multiversallogs | wait a minute little back porch lady

Entry tags:

wait a minute little back porch lady

Who: Megan and yooouuuuu
What: Still spiraling into a pit of self-destructiveness, but with less horrible traumatized feels, Megan could use some distractions.
Where: Specifically mentioned are Griss Twist and Howl Barrow, but anywhere is fine.
When: Ruudary 27-29th
Notes: If you need a specific prompt and don't have ideas PUNCH ME OVER PM we can plot things...
Warnings: Drinking, drug use, will add as needed.

Megan's drinking a lot more than she usually does, but from the outside, to people who don't know, it looks like she's just partying harder than normal. Then again, who's to say that's normal -- she hasn't actually been here that long, maybe she was just settling in before now. Who knows. People do notice that she seems a little off-balance, but Megan has always struck most people as being one of those girls -- high drama. When she's up, she's up, and when she's down...

She goes back to work, though, finally, and gets reamed out for not calling out when she was "sick," but she's not fired, it's not that huge a deal -- they found someone to take her slots for her stage shows and her absence on the floor was noted, but her regulars are happy to see her back. It's much easier to plaster her smile on at work, and to be fair, she really does have a good time, usually. She likes her coworkers and she's acquired a number of regulars who are actually really nice to her, even if a few of them are obnoxiously fetishy about her. Well, that can't be avoided. Megan's stage shows -- intricate, flying pole dance, burlesque routines ending in dusting her audience -- are interspersed with periods of her out on the floor, hustling for private dances, just like Camelot back home -- but better, because people here have money. The Vault is not actually a strip club, which works to her advantage because she can make her private shows whatever she wants them to be; there aren't really a lot of rules.

When she's not at work, she's at clubs or bars -- the former more often because she likes to dance, but sometimes she goes to bars to get drunk and flirt with boys in a less noisy atmosphere. She especially likes anywhere that offers karaoke -- she doesn't like to sing but she does like to goad boys into doing so, plying them with beers and vague promises or else facetiously threatening bodily harm, and then laughing as they stumble through the lyrics of unfamiliar songs, embarrassed, but that's the real point of karaoke -- getting drunk and making a fool of yourself. If everyone's laughing at everyone else, she doesn't have to feel like they're laughing at her.

Although she stays close to home -- in Howl Barrow she can be found at local stores, cafes sometimes, always standing out with her wings and hair -- she does venture out to the rest of the city. She does not feel safe here, but she didn't feel safe in New York, either, and it's still true that she doesn't risk being assaulted every time she goes anywhere in Baedal. Just if she gets on the wrong side of the police, which she is, despite her lifestyle, doing her damnedest not to.

She has never felt so alone amongst so many other people.

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A fight broke out a few minutes ago in the club that Ilde is just now stepping out of, into the alley between buildings where it's quieter and cigarette butts on the damp concrete show evidence of others having had this self-same thought. The entrance to the club itself is near enough to the mouth of the alley that she figures she'll notice if Ivan gets thrown out before she goes back in, in the meantime resisting the urge to lean against the wall out of not quite mild concern for what might end up on her blazer.

She keeps one eye on the still-open door back into the club as she lights the cigarette she came out here for, just in case of god only knows what. (She doesn't hear the crash inside so much as she feels it, vibrating, and wonders idly what that was and if Ivan is going to get annoyed with her for slipping out. He'll probably be fine; he looked like he was enjoying himself.)

Edited 2012-01-29 08:24 (UTC)

Kiden, for all intents and purposes, is finding her way through the city, bit by bit. Comfortable isn't the stage she's at, but acquiescence would most likely be it. There's no exit and there's no promise of her being dropped back into New York anytime soon, so it's time for her to just deal with the cards she's been dealt.

That means finding something other than just slipping back into her party child ways. She had a job once and she could get another one, right? Right. Kiden will just have to slog through the pile of applications asking for her personal info as she sits in the Love Cafe, nursing a soda.

The distinction between Karaoke and other live music performances is a little lost on Shrieky. He knows that no one who comes to Karaoke plays their own instruments, and that the people singing often seem a little confused by what it is exactly that they're supposed to be doing.

Still, he likes the music, and he feels as though getting used to being in crowded places and the strange sights and sounds of Baedel, is quite an important thing for him to eventually manage to do. So he's found himself a spot at the bar in a Karaoke place which is still comparatively quiet, and is nursing a bright green drink which tastes like apples.

Drinks that taste like apples are the best kind.

Jay was walking through the central train station carrying a strange machine that was about the size of a cat, with four legs, but a round, egg shaped body whose entire upper half was hinged to open up like some sort of oversized, jagged fanged mouth. It wasn't finished and it certainly couldn't hunt pigeons yet, but while Jay may like working on it somewhere like Tinker's Lot, he didn't really feel comfortable leaving it there overnight, so he was carrying it home.

And that was when he saw someone who was distinctly familiar. Remembering how Hilmi had gotten funny on the subject of Megan before, and just the fact that he recognized her as someone he knew, led Jay to move toward her.

"Megan?"

Partying hard has its hazards, and one of them is vomit. Not everyone is a badass tank who can do thirty dozen shots and hold it all in while still having the coordination to drive home and then hunt vampires afterwards, and Megan is petite -- she knows her limits and generally stops when she starts feeling nauseated (...generally), but lately she's been pushing through that. Sometimes it's fine.

Tonight it is not fine, so she made a hurried exit from the club (which is fine, there was some weird tension in there, she's pretty sure someone was about to get cut) to find a trash can to vomit in. When Ilde comes out, she's just finishing, hunched over, holding her hair back with one hand like a champ and the other holding onto the sides of the bin to keep her steady. She feels much better afterwards, although she's got a bit of the post-puke shakes.

Super glamorous.

A friend of hers a while back turned her on to this cafe, and Megan liked it enough that she's made it her go-to one, even though there's another one closer to her house. Distance isn't a problem for her at all, she can literally just pop right in whenever she wants, so that's not a problem -- she just likes the atmosphere here. Friendly. Nice. No one looks at anyone else weird, even if they've got wings.

She stops in that afternoon a little drunk still and in desperate need of coffee -- she should have water and an aspirin but fuck that -- and immediately plasters on her smile. She's not planning on staying long, she should only need to do it for a few minutes. She's dumping roughly half the entire cafe's supply of sugar into her cup when she notices Kiden there and hesitates, wondering if she should pop out before having to talk to someone else she knows, but -- no, she ought to be social again, or people are going to notice something's really up. "Kiden, hi!"

Her current date (if he can be called that; she doesn't really date) is turning out to be a bust. He takes himself way too seriously, especially his karaoke, which started out pretty good, to be fair, but his current state of slurring inebriation and entitled hipster attitude is making him pretty unbearable, plus he thinks he's some kind of god for knowing who the Pixies are. Like, hello! As if she needs to be introduced to the Pixies. Jeez.

So she's getting upset and lonely and bored, which is drawing her too close to those uncomfortable feelings she's trying to ignore. She stands out in this place, being the only recognisable xenian currently there -- while Baedal has more of a nonhuman population than most kinds of Earth, it's still only about 20%, and it's not unusual for her to be the only visible one. So on top of everything else, she's self-conscious.

When she spots a guy at the bar nursing an appletini, she laughs; it's not a mean-spirited laugh so much as it is surprise. Most of the guys she knows are heavy drinkers who scorn anything other than Jager shots and whiskey drank out of red cups; she forgets that not everyone is like that. (Megan is doing shots of Patrón.) Also, it looks like he's alone and she feels bad for him. "That's all you're having?" she asks. "Really?"

On occasion Megan does actually use the train -- usually when she's trying to get somewhere she's never been, because while she's always teleported someplace new without going through a wall or into the floor, she isn't actually sure if that's a part of her new mutation or just coincidence. It's better to have an idea of where she's going before she goes.

It's also not unusual for people to call her name in public -- she's a bit of a public figure in her scene anymore -- and she turns from where she's fiddling with a bit of paper with directions on it, looking for the source. "Hi?" It takes her a moment to place a face to a name -- she meets a lot of people and half the time she's drunk, it... yes, it takes a while.

Seeing what she's flipping through, Jay asks, "Do you need help with that? I work here, so I'm pretty familiar with the routes." Realizing it might seem strange for someone who was working there to be carrying around the weird contraption he'd cobbled together, he added, "I'm not working right now, though. I don't usually bring this to work when I'm here to work."

Shrieky glances up as he realizes that he's being addressed, then glances down to his appletini, then back up to the girl, "Well, it's probably not all I'm having. I expect after I've had this one, I'll have several more." Then he glances back to her. On the tip of his tongue there was a question about whether there was something more which he should be drinking, but as he gets a better look at her, the question fades.

Her hair is pink. Pink like... pink like... flowers? Maybe? Somewhere? Only it's more pink than any of the flowers he's ever seen, and her eyes are dark and striking and completely inhuman and he likes that. It's only when he catches sight of the light shining through her wings (and it was kind of really incredible that she had wings at all) that the correct comparison popped into his mind...

"Dragonfly!" He blurts the word out, then blinks, and looks back up at her eyes, "I mean. I was trying to think of something that looks like you, that I'd seen before."

Some people are more immediately recognizable than others; Megan and Ilde have only directly spoken less than a handful of times, but she's a girl who leaves an impression (even when you don't spend half a week terrified she's going to die and it'll be your fault for not knowing how to fix it). It's the wings, particularly, so Ilde's reaction right on the heels of an internal Jesus Christ is, "Megan--?"

Whoops. It's not that she's hard to recognise, she's pretty distinctive, but she feels the same surprise and guilt when she gets caught doing something unflattering that everyone else does. She straightens up, brushing her hair out of her face, and wipes the back of her mouth with her hand like a real classy lady.

"Hello," she says after a bit, and breezes right past all the awkward there with: "Can I bum one?"

... Yep.

Megan laughs again, startled -- she might be having the worst month known to man, but she does like attention, especially positive attention. And she's tipsy by now, yes, so that helps. "Yeah, I guess! Most people go for fairy, though." She leans forward to flag down the bartender and get another shot and a beer -- she doesn't need a chaser, she just wants something to sip when her tequila's gone. She downs the shot before she turns back to look at him, her dark irises, from this close, faintly visible from in the black; sometimes it's hard to tell where she's looking unless she's right up against someone. "Are you here all alone?"

Ilde pauses only briefly, then tilts the pack in her hands (Ivan's, which she'd lifted from his jacket before he got into a fight on the reasoning that she wouldn't want it to get lost during) toward her.

"Probably best to stay out here for a bit," she says, by way of confirmation, tilting her head back towards the open door; she can't hear what's going on behind her, but Megan probably can. Someone is definitely getting cut!

...she's awfully calm about that, but she started it, so.

"Well, I've never seen a fairy before." Shrieky answers simply. He'd seen many, many dragonflies though. He leans against the bar, still watching her as she orders her drinks, because really, what else here is even remotely worth watching? As she turns back to him, he catches sight of her irises, and tilts his head, staring into her eyes and trying not to loose sight of them again, "Yes, I'm alone. I only arrived here a few weeks ago, so most days I just walk around the city trying to get my bearings. Only, when I came past here, I heard the music, so I decided to come in."

He smiles a little carefully, closing his fingers around the stem of his glass. Does that explanation make it seem less strange to be getting drunk on his own? He doesn't really pay it any mind.

"I know you," says Irene.

It's unprompted and out of the blue, and she appears at Megan's elbow as if by magic, fading in from the crowd at the bar, dressed in leather trousers and high heeled boots and a man's white shirt left half-unbuttoned. Legs, it seems, are in, and hers apparently go on for miles. There's a tumblr of some amber liquid in her hand and a smear of blood-red lipstick on the glass. "You do that marvellous pole act- I keep meaning to tell you how much I like it, but you know what work's like." A vague wave of the hand. She's not quite drunk, but she's on her way- not that Irene needs an excuse like drunkenness to talk to people. She doesn't know Megan's name and hasn't spoken to her before, not really, but Megan is difficult to miss and she does like her act.

"Why don't you finish your drink so I can buy you another?" she says, the words of an offer in the tones of a command, a reckless, red smile on her face. "Consider it a gift from a fan, or a friendly gesture from one coworker to another, or just a free whatever-it-is-you-drink. Whatever you like; I don't mind."

Yes, definitely on her way to being drunk, but she's a little more sober than she's acting. It's a habit.

"Cheers," she says after taking one. She digs around in the pockets of her jacket -- which is hot pink leather, really, Megan -- for some matches and finds a packet from the Vault. She's got about a million of those all over her flat.

"Yeah," she says, with a glance at the back door, "I heard some shit was going on. God, I like, totally hate it when guys get all caveman." That is a lie, Megan absolutely loves it when guys get 'all caveman,' especially when it's over her, because... problems.

"Well, that'll change here, anyway." On fairies, that is -- although she's noticed a lot of them prefer to keep their glamours on, which she understands, in a way, although she prefers to not think about it. That sting of jealousy -- that other people can hide what they are -- has been eating at her for most of the past three or four years, it's poisonous. A large part of her resents that they still do it in Baedal, where people think they're beautiful.

"Oh, you're new! We must be in the same Cohort, then." She digs in her neon purse for her pack of cigarettes -- they're black with red filters, something cherry-flavoured and sweet -- and her matches, which... God only knows where she's put them. There's no real judgment about him being alone, she just seems curious. He's cute, it's inconceivable that no one's come up to harass him yet. Problem solved. You're welcome, Shrieky. "You ever done karaoke before?"

Megan startles and narrowly avoids spilling what's left of her drink all over herself -- which, to be fair, she totally had that coming after the ten million times she's teleported behind people for the express purpose of scaring them. She breezes right past any awkwardness there, though, and laughs -- "Thank you! You work at the Vault?" She doesn't recognise her, but Megan doesn't recognise a lot of people there, especially the ones who work the floor but not the stages; there are likely dozens of employees she hasn't even seen before. The other woman's accent piques her interest -- there are a lot of Americans in their Cohort, it's nice to hear another Brit. (Megan's voice, lower and huskier than one would expect given the way she looks, has a distinct Welsh tinge.)

Glancing back at her drink, she laughs again, a little tipsy herself, and shrugs. "Well, the day I turn down free booze is the day we see little flying piggies, so!" She started with cocktails and has ended up with whiskey on the rocks, which she's sipping instead of slamming or else she'd be way drunker right now. After taking care of that, she holds out one of her hands with the absurdly long nails. "I'm Megan."

"I don't know," Ilde says, glancing behind her fleetingly, tucking the cigarette pack in the waistband of her pants, "I always thought it had a certain charm."

--but she doesn't like crowds so much, sometimes, and she'd miscalculated how much fun it'd be to watch vs how anxious the enclosed space and angry crowd would end up making her. (She's never been the best at gauging her own limits; sometimes it's worse than others.)

"Oh! Yeah, I don't -- I mean, I never use the train, I usually, you know, just 'port somewhere." Well, okay. Be more vague, Megan. She turns towards him, holding out the paper on which she's scrawled some directions as dictated to her over the CiD when she was only half paying attention, so God knows how accurate they actually are. "I dunno which line I'm s'posed to transfer to, like."

She hangs out mostly in Howl Barrow because its full of people who aren't normal, who clearly have some different air about them and different physical aspects as well. Kiden could blend into the crowd in any of the other sections of town, but why should she? She's a mutant now and it's time she stuck with her own people here.

But jobs. Right. She's busy writing down her name out in cursive (surprise! Kiden has great handwriting.) when it's called out and she looks up and around the cafe, grinning when she sees those wings and bright pink hair. "Yooooo. Where've you been hiding?"

Last time she saw Megan was when? ...The night of her party, right.

"Really? That's wonderful!" His expression is even brighter than it was a moment ago, because... he's kind of bought into the propaganda about being best friends forever with your Cohort, and he's pretty pleased about getting to be best friends forever with a girl who has pink hair and wings. "You haven't been here for too long either, then?"

It's a pretty subjective question, he knows, too long could mean a few weeks, or a few years, when you came to spend the rest of your life in a place.

His smile fades, very slightly, when she asks him if he's done karaoke before, "You mean, the singing? No, I don't think I'd feel comfortable encouraging this many people to direct their attention towards me. I just like listening."

"Irene," Irene says, because she doesn't like aliases and she's judged, by now, that there's no point. She's Irene Adler: she can deal with the trouble being Irene Adler might (and in fact almost inevitably does) bring. She shakes Megan's hand- her own nails are as red as her lipstick.

"The Woman while working. I'm new at the Vault." New and working a side stage- as fetish stage shows go, hers is a pretty good one, though she considers it little more than an advertisement for her private work. "Whiskey, is it, dear?"

Since his appointment as deputy sheriff, it isn't often that Erik can be found outside of Mafaton anymore. Not by chance, anyway. He has not barricaded himself inside the canton (although on some days he considers it), but spends the majority of his time on patrol, and the rest of it sleeping or otherwise making himself unavailable to the public. Sometimes, though, he takes a walk—just Erik, alone, his dark wool coat down to his thighs, scarf under his chin, looking solemn under his cap. Sometimes, he may even chance upon someone he recognizes. Usually he avoids them.

Today, however, when he spies a head of bright pink hair crossing the bridge between Brock Marsh and Griss Twist, he decides to follow it. It's not that he's being furtive about it, he only waits until he's seen her face before approaching her—being accosted by strange, serious men has a tendency to surprise some people, after all, and Erik is not out to menace anyone needlessly.
(Today.)

"Megan, is it?" He's not right behind her, or anything, but approaching from something of a distance.

Edited (i can't read maps) 2012-01-31 22:53 (UTC)

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wait a minute little back porch lady

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and then I remembered Megan is 19 and...decreeped this tag slightly

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fjskjhla lmfao hi

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/is a gud rper

on a bridge, ruudary the 28th