wait a minute little back porch lady

[gwynn]

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.

Comments

[rhinemaid]

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.)

[timewreck]

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.

[wontturntofoam]

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.

[studious_snake]

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?"

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

[thedominatrix]

"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.

on a bridge, ruudary the 28th

[magnetic]

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.