ptvs } { I don't know anything about you baby, but you're everything I'm dreaming of
[Set in a verse that’s along the same lines as THIS. If this is binding on any Giles, it’s playthe_father.]
The thing about seedy clubs in London is that you never know who you might run into. It’s a melting pot for all the different levels of the world, all the different people, who are free to pretend, just for a little while. Sophie loves the feel of it, the grit that seems to slip just under the edge of her fingernails and stays there, and she loves to wander down and watch the bands as they play, watch the people as they come together to just disappear into the darkness for a little while.
Sophie is playing higher than she is, dressed in designer clothes she conned out of a department store with a fake credit card. She’s getting better at this grifter bit. It isn’t easy at first, but once you pick up a few tricks the rest of it is just like a rolling stone. She’s feeling line the bloody queen of England, and she’s acting it too, leaning back against the bar like she owns the place. What most of them don’t know is that she works there five nights a week, and tonight happens to be her night off. It doesn’t occur to her that she probably shouldn’t be here if she’s pretending to be someone else, but those are errant details that can be dealt with later. Right now, she isn’t who the girl who slaves behind the bar five nights a week. She’s Charlotte Prentiss-actress, and she has the world on a string. What have you done with your life lately?
Tonight, ‘Charlotte’ happens to have her eyes on the guitarist on their dingy little stage. She isn’t sure what it is that draws her to him, but there’s something that gets under her skin more so than the grit of the club does. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time, and she knows that’s more than her just being delusional. Every word is being powered back at her through the tiny little room and he is fantastic. Beyond fantastic. And he’s going to be hers by the end of the night.
First rule of being a grifter-decide what you want, and never let it go at any cost.
He finishes the set and climbs off the stage, and Sophie’s moving towards him with the practiced stroll of a woman on the prowl. This is the part where her actor’s training would be put to the test. She needs to commit to the character of Charlotte, her prestige, her presence. She needs to be Charlotte. She straightens, shoulders back but relaxed, and she is suddenly a woman on the prowl, and she already has her prey in her sights.
“You’re not bad with that guitar,” she says to his back when she gets close. She’s unsure if he can hear her over the din of the bar, but as soon as he turns, she knows he didn’t miss a word. His eyes rake over her for a moment, before meeting hers again, shifting to lean his weight against the speaker closest to him.
“I do alright.” There’s a beat as his eyes roam again, before he smirks. “Ripper.”
“Ripper. I like that.” Her hand drifts over his jacket, playing with the leather for a moment, before meeting his eyes again. “Charlotte.”
“You don’t seem like the kind of bird to find her way into a place like this.” He tilts his head to the side as he continues to regard her. “What brings you by?”
“I’m looking for something.”
“And what exactly is it that you’re looking for?”
“Something … specific.” She meets his eyes again, going for her best smoldering stare, as her hand trails down the arm of his jacket. “Do you think you might be able to help me with that?”
He’s quiet for a moment before his fingers curl into hers, giving her a bit of a gentle tug. “I think I might know just where to find it.”
Sophie would have been almost giddy at the prospect of getting pulled back into the green room by a singer of all people, but she stays in character, keeping the cool and aloof exterior of one Charlotte Prentiss. It’s not long once they’re in the dark room backstage that Ripper has her up against the wall, leaning in to kiss her deeply, and that’s when the character breaks. She can’t help the grin that streaks across her face, or the giggle as he manhandles her down onto the ratty couch. Probably not the most romantic encounter she’s ever had, but it’s enjoyable, and more to the point-she’s actually having one.
It’s been so bloody long since she’s been on a proper date.
After the moment passed, she shifts to pull her clothes back on in some semblance of an order, and his hand lands on her arm. “Think you might come round again? I play the same night every week.”
She wouldn’t deny that there’s a part of her that desperately wants to see him again, but she has a feeling that Charlotte could be put to much better use than seducing boys who want to be rockstars. She also, however, won’t deny that there’s a chance she may find herself back in this bar again, doing exactly that same thing. So she does what any good grifter does best. She hedges. She smirks a bit, before leaning in closer to kiss him again.
“Now that would ruin the mystery, won’t it?”
Let him figure it out.
923 words
The thing about seedy clubs in London is that you never know who you might run into. It’s a melting pot for all the different levels of the world, all the different people, who are free to pretend, just for a little while. Sophie loves the feel of it, the grit that seems to slip just under the edge of her fingernails and stays there, and she loves to wander down and watch the bands as they play, watch the people as they come together to just disappear into the darkness for a little while.
Sophie is playing higher than she is, dressed in designer clothes she conned out of a department store with a fake credit card. She’s getting better at this grifter bit. It isn’t easy at first, but once you pick up a few tricks the rest of it is just like a rolling stone. She’s feeling line the bloody queen of England, and she’s acting it too, leaning back against the bar like she owns the place. What most of them don’t know is that she works there five nights a week, and tonight happens to be her night off. It doesn’t occur to her that she probably shouldn’t be here if she’s pretending to be someone else, but those are errant details that can be dealt with later. Right now, she isn’t who the girl who slaves behind the bar five nights a week. She’s Charlotte Prentiss-actress, and she has the world on a string. What have you done with your life lately?
Tonight, ‘Charlotte’ happens to have her eyes on the guitarist on their dingy little stage. She isn’t sure what it is that draws her to him, but there’s something that gets under her skin more so than the grit of the club does. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time, and she knows that’s more than her just being delusional. Every word is being powered back at her through the tiny little room and he is fantastic. Beyond fantastic. And he’s going to be hers by the end of the night.
First rule of being a grifter-decide what you want, and never let it go at any cost.
He finishes the set and climbs off the stage, and Sophie’s moving towards him with the practiced stroll of a woman on the prowl. This is the part where her actor’s training would be put to the test. She needs to commit to the character of Charlotte, her prestige, her presence. She needs to be Charlotte. She straightens, shoulders back but relaxed, and she is suddenly a woman on the prowl, and she already has her prey in her sights.
“You’re not bad with that guitar,” she says to his back when she gets close. She’s unsure if he can hear her over the din of the bar, but as soon as he turns, she knows he didn’t miss a word. His eyes rake over her for a moment, before meeting hers again, shifting to lean his weight against the speaker closest to him.
“I do alright.” There’s a beat as his eyes roam again, before he smirks. “Ripper.”
“Ripper. I like that.” Her hand drifts over his jacket, playing with the leather for a moment, before meeting his eyes again. “Charlotte.”
“You don’t seem like the kind of bird to find her way into a place like this.” He tilts his head to the side as he continues to regard her. “What brings you by?”
“I’m looking for something.”
“And what exactly is it that you’re looking for?”
“Something … specific.” She meets his eyes again, going for her best smoldering stare, as her hand trails down the arm of his jacket. “Do you think you might be able to help me with that?”
He’s quiet for a moment before his fingers curl into hers, giving her a bit of a gentle tug. “I think I might know just where to find it.”
Sophie would have been almost giddy at the prospect of getting pulled back into the green room by a singer of all people, but she stays in character, keeping the cool and aloof exterior of one Charlotte Prentiss. It’s not long once they’re in the dark room backstage that Ripper has her up against the wall, leaning in to kiss her deeply, and that’s when the character breaks. She can’t help the grin that streaks across her face, or the giggle as he manhandles her down onto the ratty couch. Probably not the most romantic encounter she’s ever had, but it’s enjoyable, and more to the point-she’s actually having one.
It’s been so bloody long since she’s been on a proper date.
After the moment passed, she shifts to pull her clothes back on in some semblance of an order, and his hand lands on her arm. “Think you might come round again? I play the same night every week.”
She wouldn’t deny that there’s a part of her that desperately wants to see him again, but she has a feeling that Charlotte could be put to much better use than seducing boys who want to be rockstars. She also, however, won’t deny that there’s a chance she may find herself back in this bar again, doing exactly that same thing. So she does what any good grifter does best. She hedges. She smirks a bit, before leaning in closer to kiss him again.
“Now that would ruin the mystery, won’t it?”
Let him figure it out.
923 words