you know my name [open]

[dostya yaroslavovna golovnin]

A little class would be far too much to ask; the only place to find class in America was a school, since all of the rich here lacked it; they had the money, and the image, but they could not conduct themselves with the same quiet reassured elegance of those in the Old World, an ostentatious ability to remain calm, even amidst a bottomless pit of whores made of gold money. So, given that most nightclubs catered to the lowest common denominator; drunk twenty-somethings, the chance of this particular building having anything resembling the exacting standards Dostya was after were very small indeed; a friday night was hardly an ideal time to go looking for decorum anywhere west of New Zealand. Getting in had been the easy part; as always, she had dressed impeccably for the situation, and her mature air of confidence (as much a work of fiction as the Three Blind Mice), along with a fistful of tens in the breast pocket of the bouncer had ensured a greased-rollerskate ride into the building.

A rather pretty redhead had taken her navy blue trenchcoat, off into the mystical cloakroom, before Dostya vanished out into the largest part of the building, sliding apart frosted glass doors (surely a safety hazard this close to drunk college kids?) to be bombarded with an attack of bass - immature, silly music with lots of repetition of the sound 'wub'. It wasn't especially pretty, or clever, but it was loud enough to make writing down things instead of talking appear almost normal. Negotiating her way down the stairs, thronging with over-sexed teenagers, through a round dance floor about four foot below the rest of the landing, trying her best to avoid looking like she was dancing, Dostya eventually wrestled her way to the bar, and managed to snake her limbs through the heaving masses, managing - against all the odds - to obtain a bitter lemon & vodka cis in a hefty, squat clear glass. It took even more acrobatics to climb another flight of stairs towards a series of round tables backed up against the walls, along which were red-leather seats, protruding from the walls under the black marble tables; at least some money had been spent here.

Sinking into one of the seats which was flanked by the wall on two sides, pushed into the corner, Dostya sat, resting one foot on her knee, placing her drink on the table before yawning; this was going to get very dull, very quick. Her notepad and pen sat on the desk, instead of their usual position inside her red waistcoat. Black skinny jeans and a black shirt completed her outfit, finished with a red necktie, hanging loose around her neck just below the first button on the collar, which was undone; Dusty would never be accused of using her cleavage as a weapon, and the odds of finding a decent woman in here were practically nil; she would be more likely, statistically, to find a proselytizing Mormon here than anything else; they were everywhere in this city. Still, there wasn't much else she could do; go home and mope? No. Dancing was an indignity she would not subject herself to, and up here, in the relative dark, away from the flashing lights, the chances of her ending up being whisked away by some Princess Charmant was very slim indeed. Suddenly finding herself overwhelmed with regret, Dusty sank into her seat even further, parked her feet on the marble table, and with an almighty huff, expressed her dissappointment in terms more powerful than any words.

[evie jane thompson]

evie was looking for a good time. that was all that there was to it. she had actually gone to all her classes during that school week, done almost all of her homework, and even avoided a party because she had an important test the next day. as far as evie was concerned, she had been very productive that week, she had earned going out on this night. now, she knew that there were more than a couple places that she could go that would have people to catch her eye. she also knew that she could have a friend go with her, maybe a group of friends. but, the brunette made the decision while she was getting ready that she wanted to go alone. the desire to bring someone home was far too high and doing that was always difficult when you brought friends along that wanted your attention.

as she put on her make-up, her mind was whirling with the possibilities of the night. who she could bring home. what the person would be like, if it would be a boy or girl because lord knew that she had tossed away any care over gender years ago. after all, the amount of fun could be so many kinds of diverse when she was willing to bring men and women into her bed. sometimes they didn't make it to the bed. evie really didn't care. all that she wanted, was to get laid. not all the odd of a want for a college girl. but it would seem that evie was a bit more forward about it all. this was how she always had been. she wanted what she wanted, and she got what she wanted. maybe she was spoiled for it all. maybe her parents had given her more than she ever deserved. but that didn't change anything, this was just how evie had turned out. for better or for worse.

there was a definite strut in her step as she made her way towards the entrance of the club from her car. an all too knowing smirk on those full lips of her. she made her way towards the front of the line not caring about the glares that were shot her way at the people who had been waiting to get in. with a bat of those long eyelashes at the bouncer, and the dropping of her name, she made her way in. ah, yes, this was her place. this was where she fit in better than ever. it wasn't long before she had a few drinks in her system and she was dancing the night away. her body moved against nameless faces, the sexual friction growing with each bump and grind. it wasn't long after evie decided that she needed a breather. just a little time to get rehydrated. of course, what evie had not expected to find as she made her way up the stairs to the second floor, was to find just the right person to bring home.

there was almost a skip in her step as she made her way over to the woman, slipping in the seat beside her and letting her arm drape over the back of her chair. "well hello there," she greeted. her eyes greedily took in her appearance. moving from the delicate features of her face to her shoes. those blue eyes of hers finally moved to stay locked on the doe like eyes of the other woman. "now, i'm sure, that i've never seen you around before, beautiful. but i would really love to be around you more. what's your name gorgeous?" she damn near purred twirling her own hair around her finger slightly.

[dostya yaroslavovna golovnin]

There are many kinds of compliments; genuine approvals of someone's actions, thoughts or just their tits. Some are lies, designed to make the other person feel better about themselves - and then, of course, there is a third category; pick-up lines, designed with only a single purpose in mind, and Dostya's ability to recognise them was absolutely terrible. She was not blind to the kind of nonsense most people would come out with after a few drinks, and noticing the ever-so-slight smell of alcohol on this...woman's breath made her absolutely sure that she was talking out of her arse. In the morning, she would wake up with a terrible headache, a dry mouth, and an all-consuming sense of regret as she turned over and faced the last person she had fucked, some stranger with just as little comprehension of the preceding evening as herself. It was futile, it was silly, and it was immature - but if she wasn't going to remember it anyway, what the hell?

She wasn't as classy as she would have liked, and everything about her screamed 'whore', but after finishing her drink, Dusty found that all thoughts of that nature seemed to float away with the burning in the back of her throat. Reaching over to the pen and pad without even taking her gaze from the hair-twirling twit in front of her, she removed the cap from the fountain pen and without even the slightest bit of effort scribbled her name onto the pad, pushing it over with her long fingers, a cheeky smile beginning to crawl up the corner of her face. Dusty. You are?

(Sorry, this is terrible.)

[evie jane thompson]

evie's dads had always told her that you could tell so much about a person by simply looking into their eyes. eyes were the windows to the soul or something to that effect, and no matter how much people might try to hide, there was only so much a person could hide when you were looking directly into their eyes. so as evie took her seat beside this other woman, not once did she let her eyes stray from the other's. and when she looked at her, she saw one very clear thing in those eyes of hers. judgement. this blonde was judging her. who the hell did she think she was? sure, evie went around judging people all the time but she was evie thompson. she wasn't just some normal person.

the brunette sat back in her seat if only a bit before her eyes turned to look at the piece of paper, one of her brows raising to her hairline. that was...odd. "evie," she introduced and then tapped the paper twice with one of her fingers before locking eyes with the woman again. "are you really that worried that you won't be heard in here, or is this just the way that you talk? i know you're not deaf because you can obviously hear me. no one is as good of a lip reader to be able to tell in this light. so, you must be a mute," she deduced as she crossed one leg over the other.

it wasn't often that she got such an opportunity to be the only vocal part of the conversation, though. and this, this alone caused a devilish curve of her lips. something that shouldn't be trusted but was just as alluring as the rest of her. "so, what happened? there's always post traumatic stress disorder. what, did daddy touch you in not very daddy-like ways? or, there's always the medical route. cancer, your vocal chords didn't develop as a child. really, why is it that you live your life writing things on a piece of paper? i'm dying to know."

[dostya yaroslavovna golovnin]

Damn. She's clever. It would have taken most people ten minutes to run down half those thoughts, and a day to run down the rest/ Intrigued as she was, Dostya tried not to let it show; the last thing she needed was to be seen as soft, impressed by a few feats of simple deduction - Evie hadn't done all that much, and while she deserved a response, she didn't deserve a smile. Yet. Dying to know, was she? What did she know of dying? A rising snake of jealousy coiled within Dostya; what were the odds that she had sat there and felt the hair fall from her skull and the skin drop from muscle while isotopes bombarded her body with radiation? What were the odds she had watched her best friend, the most loyal dog in the world, roll over and die as the morphine silenced his nervous system?

Now, now, Dusty, calm yourself. You're over childish shit like this. Reminding herself that she was a twenty-one year old BSc with more sense than this, Dostya calmed herself, shuffling back into her seat. Something about Evie wasn't right - she was too...apprehensive, too defensive in her stance, they way she held herself - she was hiding something, and Dostya Golovnin did not have sex with people hiding things. A quiet arrogance, perhaps, an odd air of unfamiliarity - Evie did not expect to be treated normally. She did not twitch, and she did not adjust the way she sat when Dostya moved forwards to write again. Whoever she was, her demeanour was well-practised. Clearly, she thought of herself as something more than a collection of autonomic systems, something...better. Something more, elevated from the autonomic systems around her, as though she did not have to answer to God.

Well, two could play at that game. Dostya would never be a good enough actor to make her body lie, she could still enact a measure of control over herself, a learned behaviour from all the years of inability to react immediately. As she wrote, she timed a glance at Evie before retreating back into her chair, pushing the note over with a long finger. Cancer, twice as a child. Larynxectomy. Now my turn - you're not like the rest of the kids down there. You can afford a properly good night, and you don't need to come to shitholes like this to get it. So, what's someone with enough cash to buy a dress like that doing in here?