05-12-2018, 10:04 AM
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music, that was new to bianca. the best they'd had growing up were their voices and the beat of their hands as they slapped exposed thighs. the lyrics seemed to change every time they sang a song, none of them ever sung on time. no instruments, no choruses, no proper composure of it all. when she'd escaped, four years prior, and she'd heard an album, she'd been amazed at how much work could go into a pass time. but the real beauty of it, perhaps, was lost on the blonde. it was pleasant in the background, but she knew only a dozen songs and really liked only a few less than that.
alcohol, though? that was a familiar friend. the men who'd kept them prisoner all her life, every now and then they'd get drunk and jolly and toss a few drinks into the cage she shared with her brother. cage to cage, they'd pass these bottles, everyone taking a few sips and passing it along. it was home made, tasting foul and making them choke, but it did the job. it made their bodies ache a little less, made it easier to smile. it made the smallness of their crates seem less enclosing, made the heat burn less. alcohol was a familiar friend, a close confidant, someone she could trust to make it all hurt less. just the thought of it reminded her of good nights, of which she'd known so few.
she hadn't been inside of the oak before, though. it wasn't that she didn't get out, because she did - she just didn't go in. places like bars, they had a certain ambiance that she never felt like she fit. pretty girls with red lips and old men with stories to tell. who was she? a woman with scarred skin and a sad story no one wanted to hear. so when she drank, she usually stuck to the outdoors or her apartment. it was easier that way. but as she made her way in, it became clear that this was all interesting to her. dark eyes danced across the walls with the intricate posters, the lights and the bottles. she was still amazed by electricity, something she hadn't known before she'd made her escape. silly as it might be, sometimes she'd just sit in her room and flip the lights on and off, amazed at how it worked.
she just stood there for a minute, looking around, clearly interested in it all, before her eyes landed on elias. stuffing her hands in the pockets of her pants as she walked over, she'd remove a hand to point to one of the posters with one of the women, all dolled up. "did women really look like that? before?" she inquired, english accent curling her words, features marred with curiosity. she understood that, by any standards, she wouldn't be considered beautiful. perhaps her face was lovely, they'd never hit her in the face, but the loose fitting black camisole she wore exposed arms covered in scars of whips and knives and bullets. decades of violence extracted on her. the predominate scar across her neck, wrapping artery to artery. the thick, ash colored curls that hung around her features, parted to the side, they did little to distract from the marks. but they weren't intended to distract from them, because bianca couldn't care in the slightest what people thought of them, and she hadn't in many years.
her eyes shifting to the bottles, lingering on them, before moving back to elias. "can i have a drink?" she didn't know many names, and didn't especially care about them. "just something that tastes alright." she'd add, because nothing she ever drank tasted good, but she wasn't seeking effects that the moment. it was too early for that. she simply wanted to see what a bar was really like, and it wouldn't be proper to sit there and not order.
music, that was new to bianca. the best they'd had growing up were their voices and the beat of their hands as they slapped exposed thighs. the lyrics seemed to change every time they sang a song, none of them ever sung on time. no instruments, no choruses, no proper composure of it all. when she'd escaped, four years prior, and she'd heard an album, she'd been amazed at how much work could go into a pass time. but the real beauty of it, perhaps, was lost on the blonde. it was pleasant in the background, but she knew only a dozen songs and really liked only a few less than that.
alcohol, though? that was a familiar friend. the men who'd kept them prisoner all her life, every now and then they'd get drunk and jolly and toss a few drinks into the cage she shared with her brother. cage to cage, they'd pass these bottles, everyone taking a few sips and passing it along. it was home made, tasting foul and making them choke, but it did the job. it made their bodies ache a little less, made it easier to smile. it made the smallness of their crates seem less enclosing, made the heat burn less. alcohol was a familiar friend, a close confidant, someone she could trust to make it all hurt less. just the thought of it reminded her of good nights, of which she'd known so few.
she hadn't been inside of the oak before, though. it wasn't that she didn't get out, because she did - she just didn't go in. places like bars, they had a certain ambiance that she never felt like she fit. pretty girls with red lips and old men with stories to tell. who was she? a woman with scarred skin and a sad story no one wanted to hear. so when she drank, she usually stuck to the outdoors or her apartment. it was easier that way. but as she made her way in, it became clear that this was all interesting to her. dark eyes danced across the walls with the intricate posters, the lights and the bottles. she was still amazed by electricity, something she hadn't known before she'd made her escape. silly as it might be, sometimes she'd just sit in her room and flip the lights on and off, amazed at how it worked.
she just stood there for a minute, looking around, clearly interested in it all, before her eyes landed on elias. stuffing her hands in the pockets of her pants as she walked over, she'd remove a hand to point to one of the posters with one of the women, all dolled up. "did women really look like that? before?" she inquired, english accent curling her words, features marred with curiosity. she understood that, by any standards, she wouldn't be considered beautiful. perhaps her face was lovely, they'd never hit her in the face, but the loose fitting black camisole she wore exposed arms covered in scars of whips and knives and bullets. decades of violence extracted on her. the predominate scar across her neck, wrapping artery to artery. the thick, ash colored curls that hung around her features, parted to the side, they did little to distract from the marks. but they weren't intended to distract from them, because bianca couldn't care in the slightest what people thought of them, and she hadn't in many years.
her eyes shifting to the bottles, lingering on them, before moving back to elias. "can i have a drink?" she didn't know many names, and didn't especially care about them. "just something that tastes alright." she'd add, because nothing she ever drank tasted good, but she wasn't seeking effects that the moment. it was too early for that. she simply wanted to see what a bar was really like, and it wouldn't be proper to sit there and not order.