geminiy
v tired
Beatrice D'Arco
@beadarc has set her status to:
what the fuck havana
@beadarc has set her outfit to:
blue velvet bullshit (left)
@beadarc has set her location to:
the blue velvet nightclub
@beadarc has mentioned:
Atlas & Vi
@beadarc has interacted with:
Havana & Heather
@beadarc has tagged:
Soap PenguinFox Winona gh0stwriter Kitsune2202 Stardust Galaxy natsukashii AkuTheWolfOkami ditto jasmyn qunqun KingofAesir Xed 0k_mang0
what the fuck havana
@beadarc has set her outfit to:
blue velvet bullshit (left)
@beadarc has set her location to:
the blue velvet nightclub
@beadarc has mentioned:
Atlas & Vi
@beadarc has interacted with:
Havana & Heather
@beadarc has tagged:
Soap PenguinFox Winona gh0stwriter Kitsune2202 Stardust Galaxy natsukashii AkuTheWolfOkami ditto jasmyn qunqun KingofAesir Xed 0k_mang0
This was not the life that Beatrice D’Arco had planned for herself. When she was a kid, she dreamed of being a sort of badass explorer, experiencing the world from the tops of mountains or in submarines in the oceans. Then she decided that adventure was simply too lonely a profession and turned her heart towards being a veterinarian. Dog death was too sad so off she changed again, taking her high school credits meant for vet school to Cornell University for biomedical engineering.
Where did that take her? Afghanistan, where one IED and some bad intel changed her entire life.
Now there she was at twenty eight, living in a communal living building made out of an old, abandoned firehall with twenty complete strangers (outside of her little sister, Havana, and her cousin, Heather, that is). Sure, she had that medical career she dreamed of in college, all white coats and torn off limbs, but that was her daytime fantasy.
Every night she was stuck at the stupid fucking Blue Velvet Lounge wearing some uncomfortably tight blue velvet dress while customers stared uncomfortably at her chest while sipping overpriced cocktails in the name of being fancy.
Some nights, her job wasn’t all that bad. Some nights, the good DJ would come in and play music that had Beatrice dancing behind the bar while stirring martinis. Some nights, the fun college kids would come in and bring the party straight to her with their giggles and their bartop dancing and their cute little romances. Some nights, her boss would fuck off and leave her the hell alone.
But of course, not that night. That night brought everyone on the east side of Chicago to her bar, impatient people with dry throats demanding drinks faster than Bea and her assistant could handle. That night had the shitty DJ and the weird mixes that kept the party going on the illuminated dance floor but laid shrill on Bea’s sober ears. That night had the group of old dudes from the bank across the street coming in to avoid their ‘bitchy’ wives and ‘pressing’ duties.
That night also happened to bring Havana D’Arco with little cousin Heather by her hip.
“Another round, would ya? We’ve been waiting ten minutes!”
Beatrice forced herself not to roll her eyes. Rolling her eyes wouldn’t get her tips from those rich old assholes. But unfortunately for those old bastards, they were cut off. They’d been there all but two hours and the group was entirely hammered, stumbling over words and trading open profanities whenever Bea’s significantly younger assistant at the bar would deliver them their drinks. So, instead of another round, Bea walked over with five tall glasses of water, placing them impatiently down in front of each man.
“Once you’re able to stand up straight without acting like the Five fucking Stooges, then we’ll see about getting you another round.” Bea spoke bluntly, placing the bill and the already charged credit card down onto the table. “Your tab’s been settled. Have a great night.”
It would have been too easy for the dickheads to put it together that they’d had too much to drink and to leave in peace. That would’ve been far too easy. Instead, one of the larger of the men rose to his feet, stumbling slightly as he pressed his palms against the tabletop to steady himself.
“We weren’t done.” He slurred, the stench of rum martini and onion rings rolling off of his breath directly into Beatrice’s face. “I said: another round.”
Bea laughed warmly and placed her hand on his shoulder, pressing downwards to force the drunk back into his seat. “And I said: no. Have a good night.”
Maybe they had finally gotten the hint as no chorus of objection sang out as she turned to walk back to the bar with the tray of half-empty drinks on her arm. She hated nights when she had to play fucking waitress to those VIP tables but the wad of tips at the end of the night was well worth the stress. Maybe things were finally starting to return back to normal.
No, no they absolutely were not because as Bea was setting down her tray, she looked over her shoulder to check for the drunk bankers and instead found her fucking sister and, somehow even worse, her fucking cousin.
“What the h-”
CRASH!
The bartop had not fully been underneath the tray when Bea went to set it down, causing the drinks to clatter down onto bar stools and dark blue tile, liquid splashing all down the side of the bar and onto the deep grey stone.
“Fuck.” Bea grumbled, frantically wiping away a splash of vodka from her exposed thighs. “Hey, pass me that rag.”
The younger girl behind the bar tossed the rag towards Bea who began wiping away the liquid dripping down the side of the bar. With a few (thankfully) unbroken glasses in hand from the ground, Bea slowly rose to her feet only to be met with a warm gust of air on the back of her shoulder.
“Maybe you’re the one who needs to be cut off.” One of the men grumbled in her ear, a hand slipping around her shoulder to tuck a bill into the strap of her dress.
“I’m gonna have to ask you to step back. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Bea warned through gritted teeth. Let the old codger fall, see if she gave a shit. One less asshole like him in the world would make her Friday night rotations a lot easier.
“I’m not afraid of a little pain. ” A pair of meaty hands gripped her hips, fingers tightening into the muscle and bone. Bea’s entire body stiffened under the touch, her eyes looking to the security guard already making his way over. Flirting with the staff was expected, in fact it was almost encouraged, but there was a very strict no touching policy. “Now how ‘bout that drink?”
In one swift movement, Bea’s elbow flew backwards and down, the sharpest point making direct contact with the man’s groin. The grip on her hips instantly released, a sharp hiss of pain falling in perfect synchronicity with knees to the tiled ground. Stepping over the body on the ground and past his overly concerned hoard of equally drunk friends, Bea grabbed the credit card and the receipt. By the time she returned to the group, security had wrestled him to his tipsy feet.
“I think you’re done for the night.” Bea laughed, tucking the credit card into the front pocket of his jacket. “You have a lovely night.”
Security began dragging the man off, his posse bitching and moaning about the shit service of the club. Bea made her way directly through the crowd and back to her spot behind the bar just in time for Havana and Heather to have fully made their way over.
“No, uh uh, I told you that you can’t be here when I’m working.” Bea snapped as she finished wiping away the remnants of the tray accident. Over her sister’s shoulder, two more familiar faces came into view, though it was difficult to discern who exactly the second person was. But Red… he was far too noticeable. “What the fuck Hav?” Bea scolded with a daggered look at her sister, fingers subconsciously pulling at the hem of her short dress to try and cover as much skin as possible. “Did you bring the whole goddamn building?”
Where did that take her? Afghanistan, where one IED and some bad intel changed her entire life.
Now there she was at twenty eight, living in a communal living building made out of an old, abandoned firehall with twenty complete strangers (outside of her little sister, Havana, and her cousin, Heather, that is). Sure, she had that medical career she dreamed of in college, all white coats and torn off limbs, but that was her daytime fantasy.
Every night she was stuck at the stupid fucking Blue Velvet Lounge wearing some uncomfortably tight blue velvet dress while customers stared uncomfortably at her chest while sipping overpriced cocktails in the name of being fancy.
Some nights, her job wasn’t all that bad. Some nights, the good DJ would come in and play music that had Beatrice dancing behind the bar while stirring martinis. Some nights, the fun college kids would come in and bring the party straight to her with their giggles and their bartop dancing and their cute little romances. Some nights, her boss would fuck off and leave her the hell alone.
But of course, not that night. That night brought everyone on the east side of Chicago to her bar, impatient people with dry throats demanding drinks faster than Bea and her assistant could handle. That night had the shitty DJ and the weird mixes that kept the party going on the illuminated dance floor but laid shrill on Bea’s sober ears. That night had the group of old dudes from the bank across the street coming in to avoid their ‘bitchy’ wives and ‘pressing’ duties.
That night also happened to bring Havana D’Arco with little cousin Heather by her hip.
“Another round, would ya? We’ve been waiting ten minutes!”
Beatrice forced herself not to roll her eyes. Rolling her eyes wouldn’t get her tips from those rich old assholes. But unfortunately for those old bastards, they were cut off. They’d been there all but two hours and the group was entirely hammered, stumbling over words and trading open profanities whenever Bea’s significantly younger assistant at the bar would deliver them their drinks. So, instead of another round, Bea walked over with five tall glasses of water, placing them impatiently down in front of each man.
“Once you’re able to stand up straight without acting like the Five fucking Stooges, then we’ll see about getting you another round.” Bea spoke bluntly, placing the bill and the already charged credit card down onto the table. “Your tab’s been settled. Have a great night.”
It would have been too easy for the dickheads to put it together that they’d had too much to drink and to leave in peace. That would’ve been far too easy. Instead, one of the larger of the men rose to his feet, stumbling slightly as he pressed his palms against the tabletop to steady himself.
“We weren’t done.” He slurred, the stench of rum martini and onion rings rolling off of his breath directly into Beatrice’s face. “I said: another round.”
Bea laughed warmly and placed her hand on his shoulder, pressing downwards to force the drunk back into his seat. “And I said: no. Have a good night.”
Maybe they had finally gotten the hint as no chorus of objection sang out as she turned to walk back to the bar with the tray of half-empty drinks on her arm. She hated nights when she had to play fucking waitress to those VIP tables but the wad of tips at the end of the night was well worth the stress. Maybe things were finally starting to return back to normal.
No, no they absolutely were not because as Bea was setting down her tray, she looked over her shoulder to check for the drunk bankers and instead found her fucking sister and, somehow even worse, her fucking cousin.
“What the h-”
CRASH!
The bartop had not fully been underneath the tray when Bea went to set it down, causing the drinks to clatter down onto bar stools and dark blue tile, liquid splashing all down the side of the bar and onto the deep grey stone.
“Fuck.” Bea grumbled, frantically wiping away a splash of vodka from her exposed thighs. “Hey, pass me that rag.”
The younger girl behind the bar tossed the rag towards Bea who began wiping away the liquid dripping down the side of the bar. With a few (thankfully) unbroken glasses in hand from the ground, Bea slowly rose to her feet only to be met with a warm gust of air on the back of her shoulder.
“Maybe you’re the one who needs to be cut off.” One of the men grumbled in her ear, a hand slipping around her shoulder to tuck a bill into the strap of her dress.
“I’m gonna have to ask you to step back. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Bea warned through gritted teeth. Let the old codger fall, see if she gave a shit. One less asshole like him in the world would make her Friday night rotations a lot easier.
“I’m not afraid of a little pain. ” A pair of meaty hands gripped her hips, fingers tightening into the muscle and bone. Bea’s entire body stiffened under the touch, her eyes looking to the security guard already making his way over. Flirting with the staff was expected, in fact it was almost encouraged, but there was a very strict no touching policy. “Now how ‘bout that drink?”
In one swift movement, Bea’s elbow flew backwards and down, the sharpest point making direct contact with the man’s groin. The grip on her hips instantly released, a sharp hiss of pain falling in perfect synchronicity with knees to the tiled ground. Stepping over the body on the ground and past his overly concerned hoard of equally drunk friends, Bea grabbed the credit card and the receipt. By the time she returned to the group, security had wrestled him to his tipsy feet.
“I think you’re done for the night.” Bea laughed, tucking the credit card into the front pocket of his jacket. “You have a lovely night.”
Security began dragging the man off, his posse bitching and moaning about the shit service of the club. Bea made her way directly through the crowd and back to her spot behind the bar just in time for Havana and Heather to have fully made their way over.
“No, uh uh, I told you that you can’t be here when I’m working.” Bea snapped as she finished wiping away the remnants of the tray accident. Over her sister’s shoulder, two more familiar faces came into view, though it was difficult to discern who exactly the second person was. But Red… he was far too noticeable. “What the fuck Hav?” Bea scolded with a daggered look at her sister, fingers subconsciously pulling at the hem of her short dress to try and cover as much skin as possible. “Did you bring the whole goddamn building?”