Post by jacqueline merle on Apr 29, 2009 20:01:45 GMT -5
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,, "la hâte sur votre connard stupide, ceci a besoin d'être fait par six ce soir !" a piercing french accent rang through the small bar, catching the attention of the english speaking workers setting up the stage. as far as any of them had known they were all from new york, saying things like 'cwaafee' and 'aange', where had the clearly native frenchmen sprouted from? frenchwoman that was. the tiny blond still muttering at them in the unknown tongue as disgruntled hands pushed through her uneven too-blond, stick-straight hair. even in the stilettos she was wearing she hardly reached the chests of the robust men she was currently jabbing in the stomach. tonight would be one of the most important of her life. TWENTYFOUR KARROT, a small bar with a good stage, had agreed to host her biggest show yet. a show which nothing, absolutely nothing would mess up. not the lights or the guests, not how much she drank or popped, and especially not the dumb asses she had hired to move a few things her frail body couldn't push. "guys come on it's not that hard, lights need to be arranged, soundboards and everything the dj will need to the left, stage is at the right."
,, it was remarkably unrecognizable from the shrill voice that still echoed in their heads. it was all a part of her act though, to look and sound like a simple american teenager trying to make it big. which was what everyone did in america, so she fit right in. well 'fit in' in the sense that she wasn't noticed as her past, or judged as a member of the 'Prestigious Merles of France'. her raunchy dance moves and lyrics would appall most families of the east cost, her style and attitude pushed most sensible people away. couture wasn't exactly a well known or well understood fashion statement, for reasons of which she was oblivious. how could some one not love the abstract mystery of the meaning behind it? the puzzle to put together the story the garments had been made to told. in reality she stuck out like a black man at a KKK convention, but it was the real her. the her that made her spot in the world ( a loft in brooklyn ) seem just right. that made the horrified stares and statements the best compliments, and the one night stands the purest love.
,, her new life as a young adult in new york had taken off nicely. in france she would have been rushed away from clubs by her parents, punished for preforming, and dressed as her grandmother wished. here though, here she was free. on stage she could act how she wanted. hell, she basically started an full blown orgy at each show with the way she shook in those 'costumes' ( more like panties ). today would be no different than all the other times she had left her heart with her music on that stage, just... a little bigger. the thought of the crowd made her heart jump, the heat and the noise, the boom of the amplifiers surrounding her. it was a rush good enough to match almost any pill she had ever popped. smiling at the fantasy she sat down at her large mirror backstage and opened the huge case of makeup she brought along for herself. yes, for herself. only the big times got their makeup done professionally.
,, doing her makeup took forever, considering the amount she usually wore, and was a slow, tedious process. she was tan, for once, the contrast against her too-white hair stunning in the light. time wore on as her face was plastered on layer by layer, and without any sign of warning a tall man appeared at the door. fives minutes, miss, not to be a bother... "no bother at all," she replied to his surprise, quite chipper. nothing really ever pulled her down on stage as the euphoria pumped through her veins. there was nothing more natural and beautiful than human E. it amazed her how the body could create such a drug, and amused her at how close it was to being doped like hell on the pill form of it. refraining from fantasizing about it any longer she took one last look in the mirror, one last fix and stepped out on stage.
,, the lights hot against her skin she approached the mic, smirking as she watched the crowd. a good turn out, for an indie pop girl. "hellooo, new york," she lulled, sipping on the drink that someone had provided. there was no need for an introduction. everyone here already knew who she was. the ones in the front, for example, she had seen countless times before and from what she knew were now her nyc street team. the rest of them she was sure had heard from one of them. song after song she couldn't help but sway in her body suit or 'dress' as it was made to look like. most dresses however didn't end in a thong that completely or mostly revealed your ass. an ass was only an ass to jac, she gladly shook it around in her risqué routine for all to see. it wasn't about that though. song by song she got more into the music, move by move the euphoria pounded stronger and stronger until she was swimming in it. thats when things really heated up, when she lost herself completely in the music.
,, she swore, music was totally better than sex.
stats!
OPEN! 923 WORDS.
shit quality to the max, haven't written a thing in months ommmmg sorry. oh and a guy would be the preferred poster, pleaseee. she gets along better with them.
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