Fic: Turns Me To Gold
Title: Turns Me To Gold
Character: Stacey
Word Count: 469
Prompt: Something with Stacey, preferably with her psyching herself up and trying to get ready for the night, but anything you want to write is fine. :)
Disclaimer: Everything here is mine. Hah!
It was one of those days (nights, rather), where Stacey had to drag herself to do anything. It was an unusually cold August evening and while she was sensible enough to change at the club, she still had to walk there. Taxi was safer, but money was tight and hey, if she got attacked, she could always stab them with the heels in her bag when they tried to pull down her tracksuit pants.
But really, all she'd wanted to do was curl up with Dracula and listen to the TV tell her through public channels she was going to hell if she didn't pay money to their brand of religion. She had a feeling that if they knew what she was, they wouldn't want a filthy whore dirtying up their purity anyway.
However, Michaud had called her and apparently Mary was exploding from both ends so her booked night off was going to have to wait even longer. Grumbling never to be acted upon threats of shaving the teen's head when she next took a nap, she swallowed a few of Lucy's prozac to get herself calm, grabbed some gold press-on nails to put on later, stuffed stilettos along with the trashiest clothes that were the nearest to her into the rucksack, and headed out into the cold.
She'd clearly got there late on a busy night, as the back-room was empty. Honestly she was relieved about it. Not that she didn't like reading her book while everyone was chattering, it felt quite comforting sometimes, but surely it was allowed to want to dress in private every now and then instead of having to wait for the cleanest mirror.
Taking off her casual clothes and unhooking her comfy bra, she wriggled fairly miserably into the rainbow coloured strapless mini-dress. Her breasts looked awkwardly placed, smooshing together under the tight dress (if she'd gained weight she was going to cry, she didn't need her usual clients disappearing because of some extra fat), but they weren't sagging so she'd just have to cope. She didn't have time to style her hair properly, so it was just going to have be natural and down. Personally she thought it made her look younger.
Not wanting to risk breaking her neck by slipping into her heels while standing, she sat on the stained piano seat in front of the mirror to do her make-up and her mind went back to being an eleven year old girl pretending to be a superstar in front of a pink vanity. She did her nails, whored up her lips, blackened her eyes and tried to stop the overwhelming feelings of melancholy.
Finally ready.
She sauntered into the crowd of college students who only give a crap about her mouth and her innocence died for the millionth time.
Character: Stacey
Word Count: 469
Prompt: Something with Stacey, preferably with her psyching herself up and trying to get ready for the night, but anything you want to write is fine. :)
Disclaimer: Everything here is mine. Hah!
It was one of those days (nights, rather), where Stacey had to drag herself to do anything. It was an unusually cold August evening and while she was sensible enough to change at the club, she still had to walk there. Taxi was safer, but money was tight and hey, if she got attacked, she could always stab them with the heels in her bag when they tried to pull down her tracksuit pants.
But really, all she'd wanted to do was curl up with Dracula and listen to the TV tell her through public channels she was going to hell if she didn't pay money to their brand of religion. She had a feeling that if they knew what she was, they wouldn't want a filthy whore dirtying up their purity anyway.
However, Michaud had called her and apparently Mary was exploding from both ends so her booked night off was going to have to wait even longer. Grumbling never to be acted upon threats of shaving the teen's head when she next took a nap, she swallowed a few of Lucy's prozac to get herself calm, grabbed some gold press-on nails to put on later, stuffed stilettos along with the trashiest clothes that were the nearest to her into the rucksack, and headed out into the cold.
She'd clearly got there late on a busy night, as the back-room was empty. Honestly she was relieved about it. Not that she didn't like reading her book while everyone was chattering, it felt quite comforting sometimes, but surely it was allowed to want to dress in private every now and then instead of having to wait for the cleanest mirror.
Taking off her casual clothes and unhooking her comfy bra, she wriggled fairly miserably into the rainbow coloured strapless mini-dress. Her breasts looked awkwardly placed, smooshing together under the tight dress (if she'd gained weight she was going to cry, she didn't need her usual clients disappearing because of some extra fat), but they weren't sagging so she'd just have to cope. She didn't have time to style her hair properly, so it was just going to have be natural and down. Personally she thought it made her look younger.
Not wanting to risk breaking her neck by slipping into her heels while standing, she sat on the stained piano seat in front of the mirror to do her make-up and her mind went back to being an eleven year old girl pretending to be a superstar in front of a pink vanity. She did her nails, whored up her lips, blackened her eyes and tried to stop the overwhelming feelings of melancholy.
Finally ready.
She sauntered into the crowd of college students who only give a crap about her mouth and her innocence died for the millionth time.