F01 - Blackbook, Grand Opening Pt. II

[Simmone 0]

With her little music number come and gone, the stage had already become occupied by another. The little block of ice in her mixed cocktail had begun to melt causing the glass to sweat, watering it down and living it dilute and mirage of what it once was. The flippant intoxication in Simmone's blood was just as fleeting, allowing the murky thoughts to twist around and begin to discover logic. Finding a seat away from the active crowd and their telltale trades of heat and love. Some even genuine and real, to which those would be the most obvious to her. The ones that she fixated on. The ones that hurt but she couldn't find a way to look away. "I had fun." She spoke plainly turning the cup to the rattle of the ice striking the side of the glass, finally discovering something to draw her attention. An everlasting friend and partner that until recently didn't pull its weight despite every effort to try. The statement she spoke to it, a thought spoken out loud. It was one she couldn't keep contained. It was the thought she was trying to convince herself of, foolishly trying to speak it into existence.

The truth however was far more vocal bouncing around in her head. Simmone was 29 years old and not getting any younger, she had her beauty for now but the woman wasn't stupid enough to believe it eternal. Here in this club with a little liquid courage she'd made an absolute mockery of herself to what amounted to a bunch of college kids, and for what? To clamber at a youth she never got, steal a portion of it? Grasping at fuzzy fleeting memories, she lingered deeply at her dilute negroni and finding it an apt metaphor. A night of pretending through watered down relationships, where she let all of that elegance and regality she normally kept fall away and ended up being a fool. Setting the glass down and pressing her face next to it laying on her arms, as she looked through the twisted tint of pink she couldn't help but notice that the booth she was in was empty. In this way, the Blackbook had captured perfectly what it was like to be home. From her purse she claims a white cloth, wiping away the sweat from all her galivanting around. Thankfully a waiter was kind enough to return it to her. Taking a corner after folding it, she begins to fix some of her smeared mascara in wet inky blotches that would easily permanently stain it. Removing all signs of her pitiful weakness, recapturing the façade of someone just enjoying an evening out.

Best to keep up the appearances for what they were, and what they were always meant to be. Something she'd learned many years ago to not let raw emotions to escape and ruin a good night or prove her too human. Like a good little doll, she'd replace her face to one of grace and quarantine her own loneliness to the reaches where they belonged. A little black pen drew across the smudged black outline around her eyes as she looked deeply into a hand mirror. A deep breath in and an exhale to toss a shovel full of soil on what she wished to bury. Everything was back as it should be, no matter how much it stung this was her lot in life and the cards she was dealt. The best thing she could do is don the mask and roll with the punches as they came.

Where better to wear a mask drawn on by mascara, then a masquerade?

WC: 610

[Luke Pendragon 0]

Luke sipped and ate absent mindedly. He looked around wondering if he would actually dance. The idea wasn’t repulsive but there was only so much food that he could eat. Eventually one’s taste buds would get overwhelmed. He debated getting into a fight just to spice things up. He decided against it, ultimately, because he didn’t trust what his brain was telling him about his mental state. It would be a shame to survive all this time just to die from a stupid pvp bout. 

“Maybe I should just get going,” he sighed, looking at the exit. He realized there was only so much fun to be had on any given day. He stretched and then wandered around in a circle one last time to see if anyone was interested in chatting or something and if not he’d head on home. He was fooling himself to think that he could actually have fun in this imaginary world.