please don't stop the music - [open]

[annamaria louise deveraux]

There was nothing quite like the nightlife and Annamaria Deveraux would be the first one to tell you that she belonged in the night so much more than the day. It was in the dark when the demons came out to play. In the dark when all the people let their more wild side out, the side that was so much more than the suit and tie that worked a nine to five. When there was a bit of alcohol involved, and a bit of sexual tension, anyone and everyone could find a bit of fun. Especially for a girl such as her, one that knew how to live the night life more than most. One who might as well have slept all day and spent her awake hours by the light of the moon.

That night was no different than so many before it, the only difference was that she didn't have somewhere to go when the night was said and done. Which really, wasn't such an odd thing for the woman. She'd been living on the streets for so long that she was used to having to find a warm bed for the night. Even if that meant having to give some sexual favors in return for such a luxury as a mattress. Something that she also was not stranger to, nor did she much mind it. When you live a life like you were dying, there weren't a lot of limits. She knew that she didn't have any. She would do anything that she wanted to go what she wanted, even if it meant sleeping with someone that she didn't know. As was the life she led, and the one that would lead her to her untimely demise.

Some might say that it would be for the best that girls like Annamaria didn't live a long life. After all, she had spent the better part of it being the sort of girl that no one would bring home to meet their parents. She was a junkie, a traveling kid, a girl who would blow some ugly mother fucker if it meant getting enough money for her next fix. Though, if there was one thing that she had noticed about herself, it was that people were drawn to her. She didn't look like your run of the mill whore, even if that was very much so what she was if you were to look at her life on paper.

The way that she dressed, in a skirt that barely covered her ass, but was made of all leather patches and held up on her hips low with a belt. Her shirt that was just as interesting as her skirt, obviously hand made. Then there were her boots that would be much better suited for a pirate than a woman in the modern world. She wasn't of the modern world though, a part of her still untouched by it after years of living in it. That fire red hair of hers was decorated with charms and feathers, and her eyeliner was thicker than most women dared to wear it.

What pulled people in, and Dev was convinced of this, was her accent. A deep creole sound to it that many didn't hear it anymore. As if she was one of Anne Rice's French vampires. To those who didn't know any better they would see a woman who was so unique that she almost didn't seem to fit in this town. Hartford was interesting, though, to say the least. And there was something about standing out so very much that drew her to stay here, if only for a bit longer. With a devil may care smile on her lips, and that dangerous gleam in her eyes she leaned on the bar, just waiting for her next prey to appear.

[leila dawn hartley]

she didn't quite know what she was doing in a bar. maybe she was hoping that going out would make her feel normal, would make her more comfortable in her skin. of course, she highly doubted that. leila dawn hardly felt comfortable in her skin in any circumstance, and though the idea of alcohol was appealing simply for the fact that it might make the demons go away and she trusted her body not to betray her. not that she expected anyone to want to make a move anyway - her features, though pretty if she worked hard enough, weren't exactly always pleasant to the eye and though some people were into that, if her looks didn't turn them away then the hunch of her shoulders and the general aura of wanting to disappear into the night did. she wasn't confident. she wasn't someone that people really wanted. and even if they did, why should she fear being used? isn't that what she let happen to her every day? at least drunk she'd have the possibility of never remembering.

so that was sort of her intent in heading there that night. to escape the demons, to get completely wasted away and never have to remember a thing in the morning. her uncle would be furious - she could already feel the sting of his hand, could picture already the bruises that would form on her pale skin though she didn't know if her imagination was due to standard practice or the fact that she was half-way shitfaced already, especially since the images didn't exactly bother her. actually she wasn't even sure these were imagined images. bruises often turned up on her body that she didn't remember getting, ones that wouldn't go away or that were just repeated so often they were like tattoos. she didn't know which these were. to be honest, she was a little too far gone to care.

though there was the fear - the fear of finding someone who recognized her, either for her musical act or the act that went on after that behind closed doors, the one that left the more lasting impression because even if she was just a pin cushion to be used again and again and again, they always seemed to give her the same dirty looks when they saw her away from jack. men were so disgusting, so brutally and proudly disturbing that she didn't know how a person could look them in the eye and feel love. she didn't understand how a person could ever want to be with a man when that man was just going to use them or leave them for someone better or go behind their back to get all their kinks out with a poor naive little girl who didn't know any better. she didn't understand the appeal and as she met a few gazes in the bar as she floated around, stumbling slightly in the unfamiliar feeling of intoxication, she just felt even more queasy and sick to her stomach. and it occurred to her then that she needed more alcohol.

not her wisest decision but in the haze of her mind, she could care less. she just needed to feel the burning, the lifting and blissful numbness that came from being so totally gone. if her uncle didn't kill her the next morning, the hangover will, but she couldn't find it in her to care as she made her way back to the bar, a blissful absent smile on those features of hers that was so rarely found when she was sober, and as she clambered awkwardly up to the stool, she leaned forward and grabbed the bartender's sleeve with delicate hands and said, "i need just...a few more drinks, just three shots. line 'em up," and leaned back with a little bit of a laugh before holding his arm tighter and pulling herself up to steady herself. then she leaned further onto the bar before turning her attention to the flaming creature of a woman beside her and she wondered somewhere in the back of her mind how she could possibly have missed her walking up. "you look like a parrot," she told the woman, words slurring and that lazy smile still on her face as she supported her head with her hands. "like a pretty little parrot. pretty parrot. p." then she snorted to herself and gave the girl a wide grin.

note: don't hate me, i just figured someone needed to take this. c;

[/justify]