Beau is a member of the (glittertribe) wrote in repose, @ 2018-03-04 14:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | *forum, *narrative, beau williams, burden bell, sadie marella |
Narrative; Sadie, Misha
Who: Beau
What: Thinking, relaxing
Where: His caravan and into the Capital
When: Current
Warnings/Rating: None really
The switch in managers had been met with no more than that catastrophe of a conversation with Damian. It happened, time made alterations, change was the only constant in a world that was constantly moving, and theirs moved more than most. He smiled, he was polite, all sugared 'honeys' and glitz, top hats and a saucy twist of his hips. Baby was a persona that was coming off less and less, until he was only Beau when he was washing the glitter off him, his skin emerging freshly pink, dark blonde hairs curling up at the ends like duckling tails.
He was Baby when he got dressed, shorts too short, too tight, even in the dead of winter. Oh, someone had tried to warn him once that the men of this small town wouldn't like it, and he heard their muffled yells from the windows of their pickups, the whistles when he walked by until they realized he was a boy. He saw too, those men that came in during his show, shame faced with their hands in their pockets, eyes like they were heading into a candy store full of sweets they couldn't have. He was Baby under the lights in the tent, flirting outrageously with those very same men that called him filth on the streets. He was Baby all the time in between, shoulders graced with hair that came in pink, and neon lime green, and soft sultry blue.
And being Baby meant there wasn't a lot of time to be Beau. Beau would have checked on Misha, maybe even Damian, concern wrapped up in hospitality. But sometimes he thought Damian didn't like him much, and he and Misha weren't real close. He should check. But shoulds were wishes, and if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
Maybe he needed a pony. That morning, he got up, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a black hoodie that he pulled up over his pillow-flattened curls. He packed his duffle with his unitard and ballet flats, and while the sun was rising up over the tents, he slipped out of the Carnival and headed into the city. He could go to the ballet studio in town, where the dancers always looked before they accepted him in their midst, but in the city? No one looked twice. He kept his head down the whole way there, earbuds jammed in and playing something soft that was more Beau than Baby.
He ran his fingers through his hair when he finally stepped off the bus, fluffing out his hair as he walked the few blocks to the studio. There were even a few hellos tossed his way when he came in, Beau-tame and not Baby-saunter, and he danced until his feet ached and his muscles burned pleasantly. When the studio finally closed, with sweat staining the hairs at his temples, he picked up his phone. It was time to take up Sadie on her offer. Time to contact Misha. Time to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, except be the boy under the lights for a little while longer.
[Sadie M]
Hey honey.
[Misha B]
You holding up all right?