A PORSCHE WITH NO BRAKES

                                   Mila’s unhealthy habit of checking her phone when in the presence of someone else was one she’d been trying to tune down to minimum. That’d only been the third time she’d done it since the dinner date had started. To her, the close contact with the device had nothing to do with killing time on social media whilst out for coffee — or pizza, like then — with a friend ( which she found very disrespectful ), and everything to do with her being notified in case someone wanted to book a new gig with her or, worst case scenario, cancel one. With her scheduled appeareance at Violet in a couple hours from then, she needed to be sure. However, when she refreshed the main page, the only new e-mail she found was a newsletter from the local news website. She wouldn’t have opened it right then and there, but its title captured her attention like a horror scene unfolding before a bystander’s eyes. "Oh, no..” Her free hand dropped the margarita slice back on the plate, her face losing its previous jovial expression. Dark hues turned to meet the other’s with a mix of worry and sorrow in them, before she flipped the screen to show them the title: Rorschach strikes again. “Another body was just found.”

where: st. peter’s, 11:50 pm. to: @milacdurel​

the ice in her glass had been tingling against it for a while, now — her hand mindlessly twirling her drink, while her gaze lost itself around the dimly lit corners of st. peter’s. there were thoughts swirling in her head, observations she wanted to note down: she couldn’t. if there was one thing she’d learned in the decade she’d worked in this field, it was that nothing put people on edge as much as a notebook, and someone taking notes over them. she let herself get swallowed by the music instead (how posh st. peter’s had turned, over her absence: now they even got a singer to cover the sound of the drunks retching in the back), her gaze occasionally drifting over the singer’s silhouette. not just appreciative of her looks or talent (would be hard not to notice either of them), but remembering rumors of her ties to valencia — if anything, a connection worth pursuing. by the time the set was over, and she could spot the singer reaching the counter, mitch made sure to signal the bartender before she could order: then, flashing her best big-shot kinda smile, she turned, her back to the counter, elbows resting on its top. head tilted, turned towards the singer. “my treat. that was a good set you played, felt like i owed ya”. 

✤₥♔

                                St. Peter’s wasn’t the kind of bar that drowned with clients each night. People didn’t necessarily stand still, waiting in line to get served. It was the kind of bar that attracted those who had a lot of stories to tell — many of which involved the Rogues Club at the other side of the street. In some ways it felt like a family bar — despite the fact its subjects were the furthest thing from family-friendly. Every Friday night, however, every stool was occupied and every table was filled. Mila liked to think she had a little something to do with that. It’d been the first place to offer her the opportunity for a gig, its stage the first one where she performed with her clothes on. Perhaps traces of her old lifestyle were still there nonetheless, leading her to choose mixes that had a sensual, ominous atmosphere to them — one she felt complemented herself, the bar, even the whole damn town.

After finishing her set with Show Me by Alina Baraz, Mila thanked the audience, wished them a great rest of their night and headed for the counter. It was then that she was greeted by a woman she couldn’t possibly ignore for a couple of reasons. It wasn’t just that she exuded the kind of certainty and confidence that she found appealing ( her striking blue eyes could have something to do with that, too ), but her offer drew a small, amuzed grin on her lips. “That’s very nice of you.. Thanks.” Liquid chocolate orbs fleeted to the bartender and offered them a wink that in their language meant my usual before landing back on her company. “Okay, I have a little secret to share.” The tall woman’s elbow was propped on the counter, her body facing the stranger before she leaned in a little. “They don’t ever charge me for my drinks. Think of it as a bonus policy along with my paycheck.” An apologetic smile pulled the corners of her mouth — as if it was her fault that the other couldn’t ( or rather, had no reason to ) buy her a drink that she got for free. “I’ve never seen you around before so I thought you should know,” her shoulders rose in a small shrug, her tone teasing “In case you plan on buyin’ drinks for every singer that performs in this city and all.”

Starter for: @milacdurel​

Axel sat at a table on the edge of the room, close to the stage at St. Peter’s. His eyes were fixed on the stage, his hand around his glass. Lounge music wasn’t normally his style, just background noise on most nights. The sound of Mila’s voice, though, he made a point to pay attention. It haunted him in a good way, suppose he would call it enchanting if someone asked him to describe it. That was if he was feeling generous, otherwise he’d tell them to fuck off and mind their own business. The song ended and his eyes moved down to the glass in his hand, he raised it to take a decent gulp. 

Once she stepped off the stage, he stood for a moment and let out a quick whistle to get her attention. He beckoned her over with a pull of his head. While he waited he stopped a cocktail waitress moving near him and ordered another drink, adding whatever Mila wanted to that order. “You did good, song bird.” He said as she moved closer, a soft smile playing at his lips for a moment. Axel offered up a one armed hug to greet her properly and pulled a chair at the table out for her. He took his seat in his previous spot and looked over his new company. “How are you? How are things? You okay?” Axel wasn’t the type to fill the air with small talk, as he’d rather get straight to the point of why he called her over. Just checking in, as he did ever since she left Valencia, making sure she was okay. Call it his protective nature, but he liked to make sure his friends, those he cared about, were safe. She was a tough one, but that didn’t mean a lot to him. They were all tough in their own ways. As much as he wanted to pretend he was invincible, there were still forces that could take him down and the man could call them by name off the top of his head.

✤₥♔

                                  Listen long, long enough you can love me                                   I'll be just yours, you can hold me                                   Even let you undress my mind                                   Save it, play it, watch it then press rewind                                   I can give you what you need                                   I can make you feel                                   I can make you feel alright.

Mila could navigate through the song’s simple range like a professional pianist asked to play a C major. Lounge music wasn’t about range, after all. It was about ignitic a certain kind of feeling. The list she’d composed was made of songs that had an erotic, alluring, ominous vibe to them — one that went hand in hand with St. Peter’s charm and perhaps the whole town’s essense. Red Ridge was the kind of place one couldn’t forget once they’d tasted it, not because it had any beaches or attractions unlike any other city, but for the sense of danger and warmth that enrupted those living in it. Red Ridge provided its citizens with an interesting life. Likewise, the singer hoped to provide her audience with an interesting, fun night. Old habits died hard, didn’t they? Once she finished the song and stepped off the stage for a break, the quick whistle drew her attention on a very special someone in the audience whom she hadn’t been able to spot before due to the lights hitting her eyes; someone she hadn’t seen in a long time. Surprise gave its place to genuine joy as a warm smile took its place on her crimson painted lips. The brunette shook her head as she approached, her hands taking a moment to fix her dress on the hips before reaching his table. “Always and forever lurkin’ in the shadows,” she mused before wrapping an arm tightly around his waist. “Thanks, handsome. It’s been a while.” Her palm ran up and down his back a couple times before she pulled away and took a seat on the chair he pulled out for her. 

Axel made a point of not screwing around with small talk and agoing straight to the point. It was one of the attributes that Mila appreciated the most about him. She appreciated him as a whole for his fierce mind and unconditional support when she most needed it. If it wasn’t for him and his determination not to let her pride get in the way, half her body would probably be wrapped in plaster from the injuries he and the rest of the Bone Breakers would’ve had to inflict upon her as punishment. “I’m okay, Ax. Promise.” Her hand rested on top of his, offering it a reassuring squeeze. “What, I haven’t bugged you about cash in a while and you thought Valencia has thrown me in a ditch?” 

Damien almost felt a sense of relief when he heard she had been a full time musician now, or at least, he assumed it was full time. He remembered what she’d done in the past – all the sex shows, the porn, shit that made no one else happy but a bunch of old fucking white dudes with money who needed the exploitation of women to have a fucking erection. It still pissed him off, even then. If he’d ever find Lyla in that situation or Rowan, or any other woman he cared about, he’d beat those men straight fucking silly.

“That’s good to hear,” he smirked, the line in front of them descending. “I told you you’d do well, right? You have a good voice, a lot of talent. Shouldn’t let that go to waste.” He wondered, suddenly, if she’d still been doing anything related to her old life – cam girl shit, deciding it was best to keep questions about it to himself. “I’m subscribed to your YouTube channel. I have been, for a while now. I haven’t been on a computer in forever though. Lyla only uses it on my phone to watch Peppa Pig. You still makin’ videos?”

✤₥♔

                                     It’d only been eight months since Mila quit sex work, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Most of the moments on the job blurred into bubbles that, as they burst, didn’t bring her nearly the satisfaction she’d once glorified in her early 20′s. She’d come to find out the hard way that, while her audience wouldn’t dare look elsewhere while she was on stage, they also made her out to be lesser-than as a person; uworthy of doing anything else. In their eyes, all she’d ever be was an erection-inducing plastic doll with no feelings or aspirations of her own; a failure. The worst part of it all was that she’d started to project on herself these thoughts that others had of her, with her dream slipping further and further away from her grasp. While the major turning point didn’t come for her because of these shows, but rather something far darker and haunting, she’d never felt more relieved or independent to let go. The thought that she could’ve chased her dream all those years ago but got caught up in the naivety and impatience of her younger self — which ended up stalling instead of helping her — drove her up a wall. But that was the thing with youth, wasn’t it? It seldom came hand-in-hand with wisdom and experience. And, when Damien’s words came, she couldn’t help the sting of guilt in her chest for all the times she’d focused on standing up for her past choices to him simply because they were hers to make. She masked her discomfort by teasing him with a “You’re complimenting me? Who are you?” comment and giving him a very gentle push to move him forward in the descending line, but in reality, her mind drifted to a slightly different direction: How bad or judgemental could he really be if he supported her going after something she was good at, something that ignited a kind of passion in her that made her feel like a new person? Most guys who’d caught a glimpse of her sex shows or were affiliated to Valencia would urge her to go back to her old lifestyle solely for their own gain. So, while she hadn’t always been a great judge of character, she liked to think that she’d grown and learned enough to trust her gut when it told her that Damien’s interest was coming from a good place. “Oh, I know. You were hard to miss when only you and sixteen more people were in that list when I first started,” she mused in jest. Truly, her first attempt on YouTube had been a massive failure and her first big wake-up call about two things: One, most people sucked. Two, the conviction she’d created in her head that she could be a porn actress and have a successful career as a musician at the same time was a utopia that did her no good. “You didn’t miss anything major, I only restarted a couple months ago.” The brunette’s shoulders slumped a little, a small hint of fear combined with determination not to let sexist comments dictate her future this time around. There were other things to focus on. “Shit, I can’t believe I didn’t ask sooner. How’s Lyla?” Hazelnut hues darted to the staircase that led to the kid’s section. “I bet she’s up there, isn’t she?”

“I can just say hi like a normal person, but what would be the fun in that?” Giving Mila a smile, Cas leaned forward against the bar, tapping his fingers in a pattern that he didn’t know the origin of. “How about the house drink? No gin, but it’s sweet. Vodka-based.” It probably had something to do with the fact that both vodka and Violet started with a v, but Caspian didn’t bother to investigate the drink’s origins. It had been at the bar since (presumably) long before Caspian started, and it would be there (presumably) long after Cas leaves, or dies, or gets fired - whichever one comes first. Turning around to start making the drink, he looked over his shoulder at her. “How’ve you been since we last saw each other? Same old? All good? Have I missed anything interesting?”

✤₥♔

What…the fuck. These days, it seemed like Damien’s past was just raising from the dead as if he’d begged for it. How long was it? Eight, nine months? Somewhere along those lines. So, all in the same week, not only did Kira, his ex and mother of Lyla, come back out of fuckin’ nowhere, but so did Mila, it looked like. He didn’t see her right away, of course, didn’t expect her to be stood there in line like she was, obviously – he had his attention focused on the pager in his hands, fussing around with the buttons to see who it belonged to but if he learned anything from “technology” back in the 90s, it was that the older it was, the more complicated it was. 

At her words, a tautness to them, a tensity – he looked up, a small sigh leaving him along with a roll of his eyes and a small, barely noticeable smirk. “You could,” he quipped, his smirk growing. “I mean, I don’t know the shit you’ve gotten yourself into these days so who knows. You might be undercover, using this shit – he held up the pager – as an excuse so no one thinks it’s you.” He paused, watching her expression for any indication that he’d pressed buttons, they had that in common; their fire, their impulsivity. “Haven’t seen you in like, a million years. What’re you doin’ here? Whatcha been up to?”

✤₥♔

                                       She couldn’t help the feeling of amusement ( and, perhaps, a bit of satisfaction too ) while witnessing the pure shock on Damien’s face. With how tied her life had been to Valencia before, the last thing she ever expected was for several months of distance and silence to stand between her and...any of them, really. Where he was concerned, specifically, there used to be a messed up sort of balance in her head: She felt better being near him versus the alternative, yet she couldn’t stick around too long without feeling every nerve on her body charge with frustration and annoyance.

Her eyes mimicked his, rolling in exasperation as a barely audible scoff left her lips. A chord was hit by the simingly harmless comment. “You know what?” The brunette reached out and gently snatched the pager from his grasp. “You got me! I somehow walked out of Anita Yegorova’s office with my neck intact, so the first thing I did was go to a super-academy that gives out diplomas in eight months and sends their ducklings undercover in nine.” Once again, her jestuous tone was a little more intense than usual, despite its low volume. She didn’t dare speak of Valencia’s leader louder than that or disrespect her in the slightest. If there were any sides, she’d never switched. All she ever craved was her freedom; all she ever wanted was to spend a lifetime trying to clean the blood off her hands. She hoped that all of them — Damien included — knew that she’d never do them dirty. But maybe he did. Maybe his claims were a harmless joke that only looked to taunt her. She was no stranger to doing the same to him, after all. “Aw, you thought it’s been that long? You must’ve really missed me.” Truth be told, she didn’t think he had. He was a single father with way too much on his plate, and she was just a woman he didn’t know much about. “Well, I’m here to get a cup of coffee and read my book. Obviously,” she quipped back whilst holding up the book on her side. “And I’ve been up to...you know, doing stuff. Music related stuff. I sing in every bar in town now.” Pride and excitement gave her eyes a special kind of spark whenever she mentioned her accomplishment. Chances were, he would’ve seen her too if he indulged in that kind of lifestyle; if that much was even possible. “—I mean, except Lewis’. I wouldn’t dare step foot in there after getting a gig at St. Peter’s.” The former rat shook her head once more, a tiny smirk flirting with the corners of her mouth. At last, she darted her eyes onto the little tech piece in her hand. Two seconds later, utter confusion took over her features. She glared down at the little device, as if the power of her stare could intimidate it into revealing its secrets. “Yeah, I’ve no clue how this works.” Soft laughter bubbled in her chest, her shoulders deflailing in defeat due to her admission. “You should probably leave it at the cashier,” she suggested whilst reaching out, a silent request for him to get it back.

Starter: Open

Outside of Blue Hill Diner

@redridgestart​

Most might call it soliciting, but he called it business. The more he sat on the street, the more people would know that he could be hired for all of their needs, that is within the musical spectrum. His guitar case was open in front of him as he played around with the strings of his guitar. At the sight of a figure passing, Anthony tried to grab their attention, “I’ll play you Wonderwall for five bucks.” 

✤₥♔

                                         The high heels clicking on the pavement came into a halt as feline hues caught sight of the unfamiliar figure. The man’s offer came a little sudden and was quite simple, but it hooked Mila; if only for a moment. Not long ago, she was sitting in a similar spot on the street, hoping that someone would be enchanted enough by her voice and her violin to give her a shot. The corners of her mouth curved, forming a grin that held the warmth and kindness. “I’ll give you ten if I like it,” she retorted lightly, her shoulders shrugging as her hands were shoved in the pockets of her jeans.