when he’d had a few drinks in him. Five ‘i love you’s in blue ink that had begun to fade from how many times he’d traced them with his fingers in times when he needed comfort. They were no less real than any word she could say in front of him, yet somehow, they were easier to doubt. 

New York could be stressful, he knew that firsthand. Hyperboles are often written in times of stress. That was what his anxious mind liked to remind him time and time again. 

It’s alright, he thought. Perhaps she just needed to hear it, to be reminded. If that was the case, he would do so, time and time again until the words didn’t sound real anymore and his lungs had no air left to give.

 Bhari’s mind went to a room with green curtains and red sheets, and he wondered how many others before him had said the same. He wondered how they told her, which word they added an inflection to, if any. Was it I or you? Was it love? Most importantly, did she say it back?

“I love you, Annette,” he said with such conviction that it hurt his heart and worked in sobering him up, just a little. There was no chance that anyone before him, whose sentiments surely fell warm on her skin, had said it like that. 

[bharisinclair]

“ do you regret letting me close ?”

Drunken Confession Meme ❈ accepting.

“I never had a choice, darling. You fell in my lap, after all.”

[bharisinclair]

Break Me [for Netty]

@nettyfawn ( @thesterlingmoran too, you dog ) ❃ Drabble Me

                            [the murder weapon]

                                                 Oh, 

                                                                       he thinks.

     The movements are beautiful, but with each joining of their bodies another seam of his drunken heart pops, releasing the contents of his affections to pool within the pit of his sour stomach. Suddenly, the drink in his hand seems like poison–or, rather, the aftertaste which still lingers on his tongue. Alcohol makes people fools. People like him. The music throbs in his head like a fist knocking the sense into him over, and over, and over… 

                                     We only said goodbye with words                                                              I know a hundred times

     The handsome dancer  lifts her with such ease, embracing her time and time again, holding her in positions Bhari had considered before, but suspected his imagination was where they would remain. Somehow, seeing this only solidified that idea. A bundle of peonies, once grasped in the hand that wasn’t holding a drink, fell to the ground beside him. He’d practically groveled the editor of the Journal to exchange a fiction piece he’d written for the few francs he’d used to buy them. They were to be a gift for her, left in the powder room for an excellent performance, but now they rested beneath the shoe of a drunk. Lord, what fools these mortals be. 

              “You’ll have to come back and see me on a night where I dance.”

      He hears her voice in his head. Was this what she wanted? There’s a sobering realization that hits him: he had read everything wrong that night they met. Funny. He could analyze the actions of literary characters until he turned blue in the face, and yet he couldn’t take a hint from a young woman within the real world. She wanted him to come back to see this. She wanted him to know that he couldn’t compare to whatever was happening on stage.  There was something there, he could see it in the steps–how familiar they seemed in each others’ arms. My God, he’s seen the light. They’re lovers.

                                                           And life, is like a pipe                                And I’m a tiny penny rolling                                           up the walls inside

      The curtain has been lifted, and he finally sees the club for what it is. Everything is an illusion. A fantasy. How could he have fallen for it? Fallen for a performer. Always chasing— wasn’t that the point of the green fairy? That was the act. The glittering green he’d obsessed about for days, the same green that kept food from his mouth and sleep from his eyes, was nothing but a puckish charm. One he’d taken to like a child to a simple parlor trick. He would have exclaimed in this moment if his throat weren’t so tight from his heart being caught in it. 

     Surely, it was the liquor that led him into such a trap. It had to be. The truth was much harder to swallow than the brandy. 

[bharisinclair]

“You seem so perfect. I don’t get it.”

MEME || @nettyfawn

“Then I have fooled you,” he laughed to himself.

 Late night hours belonged to them, and them alone. Unless of course her time had been purchased, which thankfully it had not. However, they were different people at different times it seemed. In the daylight they were free to be content and jubilant. No one looked their way the same way they did after sunset when, like a curse, she was forced to transform into Fawn, recognizable to the masses in her glittering regalia. Though pretty beyond belief, the persona had become a slow-working poison to him. During the day they were like lovers of any other kind in Paris, and the sunshine made it easy to ignore their troubles as nothing so salacious felt comfortable crawling into the light. There were never enough hours in the sun to satisfy him. 

The night felt more fervent, like a wound reopened with every sundown. They would part, he would let her go though he watched her show when he could stomach the crowd of men who watched her, and he waited to see if she would find him. She did not know it, but those night when she would not find him after the curtains were closed were nights spent with bottles. Endless bottles. Enough to drown him, or so he hoped. Whether or not he was successful in forgetting, he would hobble down the boulevard regardless and fall into bed, hoping that she would be there upon his waking. 

The nights she found him went much different. The drinks he tossed down his throat were taken in celebration instead of regret, though sometimes he wished he did not have to drink at all. It felt second nature by that point. 

He happily laid in a long chair by the open window and watched as Fawn undid herself. He always loved the sound of the many little tins and jars that held her nightly routine. Like fairy bells, he thought as he watched her at the makeshift vanity she’d set up in his apartment. Was she there, or was his mind playing tricks on him like it did most nights, when the alcohol had fantasy and reality blurring to soothe his mind and give him a break from the worry? 

“I can die happy and accomplished, though,” he slurred, “knowing that you think so.” 

[bharisinclair]

“ when was the last time you cried ?”

Drunken Confession Meme ❈ accepting.

“Why do you want to know something like that?” Even when inebriated he was hesitant to bring up anything around Annette, as if talking through his issues would dim the sunshine of her aura. 

“It’s silly. I... dunno.” Bhari bit at the inside of his cheek, hoping she would change the conversation. His fingers drummed against the side of his glass. “I can’t tell you when, exactly, but I spent... quite a while after you left, crying.” 

[bharisinclair]

🛁

Soft Intimacy Meme ❈ still accepting for all muses!

@nettyfawn

🛁 - Take a bath with my muse

“You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets.” Through the fog that accumulated on the lenses of his reading spectacles, Bhari recited the lines from the pages. Only the gentle sound of the water level lapping against the sides of the claw foot tub, and the goings on outside of the little window joined him as he sat across from Annette in the bath.

 “You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with.“ 

A little foot was placed on his stomach, and by wiggling its toes it began to creep to his sides. Bhari continued to read, ignoring both the foot and the little giggles that accompanied it. Though he tried, he quickly learned that ignoring her would not be so easy.

“The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not… more real, or more …. Impossible! …To displace with your hands,” as her toes dug in, tickling his side he squirmed, “than your– Annette, please.” He laughed softly behind the book, and the toes ceased their movement beneath the water. “Might I remind you that you were the one that suggested I read,” Bhari ribbed as he turned the page.

“Presence and influence have–

She continued to wiggle her foot up his torso, and Bhari peered at her from over his book for a moment, watching as she had to submerge the lower half of her head beneath the water to keep from laughing. The foot stopped once more, but he waited a moment before returning to the book. Thankfully, it hid his smile.

“Have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my— Annette!”

Just when he thought it was safe, her other foot joined in by attacking his other side, tickling him to the point where Bhari scrambled to grab it. In doing so the tome plunged into the bath with a large splash. 

The two of them stared at the book below the bubbles and water between them, mouths agape, then looked to each other. 

Their wild laughter soon drowned out the sounds of the splashing water and the world outside.

[bharisinclair]

Tell me where you want me for the time I suppose. I'll be humming love tunes, lost in the thought of you.

[X]