Stephie Marsh (slinkster_ghoul) wrote in darker_london, @ 2015-01-01 13:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | astrid kensington, josie rhydderch, miles kempf, stephie marsh |
Or it's gonna go down in flames (Stephie, Josie, Miles, Astrid)
There were better places she could have gone for New Years, wiser places. Which would have been good if Stephie wanted better, if she wanted wise. She didn’t, she yearned for that full body rush of adrenaline, wanted defiance and alcohol, sex and power. She kept thinking you wouldn’t survive it, you wouldn’t survive it and how, well… how he wouldn’t survive what she’d been through, how he’d crumble and break apart even if he said he wasn’t the type to lay down and die. But she’d survived. She’d survived and her back and hands were strong, and her heart was strong.
It was. It was. Her heart was strong (she told herself.)
And maybe the back of her dress was cut low enough to show her scars for a reason, or maybe she just wanted to wear this dress? She’d fight anyone who said she was trying to show off anything on purpose. They were her scars, she could do with them what she liked.
Fuck off, she thought, to the world in general.
“Do we have to?” Josie complained, when Stephie said she was staying at Josie’s for Miles’ party.
“You don’t have to do shit,” said Stephie, still bitter about Josie told me not to. “Go find another party then, I don’t care.” She straightened the bottom of her skirt in the mirror and smiled at her reflection.
Josie was so tempted to find another party. So tempted and annoyed. She wanted to go and find Jinx, to climb in through his window and rest in his arms. Except his window was Yvonne’s, his bed was Yvonne’s, and if she left Stephie alone here she’d probably do something… Stephie-like.
She wanted to bring Jinx back to her own room, but that was so unequivocally out of the question tonight. But, if they could lock the door between her side of the house and Miles, they could keep everyone out and just be together. (Josie was falling fast, dangerously fast in the way that didn’t feel dangerous, and didn’t feel wrong.)
But she had to keep an eye on Stephie, because Stephie was getting ready for this party like she was getting ready for a fight.
Though when Stephie stood in front of the mirror in Josie’s room, smiling at herself and telling Josie she didn’t give a shit where Josie went, Josie had to make a real effort to remind herself why she even cared.
She would have told Stephie she was being a total bitch if she didn’t think Stephie would take it like the greatest compliment and add it into her armoury.
Why am I even friends with you? Josie asked herself, watching Stephie’s back. Her hair was recently dyed black again, straightened down her back. From behind, she looked a bit like Jinx, short, curvy Jinx, except Jinx’s skirt would have been much longer. Maybe Josie was just seeing Jinx everywhere. (Falling fast.)
Downstairs, Stephie did the rounds for a while, drinking with the friends of his who were excited about her helicopter skills and short skirt, ignoring Miles, barely looking at Miles until he did something, said something loud enough that she turned and finally looked right at him.
She cornered him at the bar (it wasn’t even a kitchen tonight; it was definitely all bar.) “What happened to your face?”
Miles was sporting a colourful bruise on his well-bred cheekbone, the skin still red around the outside of the outline of Jude’s fist, deepening in colour near the middle. “That,” he said, pouring a line of martinis from the cocktail shaker and taking the biggest one. “Was Jude protecting your honour.”
Stephie had been hoping for something to mock him with, but this just disarmed her. “My what?”
Miles grinned. “That’s what I said.”
Stephie punched him in the arm, but it was not the same kind of punch as Jude had thrown. “Seriously? Jude hit you? When?”
“Couple of days ago,” Miles said. “Frankly I’m surprised she didn’t drop in to say hi.” Miles wasn’t surprised in the slightest.
“Of course she didn’t,” Stephie said darkly, annoyed. She grabbed one of the martinis and knocked it back. Really annoyed, at Josie and Jude both. What the fuck? How dare they? How dare either of them think they had a say in what she did? “I’m going to fucking kill her,” she muttered, slamming the empty glass down onto the benchtop.
“Aw, you’re going to avenge my poor face, I’m touched,” Miles said, laying his hand across his heart because that’s what people did when they felt sincere emotions, right?
“Shut up,” Stephie said, knocking his hand away from his heart. “Don’t look so smug. You’re not the first guy she’s socked because of me.”
Miles had the decency to look disappointed.
“They don’t get a fucking say in it,” Stephie said firmly, and kissed him just as firmly, not caring who saw them. Let Josie see, let her tell Jude, let it bring on some kind of confrontation with either of them. Stephie was the one who decided when they’d stop, not Jude or Josie. Miles put his martini down and grabbed her upper arms, his fingers gripping tight, holding her in place. She kind of wanted to slam her boot down on his foot, but she bit his lip instead, pulling it slowly away from his mouth, pulling a hungry moan out of him. That was better, that was better than stomping.
Stephie spun away when she was done, grabbing another martini and rejoining the party in the other room. Music she didn’t know was playing, people she didn’t know were talking, dancing, and she had an ice cold glass to press again her bruised mouth.