you have to understand the way I am, mein herr. a tiger is a tiger โ not a l a m b, mein herr! you'll never turn the v i n e g a r to jam, mein herr. so I do what i do. when i'm through, then i'm through.
dependent s a l l y โฉ b o w l e s PENNED & LOVED BY: ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ธ๐ต๐ฎ๐ฝ
“SOMEONE SUGGESTED TO ME RECENTLY, that i should givetinder a try” katerina spoke aloud to no figure in particular, her voiceverging on confident, displaying the thoughts of her mind open to the world. she’dtried searching the app up only to be greeted with disappointment, there wasnothing sincere in the concept. and, as she told herself, she was on a breakfrom men, a few bad experiences and a few tried matches by the elitist harrowfamily causing that current flood of thought to be concentrated in her mind. adating app was far from what was needed in her mind, though once upon a timethe girl may have let a flurry of laughter flow forward as she jokingly triedit, egged on by the other reckless youth of the slack boarding schools she hadspent her teenage years in. “personally, i think i’ll leave that idea be for now-it’s like modern day holbein portraits doing the matching” proud of herself forthat reference, she’d never spent much time concentrating in lessons, but she’dstumbled on the concept of whole alliances being based of a essentially photoshoppedversion of someone via painting, and it was an intriguing thought, amusing tothe young girl.
“If someone told me to try out tinder i’d toss my drink in their face.” Sally said slowly, an elegant eyebrow raising. “Tinder in New York? That’s how you get murdered or worse, catfished.” She was only half-teasing. Lazy hazel eyes travel over the woman, considering her looks. “Plus, you’re a smoke show. Just go to a bar.” Crimson lips smile crookedly. Fingertips went back to tapping away at her own phone – she was fighting with her not-boyfriend. As usual. She was typing out a string of words (mostly of the swear variety) as the other woman started speaking again. Sally couldn’t tell if she hadn’t been listening properly, or if all of the classes she skipped were catching up to her. Her head lifts after pressing send. “Maybe not bring that up if you go to a bar. Oh, you should come to the club I dance at!”
Tentatively, Darcy tried a sip. She wasn’t much of a drinker, really. A glass of wine, here or there, on nights when she really couldn’t sleep, a flute of champagne at a cast party. That was it, no more, no less. Alcohol was calories she really couldn’t afford to collect, especially since her metabolism was slowing down.
“You get nervous?” The question was perhaps a bit blunt, and she amended quickly, “Sorry, I don’t mean anything by it. I do ballet after all, and it’s all in the posture. Just seems like - you carry yourself like you’re ready to take the world by storm.” Sally Bowles had made a name for herself, at least from what it seemed like in her brief interaction with these circles. Appeared to be the most confident woman on the block.
“I’m - Darcy. Darcy Morel,” She tried to contain a snicker. Clubs really did run on a different wavelength than most other performance venues, didn’t they? “You guys have stage names? Like…what, for example? Do you have one?”
There’s a sly smile in response to the compliment. It was always pleasing to know she was viewed as intended, she spent almost all of her energy trying to accomplish it, after all. Maybe if she acted that way enough it would finally be true. “Thank you, lovely.” She pauses to take a drink, the cheap liquor familiar as the taste of water. “Boss isn’t always fond of me, so if I do something he decides he doesn’t like…like, upstage him– but he always begs me to come back. The crowd loves me. I’m good for business. Gets me on edge, though.”
“When I first came here they wanted to call me Brit, for my accent. It was completely tasteless, I refused.” She laughs, a real laugh, not as pretty as her rehearsed one. “Darcy, Darcy…I think that’ll be fine. It’s girlish, sweet. And they’ll leave out your last name, don’t worry. Texas’ real name is Stephanie. I think he did her a favor, actually.”
“Hmm,” A smirk spread slowly across his face and he took the proffered hand, “Philip Carson.” A lingering kiss pressed to her knuckles, and then he was peering up at her through his lashes, eyes twinkling wickedly. “Pleasure’s all mine, Ms. Bowles.”
Sally Bowles was, curiously enough, even more out of place upon closer inspection - she was not the usual, run of the mill party guest. His best guess was that she must’ve been some sort of celebrity, what with the dramatic accent and the way the attention of the room, positive or negative, seemed magnetically drawn to her.
Still. His father wouldn’t have invited just anyone remotely famous.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been much of a host, letting a lady sit alone,” Not that any of it really mattered much - he held no illusions about the little play they were carrying between them, nor did he have particular expectations of its finale. To be blunt, perhaps, it was simply - entertaining.
“The party’s been to your taste, I hope?”
“Philip,” The minx repeated as his lips touched her skin, for no other reason other than the fact that men liked to hear their own names. This one was much prettier than that schmuck she had arrived with. Not to mention more civilized! She wasn’t sorry to see him go, that was for sure. Especially not now.
Even if in New York her lifestyle wasn’t precisely swanky, her life in London was nearly the opposite. Her family never would have thrown such a party, but they certainly attended many. Sally never learned how to act properly. Well – she had, but did the opposite instead. It was more fun. That’s what life is all about, isn’t it? Life was too short to follow all of the rules.
A slow, cheeky grin lights up across her angular features. “This is your party?” Her hand falls to his knee, delicate and casual. “It’s enchanting, darling.” The other lifts the crystal glass to her painted lips for a sip of the bubbly liquor. “Is there a special occasion?”
Eyes flickering to the crowd for a quick moment, it doesn’t take more than glance to notice that she’s earned even more attention with the help of their host.
“I’m the fill-in from the ballet studio up the street. Here till they find another girl, I guess.” Darcy said tentatively as she stepped toward the other woman. She was no longer a frightened girl just starting out but admittedly, ballets and clubs were…different. She was graceful, yes, knew what she was doing, maybe - but definitely didn’t have the sex appeal that was required for this kind of dancing.
And being faced with Sally - whom she hadn’t seen in action before but somehow oozed the confidence and sensuality Darcy seemed to lack - was intimidating.
Darcy cleared her throat. “You, um. Have a habit of drinking before a show?” She was merely curious, not accusatory. Besides, the girls were going for drinks later and expressly told her she was not to invite Sally. She’d written it off with the possibility that Sally simply didn’t like alcohol. But now - now Darcy simply couldn’t fathom why.
A thin shoulder rises and drops in a shrug, a smile flashed quickly. “Maybe you’ll like it enough to stick around.” Sally felt a little nervous in the presence of a ballerina. In her youth she had attended dance classes, but she hadn’t stuck it out. Too much structure. Rules and hard work never melded well with Sally, especially as a young girl. Her ballet teacher quickly became just another authority figure to rebel against.
The starlet fluttered about, pulling out a couple of glasses and pouring a generous amount of vodka into both. She topped them with a little bit of club soda – something she rarely did for herself. “Calms the nerves.” Sally confided in a rare moment of truth. Well – partial truth. She drank before the show, during, and after – but it did calm her nerves.
“Not that we have anything to be nervous about, of course!” Her usual cheeky smile returns, all red lipstick and white teeth. “What’s your name? Boss might give you a stage name, y’know.” She hands a glass to the other woman, sitting back down with her own.
His motives weren’t entirely spiteful. Not always.
Philip admitted it was petty, and shallow, but spending the evening with a drink in hand and a pretty girl, on his arm wasn’t an unattractive idea compared to - well, literally anything else his father had planned. Especially because she was the center of high society’s murmured disapproval. That was a bonus, really.
Of course, he wasn’t stupid. Her interest in him would be as mercenary as his interest in her. It was almost easier that way - a game to be played, something interesting for once to change up the dull monotony that was his life. There was something like truth in this kind of insincerity that was refreshing from all the other kinds.
He plucked a second flute of champagne off a waiter’s tray and sauntered over to the girl he’d had his eye on for most of the evening, dropping casually into the empty seat next to her.
“Care for a drink, doll?”
She hadn’t been invited, not really. Her current (now not so current) boy-toy was bringing Sally along as a plus one. There was a bit of an argument on their way inside and he had stormed off – what was she supposed to do, leave? There was an open bar! One thing Sally Bowles was good at (and there weren’t many) was making herself at home anywhere. Over the years she’s had to, of course, considering she doesn’t actually have one.
So Sally chatted up the crowd, not aware that she stuck out like a sore thumb as she slithered from person to person, trying to find someone to stick to. All the while her mischievous hazel eyes kept finding the same handsome face across the room.
After effectively causing a stir, the spindly woman took a seat, admittedly a little bored in spite of herself. But pretty girls aren’t alone long, are they?
“You read my mind.” Sally smiled as she took the flute, words dripping with her exaggerated Londoner accent. “Sally Bowles, it’s a pleasure.” A dainty hand is extended, palm down, as if inviting a kiss.
She gave the door a crisp knock before pushing it open.
“Sally?” She let herself in, taking a moment to mentally catalog the dressing room she found herself in. It was a new experience, to say the least. Ballet dressing rooms were less, in general. Usually she only had time to down a bottle of water and retie her shoes, and then it’s back to the wings for the next entrance, so the rooms were always stripped down to its bare bones. She was admittedly a little bit dazzled - both by the chaos and the blinding glamour of all of it.
“It is Sally, right? You done with everything yet? Cause the - um - the stage manager wants you down at soundcheck in ten.”
At the Kit Kat Club, Sally held court. Well, she was second in command at the least. Top of the bill, the biggest dressing room – one of two rooms reserved for only one occupant. While it separated her from the other girls, it was well worth it. Half of them hated her anyways. All perks of sleeping with the owner! Hearing the knock on the door, the starlet paused from applying her lipstick to call for the visitor to come on in.
“Just about, love!” with a couple swipes of the crimson color across puckered lips, she finished her makeup and turned in her chair to look at the blonde. “Sally Bowles, at your service.” the confirmation was followed quickly by a curious once over of the other woman. “Are you replacing Rosie? Come in, have a drink with me!”
“God, can people be anymore juvenile? Veronica thought to herself, as she made her way through the busy subway car, away from the on-going fight.
She hadn’t ever usually been one stay and watch a situation like that go down. I mean nothing says highschool has-been waiting to happen and future gas station attendant like getting into brawl over last weeks football game.
As Veronica did her best to avoid a collisions, the train jolted suddenly and she felt herself run into someone solid, followed by a voice asking why she wasn’t a fan of the show.
“Meathead isn’t exactly my type” she answered quickly, her eyes traveling up from the ground to make eye contact. “is it yours?” she said finally making eyes with the voices owner.
Sally loathed the subway, absolutely loathed it. It was dirty, crowded, and about as un-chic as one could get. But she needed to get back into Manhattan and there was no way she could afford a car to go all the way uptown. Worst of all, you can’t smoke! And so as the fight unfolded Sally Bowles stood, one thin arm looped around a support bar, the other feeding herself small sips from a metal flask. She had to get through this train ride somehow, after all.
As the small girl collided with her rail-thin frame the singer swayed, but caught the younger woman and steadied her. “Careful, doll!” She murmured, straightening herself. “I’d let the tall one get me a drink, I suppose. But that’s besides the point. It’s funny!”
She held up the metal container. “Want a sip? It’s gin.”
