ā̲ DOWN IN THE BAYOU I CAN HEAR THEM SINGING ,̲
#petalslain a dependent rp blog for fangtv.
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@petalslain
ā̲ DOWN IN THE BAYOU I CAN HEAR THEM SINGING ,̲
#petalslain a dependent rp blog for fangtv.

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Me on the pole. 2022 K.A. LuxHill336
music croons through the humid louisiana air,  old dilapidated brick that holds siren's call together thrumming with the soft sounds of florida kilos. neon sign legs prance on the side of the building performing their song and dance to the drum of cicadas and so does angel,  lithe curves and candied lines dotting along to the beat.  it's a languid night,  business days like this made purely for wanderers and lost souls,  their comfort found best at the bottom of a bottle and with fantasies of an imagined lover.  she knows she won't make much from them,  no,  patrons like this rather look,  watch: its the weekends that are for the big fish ⯠but rent is due no matter the day, so she finds herself here,  little money she has made held carefully in hands,  crumpled dollar bills hoarded like diamonds. she tucks the money into her bag now,  trades her change for a pack of malboro reds and a jacket.  she's due for a break,  for a second away from eager hands and empty coffers and long is tucked between her lips,  little wave to the house mother given to let her know she'll be right back.  the back door clanks as she pushes it open and the warm breeze kisses her before it hits.  a part of her is tempted to go home.  lord know there won't be anything else happening tonight,  not inside those doors anyways.  and maybe that's why she smiles when she sees them,  hour far too pregnant for their walk to be just that.   "don't you know not to wander this late?"   she sucks softly as her lighter is pressed to the tip.   "time a night where bad things are bound to happen."   tease is made apparent in how she chuckles,  eyes alight with mischief.
WHO. whittaker jo, @petalslain WHERE. coffee shop WHEN. just past noon
"you are never pouring my drinks again," luca muttered into the crook of a tanned arm, his forehead rubbing into the flesh like it might offer relief to his pounding headache. he knew slowing down was in his best interest but luca had a bad habit of not being able to resist his friends and their desire to party like they were still seventeen. a head of brown locks finally lifted to look at jo with an expression that either looked like luca was either holding back laughter or the contents of his queasy stomach. she was among the select few that knew luca at his core and saw him through every moment in their livesā no matter how high or low. "is this what i get for saying i can out drink you?"
coffee's treated as some type of medicinal miracle the way it's poured and sipped and sipped once more, cup warm to the touch in the crowded cafe. she should have known it would come to this, should've planned for their night ending here, because every night ends with them here, stuffed in the 5th booth, nursing orders they've perfected long ago when they were still sneaking joints under creaking bleachers and skipping class to watch shitty vhs tapes of their favorite movies. they're like a broken record of your favorite song; history repeating when they're together: same habits, same melodies, layered and intertwined in a way only affection and time can produce. it's why she feels so comfortable in the sweats and an old wife beater she's got on, parts of herself usually dolled and polished rendered down to show something softer, gentler. it's also why she's quick to give him shit. "poor baby," words are whined, coo'd, concern at it's very center genuine but fused with humor and a cockiness that curls its way around her laugh. "need mama to make it better?" she reaches into her purse to pull out the only cure she knows, one tylenol and one aleve. pills are rattled into her hand and she holds them out. "say ah."

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" hey, sugar, " mercy greets, pad and paper already in her hand, " what can I get you tonight? or do you still need a little more time decidin'? "
she's been eyeing her laminated menu as if she truly has to search for what she wants, mind made up back when she was still in her truck scrambling up a hill and letting mercy know she was on her way. it's her usual, crispy fries n' a cherry coke ⯠she foregoes it all though, instead reaches for their hand with a simper so sweet it could rot teeth. "what i need right now is you in this booth with me. when do you get off again?"
š®Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā WHITTAKER , JOLENE. eight inch pleasers scored with the blade of a pocket knife, warm notes of vanilla dabbled on fingertips and pressed behind ears, to inner wrists and along the nape of your neck, sweet melodies drifting from a record player nearly drowned out by a pop up storm and soft tresses tugged up into a claw, bayou made perspiration cooling in the breeze. Ā Ā
fullĀ name:Ā daisy jolene whittaker.Ā
alias:Ā most that know her call her jolene as that's how she introduces herself, but affectionately she's been called jo and variations of elena. it's only her mema that calls her daisy. at work, she's known as something a little more sweet, her stage name being angel sugar.
dateĀ ofĀ birth & age:Ā theĀ 24thĀ ofĀ october + thirty.Ā Ā
species:Ā unbeknownst to her, a halfling.
gender & sexuality:Ā ciswoman (she/her) + bisexual and biromantic.
occupation:Ā bartender and stripper.
education & skills: as far as education goes she has none in a higher context. high school diploma that's collecting dust in a box under her bed is where formal education begins and ends. street smarts, however, she's got on lock. situational awareness has saved her ass more times than she can count and she is as resourceful as she is adaptable. she's also pretty good at reading people. she learned real young how anger looks, how it behaves, joy, sadness, disgust, fear and a collection of other emotions too. she knows how to move with them, how to soothe and in the same breath how to incite. dancing is another skill in her repertoire. there's a rhythm that thrums in her blood and a sensuality that she's grown comfortable in. add that to a love for technicality and her attention to detail and you get performances that are mesmerizing and hard to look away from. she's fluid, sexy. will take your paycheck with a smile if you let her.
residence: born and raised in the bayou, jolene has lived footsteps away from water since she was a babe. first, in her mother and father's home and then with her mema. very recently she's moved to a loft in a refurbished rice mill close to downtown. it's small, has just enough room for a bedroom, kitchen and a corner that's a living room if you squint, but it's all her's, and she loves it terribly. she still spends plenty of time at her grandmother's though, checking in on things and making sure everything is good with her and her sister.
faceclaim:Ā grace van patten.Ā
hair:Ā honey blonde, if not a little lighter and brighter.Ā she could be the poster child for hot roller curls when she's on duty but is quick to sport an updo off the clock, lousiana summers sticky and warm, and hair better kept out the way.
eyes:Ā warm burnt sugar brown.Ā
height: Ā 5'1.Ā
build:Ā lithe, lean and curvaceous.Ā
accent: oh we're real southern 'round here.
distinguishing features: Ā long flowing bombshell curls is a trademark and so is her laugh, deep, musical and rough.
likes:Ā seafood boils.Ā reading, though these days she doesn't have much time to do so. catching lightning bugs and setting them free. the smell of baby powder. gambling and cards; habit picked up through a boyfriend and then sustained with friends and kind strangers. bourbon. fresh cream and berries. fresh cream and anything. people watching. malboro reds. cleaning, keeping things neat and in order. baking, treat her kindly and you might have an apple pie coming your way.
dislikes:Ā Ā anything that has to do with how a woman "should" behave. long walks that seem to lead nowhere. not being productive, she always has to feel like she's moving forward somehow, someway. being placed on hold. feeling ignored. her temper. when her ford that's seen much better days plays with her.
father:Ā jackson whittaker ā
mother:Ā Ā whitney hastings ā
spouse:Ā none.
siblings:Ā there's definitely a few whittakers running around somewhere, but only one she claims, her baby sister magnolia whom she loves more than life.
children:Ā none, though she's always sneaking something to any animal she sees; day old pastries to birds, a bone to a dog, a bit of tuna to an alleycat. the mill's resident stray has just given birth and just about everyone there takes care of them and their kittens.
WIP
testing testing, one two three, three two one.