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Name: Erica | Gender: woman- hear me roar! | Posts: 2,032 | Roses: 181
Old 12-18-2010 at 01:28 AM
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ooc: 49543954545 days later, you received a reply. Better late than never?


Myron Bolitar

It all matters on what is on the inside. It was so true ... If you weren't working at the Rouge. Now, that sounded asshole-esque, but think about it, it's true. Show business was show business. People did not want to see fuggers grinding up against other fuggers, and doing high splits with rolls of flesh bouncing and jiggling. Myron Bolitar, was not shallow. He did not believe that being skinny rails was cute- hell, he made fun of ballerinas every chance that he got- and he tried to find the pretty in everyone. For some, it was just easier. For the people who would serve as his talent night to night, it needed to be easier. It was all apart of the business. It was below the belt, pompous sounding, but it was show biz. Being a Rouge performer, was not an easy mold to fit. They had to Myron Bolitar and Madeleine De Chandon standards. That ... wasn't easy. Hell, he didn't even reach his own standards.

Verity Ravensdale did, though. At this moment, as Myron watched, probably what would be considered creepily, from the outside of the dressing room door, it became very clear. He had been slightly hesitant about her. Hiring on the spot, just from one meeting at the Gala and an interview, really didn't do it for him, but something about this gal told Myron, he would be an idiot not to make her a Rouge girl. Thank Christ on a cracker he went with that feeling too. As he looked at her looking at herself in the mirror, (try saying that five times fast... Seriously, try. He got up to like, four and a half) It was apparent she had Rouge written all over her. Well, not literally. That would just be creepy.

Someone please give Myron a thesaurus for Christmas. There has got to be other words besides 'creepy' out there.

"You look sharp, kid." Myron voiced, thinking that if he were just to walk away without saying anything, it would just totally kick up the creeper status. He took a step into the dressing room, sliding his hands into his pocket, and letting out a low whistle. He smiled kindly after, letting her know he wasn't sexual assault material. He just, was an owner of the Rouge, very much missing the days where he too, was in her position. Except, not in that outfit.

Taking a step behind her, he looked at her from the mirror. "You ready to kill it tonight?"


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Old 12-22-2010 at 04:14 AM
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Ashton Greene

The man who lent her furniture was cracking down hard on the rent payments; the rent payments she didn’t have. After her couch, coffee tables, and lamps were taken away, the b*st*rd had the audacity to take her dresser and her mirror.

And that was why Ashton found herself at the Rouge at this time of morning, getting ready for the day. No one was there. It was quiet. It was dark. She was breaking and entering. It was eerie inside that giant red windmill. It was so thrilling.

Quietly, she snuck into the Dressing Rooms, jumping at every floor creak, every passing car. It felt like being in one of those mystery books she used to read as a young girl. In the books, the heroin would break into a building, dusting for fingerprints and lurking surreptitiously in a secret passage way.

But Ashton wasn’t here to solve a mystery. She was here to get ready for the day.

She didn’t turn on the lights in the Dressing Rooms. She couldn’t bear to catch a fleeting glimpse of herself changing in the mirror. If Damien didn’t want to see her naked, what was the point in seeing herself naked? That was why she took bubble baths. She saw nothing but bubbles when she looked around (plus, she could text people in the bath, something she couldn’t do in the shower).

Once dressed, she flicked the lights on, and crossing to the mirror, began brushing out her long blonde tresses away from her face, pinning it in place.

But that made her face look too disproportionate. Her ears were sticking out, her nose appeared too long, and the shirt made her chest look as flat as a cardboard box that had been squashed by a cart and left in the rain. But her stomach. She couldn’t even start on her stomach. Maybe if she put what she had there where her boobs should have been, maybe then Damien would look at her. Maybe if her ears were smaller and her eyes greener, maybe if her hips were wider and her lips fuller, or maybe if her nose wasn’t so awkwardly shaped, maybe she’d have more redeeming qualities than just her money. Maybe her sister wouldn’t show her up in everything—marriage, money, education, looks. Delilah had it all.

Ashton poked and pulled at her face, morphed her nose into what seemed to fit her better.

She would make a phone call to a little place she knew of downtown. There was a doctor there who was very skilled with a knife and silicone. And all of this would be fixed. Just a few tweaks here, here, and there, and she would be wife material. She could be the most attractive, sultry, voluptuous performer in the entirety of this red windmill.


If I can't hear the music, and the audience is gone,

I'll dance here on my own.


Banners by Rose, my sister, and me.
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Name: Erica | Gender: woman- hear me roar! | Posts: 2,032 | Roses: 181
Old 12-22-2010 at 05:00 AM
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Rachel Day

This, was how the professionals did it. Through Rachel's woozy delusional five in the morning fog, she felt that way too. She had rolled out of bed, leaving Santiago a note, grabbed at her rehearsal satchel, and took off. Rachel Day sang 'Good Morning Baltimore' all the way to the Rouge. She figured that it would very much help maintain being able to belt flawlessly a famous ballad, while physically putting herself to work. It hurt her bones, she wanted to sleep, and she could already see darkened shades forming beneath her eyes. But, this is what she needed to do to reach where she needed to go! For too long, did all that gang business, or however someone would classify guns, fights, and near death experiences, kept her blinded from the reason she was put on this earth- to perform! Rachel Day felt like a complete slacker. From the day she was born, she was already mentally preparing herself for when her stardom reached full point, and she reached her full time potential as a performer. Which was why, she was at the Rouge at five in the morning, rehearsing throughout the day, and sometimes even staying until the latest of nights, which turned into mornings. Rachel Day was more determined than ever. Determination became obsession. Obsession, was what was making her eyes stay perkily open at five in the morning, in the deserted Rouge.

Or, what was suppose to be a deserted Rouge ...

Entering the dressing room, Rachel Day, in reflex, went to go flick on the lights to her side, but she paused, realizing that- someone had already gotten to that task. Someone, being the girl that was in the dressing room. She jolted in the doorway, completely taken by shock at someone else, at the Rouge, at five in the morning, awake. Goodness gracious! Her heart leapt out of her chest, but she calmed realizing that it was just another Rouge performer. Rachel had seen the blonde around. They had rehearsals and performances together, so they were bound too. She never made it a point to get to know the other performers. Mostly, because last time Rachel Day had a successful, standing ovation performance- they had all left her in the dressing room alone at night, to walk alone home by herself. Hopefully, the girl staring at herself in the mirror did not fall under that category of Rouge performers.

With confused eyes, Rachel watched her. She was like, poking at her face or something. It was seriously, very strange! She had never seen someone look at themselves that intensely. Did she have a booger or something? Was she attempting to pop a blemish? The way she was, smoothing up her skin, made Rachel know that that was all false. The little actress tilted her to the side, as if she were looking at some exotic painting, that she didn't quite know how to feel about it. Oh goodness. It was like, she were analyzing each centimeter of her own face. Maybe it was, just a warm up? Some, soul searching through her face? Rachel Day would not judge. Everyone knew that theatre species, had their ways about them. Then it clicked! The girl was expression exercising! Yes, Rachel did that all time. Okay, no worries. She was not a psycho path or something!

"Sorry to interrupt your facial warm ups!" Rachel Day chirped up, waltzing into the dressing room, and setting down her bag in front of one of the vanity mirrors, that was about three down from the blonde. She side glanced at her, taking a mental note that she was really pretty. She reminded Rachel of the head cheerleaders she saw in high school. The cheerleaders that... threw her into lockers, and spilled slurpies in her face. Huh. Well, Rachel Day was at the Rouge, performing, and making it big time- which was probably what non of those meanie blondes could say back in New York City! This blonde seemed different. Obviously, she was very passionate, just like Rachel Day. Although, she was sure her passion was just, slightly more.

Rachel forced herself to stop staring, and looked at her own self in the mirror, giving herself a teethy morning smile, before she began insulting herself, making herself do moves over and over again, and pretty much became her own worst critic in the rehearsal studio. "I'm just going to get my rehearsal outfit on," She continued, unzipping her enormous, all too heavy for her bag- "and just let you be with yourself-" She furrowed her brows, really not understanding where this was going. "As you-" Rachel stood up, holding her clothes to herself, and crinkling her expression up at her very strange sentence choices. "look at yourself." Well, that sounded funny!

Rachel Day barked out a laugh at herself.


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Old 12-23-2010 at 12:23 AM
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Ashton Greene

The more Ashton stared into the mirror, the more she detested what she saw. The more she detested what she saw, the more she pitied Damien for having to wake up to that every morning. And the more she pitied, the more of a terrible idea this marriage seemed to be.

"Sorry to interrupt your facial warm ups!"

Ashton jumped, sending her heart doing laps around her ribcage. She turned to the source of the sound- a woman about two years younger than she. Someone else was in the Rouge, probably here to report her. Ashton readied her apologies.

But the young woman made her way towards her. Was she going to drag her out? Ashton stiffened, bit her not-full-enough-lip and waited. The woman walked right passes her.

"I'm just going to get my rehearsal outfit on," the woman said, unzipping her giant satchel casually.

Ashton allowed herself to remember what oxygen was and took in a big gulp of it.

"And just let you be with yourself- As you- look at yourself."

Ashton raised an eyebrow as the woman let out a raucous cackle of a laugh. There was nothing funny about this. Ashton found herself hideous, unworthy of even an arranged marriage and this woman had the audacity to laugh at her? It was just like all of the glitz and glitter hungry performance whores she had dealt with before who didn’t care about whom they trampled to get attention.

Ashton said nothing. She looked in the mirror, but past herself and to the woman changing. She had a great body! Nicely toned, lean, curvy in just the right places. Ashton looked at the girl’s face, placid as she changed out. It was adorable. It wasn’t awkward like her own. She puffed almost bitterly.

“This may seem weird,” she said not turning around, but making eye contact in mirror. “But you’re really very pretty.”


If I can't hear the music, and the audience is gone,

I'll dance here on my own.


Banners by Rose, my sister, and me.
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Old 12-26-2010 at 10:01 PM
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Verity Ravensdale

After giving herself a once-over in the mirror, Verity sat back down, picking up a bottle of perfume that sat on the dressing table. She spritzed some on her wrists and behind her knees, spraying a little on her neck for good measure. She inhaled the scent: ultra-feminine, something along the lines of orchids and raspberries. There. That could certainly be the finishing touch, but Verity was unsure whether or not to cover the tattoo on her left thigh. The small heart with the lightening bolt inside had been something she had done on a whim after turning eighteen; an exercise in personal freedom, she had thought at the time. Well... if Myron said anything about it, she'd cover it up. Otherwise, why waste the makeup?

"You look sharp, kid." The voice of Verity's boss came from the front of the dressing room. He seemed to be appraising her. A low whistle followed by a grin let her know that she passed the test. A smile lit her face.

"Thanks," she said, lightly touching her tight curls. By American standards, she looked rather like a pin-up girl... only sexier, and certainly not patriotic. Mr. Bolitar stepped forward, stopping behind her and looking at her in the mirror.

"You ready to kill it tonight?" he asked. Verity felt a surge of excitement and enthusiasm shoot through her, and she nodded.

"Hell yes," she replied. "Only one question: should I cover up the tattoo, or leave it?" she inquired, stretching her left leg out for Myron to see. After all, the Moulin Rouge was primarily a place for male entertainment, and Myron Bolitar, she was sure, knew what the male audience would think.



I had everything, opportunities for eternity, and I could belong to the night.

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Old 12-29-2010 at 04:54 AM
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Myron Bolitar

“Hell yes.”

Oh, hell yes, Myron Bolitar agreed. His grin became wider in appreciation of the answer. Not that, he as oh-so worried about her not being excited, but because ‘hell yes’ was just the right thing to say. He was so over the whole, ‘why yes, Mr. Bolitar’ act. First off, Mr. Bolitar was dead in a cemetery somewhere, and secondly, don’t be that performer. The performer that kissed his ass; it got old real quick. Hell yes, was the perfect friggin’ answer. Sure, it wasn’t professional. But, who had time to be professional around here? Being professional, was highly over-rated. Myron didn’t want to be looked at as the boss guy. Okay, so in badass terms, he did, but not in the sense that people just couldn’t be themselves around him. Myron Bolitar certainly never hid who he was. Hence, why he had to become the boss, because no one would take him in.

“Only one question,” Myron nodded, ready for the first performance jitter questions. The, ‘if I puke where do I go?’ Answer being: Not around him. Or, ‘if I mess up-‘ Which, if she messed up she would just consider herself fired… That was sarcasm. Maybe, he shouldn’t say that, though.

But, the Rouge owner did not get what he was expecting. Oh no. He got more. Like, way more. Like, the more that was a little too much, and a little uncomfortable- but nagged at his hormonal man testosterone side. The more that made him turn into this Jekyll and Hyde creature. The more that was Verity, seductively, revealing her leg to him. Now, let’s review the anatomy of a leg, shall we? In a leg, there are the calves. Meh, not so attractive, he could live without them. The knee caps, which most women always forgot to shave like a centimeter of, so there was this little patch growing. There was the thigh, that was just- well, that was his favorite part. Then, there were the muscles inside of the leg, that lead up to the- Well, that was the anatomy of a leg for ya’. With that being said, it was very clear to Myron and incredibly visible of Verity’s anatomy of her leg. Although, hers was decorated with a tattoo, that he assumed she had to be drunk to get, or it was some teenaged symbol that was done in a rebellious daddy issue state or something, because he had no freaking clue what the hell it was. It was a heart and lightning bolt. But, he wasn’t set on trying to crack the code or anything. Oh no, he was… Well, he was looking at it. Myron was looking at her leg that she had shown to him. It kinda’ was shoved at him. He blinked, swallowing, and shifting slightly but not noticeably.

“Should I cover up the tattoo or leave it?”

Not to sound like that guy who was caught doing it with his secretary named Sue with great boobs, but she came onto him. That was why Myron was… Well, looking at her thigh-ness. Well, no, he was her boss looking at her tattoo, making an important decision. Hell, this was awkward. Apart of him knew it was on purpose too. Not because he thought he was this handsome boss stud, because everyone knew that, but because he played that game too back in his performer days. Everyone played it. It wasn’t like performer, Rouge owner wasn’t sexy fantasy land- because it was. But, Myron Bolitar was a taken man, and he just was past those days. In this moment, those days just seemed to be sweeping back to him though. Verity was an attractive girl, no doubt. Red hair and a body like that? Genetic lotto win. She seemed nice enough, but this was just- a new side to her that Myron didn’t seem coming. It was bold. It was- alright, what if he was over thinking this. It was a thigh for Christ sake, not her labia.

Damn, was he getting old of what? Freaking out over this? Myron Bolitar was the definition of flirt. There was nothing. wrong with flirting anyway. It was innocent. Alright, so the engagement band on his finger may have been wrapped around too tightly. He needed to loosen up. Christ, was he loosing himself? Of course, there was only one woman he loved- but did he have to be such an uptight old geezer, with issues with his testicals? No. He was Myron Bolitar. He was the man.

Myron Bolitar glanced at the tattoo quickly, flickering up to her eyes. He wasn’t all, nervous and clearing of the throat, uncomfortable, oh-my-goodness sweat. But, he wasn’t the most comfortable with this situation either. Damn, Madeleine would have clawed her eyes out by now. What if she was just comfortable with her body? Maybe he was being a doof? It was inappropriate, but everything about the Rouge was inappropriate in some way. Myron Bolitar had to deal with the costumes he made them wear.

“Nah, leave it.” Whatever it is. Myron smoothed over his suit jacket, turning to one of the vanities, and smooth out the side of his hair with his palm, more giving him something to do, then stare at her. “I wouldn’t touch it.” Then, being the Bolitar cheeseball, he smirked back over his shoulder, and winked at her. “At least not with cover up.”

Okay, good. Myron Bolitar was not a lost cause completely.


Rachel Day



It wasn’t as if Rachel Day did not like making friends. Goodness, she loved being a social butterfly! She was always interested in meeting someone new. It was just; show business was a different kind of social. She had learned that the difficult way. So, this was why, Rachel kept her friends outside of the Rouge. Everyone was competing for the same dream in this building, stardom. Which, Rachel Day was surely confident she would get, not handed to her though, so she did not understand why everyone just couldn’t accept their fates, and all be friends? That was how theatre people were suppose to be! They were suppose to sing Broadway tunes together, and go on spontaneous adventures that no one would ever dream doing, because it was so entirely bizarre! It was saddening, but it was the truth, and Rachel Day had learned to deal with that truth. Which, was why, in this dressing room, she was hurrying up to get out of this blonde’s way before a war began or something. The little actress just liked to avoid conflict by all costs. She was here to ready herself and perform, not make a friend.

Rachel stuffed her clothes into her satchel on the chair, standing in her crimson sport bra and panties. Taking out her rehearsal clothes, she began sliding into her leggings, and putting her arms up to throw on her purple tank top that smelled of Tide from laundry last night.

“This may seem weird-“

Rachel jolted down the rest of her tank top, startled at the girl’s voice. Not that, she had forgotten there was someone in the room with her, but she was actually talking to her. It was different. She looked over into the mirror to see the blonde’s face, and widened her eyes. In her stomach, she could feel it knotting up of some sort of insult or something.

“But you’re really very pretty.”

Oh… Rachel Day could feel her jaw almost want to drop a little. A compliment? Not that, she had never received one before, but it really wasn’t a usual routine for her. Santiago for certain, but a girl could only believe her boyfriend’s compliments for so long. Rachel was sure that if she had zits all over her face, and gained ten pounds, that Santiago would still adore her. It was just, coming from a co-performer? That was just unheard of. Even for the other ladies to each other. When everyone changed out of their costumes for the night, it was like the last judgment or something!

She couldn’t help but point a finger at a chest, in a ‘me?’ sense, but of course she meant Rachel. Her chest swelled up with sudden gratefulness and slight confidence- and also something that made her want to be this girl’s friend! She was just so nice! Oh, this was such a Wicked moment. She could be Glinda, and she could play the part of Elphaba. Oh, Rachel should totally mention something to Myron about that!

“Thank you.” She breathed, smiling with her teeth, suddenly; not minding it was five in the morning. “May I join you actually?” Rachel asked, but not needing an answer, as she approached the mirror beside her, beginning to massage her cheeks. “I did not do my routine facial warm ups myself this morning.”

Wow, it felt nice to talk to a girl.

Rachel began crinkling her nostrils- doing the warm up of sour face, lion face. She squeezed her features together, and then spread them apart like a ferocious beast. It was something that the professionals like her did.

“I thought the same thing when I came into the room, about you!” She lilted over to the girl, making her mouth wide, and her eyes cross-eyed.


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Old 12-29-2010 at 06:22 AM
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Ashton Greene

Ashton didn’t expect a response. If anything, she anticipated that noncommittal grunt that many performers issued as a “thank you”. They tried to distance themselves. They tried to keep all relationships far at bay as to not cause any awkward tension while they rose to stardom. Ashton found this a sad existence. To only care about the fame and not about the art was selfish and mindless. Many girls got recognition for not even caring, and here Ashton was, marrying a man she didn’t know so she could sing back up for whatever soloist was on the Rouge stage. Maybe that was what Gabriel was talking about-- about how people who were “untalented” or didn’t give a sh*t got recognition, while the passionate, talented ones were stored in the wings.

But the girl looked pleasantly surprised. She seemed accepting enough of the compliment, motioning to herself questionably, as if Ashton could be talking to anyone else. There’s no one else in the room, sweetie, Ashton giggled inwardly, nodding, reassuring the brunette that it was, indeed, her that Ashton was addressing.

“Thank you. May I join you actually?” The girl asked, crossing over to her.

Join me? Ashton asked herself silently. In what? Critiquing my body and deciding what I need to get altered? Be my guest. It’s not like no one does that.

“I did not do my routine facial warm ups myself this morning.”

Ashton arched a finely trimmed eyebrow at the other girl. Facial warm-ups? That was far from what Ashton was doing. And the fact that the other girl was doing them gave of the impression that she was zealot. A zealot at rehearsing? Being punctual was acceptable. Being a perfectionist was fine. But being meticulous in facial warm-ups in a dance show? Ashton never did facial warm-ups. Not even in her twelve years of voice lessons had she done them. They were far from necessary in singing and dancing. Unless…

Ashton looked at the girl. She watched her make odd, laughable faces in the reflective surface of the mirror. She had a beautiful, youthful face. Maybe those facial warm-ups were what kept her looking the way she did. Maybe is Ashton started, she wouldn’t have to get so much work done.

“I thought the same thing when I came into the room, about you!”

Ashton’s face scrunched up in confusion. Her? Pretty? Not even her own fiancée thought that of her. “Me?” She asked. “Not even. You’re gorgeous. You should be a model or something. Me? I look like a bleeding hag today.” Ashton was usually the first to fish for compliments. But a combination of her own self-deprecation and the words of her father and the attitude of Damien, she had come to believe it. This was no fishing game. This was genuine truth in Ashton’s round hazel eyes.

She joined in on the facial warm-ups, contorting her face into odd visages she never thought she was capable of. It felt good. It was like yoga for the face muscles.

“I’m Ashton, by the way. Not too sure if you knew that already.” Ashton smiled momentarily and continued the exercises, feeling her face go numb. Maybe it would look better in the morning after a few more rotations of these.


If I can't hear the music, and the audience is gone,

I'll dance here on my own.


Banners by Rose, my sister, and me.
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Old 12-30-2010 at 07:45 AM
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Rachel Day

“Me?”

Rachel Day’s, whose fingers were currently at the edges of her nostrils, and her mouth contorted to the edge of her face, looked into the blonde’s mirror, raising her eyebrows at her. Was she kidding?

“Not even.”

No, she was not! Rachel, in confusion- no that was not dramatic enough- in utter confusion, lowered her hands, just beginning to mush her cheeks together, but still looking at the blonde questionably. She had to know that she was gorgeous. At least, Rachel would think so. Although, all performers to some extent had that lack of self esteem in them, there had to be some glimmer of confidence in her? Rachel Day was never, growing up, told that she was pretty. In fact, she was mostly teased for the way that she had looked. Barbra Streisand had something to do with it, but Rachel learned to accept herself. She learned, at least, to fake it until she made it. It really wasn’t until she came to Paris, and lost contact with her mother and such, that she actually felt beautiful. Working at the Rouge, surely helped boost her confidence, and also, having a boyfriend too. Rachel Day went through a phase, goodness, every lady did. But, this blonde girl, looked really shocked. A little too shocked, that almost gave Rachel the heebie jeebies. It was like; she had never heard it before or something.

“You’re gorgeous. You should be a model or something.” Psh! Oh, goodness. Rachel couldn’t help but almost bark out a laugh, but she would not let it roar out. The blonde was completely serious at the moment. Instead, Rachel looked back at the mirror, and continued to massage her jaw. She had never heard that one before. Models were completely frightening. They had scary white skin, and absolutely no muscles, and no emotion in their face! All she could see in their pictures, was, ‘feed me’. Oh goodness, no. Modeling? Rachel Day had never dreamed of it. It just seemed like models didn’t use their brains enough. She could not imagine a life just focused on body image, not eating, and taking photographs all day. Now, if it was a photo shoot for a Broadway magazine, or playbill- she could totally see herself working that!

“Me?” She was continuing? “I look like a bleeding hag today.” Rachel’s eyes rounded at herself in the mirror, shaking her head. That was no way to talk. At least, not a performer. It was just, that faking it all performers had to do. If the wrong person was to hear that coming from her, they would completely use that against her, to bring her down in the performing world. Rachel Day would never dream of doing that, but she really needed to give this blonde a wakeup call or something. It was a tough business, and staring at the mirror all day was not going to make it any easier on herself. Oh, no. When Rachel Day stared into the mirror, she saw…

Rachel Day dropped her hands slightly, and looked at herself. Really, looked at herself. She looked at herself in the way the girl next to her was staring at herself in the mirror. Rachel saw, a nobody performer. A nobody performer, that was still, not at the top yet. She needed to work on her low belt, she needed to work on her sexy chair routines, she needed to work on control in her facial expressions, she needed to work on her method acting in being able to shut if off when she would like too, she needed to- Rachel’s eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. She would be staying until at least two in the morning tonight.

“I’m Ashton by the way.” Rachel blinked over at Ashton, almost wanting to thank her for snapping Rachel out of it. She smiled over at what seemed to be a new friend, as she warmed up her facials. “Not too sure if you knew that already.” She added. Returning to the mirror, Rachel smacked her lips together, wiggling her eyebrows. “No, I did not.” She chirped, “But, I am glad I do now.”

Glancing over at Ashton, Rachel turned her body to her, and held out a friendly hand. It said, they were going to be friends. That, Ashton was the first girl at the Rouge to introduce herself to her, and actually give her a compliment, and be honest and nice. She could totally sense a long term friendship coming on her, and such best friend material. Goodness, Rachel Day never had a girlfriend before!

“I’m Rachel Day.” She smirked happily. “And it’s really nice to meet a nice person.” Then, with a serious expression, "But, you should really be nice to yourself too."


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Old 01-02-2011 at 03:09 AM
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 Post [19] »


Ashton Greene

Somewhere in there, Ashton put a halt on her facial warm-ups. Her face felt numb enough to go under the knife now. She sucked her cheeks in, in hopes that she could regain some semblance of feeling there.

“No, I did not, but I’m glad I do now.”

The woman was sweet, almost sickly so, but it was better than the rude, cold shoulder comments from the other Rouge girls. It was odd, though that Rachel didn’t know Ashton’s name. Ashton knew who Rachel was. She had seen her around, rehearsing to no end. But Ashton was always good with names.

There was no denying Rachel was talented. But was she Rouge material? Ashton wasn’t sure. But who was, really? Ashton was a classically trained dancer and pianist. She had several years of voice training under her belt, and still, she shimmied against chairs for tips, and wore tight, scant clothing in hopes of making a few Euros. But still, she was dancing and singing. That was all that mattered. And she was willing to do anything to whatever it took to keep doing that; murder, pillaging, arranged marriages. That, in Ashton’s eyes, is what made a Rouge girl a Rouge girl; because sex appeal wasn’t just about body image (luckily for Ashton). It was about attitude. Sexy attitude. If this girl could pull it off the way Madeleine said Ashton could, Ashton would have some competition. That was good. Ashton liked a challenge, and so far, she liked Rachel.

“I’m Rachel Day, and it’s really nice to meet a nice person. But, you should really be nice to yourself too."

Ashton ignored that last comment. Rachel Day had no right to control how Ashton felt. She was letting too many people do that already. She didn’t need another.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Rachel,” Ashton said as sweetly as she could manage past the slight annoyance of Rachel’s comment. “What are you doing here so early? Shouldn’t you be at home, you know, sleeping, or whatever else you wish to do in your bed?” Ashton asked with a pleasant, friendly smile. Ashton didn’t know Rachel’s life. She could be married or in a relationship of some kind, spending these ripe hours of the morning entangled in the arms of some man or woman. She could be a single mother with kids who liked to jump on the mattress every morning before life took away the fun aspects of everyday routine. Or she could be like Ashton, lonely and alone, trying to find the ability to get off of that air mattress and head out the door.


If I can't hear the music, and the audience is gone,

I'll dance here on my own.


Banners by Rose, my sister, and me.
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Name: Erica | Gender: woman- hear me roar! | Posts: 2,032 | Roses: 181
Old 02-09-2011 at 04:31 AM
WanderingChild<3

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 Post [20] »


Rachel Day

"It's nice to meet you, too, Rachel."

Rachel Day had to intensely supress from bursting out into a glistening light that began causing her cheeks to tingle, and the Claires jewelry store seem all the more welcoming, with their half hearted best friends forever bracelets in stock. Oh goodness, she could not begin this now. This, being, what caused her to never have a best friend in her entire life. Once a girl took interest in Rachel as being a pal, she got, well, a little too excited at the fact. In twelfth grade, she got so excited, she made a frienship calender, and circled all the dates that they had to do something together. Which, was practically everyday. Except, Sundays. That was the Lord's day. But then, she would half circle it, because good company when going to church, was very Christian-like. Soon after that, Rachel Day was left friendless, and with two calendars. She just, never had a girlfriend. She never had girl time with anyone, or someone to paint nails with. Although, she did not really appreciate painting nails. They should be left plain in case a role calls for it. Well, anyway, she was not completely lonely. She had Santiago and Myron. But, notice how those would be boy's names. Well, Myron's ... who knew what that was. But, meeting this pretty Ashton girl, made Rachel feel like there was some hope. This could be a chance to start anew in the friendship field, and give normalacy a go. Ugh. She could only hope that she would just, not ruin this!

“What are you doing here so early?"

The question made Rachel Day's jaw muscles flex, which was very much not what she needed, since her facial warm ups were suppose to be keeping her from doing so. Perhaps, this Ashton was not the best girl to begin the day with. But, the question was innocent, it just made her tense. What was she doing here so early? Well, what kind of interrogative statement was that. She was a performer. She lived for performing. She dreamt about performing the nights that she was lazily sleeping. This, was rehearsal time. Her rehearsal time. Rachel Day needed to be non stop, because one moment she would stop, and maybe the talent would just be sucked out of her. Not that, she had all the talent she was able to produce yet. Oh, no. This was just the beginning. In order for her to ever achieve her dreams, Rachel Day needed to work at least physically most hours of the day, and think about it the rest.

"Shouldn’t you be at home, you know, sleeping, or whatever else you wish to do in your bed?”

Clearing her throat, Rachel looked back at the mirror, dropping her hands that had been massaging her cheekbones. Shouldn't she be home. Well, she was hardly ever home anymore. Whatever she did in her bed? Well, it was personal, but there was Santiago. Not even in a sexual sense, but a snuggling sense. Rachel Day's tired muscles really did not have time for much intimacy. Certainly, it was a damper, but she ignored it. Santiago was busy too. It wasn't like she did not love him. It was not like he did not love her. Rachel's life had just been crazy. Good crazy. The crazy that she had been longing for her entire life. He understood that. He understood that she needed to be rehearsing all the time. Because, she needed too.
It had become an obsession.

But that was what show business was all about.

"I'm rehearsing, silly." Rachel Day finally said merrily, tossing her hair up into a pony tail, and pressing her fingers under her eyes as if it were going to magically make the dark circles dissapear. A tired scorn appeared on her features, as if something inside of her was yelling at herself, and wanting to be tired, but she would not allow her body to be weak. No. It was rehearsal time.

"I do it every morning ..." She propped her foot on the counter, stretching out, and wincing at the pain in her abdomens. Every morning which was her personal rehearsal. Then there were the regular rehearsals during the day everyone went to. And then- "Every night too."


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