lily white & poppy red

She felt like a fish out of water, waiting in a lobby as ornate as Ella’s… although when it came to being around the other woman, that was a common thing for Adara. So used to the have-nots and the questionable tomorrows, it seemed like an impossibility to ever garner the same kind of status she had. There had to be a bottom to the food chain, didn’t there? She almost jumped at the sound of her cellphone ring, the unfamiliar number briefly putting her on edge. Was her building coming to collect, a debt accumulated from half paid rents… One message appeared in her voicemail,  “Hi Adara Phillips? Thank you so much for your audition, it was a pleasure to see you dance but…” Equity only. Without a degree. Etc.

It’d been a strange sense of inspiration that had driven her to try out for a company, dirty ballet shoes contrasting the usual pristine white as she performed. With the count of an enchantée par l'Oiseau de feu, a raw soul was bared for a table of men to see, each scribbling down notes. It was something she hadn’t done in a long time, hope pushed to action by a musician she’d met a few nights ago. She should’ve known better than to reignite those dreams, the disappointment coming to a close as Ella came into vision. Fabulous as always. Throwing her phone in her bag, her lips were pressed in a thin line- “I hope you’re in the mood for a drink because I need one. Or four... better yet, just a bottle of Tanqueray- cheap but effective.”

“You know, you’re not the first person who has said that to me, believe it or not.” He grinned, shaking his head. “But I believe in breaking the chain! I mean, I’ve got three jobs, constant class, and a musical that I’m writing. If I let myself get swallowed in monotony, I think I’d go absolutely bonkers. And that wouldn’t be good for anyone. I’d be making some pretty shit music at that point, I think. And hey, I like roping anyone into adventures, so you know who to call.”

He clinked her glass, a blush on his cheeks. “You know, now that we’ve had this toast, I’m going to let you know when my big musical comes out.” He chuckles. “You like Shakespeare?” He paused, a big smile on his face. “Well, lucky for you, I can certainly pry that recipe out of them. Where do you work? A Cabaret sounds fun! Is it like in the musical Cabaret? All smoky and red with dancers and fishnets and glamour?”

“Tell me when the next one is and I’ll be there… without the Charleston shoes so we won’t get slowed down.” It was hard to keep the smile off her face as he talked, the voice in the back of her head once again stirring. A past life. Or a lucky coincidence, this artist was someone she trusted without her usual hesitation. “We- my parents- they used to read me poems to fall asleep from this book we had.” A cup of tea in hand, she would be under the covers while her father’s voice echoed throughout her room. Just outside her wind, the night songbirds would sing along until her dreams came to take her away. “In sweet music is such art, killing care and grief of heart-  how come?” Each word left her lips with a delicate softness, emerald eyes lifting back up to curiously study his face until she broke out into a laugh. “Chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Well, we’ve got smoke...” A mental image of the backstage came into vision, dancers passing time with cigarette and drink breaks before they were ushered out onto the stage- more often than not in a drunken state. Phillips, you’re a dancer, saw your pretty little ballet shoes in your locker, you’re on. How many times had she taken the place of another girl, velvet-clad and giving one hell of a performance only to wait tables right after? “And red… if a fight breaks out.” She scrunched her nose, taking a sip of her drink before she rested her elbows on the table. “The club is open every night over in Brooklyn, and lucky me gets to dance and wait tables Tuesday through Sunday.” Leaning in, a cheshire cat smile pulled at the corner of her lips as her voice came out hush  “The secret is the more you drink, the more glamorous it becomes… I mean, four shots and you’ll feel like you’re in the Kit Kat Klub.”  

Cold. There was nothing but the frigid wind fluttering through the empty fields that stretch before her. Above shone no sun, no warmth that eased the shivers that shot up her spine as she moved forward. It took her all at once- how she couldn’t feel her heartbeat, how she screamed and no sound came out. There was only the overwhelming feeling of loss and loneliness that sat in the cavern of her chest, infecting every fiber of her being. The black sky reached down, clocked in mourning. You’re alone. You’re gone.... It was a single voice, a cry that woke her up, a boy’s melody singing the name “Eurydice!”

Pain tore her awake, the vision lingering overhead as she looked down at a broken glass, blood staining the skin of her hand. It’d happened again. Another nightmare that felt too real, holding her conscience in its hand as she tried to steady her breathing to no avail. The confused patrons of the Cabaret looked at the waitress, yet she couldn’t see them. Just panic, blurry vision causing her to tear through the bar towards the exit. Eurydice. The word spun around in the foreground of her mind like unshakable truth. What was happening to her?

When she found herself at Brantley’s building- against every fiber of her independent being- her finger hovered above his apartment button. Adara was far from a stranger when it came to hopelessness, to despair…. To an everchanging wind. Yet the kind of fear that held her close was something different entirely. For once, she didn’t know how to shake it off, desolation inching forward without hesitation. Each call she tried to put through went missed, pure adrenaline barreling through her veins as she heard Brantley’s door click open. “I’m sorry-“  The syllables spilled out as Adara clutched her hand, shirt gently colored crimson. What am I doing, he’s going to think I’m insane.... “Tyson didn’t pick up- I wasn’t sure where to go.”

The briefcase left behind looked expensive, the fine leather smooth under her fingertips as she retrieved it from the empty booth. Like all discarded things, it’d ended up at the bar, a late-night closing bringing it to her attention. It took a little digging for her to find a business card, curiosity perhaps getting the best of her as she rifled through papers. Estates, legal documents, and… was it a blank check? A few things she was certain of: 1) this man was no doubt wealthy, 2) she shouldn’t have been reading through the papers, although wasn’t privacy an illusion and 3) the check could answer a few of her own problems.

 What she hadn’t expected was to be directed to an office the next day, asked to drop off the suitcase as though she was a courier. It must’ve been some fancy bigwig, even the name dripped of old money. Jacket pulled tight so as to avoid the cold, Adara walked into the building, emerald eyes finding the name Robert Strathos engraved on a door. Life had lately been pulling her in all sorts of directions, ironically ending up in a place that dealt with wealth management with only a twenty in her pocket. 

The secretary’s desk was seemingly empty, Adara milling around for a few minutes before she finally knocked, fingers curled around the doorknob. Hopefully the man wasn’t in any kind of meeting. And if anything, she’d slip in as quietly as possible. “Hey, I’m from the bar, they said to drop off-“ The moment her gaze fell on the figure behind the desk, it felt as though all the air had left her lungs. Cold. Nothing but cold, the world began to spin. Just like it did in her nightmares. Without warning, her grip fell through, the suitcase hitting the ground with a thud.

“Tyson!” Today was the day, reckoning coming forth in a photoshoot that she had haphazardly agreed to. Clad in all black, she let out a small huff as she hit the apartment buzzer again. “Dance, he asked, be nymph, he said…” Adara muttered, rhythmically clicking the button so as to be a proper annoyance. Wasn’t that the best way to reach someone? As she’d thrown her pointe shoes in her bag, she couldn’t help but feel a brush of nerves take over in the morning. It’d been another sleepless night, although this time her dream was more harmonious than the usual nightmares. She could remember picking flowers, golden laughs echoed from her lips as another held her hand. Like silk, his voice sung to the birds, to the springtime, to her. Warm. Alive. Somehow missing the lonliness she’d become accustomed to. Most of all, it was a sharp contrast to the faceless death that seemed to hang over her these days. 

Adara was about to hit the ringer once more when she heard the front entrance click open. It was a short walk to Tyson’s door, done time and time again before... except this time she was able to let herself in. Odd. “Oh great artiste, it’s me, your humble dancer… here to really uh elevate your muse.” She nodded, ever so incredulous at the thought that Tyson wanted her help in the first place. It was common knowledge at this point that she’d given up on her dreams, except for the occasional tryst at the Cabaret. This… this was highly unusual for Adara, to indulge in hope always felt frivolous. At least she could help a friend out. The past couple weeks had been a strange whirlwind for them all, as if life was waiting to monumentally change.

@ohqstarters

even in the city as busy as new york, its streets packed with people almost regardless of the time of the day, sonya gets to enjoy her luxuriously large personal space. she walks and people will do whatever they can to avoid getting too close to her. they will step aside; the crowds will part. maybe someone would find it unnerving and distressing, the lack of contact between you and the rest of the world. 

sonya, however, is not one of those people. 

her heels click sharply against the sidewalk as she moves forward, and she is utterly unbothered by the reactions others might display at the sight of her. she truly could not care less of them, not when her gaze suddenly fixates itself on a figure standing not too far from her. sonya’s movements come to a halt. she tilts her head to the side, lips pressed together in consideration. ah well, she muses, running into one of them was inevitable. 

and she moves again, though this time she does not stop until she is standing right next to the person. “humor me.” sonya does not ask; she commands. “what do you think will happen to”—her slender finger points at a young couple ( late twenties, two working professionals, no human children, just a pet or two ) chatting across the street—“them in the next ten years?” her most consistent source of amusement? hearing their whimsical ideas.

A day off was a rarity, blue moon in all its glory... and something that she needed. When the nights contained sprawling dreams, the kind that she couldn’t quite shake off, responsibilities slowly slipped through her fingers. There were the wrong drink orders, something she almost never messed up, not with her level of experience. Broken glasses, sparkling shards glittering under the lights of Cabaret as they signaled another mistake. For once, the distant and untouchable was getting the best of Adara Phillips. And the visions of a cold death hung behind her like a shadow, following each turn she made down the New York streets. 

Autumn wind came with a chill, tangling its invasive fingers through her hair as she wrapped her arms around her body. As if to hold together- wasn’t that what she best at? All it took was falling in step with the living monster that was the city and she could will herself to ignore everything else (though whether that was successful remained a mystery). She’d almost mindlessly been finding her way, a disconnect between head and body until the spell was broken by a voice. Into her version came a woman, a confident air surrounding her... and something else. Something ominous, like storm clouds hanging in the sky. Adara’s gaze followed her movement where it landed on a couple. “I’m not really one for predicting the future...” She replied with each word dipped in a hollow distance before she let out a small breath. Emerald hues looked back at the woman, an insouciant raise of her shoulders mirroring her words. “They’ll probably go their separate ways, strangers in ten years- I don’t know.” 

“Might be blind optimism, but hey! It has gotten me this far.” He shrugged his shoulders with a languid smile. He had faced enough heartbreak, but dwelling on it didn’t do anything productive. Fortunately for him, he had his art as a method of catharsis. When the going got tough, he put it into his music. He wove it into the instrumentation, placing every emotion he felt into the songs, the lyrics, the notes. Maybe it was a coping mechanism… maybe he could pretend his own life wasn’t so bad, when it was. When he dealt with losts loves, rent past due, his father leaving. All of it. He just wrote another song, and then it left him. He could find something else to sing for.

He chuckled, pondering the question. “Raising a glass to the bright world around us! And the changing of the leaves. For serendipitous moments and the facts that we have drinks to raise at all!” He clinked her glass, and then took a sip. The Mezcal was smoky and sharp, the pineapple added sweetness, but it rounded out with some refreshing cucumber. It was one of the specialties at the bar, but would she like it?

With the weeks beginning to blur into one, a change of pace was welcome. As though the air that filled her lungs felt fresher, lighter.  Once again, unexplainable recognition melted her steely exterior with a simple smile. Perhaps that was all it really took, a leap of faith into hope and optimism. If only... Nonetheless, her lips curled upwards at the thought. A night like this was not something she could imagine, not with the foreseeable future almost always falling on the predictable side. Wake up, work, repeat. Simplicity in its finest form. “You’re...” She paused, emerald hues looking him over before she shook her head. “You’re not like a lot of people I’ve met. It’s nice... Good.” Like a ray of sunshine in a storm ridden New York. 

“Here, here- to the world and autumn.“ Fuzzy memories floated around in the back of her mind, each image bringing with it a sort of warmth. “And to finding your song.”  It’d felt... like they’d done this before, the thought of ephemeral toast coming and going as she took a sip of the drink. Adara could feel her eyebrows raise, lips pursed before she looked across the table. “I might have to steal this recipe for the Cabaret- the bar I work at is pretty no thrills with their menu, could always use something to... spice it up.” Better yet, distract from stripped paint and hopefully put a tip in her pocket. 

He downed the shot with practiced fluidity and barely winced as the tequila burned its way down his throat. “I will wait patiently though I daresay there is nothing waiting at the end of that line for me but heartbreak.” Ty laughed, taking another order from one of the other waitresses milling about, and getting started on mixing the drinks whilst keeping most of his attention on Adara. He’d been doing this long enough now that it came as complete second nature. “Nothing particularly exciting, just trying to keep my head above water.” He said, pouring the other order out of the shaker into two glasses and handing them off to their coworker - table four could wait on their abomination of a drink a little longer as far as Ty was concerned. “I landed some spots in a big exhibition in Manhattan next month so I’m working on those like a bat out of hell - speaking of.” He clicked his long fingers in Adara’s direction. “One of my models moved back to whichever terrifying rural smalltown she crawled out of and I’ve been left in the lurch.” Ty batted his eyelashes and gave her the sweetest, most saccharine smile he had in him. “I could really use an ass-saving.” He shrugged, sweeping his dark mop of hair back off his forehead. “I’m seeing this guy, he’s cute as anything and I could ask him, but now that I think of it, a dancer’s really what I need. Bonus points if you wear those pretty ballet shoes that make you look like you’re about to turn into a fuckin’ swan or something.” 

“I can neither deny or confirm that statement.”  The truth tended to lean towards the latter. There would always be that scintilla of fear, lessons learned creating a palimpsest that she swore by. After all, the higher the walls, the less there was a chance that she’d get hurt again. Three cheers to self-inflicted loneliness. Emerald hues watched as Tyson got to work. With each minute movement, she was starting to think that bartending was an underappreciated art form.  “That makes two of us... not long until rent is due, can’t wait to watch my bank account numbers hit zero again.” She muttered, eyes briefly landing on the table she was serving. So far, it looked like the ladies were preoccupied with some heated conversation. God only knew what...

 It was the mention of the gallery show that caught her attention. If anyone in the world deserved a moment in the sun, it was Tyson and his passions. There was no doubt in her mind that someone as talented as him was bound to be a success. “Okay let me first say congratulations, I’d say we should do another shot but that might not be the best decision for our job security.”  Adara let out a small laugh before crossing her arms over her chance. After so many failed auditions, she’d left dancing for her apartment and occasionally the Cabaret. If she was so lucky as to perform. An art installation would be uncharted waters. She could feel a hesitation settle in her stomach, biting down on her lip in thought. “As for your ass-saving... I’m not- I don’t know... I haven’t done much dancing in a while...” The dreamer inside stirred, like a spark. Maybe it was time to take a chance, especially when it involved supporting someone like Tyson. “Fuck it, fine. I’ll help you out, pointe shoes included. Tell me the details.”

Eurydice + mood board

had  he  not  perhaps,  been  on  his  seventeenth  drink  there  might  have  been  more  scrutiny  in  his  gaze.  keener  interest.  instead,  the  interest  turns  inward  —  autumn  leaf.  quaint,  uttered  in  the  spur  of  the  moment  yet  somehow  so  .  .  .  oddly  relevant.  maybe  these  drunken  whims  can  somehow  flourish  into  something  resembling  talent  —  a  FOOL’S  GOD,  if that  will  sate  a  bloody  critic.  critics.  

and  her  question ?  only  makes  it  all  the  worse.  the  nail  in  that  proverbial  coffin.   abrupt  derisive  laughter  rings  out.  if  eyes  hadn’t  been  obscured  by  those  unnecessary  dark   mirrored  lenses  she’d  have  seen  them  FLASH  of  their  own  accord.  there  is  no  humour  in  them.  chagrin  bubbles  in  his  chest   —  how  IRRATIONAL.  adam  tries  to  push  that  aside,  a  physical  swipe  at  nothing  in  particular.    ❝    adara  the  autumn  leaf.  is  it  supposed  to  make  me  happy  that  you  don’t  already  know  who  i  am  ?   because  it  doesn’t.  oh  no,  i’m  not  one  to  roll  over  and  play  humble  —  i  just  want  to  be  normal,  i  don’t  LIKE  fame.  pah !  they  all  lie.  every  last  one  of  them.  don’t  they  leo.    ❞    another  swipe.   ❝   stop  touching  me !   ❞  before  offering  adara  the  autumn  leaf  another  lopsided  grin,  arms  spreading  bracingly.   ❝    apparently  i’m  not  creative  at  all.  peter-whatsisname  said  it  and  so  it  must  be  true.  ART  for  ART’S  SAKE  is  dead.   ❞

Was it wrong to lie? Yes- although all morals could fall into a gray area depending on their governing philosophy. While the inkling of recognition was certainly becoming realized, that was something Adara was choosing to keep to herself. In favor of free drinks and of course, unusual company. Could anyone brand her guilty for that? It’s the sound of mellifluous laughter that brings forward her gaze, emerald curiously looking him over as he spoke again. I just want to be normal, I don’t like fame. Ah, to be extraordinary... to live a life above the mundane. Dreams like that had prompted her to leave her sleepy hometown and chase them into the concrete jungle. Although, unlike her counterpart, they’d done little more than fizzle to dust with each passing day. "Uh... I wouldn’t take it too personally, my schedule kind of has me living under a rock... Not very autumn leaf of me, I know.”  Lie. Though its a different conversation, it’s one Adara knows how to navigate. How many times had she had a forlorn customer come to the Cabaret, craving advice like a refilled glass of whiskey. A smile pulled at her lips as she clasps her hands together. “Alright, first of all, you need to forget about this Peter guy. He sounds like a pretentious tosser.” She nodded, fingers curling around her drink. “And two- a distraction, let's see...” There was the inevitable shot, the bartender almost waiting expectantly. However, she found her gaze land on something: a game. And the potential to make a quick bet. “When’s the last time you’ve played darts?”