James isn't the (thedanseur) wrote in repose, @ 2017-07-21 00:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, holly robinson, jason woods |
Holly + Jason: the Capital
Who: Holly & Jason
What: Capital late nights
Warnings: Language, but nada.
The Capital was full of people like her. Not the Capital that Cat's apartment was, the one over what was basically a long party where all the knives were just hidden. The real Capital, the one that smelled like dry-cleaner fluid and leftover Chinese and garbage baked in the sun until it was sweet-rot. The Capital that stayed alive at night, rather than came alive, where it just didn't sleep. It wasn't glisten and shine, it wasn't a dress dug from the back of Cat's wardrobe and a martini drunk in a high-polish bar somewhere anonymous in the high-priced area of town just because Holly could. It was a thrum of feeling a tiny bit like home, even if she wasn't here to go home.
She was supposed to be here looking for her friend. She'd been out every night in the bloom of the moon, fat with promise over her head when she couldn't sleep and she couldn't get comfortable and she wanted to be anywhere but within four walls. She'd walked miles and miles of street and she'd stopped with every cluster of working-girls she could find to ask the right questions, because she still fit. A little Repose was rubbing off, but not enough. Not enough to knock the Jersey out, maybe that stuck because it was like who she was had been under glass, a museum exhibit of Jersey, frozen five years. She could still fit with street trash, because she was, and she'd woven in and out of enough back alleys in town to know her way.
She'd been watching a girl make it across the street for a while. Long enough to forget to look elsewhere. She'd noticed, that if she watched people too hard, too close when she was tired or stuck, or bored or something, that she couldn't not. Un-watch. The girl across the street didn't look like her friend. She had pink hair, soft like candyfloss and a vest that told everyone to FOAD in big letters. But she was the last in a chain of girls who might know her friend and Holly reeled a little back in the all-encompassing smell of the garbage until she was pink hair and lazy attitude and the taste of cigarette smoke in her mouth. Like that, like a flash, like it was all her itches scratched at once, and she stumbled, knocked one boot (which hadn't changed) back against the nearest fire-escape and the noise? Was kind of loud. The noise made her heart-beat skitter into her throat, and one second she was pink hair looking at pink hair and the next she was Holly.
It was kind of super fucking insane and she would have been totally focused on that if you know, there weren't people around.