op (maldito) wrote in repose, @ 2015-11-30 05:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, ceil love, daniel webster |
Webster's Vinyl: Daniel W & Ceil L
Who: Daniel Webster & Ceil Love
What: meeting
Where: Webster's Vinyl
When: nowish
Warnings/Rating: TBD; nothing egregious anticipated
Ceil didn't do alone very good. Very well. She'd had her sister around her whole life, twins separated by less than a year and maybe some men's blood, but nothing more. They hadn't shared a womb, but they'd shared everything else. And for the first time in her short life, she was alone. And she didn't do it very good. Very well.—Alone, the downstairs office seemed too cold, so, even after Jude put everything upstairs for Daniel, she'd taken her blankets up and nested in a corner near the stairs, a place where the walls met, that felt more like home, the tinny license plates helping stretch the illusion. But, someone had to watch the store. They were barely making enough as it was, running cons, Ceil's stripping, and even Daniel's money combined. They couldn't both go to the Capital, and since it was Harp's dream—recording that demo on her own press of wax—, not Ceil's, the slightly younger Love stayed behind. She watched the store. But, she didn't do alone well, so she kept the lights flaring bright and she kept music playing loud on the turntable by the register, shellac-black turning, turning, turning out notes. 🎶 Alone, the store empty, she bopped aimlessly, shoeless, braless, unprofessional all-around in a loose tank in a dusty lilac gray and yoga pants painted-on black. It was clear that was all she had on, to any interested, as she offered herself as honey to Harp's vinegar. Pretty and look-at-me!, and men ate that up, so willing to believe there was nothing beneath bubblegum hair bombed grenadine-wild, lacquered out to fairy floss where the shower had washed away pigment. They saw her as tits and ass, and she played the part faithfully. Ceil pushed unkempt hair back from her forehead as she moved feet on the dirty hardwood floor. She bopped. She typed out cutesy emoji to some man whose first message to her was a dick pic (subpar, btw) and she considered a selfie that was more cleavage than anything, since her experience told her she'd get more money that way. The space was warm and she didn't seem bothered by the chill that skated across paned windows. She sung along, candied lips moving to the chorus of, "Oh, why you lookin' at me?" And the ever apt aside, "I can use it." She splashed droplets of her brandless grape soda on the counter as she moved. She wiped it up with the frilled hem of her tank, but she didn't stop swaying. |