Sasha prefers to open (carry) wrote in repose, @ 2016-04-09 19:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, cat dubrovna, sasha james |
Theater: Cat & Sasha
Who: Cat C & Sasha J
What: Drinking and Tarantino
Where: The Senator
When: After everything is closed for the night.
Warnings/Rating: Maybe some swearing?
The lights in the lobby of The Senator were still on and spilled warm yolk onto the sidewalk through double glass doors, but the marquee outside that usually lit up the night on this side of Main Street was dark and somber. Inside, the walls were lined with red velvet curtains that parted every few feet to show off lightboxes which held classic film posters up and down the hallway that lead into the theater proper. Sasha had gotten the sound system finally figured out (not really, because she still didn't know how to turn it off without turning off everything in the lobby), but the music was still not exactly her taste. The voice of Marilyn Monroe sang out about men growing cold while girls grew old, and while the lyrics were wonderful she thought it could seriously use a solid Wu-Tang bass line under it.
In the actual theater, the music was quieter, the air held the scent of popcorn (as it always did), and modified cars lined up in rows before the screen. Sasha liked the whole drive-in theme, but her favorite part was the illusion of being at perpetual dusk inside. That magical moment just as the sun fades behind the horizon and sends the sky into shades of rose and indigo. She was a sucker for a good sunset, always had been, and now she got to live it every moment of every day without having to go outside. That whole going outside bit was becoming rarer and rarer, and it took her a while to realize how much she was honestly pulling away from everyone. That was something she meant to remedy, it was just easier to regress than take baby steps forward.
Sasha was in one of the middle cars, red and white, her chunky boots kicked up onto the table in front of her as she fiddled with the remote for the digital projector. There were an obnoxious amount of buttons, and even with the guide it was too complicated to figure out what all of them did. The slew of profanity that she mumbled under her breath became far more imaginative the longer she tried to get the movie queued up. Oh, there was a metaphor for life somewhere in that struggle, but Sasha was not deep enough to make the connection. Her concerns were with trying to fix the rift that she had caused between her and Cat. Because to Sasha? Whatever it was? Was absolutely her fault. No Jersey excuses. And certainly not the fault of Cat who had only ever wanted what was best for Sasha. Sometimes it was hard for the younger sister to see that.
So she waited for Cat to show up, not exactly patient with the growing remote control frustration, but pleased that her sister had agreed to show.