#bitmorerouge

IT SEEMS the second he had set foot inside of the electric walls of the Moulin Rouge , someone had been vying for his attention . Not that he's complaining over the attention and affection . Once there's a lull between numbers ( and Zidler had given him some space ) the duke takes it upon himself to leave his box , saunter his way over to the bar where new eyes set their sights on him . " It seems no one around these parts wants me walking around with an empty glass . " he responds with a playful smirk , slipping bill out of his waistcoat and dropping it into jar . " But it would be nice to rid myself of that ten francs , and impolite to deny a drink offered a lovely woman . "

Positivity Meme

he's found he doesn't mind being alone so much: at least there isn't anyone around to stare at him, to point && question what exactly he is. && for the most part he's been left to himself― save for the occasional traveler upon the yellow brick road, or the curious sparrow which perches upon a branch, watching him work. TREES ARE FELLED, the woodsman dragging them through the forest to process them, turn them into workable lumber.

it's his family's trade, after all. of course, boq never had much interest in it. he'd run off to shiz once the time came― hoping for a brighter future, a better life ... it's funny how one returns to their roots when things go astray, && he's doesn't mind it all that much ! at least he never gets tired, never is sore. the trees aren't as heavy as they once were, he develops no callouses on his hands from the axe he wields. && just as he raises it to begin processing the most recent log, he hears a loud SNAP― head whipped around to look for the source, && freezing when he finds it. @bitmorerouge.

@bitmorerouge (thank you!)

It was so warm in the dressing rooms, the mirrors had steamed up; trying to get her stockings up her legs had seen holes ripped in multiple pairs. She was on her last pair, but she finally managed to roll them up and clip them in place via her garter.

Beads of sweat collected on Meg's head and as she unfurled herself, the wall supporting her balance while occupied, she felt her head go light as blood rushed downwards.

Her hands pressed into the wall to keep her upright, although what helped more was the familiar scent of Nini's perfume.

Meg's eyes opened and immediately she was met with those kohl lined eyes of Nini. Her finger tilted Meg's chin up, an unspoken question resting in such an intense gaze. There was no time to dismiss what Meg thought was concerns. Nini's hands found Meg's hips, her hands eventually resting over the top of Meg's own.

Suddenly Meg's heart was thudding for reasons other than lightheadedness, the rise and fall of her chest changing as her breath grew shallower.

Nini's plum-painted lips were right there until they weren't. Despite the humidity, Meg felt suddenly cold as Zidler's booming voice filled the room.

She exhaled, pushing herself towards her vanity to powder over the sheen of sweat despite not being able to stop fixating on the memory of Nini's breath against her face. The acknowledgement that she wanted to capture Nini's perfect lips with her own.

Normally, Kevin enjoyed a crowd. He could pick and choose who he wanted to be around and who he wanted to be in a crowd. But inside the Rouge had suddenly gotten a bit too much. All the bodies moving around, the chattering of voices, unaware that at any moment things could go wrong if the crowd's mood shifted. It was an anxiety Kevin had never had until...he shook his head, trying to clear out memories he didn't find useful, but it didn't do anything for his nerves so he decided to head for the door. Maybe a breeze could blow the feelings away.

Stepping outside, he found he still wasn't alone, one of the performers he only sort of knew standing just outside the door. Perhaps, she needed a break as well. Her name escaped him, but he remembered her voice, the familiar accent that immediately made Kevin feel fond of her almost immediately.

For the first time in what felt like a long time, he wasn't going out of his mind. Riff had been anxious and downright mean since before Tony went to prison ( but his incarceration had only exacerbated Riff's anxieties).

He still didn't know what had been going on with Tony, or why he had wanted to start japping downward towards Hell's Kitchen. The fact that it turned into an all-out rumble was something else all together.

Sure, Riff was as ready as the next guy to defend their turf. He'd been running his mouth just as well as throwing his fists when the mood struck. He'd asked Tony not to go down that way. If the Emeralds were as big a threat as Tony made them out to be, then let them prove it.

He had thought if he hadn't been there, then Tony wouldn't have gone out without him. They did everything together, surely he wouldn't have started all that without him.

He couldn't let him start all that. Not when Joe lived down that way. Joe was his best kept secret. Not even Tony knew about his half brother. Riff simply couldn't let him know. Not when Joe came out looking like that. Like one of them.

it wasn't like Riff saw much of the kid anyway, though he did try. It wasn't until Tony had declared his intent to go japping, the hit and run kind of fighting, that Riff realized that accidents could happen. They could mistake some idiot kid off the street and not recognize him as just a coolie. any snot nosed brat worth his salt could be misidentified as an Emerald. Gangs got big after all, and when tensions were high, it didn't matter if you belonged or not, you still could get hurt.

Riff had been right not to go. He'd been right to choose Joe and to steal his kid brother away for the day. Tony had paid for it.

But so had Riff. There were consequences for simply abducting a kid int he middle of the night.. He'd lost Tony, and now Joe.

If he knew where his brother was, then that would be one problem solved. He could keep him safe like he always did and no one would have to know he was related to someone who came out with the drop in the bucket genetics... even if that drop looked like the whole ocean. He was just as much ashamed of his brother as he was of himself for feeling that way. He'd take that secret to the grave.

He was calm. he was sitting next to the best girl in all of New York. This was the kind of girl that would spend an entire two dollars on a six pack of beer instead of the standard forty nine cents for a severely cheap bottle of wine. She was tough, he couldn't deny that. those wild curls reflected what remained of the city lights like stars.

He couldn't lose her too. He couldn't imagine being alone.

He couldn't help but smirk a the way she guffawed through her sip, the nature of that beer going down the wrong tube somehow endearing. he shifted where he sat, the motion awkward and stiff given his bad back, but his left hand reach out toward her face, his mother's old silver wrist watch ( now nothing more than a wrist band he'd soldered closed around his wrist ) slid up his skinny wrist, exposing an old tattoo that read 'Velma', before he'd tried to remove it himself with his pocketknife.

his hand finally collided with the corner of her mouth, rubbing away some of the aspirated beer.

Shadow quite likes it when they all gather together like this. All of them huddled together in the main bunk room of the lodging house, blankets shared between them, swapping stories, jokes, reassurances. She's tucked neatly between Spot and Mac, cocooned in a blanket all of her own, and it's ever so cozy. Cozy enough that after a little while, her eyes begin to droop, head lolling against Spot's arm. A long day selling papes has the little girl all tuckered out, and here, safe among her family, her tiredness is finally getting the better of her.

@bitmorerouge (thank you!)

It's her last cigarette. She can't remember the others touching her lips, but the butts scrunched up in the ashtray by her bed, all tinged varying intensities of red, tell her what she cannot recall. Still, she strikes a match, gently nurturing the flame so it takes.

In America, she dabbled with m.orphine. She never understood why Erik indulged it so much until— silence.

The out of body experience, the peace. The voyage back to France nearly killed her, but she hasn't touched the stuff since.

Instead, she smokes and drinks. The drinking does more than the cigarettes can, but at least she doesn't have to talk when working her way through a pack. Silver linings and all that.

Meg doesn't speak to many people here. If she does, it comes in biting remarks or cold replies. She didn't start working here to make friends, merely as a means to keep a roof over her head. Most let her keep to herself, but Nini isn't most.

She notices Meg's silence.

"You'll be staying for a very long time, then." Meg's words are muttered, lips barely leaving the end of her cigarette. She's staring at everything and nothing— Nini's frame is unfocused and blurry, but unmistakably lingering. "Sleep isn't finding me tonight."

Slender fingers tap the end of her cigarette and she's grateful to have ash take her attention.

"Go," she continues, her eyes flickering briefly over Nini's face, "I'm sure there's money to be made tonight. Anything's more interesting than staying observant at my bedside." That, and she doesn't want Nini to see the way sheets cling to a body contorted in terror. Meg cannot remember the last time she slept peacefully. "Go," she repeats, her usual hostility nowhere to be found. "I'm fine."

Until the crying of a child echoes through the streets and she's taken back to that caravan, clinging to a woman's skirts that aren't her mother's.