Charlotte Belanger Laveau can read your soul. (cajunoracle) wrote in midway_ic, @ 2011-08-26 11:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | charlotte laveau, dave maguire, week 2 |
{ w h o } Charlotte and Dave
{ w h a t } The show's over and the people gone. Time to relax.
{ w h e n } Friday, late
{ w h e r e } Living area
{ r a t i n g } A mild PG
{ status } Complete!
Another week in another town finished. It had been a good one. The ones lucky enough to be workers in Fort Wayne spent a good amount of money that week. Charlotte saw several repeat customers -- mostly silly young single men who wanted to look at her or equally silly young single women who wanted to know which of those young single men they were going to marry. Tomorrow they would pack up and move on to the next depressing place, but tonight -- well, they had tonight.
Charlotte wound her way through the city of tents and trailers, nodding and smiling to those she passed, but not stopping to chat. She was eager to indulge in her own brand of relaxation. Strains of a jazz tune drifted through the camp; it was an unfamiliar song, but the cheerful sound was not unwelcome. The smells of the delicious feast still hung in the heavy humid air. It had been a veritable thanksgiving, a celebration of the crowds they'd managed to pull in this week. Char would have a nice tidy sum to send back to her mother in NoLa, which eased her mind -- the matriarch was getting old, and the hard economic times did not skip over anyone, regardless of ability or age.
Once Charlotte reached her own small and shabby trailer, she toed off her shoes and sat ungracefully at the small round table she always placed outside. She preferred to set up camp on the edges of their nomadic town and away from the center where the kids and younger ones tended to get a little rowdy. She chose a cigarette from the scratched silver case that had belonged to her grandmother and lit it, inhaling deeply. The sounds of the field at night time were calming. After a few moments of quiet meditation, the redhead procured a half-empty bottle of gin from her trailer and placed it on the table, putting her bare feet up on the other chair. Charlotte knew she wouldn't be alone for long. It was like everyone here had a sensor that went off whenever someone opened a bottle of booze.