High Heels Are The Worst
Title: High Heels Are The Worst
Fandom: The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Andersen)
Character: Margot Tenenbaum
Rating: T
Word Count: ? (using a basic notepad to write this so idek)
For:clockwork_hart1 , who prompted "a dark night in town/in the middle of the road" as a general prompt.
Click, click, click...
Four inches.
Click, scrape, click clack...
Whatever dastardly, pushy saleswoman that had persuaded her to purchase these ridiculous, 4-inch (gorgeous, strappy, navy blue) heels probably deserved to be tortured.
click, click, pl-unk!
The fashionably, albeit impractically dressed, woman stepped off the deserted curb into a shallow, murky puddle that had collected near a drain.
The recent rain had left its earthy there-ness that Margot Tenenbaum had always felt deep within her bones and veins, but could never describe to anyone else. It clung to the sides of buildings and faded, striped awnings and seeped into the pavement. It beaded on the fur of her coat. She could taste it when she breathed in deep, deep enough to feel the weight of the humidity in her lungs and make her feel almost like drowning and crave a cigarette. The time after a rain made her feel so much more alive and also very small. One pound of her heart, pushing blood up to her ears and pushing her closer to the earth and the rain and the whole fucking universe. It was infuriating, honestly.
She glanced down at her soaking wet foot in the puddle and sighed. Now she had no chance of returning the offending shoes.
(Not that she would have. There was no pushy saleswoman, she had bought them online along with a dozen other pairs she had never worn.)
Margot lifted her foot out of the water gingerly and glanced up and down the dark road. No one was around at this time of night, but one could never be too careful. She pulled a very old, metal cigarette case from the inside of her coat along with a cheap, Bic lighter. Opening the case with a satisfying click , she was midly perturbed to find only two Virginia Slims nestled inside. She took one out and put the case back in her pocket.
She took another look up the deserted street. She could hear cars in the distance, since she wasn't very far from a main road. But this little avenue was hidden away, tucked between larger and more aspiring roads with brighter lights and higher foot traffic.
Most of the buildings on the street were near the same height, but they varied from one to the next as though none of the architects wanted to copy another. Three or four of the buildings were boarded up with large "CLOSED" signs hanging over the doors, covered in violently bright graffitti. The sidewalks were old and cracked with a few weeds and stubborn flowers sticking up between. The road itself seemed newer, as it only had one pothole in front of the antique furniture shop. A single, slighty bent orange cone warned unsuspecting travelers of the large chunk missing from the road.
A classic laundromat squatted in the middle of the opposite road. It was mostly made of giant windows and plaster, and brandished four or five neon signs indicating that it was closed, that it was a laundromat, that a single load only cost a dollar, and that ice-cold Coca-Cola was sold inside. The bright reds and blues clashed with pink and green, and fought for attention with purple and yellow. It was certainly the brightest shop on the road, but it wasn't what kept snagging Margot's attention.
As she brought the cigarette to her lips and lit it, she shifted her gaze to a strange, life-sized box that sat right on the sidewalk where the avenue curved and became another street. A bright, yellow light inside illuminated a caricatured puppet. A fortune teller, with long black hair pulled back under a flowery, silk scarf. Her ears had large, gold hoop earrings that matched the chains of gold and brass that hung around her neck. Her jaw, nose, and cheeks were sharp, casting long shadows across her face that furthered her mysticism. Though the light inside was meant to attract children with loose change or complying parents, it did more to illuminate the entire street than the flickering street lamp above Margot's head.
She breathed out forcefully and watched the smoke swirl and stick to itself and the air, thanks to the humdity and electric charge given by the recent storm. It traveled down the road lazily and wrapped itself around a telephone pole before dissipating. Margot took a few more steps down the road, listening to her heels clacking on the pavement and echoing off the tall walls around her. She stopped suddenly and looked to her left. A large window displayed positively wretched vintage dresses on mannequin busts.
(There were some things even Margot wouldn't wear, though she had been told many time that she could probably get away with wearing anything from denim on denim, a burlap sac, or bubble wrap, to name a few.)
But Margot wasn't looking at the dresses. She was staring at her reflection in the dark glass and watching herself stand there. She raised the cigarette to her lips again and breathed in, making her cheeks suck in on purpose. As she pushed the smoke out, it encircled her and fell around her shoulders. She didn't like the way it looked in the glass - like she was an advertisement or a model showing how glamorous smoking could be. She turned away from the glass, but didn't put out her cigarette.
She told herself that she might remember this little street and visit it again. She told herself that nights back at home were weird, and she would be staying up all night anyway, so it would make more sense for her to be wandering someplace she now knew, rather than loitering on the roof like she always did. She told herself this little road was peaceful, timeless, ageless, adorable, homely. She told herself she fit in here late at night, when the rain was so there and the neon and fortune teller's lamp forced her to see the smoke trailing up from the end of her cigarette and lilting this way and that.
But as she pulled her well-worn fur coat closer to herself and started to click-clack the way she had come, she knew she wouldn't come back.
Fandom: The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Andersen)
Character: Margot Tenenbaum
Rating: T
Word Count: ? (using a basic notepad to write this so idek)
For:clockwork_hart1 , who prompted "a dark night in town/in the middle of the road" as a general prompt.
Click, click, click...
Four inches.
Click, scrape, click clack...
Whatever dastardly, pushy saleswoman that had persuaded her to purchase these ridiculous, 4-inch (gorgeous, strappy, navy blue) heels probably deserved to be tortured.
click, click, pl-unk!
The fashionably, albeit impractically dressed, woman stepped off the deserted curb into a shallow, murky puddle that had collected near a drain.
The recent rain had left its earthy there-ness that Margot Tenenbaum had always felt deep within her bones and veins, but could never describe to anyone else. It clung to the sides of buildings and faded, striped awnings and seeped into the pavement. It beaded on the fur of her coat. She could taste it when she breathed in deep, deep enough to feel the weight of the humidity in her lungs and make her feel almost like drowning and crave a cigarette. The time after a rain made her feel so much more alive and also very small. One pound of her heart, pushing blood up to her ears and pushing her closer to the earth and the rain and the whole fucking universe. It was infuriating, honestly.
She glanced down at her soaking wet foot in the puddle and sighed. Now she had no chance of returning the offending shoes.
(Not that she would have. There was no pushy saleswoman, she had bought them online along with a dozen other pairs she had never worn.)
Margot lifted her foot out of the water gingerly and glanced up and down the dark road. No one was around at this time of night, but one could never be too careful. She pulled a very old, metal cigarette case from the inside of her coat along with a cheap, Bic lighter. Opening the case with a satisfying click , she was midly perturbed to find only two Virginia Slims nestled inside. She took one out and put the case back in her pocket.
She took another look up the deserted street. She could hear cars in the distance, since she wasn't very far from a main road. But this little avenue was hidden away, tucked between larger and more aspiring roads with brighter lights and higher foot traffic.
Most of the buildings on the street were near the same height, but they varied from one to the next as though none of the architects wanted to copy another. Three or four of the buildings were boarded up with large "CLOSED" signs hanging over the doors, covered in violently bright graffitti. The sidewalks were old and cracked with a few weeds and stubborn flowers sticking up between. The road itself seemed newer, as it only had one pothole in front of the antique furniture shop. A single, slighty bent orange cone warned unsuspecting travelers of the large chunk missing from the road.
A classic laundromat squatted in the middle of the opposite road. It was mostly made of giant windows and plaster, and brandished four or five neon signs indicating that it was closed, that it was a laundromat, that a single load only cost a dollar, and that ice-cold Coca-Cola was sold inside. The bright reds and blues clashed with pink and green, and fought for attention with purple and yellow. It was certainly the brightest shop on the road, but it wasn't what kept snagging Margot's attention.
As she brought the cigarette to her lips and lit it, she shifted her gaze to a strange, life-sized box that sat right on the sidewalk where the avenue curved and became another street. A bright, yellow light inside illuminated a caricatured puppet. A fortune teller, with long black hair pulled back under a flowery, silk scarf. Her ears had large, gold hoop earrings that matched the chains of gold and brass that hung around her neck. Her jaw, nose, and cheeks were sharp, casting long shadows across her face that furthered her mysticism. Though the light inside was meant to attract children with loose change or complying parents, it did more to illuminate the entire street than the flickering street lamp above Margot's head.
She breathed out forcefully and watched the smoke swirl and stick to itself and the air, thanks to the humdity and electric charge given by the recent storm. It traveled down the road lazily and wrapped itself around a telephone pole before dissipating. Margot took a few more steps down the road, listening to her heels clacking on the pavement and echoing off the tall walls around her. She stopped suddenly and looked to her left. A large window displayed positively wretched vintage dresses on mannequin busts.
(There were some things even Margot wouldn't wear, though she had been told many time that she could probably get away with wearing anything from denim on denim, a burlap sac, or bubble wrap, to name a few.)
But Margot wasn't looking at the dresses. She was staring at her reflection in the dark glass and watching herself stand there. She raised the cigarette to her lips again and breathed in, making her cheeks suck in on purpose. As she pushed the smoke out, it encircled her and fell around her shoulders. She didn't like the way it looked in the glass - like she was an advertisement or a model showing how glamorous smoking could be. She turned away from the glass, but didn't put out her cigarette.
She told herself that she might remember this little street and visit it again. She told herself that nights back at home were weird, and she would be staying up all night anyway, so it would make more sense for her to be wandering someplace she now knew, rather than loitering on the roof like she always did. She told herself this little road was peaceful, timeless, ageless, adorable, homely. She told herself she fit in here late at night, when the rain was so there and the neon and fortune teller's lamp forced her to see the smoke trailing up from the end of her cigarette and lilting this way and that.
But as she pulled her well-worn fur coat closer to herself and started to click-clack the way she had come, she knew she wouldn't come back.