Post by americangrime on Mar 10, 2021 23:05:13 GMT -5
(OOC: Didn't want to no-show but my brain has been soup trying to write for this character. Fun stuff, right?)
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We enter on a dour space. The lights are down. The air is thick with the smell of alcohol and disarray. At the mouth of the apartment-much nicer than most-we see a table covered in cigarette butts and empty whiskey shooters. At the head of that table?
Blair Regent.
The Pop Punk Prince is not looking good. She’s dressed in a white crop-top and a pair of black leather pants, as well as black socks, but her hair is falling over her face. She’s got an unlit cigarette in one hand, and she shrugs.
“You win some, you lose some...but i’ve been fuckin’ losin’ a lot lately, ain’t I?”
She chuckles. She drops the cigarette to the ground, and tries to fish it, but she sways back and forth over the carpet.
“But, y’know, fuggit. What’s gonna happen? They gonna kick me to the streets? Wouldn’t be the first time, and it prolly won’t be the last. I won’t cry too much over it when or if it happens.” Blair grabs for a shooter, amber-gold liquid still therein, and struggles with the cap before popping it off and downing it. She wrinkles her face. “Pat the Postman? Who knows how this one’ll go? The crowd’s behind the guy, every time he fuckin’ does somethin’ they’re cheering his name. Screaming how he’s the fuckin’ best.” She chuckles. “Maybe. Maybe he is. Maybe I’m just gonna be another feather in his cap. I guess we’ll see.”
Blair shrugs.
“Something’s gotta give eventually though, right?”
She smiles.
“Maybe just not today.”
-
We enter on a dour space. The lights are down. The air is thick with the smell of alcohol and disarray. At the mouth of the apartment-much nicer than most-we see a table covered in cigarette butts and empty whiskey shooters. At the head of that table?
Blair Regent.
The Pop Punk Prince is not looking good. She’s dressed in a white crop-top and a pair of black leather pants, as well as black socks, but her hair is falling over her face. She’s got an unlit cigarette in one hand, and she shrugs.
“You win some, you lose some...but i’ve been fuckin’ losin’ a lot lately, ain’t I?”
She chuckles. She drops the cigarette to the ground, and tries to fish it, but she sways back and forth over the carpet.
“But, y’know, fuggit. What’s gonna happen? They gonna kick me to the streets? Wouldn’t be the first time, and it prolly won’t be the last. I won’t cry too much over it when or if it happens.” Blair grabs for a shooter, amber-gold liquid still therein, and struggles with the cap before popping it off and downing it. She wrinkles her face. “Pat the Postman? Who knows how this one’ll go? The crowd’s behind the guy, every time he fuckin’ does somethin’ they’re cheering his name. Screaming how he’s the fuckin’ best.” She chuckles. “Maybe. Maybe he is. Maybe I’m just gonna be another feather in his cap. I guess we’ll see.”
Blair shrugs.
“Something’s gotta give eventually though, right?”
She smiles.
“Maybe just not today.”