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message 1:
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c.c.
(new)
Feb 03, 2015 04:37AM
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Lights were flashing and the club’s loud music was grinding into the very fiber of Arcadia’s bones. She could feel the vibrations pounding through her head, but she couldn’t bear to enjoy it. The club was loud, fun, and overwhelming; a contrasting setting to Arcadia’s solemn aura. She was fed up with the world, and she assumed drinking would be the only practical escape to her usual angst. Her typically straightened spine arched into that of a cat’s as she slouched into the leather stool by the bar- her head filled with murky thoughts about her past that only worsened as more people started to pile into the building.
She was getting rather claustrophobic as foreign flesh brushed against the back of her jacket and the foul stench of alcohol permeated every corner of the room. She needed a drink- no, make that ten drinks. Shot after shot of whatever poison she demanded, flushed down into her veins and outward through her heated breath.
“Got anything stronger?” Arcadia moaned with slurred speech towards the bar tender. He scoffed and tossed her a glass of tequila that she engulfed in one quick swoop. “Thanks.” She mumbled slowly, her spine falling backwards until somehow lights had flashed and she was in the middle of the dance floor. People were roaring, moving, spinning. Everything was happening so fast: first there was laughter, then cheers, until finally the purple lights faded to sudden darkness and all Arcadia could hear were screams. The music didn’t stop for her.
After a moment, the pitch-black scenery snapped into pure brightness and Arcadia realized she was in the bathroom; the faint scent of perfume and scented soap bringing her back to her senses. In front of her stood two faceless women who were cleaning a stain off her shirt and asking her if she was okay. “I’m fine,” she grumbled. Even after people were kind to her, Arcadia never loosened her grip. “What happened?”
The ladies then explained to her how she had fallen over like a drunkard, mumbling about some French woman. “…and to make it all better, you thought you’d bring me to this bathroom. Got it, thanks. You can leave.” With a wave of her hand, the two women vanished like magic.
Finally she was alone- left there on the cold tile floor to rot and sit in her tears, wallowing in the fact that she had no job, money, nor love- all because of spells and witchcraft and ambition. Who was she? What was she? What the hell did she do to her life?
(view spoiler)
Mod
There was never any guessing as to where Mara might be during day. But once the sun had disappeared, once all respectable families had locked their doors and tucked in their kids, there was only one place. The club. Everything else was lifeless at night. But Bacchus Club never slept. Somewhat like Mara.
This night was no different. The day had been spent almost lazily. Multiple coffees, working on her laptop on her newest website design job - she had to pay the bills somehow - leggings and a too large sweater all day. And now she felt all that energy that had built up over the day seething inside her, begging for a release. It hadn't taken long after deciding to actually get ready; the routine was familiar, intimate. Dark eyeliner and cat eyes, mascara, nude lipstick. No brush, just fingers, to get that messy bedhead hair. Dark jeans and black boots. A crop top with a geometric pattern, one that hugged her curves. A black leather jacket to ward off the chill. Each step felt like an old friend.
And then Mara was locking the door to her apartment and stepping into the night.
She flashed her ID towards the bouncer at the entrance and slipped out of the cold air and into the sweaty, pulsing heat inside the club. The flashing low lights and booming music overwhelmed her senses, but this lasted only a mere second before the beat began to worm its way under her skin, seeping into her blood, bringing it to a boil. She threaded her way through the crowd, all slinky grace and low smiles, until she reached the bar. She gestured towards the bartender - whom Mara knew rather well - for a shot. He set the small glass in front of her, Mara knocked it back, and then stepped into the fray of sweaty, dancing bodies, becoming one with this beast.
It was some time later Mara found herself on the outskirts of the dance floor making out with some random dude with green hair. He was quite good-looking, she had to admit, but despite his eagerness, there was a "long-term" feel to him, and that didn't suit Mara.
He disappeared to get drinks, and she disappeared as well, drifting in the opposite direction, towards the bathroom. It was easier to just vanish than to have to say, no, I don't want to give you my number. No, I don't want to meet up for coffee later. If I see you in Costa later? Yeah, we'll have a coffee. But no planning.
Though lately, these types of things had become easier and easier for Mara to say. They didn't argue as much. They didn't put up as much of a fuss. She ducked under flailing limbs and dodged the occasional elbow, realizing that had she asked them to, they would have moved right out of the way, no complaints. Almost against their will.
It went beyond Mara's usual brand of sweet talking.
These thoughts carried her all the way to the bathroom door. She checked the lock - unlocked - and pushed the door open, not expecting resistance. The door found some. Mara peered around the door, not exactly expecting a young woman no older than herself, looking like she was having an existential crisis. Mara squeezed into the bathroom and shut the door again.
"Need a drink?" Mara inquired as she leaned over the girl and towards the sink, inspecting her eyeliner.
(view spoiler)
It was late into the evening- possibly too late for Arcadia’s sophisticated taste. She really had let herself go with this one. Her mind layered with booze, Arcadia checked her watch for the time. Just as she had expected- three o’clock in the morning. Sighing, she picked her head up and analyzed her only company in the room: a slender girl with piercing eyes and a wickedly seductive attitude. Arcadia’s inner demons began to stir inside her as she felt the usual piercing sting of jealousy and judgement.
She placed her aging palms against the cool, yellowing tile and propped herself against the edge of the sink’s damp countertop. Her blood was swimming with shame and alcohol, but she still had enough of her usual edge to fold her arms and arch her brow.
For what seemed like forever, she stood there- watching this stranger inspect herself- analyzing for clues like some sort of detective. Arcadia’s piercing green eyes devoured every curve and every movement of this girl, attempting to put together a puzzle to see what approach she should use when talking to her.
Was this girl sweet and simple? She highly doubted that, judging from her attitude. Seductive? Yes. Easy to conquer? It’ll be difficult, that’s for sure. Thoughts and questions clawed against the edges of her brain, forcing Arcadia to close her drunk mouth in order to keep herself from interrogating this woman.
Although she didn’t know why, everyone was a threat to her, and this girl certainly looked like someone who comes packed with knives. Finally, she summed up an answer, holding back her hands- claws- that ached to rip this girl to shreds. “I don’t need your sympathy.” With one hand she could make this girl kneel and beg for mercy, or at least she felt she could. Who did this stranger think she was? “Besides, who the hell are you anyway?”
(view spoiler)
Mod
It took the other woman a few long seconds to look up and then pull herself to her feet. In the meantime, Mara had moved on to touching up her beige lipstick, which had, of course, smeared slightly thanks to her two minute friend. She wasn't obvious, but as she examined herself in the grimy mirror, Mara's blue-green eyes studied the other woman as well, curiosity twisting its way around her mind, the sweet scent of intrigue mixing with the alcohol. Her skin was a rich dark color, her hair darker than the night. Fine, graceful features. Slim, feminine. And verdant eyes that followed Mara's every movement, a slight sheen of intoxication behind the deeply green irises.
Mara was used to being watched. She was used to eyes that marked her progress down the street and through stores. The hungry looks, the longing tilts of heads, the curious or hateful or jealous whispers. This was all as familiar as the streets she grew up on. So what was new and different, what was intriguing about this woman's keen gaze? The analytic nature. The careful examination and piecing together. Under this scrutiny, Mara felt almost self-conscious.Almost.But self-conscious wasn't Mara's style. Self-aware was, however. She always knew exactly where to place her body, how to look, what the tilt of her head said. Her mother had always told Mara that she could have been a politician had she wanted to. She tucked her lipstick away, turning her body slightly, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, to face the other woman.
"No worries, that wasn't sympathy. That was polite inquiry." Mara's voice wasn't goading or sarcastic or sweet. It was matter-of-fact, none of her usual charm poured into it. "Though I see that this politeness doesn't flow both ways." This statement was cynical. "I'm Mara. And you are...?"
The part of Mara that was amused by this entire situation wanted to ask who the other woman was in a similar manner that the other had inquired about Mara - but of course, in a way that mocked her. The part of Mara that was intrigued raised its sly eyebrows and hushed the other part, choosing - maybe more wisely - to try civility first, even if the other party couldn't return it.
(view spoiler)
The tightened coils wrapped around Arcadia’s brain started to unfurl as the last remaining drops of alcohol escaped her mind’s grasp. She was coming back to her normal self: furious and wicked, but still slightly drained from her nightly activities.
She looped back the sound of this enchantress' voice inside her head, deciphering it as if it were a secret code. Mara. Arcadia’s thoughts were spinning and thinking like a black widow on its web. Her mind’s whispers were toxic- what secrets does this girl have hidden? What jewels can I plunder?- but she remained stoic and unmoving, cold and still.
Arcadia was accustomed to being interrogated; every day people on the street would call her name and whistle, wondering who she was. She was a vile bottle of potion and magic, but oh, how she loved it. Now another person- someone real and not a fleeting moment in the shadows of the grimy streets- was addressing her, questioning her.
“Mara…” Her voice was a raspy cat’s meow, a stab in the dark. She was playing with the word against her tongue and loved how the syllables sizzled against the whiteness of her sharpened teeth. “Mara…”
She must’ve looked insane in that moment, what with her chanting the girl’s name as if it were some sort of spell. None of it mattered to Arcadia however, who was searching for some sort of reaction inside Mara's iridescent and seductive eyes.
The witch’s callused palms traced the edge of the sink’s cool countertop as she arched her brow. “Well, Mara,” She cooed, enjoying the sound of the stranger’s name. She decided to tell this girl something she’d usually make others only guess at, but Mara seemed different: peculiar. She had a sting and a bite and Arcadia was never one to deny a challenge.
“The name’s Arcadia. And that is me being polite.”
(view spoiler)
