Re: promenade ; elevator
Nephritis smelled of dying, but she looked like a film star. The slight gray of her cheeks was hidden behind a Max Factor blush, and the thinning of her platinum hair was lost in the curls and waves that still smelled of burnt feathers from the iron. She wore a dress of pure white, with straps that clung to shoulders which dipped with a softness that spoke of edema. Her waist was tiny, and her hips were curved, and the dress met the floor and tempted with a view of pink-tipped toes and peek-a-boo heels. That there was nothing beneath the dress was no secret to the woman wearing it, even if this plunging neckline hadn't ever belonged to her. Lines had been the starlet's enemy, as she'd told everyone with a smile that made men long to see what was behind the curtain.
The woman wearing the dress was aged youth. She looked out from behind the starlet's seafoam green eyes and she blinked at her surroundings. Old and musty, the ship was still opulent, and she liked opulence. She liked opulence in the way a movie starlet did. She liked it like it was her due, and she barely saw the things that made the audience sit in the darkness with baited breath and fingers lost deep in popcorn. She was immune to it, and she was immured by it. Once, she had wanted nothing but the fur stole and adoration of a crowd. The blinding flash of camera and her name on the lips of fans. She had lived for these things, and now she was dying for them.
But she liked the ship, the old and refined lady with stories hiding in her belly. Nephritis walked the deck, her heels clicking like the second hand on a watch. No more than a dozen seconds, and her elbows rested on the railing. Below the water was dark as the grave, but she didn't fear it because she didn't know she was dying. Her sweet breath had wafted beneath her nose for so long that she could no longer smell it, and no one around her told her that the circles beneath her eyes bore grave grit. Deep-set eyes, the head of the studio said, and she was lauded for them.
But she was tired, and she pulled her dress hem clear of her heels, and she made her way into the ship, where comfort and warmth were unspoken promises. A drink, that was all she needed, she thought as she walked toward the elevator. Ships like this had theaters. A drink and a movie. That was just what the doctor ordered. She caught sight of the elevator, and she stepped inside without looking to see if it was occupied. One rounded shoulder leaned against the wall, and she noticed her companion. Red and white and arms crossed, and she gave him a smile that was made for lighting up a screen and warming up a man. "You don't have to look so cross. I don't take up much space. You can call me Baby. Everyone does."