"Sodding hell..." She should have a much worse hangover than she does. The bath forestalled the worst of it, though, mercifully - but even so, she's got a hangover. Drancy never made it all the way to bed last night, passing out on the cushions on the living room floor - the souvenier of her fae houseguests. Comfort is something she is reluctantly, avidly refamiliarizing herself with ...
     Drancy stumbles her way to the bathroom, bathing and flipping the overlong braids and strands alike back before getting into a change of clothes - loose, soft jeans, faded from being washed half to death, and an ivory hued cotton blouse with a faded pink stain where magenta ink once hit it by accident, all along one sleeve. Barefoot - shoes and socks are too much trouble - she creaks her way to the kitchen. Tea. Tea is a prerequisite, today.

     Imagine, if you will, the worst sort of cockney accent. Then put it to a child's song about puppies in windows, sung by a caterwalling, crooning East Side Girl, and there you have it. The spectacle that is at your front door. Knock-knock-knock. The puppies in the windows turns to "London Calling"...
     Guess who?
     "C'mon dover!" Dot pounds on the door and then falls into giggles. "...move your bloomin' arse!"

     Oh, God. There is a hell. There is a hell, and I am in it.
     Drancy moves to the door, groaning a little as she does - she's still hung over, and a bright cheerful caterwaul is the last thing her hangover wants to cope with. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she croaks, tugging at the locks until the door finally falls open. She doesn't -look- hung over, but she sounds it.
     "I was just making a cup of tea. I imagine you want some as well?" It isn't a glare, well, it is, but it isn't personal, Drancy can't help but glare while her head pounds. "I'm still under the weather, so please, please, if you have any mercy or love in your heart, keep it down."

     "Alright, alrighty, miss kitty," Dot whispers. And she's looking positively smashing. Blue and purple plaid hot pants, shredded fishnets, a pair of knee-high Docs. Her hair is berry red, this week anyway, cut in a swinging angled bob, with bangs. "I heard you were tying one on last night. And," she drawls out softly, "...with two absolutely smashing chaps. Roxy had her boob fondled by one of them all night, said he took her to Big O-ville four times. You should introduce me..." Painted lips, bright scarlet, pucker and blow you a kiss.
     "So what's up, kitty? I haven't talked to you in aaaages, sweetie dahling...and yeah, tea would be spiffers." While her voice IS quiet, it's as quick as ever.

     Breathing a sigh of relief, Drancy closes the door. Speed, she can sort of deal with - just not piercing volume and songs. "Who, Davydd and William? God, no." She shudders in revulsion - when not viewed the a bottle but rather through the aftermath of one, the idea of intentionally doing anything with them seems ... foolhardy, to say the least. "I know them. They're both rather thoroughly married - the one who was playing with her tit's married to a man. Other than that, your parents'd probably approve of him." Maybe that'll get Dot less interested.
     "What's up? I ... don't know." She goes back to the kitchen, moving the kettle onto the stove and hobbling over to the mugs. "Just ... trying to make it til tomorrow. Trying not to think too much. How's Sieg?" She'll try a diversionary tactic.

     "Fuck if I know, he's in America..." she twists a smirk at that. "Probably banging some big-titted California blonde. Or some bid-cocked surfer dude. They left like... three weeks ago..." She opens your refrigerator. Of course there's nothing in it. "William and Davydd... hmms...well, I'm up to my eyeballs in bisexual men, so no thanks. Roxy wants his number though... so ... I thought I'd ask. So... he must be rich. That's all my fucking parents care about..." Dot closes the door and hops up, planting her plaid ass on your countertop.
     "So... you sound blue, even more than usual. What's up, sourpuss?"

     There never is any food in Drancy's apartment, unless someone else is putting it there. "I don't have his number. And he owns a fucking castle, Dot, in France." Even by her family's standards, that's impressive. "Sorry to hear about Sieg, though." Assuming Dot is.
     Picking up the kettle using both hands, she tips it forward to pour the hot water over the teabags. "I don't know. Just feel like I've been trying to run away from the past and getting nowhere, and ... well." Drancy leans forward with a slight tinkle of bells, thunking her head against the forehead for a moment. "Can't go back to what I was, now can I. And I don't know where to go with myself." Bit of a change from her usual self-possession.

     "Well fuck me..." She laughs. "Hmm.. yeah, they'd love that shite. They so want me to be their little fucking show-piece. So... I guess I've given them that." She grins. "I fucking strip and have mock coitus in cages. Mum would be so proud. As for Sieg," she rolls her shoulders. "He writes me e-mail... so... you know I told him not to worry about fucking other girls while he's in the States, you know... so long as the same liberty extends to me. He agreed, so... we're not going to talk about it. I like him, you know... I really do. I'm just nuts about him, but... he's a rocker, D. It's not like he's going to settle in London and be okay with that. He wants to be in LA."
     She shrugs again and then looks at you. "Yeah... I ... get you," she says quietly. Seriously, in fact. "You can't outrun the past, though, D. You just have to go through it, you know. Like being abused or whatever. You have to sort of move through the pain of that and transform yourself. That fucker that treated you like garbage, fuck him you know? He's a loser. You're not. You're smashing. You need to figure that out, GF," short for girlfriend.

     Drancy grins a little, weakly. "Yah. Well... just, I don't know." She shakes her head a little. "It's all sort of caught up in my head, and nothing I ever do or say seems to come out right." She sags against the counter, passing over one of the mugs with an absent scowl. "And ... I'm in a lot of trouble, Dot. I'm just, I can't keep up this pace. It isn't working anymore, but I don't ... have anywhere else to go with it."
     A helpless little shrug, and again she spins the conversational ball. "So when's the big wedding? Your mum and dad would be even prouder if they knew you two were hitting it off enough like -that-. Is it what you're really happy doing?" Now that she knows she's not, it's easier to ask questions like that.

     "I just let the world carry me, sweets. He and I are talking and I guess as long as we're honest with one another, it'll work out alright in the end and all that shite." She shrugs. "I can't worry about it. Won't do me any good, chickadee...and ...maybe you just need to ... chill for a bit. Have you thought of... you know... not that I could do it... but maybe going back...home for a while? To clear your head? I usually wouldn't be one to say that'd help but... you know... it's possible, I guess. That or try to score some percs." Dot snorts a laugh.
     She plays with the tea bag for a moment or two. Dunking it, lifting it, dunking it, lifting it. "I really don't want to leave England, and my mates... just cuz my bloke likes the sun shine. Though, I think I'd like LA. I just... it'd just be so weird not being able to just see you whenever. So, you know... I'm sympathetic, darlin', with being caught between a rock and a hard place. Different reasons, I know, not that I'm trying to make this about ME." She sips, leaving a lipstick stain. "Maybe we should get shrinks!"

     "I go home end of the month. One of the little compulsory weekends, so they can show me off and tell everyone how I'm working for some obscure little magazine or other and let them all assume my parents bought me an editor seat on some folksy little teashoppey-thingy." So young to be so cynical. Drancy climbs slowly up onto the counter opposite with her own mug.
     "And ... I get to drag -him- with me." Him can only mean one person, these days, and Dot did get to catch sight of him. She smiles, not entirely happily. "I'd miss you too, sweets, but you know, if you really want to be with him, you could make a go of it. Or you could go for a month, and see how you like it - nobody said it had to be a permanent thing. Dei gotten over things, yet?"

     "Hard to tell with the Icelandic lot. He hasn't been sticking needles in his arm, so I reckon so. He started dating this one chick with really short, lavender hair. But you know... he's okay. He likes you. I think he'd make a good friend, I think he wants to be friends with you. It's not like you guys were involved all that much anyway... not really. So... you know...well, like I said," another sip, "we're talking about it... but maybe he'll get over it and rather be in Paris, which would suit me fine."
     Him. Dot tilts her head like a confused little kitten and puckers her lips. "I thought you really were into him. Well, about as much as you could be said to be into anyone, not that you'd admit it. You two on the fritz? Is he an asshole?" She springs to your defense, Dot does.

     "No, no, nothing like that. I'm ... still into him, but it - it's complicated. He's not an easy person to get to know, and I'm ... not exactly an easy person to get involved with." Well, at least she speaks the truth. Drancy makes a little face. "I mean, come on, we all know what they say - virgin ice queen bitch. You have to feel sorry for the poor bastard." Who isn't even around, but then, she's been holding off on calling him - Drancy has no idea what to say to him, or to anyone.
     "Glad to hear he's not moping around hurling insults at my graven image," the words are sardonically uttered, more to her mug than anything. "And yeah, Paris at least is in spitting distance. Besides, if he's from Iceland, how bloody much sun can he stand before he gets sick of it? - Dot, what d'you think I should do?" That was abrupt.

     "Well... you know..." she starts, picking up from your sudden segue, "...I think you should... not get scared and run from it. I think... in order for you to learn to trust again, sweetie darling, you're going to have to just... trust. It's scary... and I know you must be terrified... but I think that's the only way you're going to get out of that tight knot you've tied yourself into. Not that I think you should go out and fuck the next man you see, or even your boyfriend... but you know... it'd be a start. Call him. Close your eyes and just... walk off the cliff like everyone else."
     Cliff. Bridge. Whatever.

     Slowly nodding, Drancy sets her tea aside. "I guess you're right," she says quietly. "Just ... I guess some part of me was hoping I wouldn't have to. Go there. Y'know?" She smiles, though not very happily.
     "I guess I should ... start preparing for it, eh. Get it over with..."

     Dot smiles weakly, understanding. "Babes, there's no other way ... you have to go there. You know? That's the way life is. You have to go through it. You have to allow things to happen to you... you know?" She hops off the counter and gives a pat to your leg. "Either way, no matter what happens? I'm still going to be your mate. And you know... I'm a flake, I'm a slut," she smiles, "...but I think you're the bees knees. And I'll always be here."

     "We've stayed friends through a hell of a lot, and I do appreciate it. I hope you know that." Drancy manages a more 'real' looking smile. "Is there any way though that I can help, with what's going on now, with Sieg? I could call him and tell him to get his arse back to London, you know." She'd do it, too.

     Dot smiles, shakes her head and gives your leg another pat. "No, doll. But thanks for asking. It'll work out like it's supposed to in the end. It will for you too. And... yeah, I do know that. You're the best mate a girl could have. You call shite 'shite'. You're for real and you're honest. And believe it or not, I DO listen to you." She gives a wink. "Ain't that just the living end? Say, we should go out now and forget all this shite... whattayasay..."

     "It's ... an idea, but, I do have to pack. For the weekend, you know." A face is made, she doesn't want to go, not to be shown off. But some things ... "I should get started," Drancy says aloud. "Maybe when I get back from the estate?"

     "Oh sure... you know where I live." She laughs. "Hell... I'm thinking about moving into the Phantaz... there are private apartments for the dancers... I mean, if you fall into favor. Man, the shite that goes on there. I wonder when they're going to get busted....anyway." Dot beams and sets her mug down. "I gotta scoot for work anyway. Ummm... call me okay? whenever you need to? I have a cell now... money's good so... its...here, let me jot it down for you..." She scrambles for some scratch paper and takes out her red lipstick. 5 - 35 - 47 - 564. "Here you go. It has voice mail too. Had to get it for work. It's so fucking professional, I'm surprised the cages don't have desks. Alrighty then," she shoves the napkin over to you and winks. "I'm off then."

     Drancy grins a little, taking the paper. "You take care, lady. Sounds like you're moving with some awfully high rollers, now." There's a hint of concern to her voice underneath it. The paper's tacked up on the refrigerator with a magnet, and she follows you to the door. "I'll talk to you whenever, right?"

     She is, in fact. Quite a glossy life these nights. Big cars, designer drugs, beauty, pleasure, accolades. Hell, maybe even fame. Dot laughs, "God, I hope so. I'm tired of punk boi's who can't buy me a proper dindin. Alright, toots. Ciao bella!" She spins at the door, snarls in punk style, grabs her crotch and then winks.
     Charming.

Posted by rowan at June 02, 2003 08:01 PM