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Anneka Vanity

"The dark side of the moon isn't something you'd like to know."

0 · 687 views · located in Detroit, Michigan

a character in “The Midnight Lounge”, as played by confidence



Full Name: Anneka Vanity; fancy, right? My parents liked a bit of glamour, that's all. But they're dead, and now, there is not one person in the world who knows my name.

Other Names: Oh honey, I go by any name under the sun. Lately, I've been going by Angel.

Gender: Female; can't you tell?

Age: Twenty-three

Orientation: Bisexual

Hometown: Denver, Colorado

Role: The Intruder


Personality: Alright, this is the one place I'm going to tell the truth, got that? The complete truth. See, I'm a liar, that's why that statement had to be made clear. I'm a weaver of lies, the webs as intricate and as highly professional as you can imagine. Few people know my real name. Few people know me, in general. I am everyone, every identity under the sun, every mask I can find. I am whoever I wish to be, at whatever time I like. I'm good at what I do. Lying, that is. If I need money, I won't refrain from getting it from another man. I'm not one to fret over much; I move like the wind, here one moment, gone the next. I pull the disappearing act quite often, almost with everyone I've ever known. I am, to most, a woman as mysterious as the depths of the night sky, as dark and clearly tainted, most comfortable in the black. And they're right.

I am, in all honesty, a quite violent woman. When I get frustrated, I lash out. I use my nails to create scars on the necks of the man who has dared to touch me without permission. I bite the ears of a woman seductively, and use my teeth to draw blood when she begins to moan before I'm ready. And I am quite capable of killing a man; I've done it before, you know. The violence rarely shows in a noticeable manner; most people mistake it for aggressiveness in all that I do, which is fine by me. It's the only aspect of my self that is constant in every identity I wield, and the only hint at who I truly am.

Which is, I'm sure you're wondering, what? Who am I, truly? I am unsuspecting, and mysterious, and quiet. I say little, but I see everything, and I use it to my advantage. I am a liar, a swindler, a woman hungry for greed and greed, with literally no care in the world - save for the luxuries it has to offer me. I'm a cold hearted bitch, with no qualms of doing what I need to do, or want to do. The end determines the means, as usual. I am whoever I need to be. I have been a heiress, visiting to build a high-end restaurant chain that my 'family' owns. I have been the innocent orphan, lost and looking for a bed to stay... preferably with a rich man. I have been everyone, and I am everyone.

You will usually find me walking the streets smoothly and care-freely, with a tank top, jeans, and minimal make up. You will not recognize me when I am in this get up; I am capable of blending in smoothly. But when I am out on the hunt, scouring the world for the perfect fly to lure into my trap, you will not be able to keep your eyes off of me. High-end fashion, a completely new demeanor, a vastly different walk. I will catch your eye, and you will be mine.

And right now, I am the prostitute, fittingly named Angel. I am the tease, coquettish and smooth, sly with the tendency of drawing back, always. I am the unattainable prostitute, the beautiful woman with the hardened heart, the one no one can reach. With the clients, of course, I am all murmurs, all moans and seductive whispers. I take on secrets, drawing them out of the clients like pulling at a string in a spider web, slowly and seductively until all of it collapses. This is one of the few masks I've taken that are closer to my own self, to Anneka Vanity, with her dark seductive ways. It seems that I am fit to be a prostitute.

Money // Pleasure -- It's the motivation that gives me enough freedom to move how I'd like.

Power -- I would be lying if I said I don't particularly love the way a partner moans my name and begs me to give pleasure... or the way they weep when they realize I've disappeared, along with their profits, as I watch in the background, during the rare times I decide to watch a victim fall apart.

The Pursuit -- It's the chase that makes everything better, isn't it?

Learning -- Believe it or not, I'm intelligent; I have to be, to play so many characters. Could I pass off as an actress if I didn't know anything about the industry? Would people believe that I was a poor gardener if I knew nothing of flowers, of planting, of the useless little details that only a gardener would know? No. I have spent hours in the library, reading as much as I can, learning as much as I can.

Sex -- It should be something of a chore by now, but I still love it. Whether the men I sleep with are normally awkward or fluid in their movements in bed, I can draw out the best in them. It's the few times where I don't need to feign passion, and I take special pride in the way they express their ecstasy.

Beauty -- It's my best kept secret, the appreciation I have for all things beautiful.

Children -- They're disgusting little creatures, and I can't stand them. Thank the dead gods for birth control and abortion.

Uselessness -- If you're not wealthy, clever, or beautiful, then why are you even alive?

Spoiled brats -- Please. You had everything handed to you, and you think you're special because of it? It only makes you worthless.

Condescension -- It doesn't matter if you're lecturing me, underestimating me, or giving me a single dirty look... you're going to pay for any sort of patronizing bitchy behavior.

Clingy people -- You're lucky that I'm even around long enough for you to be clingy, and you think all of a sudden that you're worth more? Get the hell out of here.

Families -- Haven't you realized they're bullshit yet?

+ Lying -- This one is obvious enough. If I can convince a man that I'm a virgin while making him writhe in orgasm, then I can do anything.
+ Hiding -- Physically, of course, is no problem for me; it can't be, with the millions of men and women chasing me down for their dignity back. It's the internal treasures no one's been able to find that I pride myself over. No one has been able to figure me out, and no one has come close to it.
+ Words -- I can string along line after line of fancy, of pleasure and of beauty until I have a man aching for merely a graze of my finger across their brow, desperate enough to unravel their best kept secrets before my feet.
+ Waiting -- I'm a patient woman. I can wait for you to fall apart first, because we all know that I won't be.
+ Sex -- Doesn't this go without saying?

- Kindness -- The few times that my facade has come close to falling apart have been the times I've attempted playing the nice girl. I have never been selfless, and I never will be; I refuse to let my charades get as low as that. I will not give the homeless man a dollar, and I will not speak in hushed, comforting tones to the little girl who dropped her lollipop on the dusty pavement. I am above that bullshit.
- Violence -- Like I said, it's a telltale sign of my past, my identity, one of the few. If anyone clever and observant enough began to keep track, they would be able to piece together the puzzle pieces of each burst of violence to form the bigger picture: Anneka Vanity.
- Feet -- Most people's tell-tale places are their eyes, or their hands. They fidget, or dart, or look so guilty it's impossible to tell. For me, it's my feet. Or to be more specific, my toes. They began to fidget when I'm particularly overwhelmed with a certain emotion - though it's never guilt, I can assure you of that.
- Money -- The desire I have was once an advantage I had over others; few are as heartless as to readily make it a career out of stealing, and I relished in the ignorance. But now, anyone can win me with a handful of Benjamin Franklin's. In the most secret places of my conscience, I worry at just how far it will go, my never ending quest.

Emotions -- I know, cliche, generic, typical. But hey, feelings are fucking terrifying things. You lose your mind when you do. You stop seeing the truth and the sharp edges of all that is real, and everything becomes blurry and hazy. That's a fucking scary thing, okay?
Being caught -- It's a fear that never leaves you when you do what I do.
The Madam -- Fuck me, I'm scared of another woman. Not that I would ever show it, but I do worry that she'll notice too much. Once in awhile.


History: I was born to Gilbert and Anne Vanity. You got that right - they were both named after those two in the Anne of Green Gables book. Nobody ever told me, but I figured it out after reading that in the library as a child. They both had that disillusioned personality that Anne had; I mean, they named me Anneka. What the fuck? Anyway. Despite that one moment of 'romance,' they were pretty fucked up. I mean, I'm not exaggerating or misusing the words at all. They spent most of their time beating me. Gilbert was an alcoholic, a pretty insane one at that, and the whole family - the whole city - knew it. He would divide his time between getting drunk, fucking his wife, and beating the shit out of me. Anne was the more verbally abusive one, the bitch of the 'family.' I can't even tell you how many times I heard the word 'whore' and 'cunt' in a day, it would shock you - and you've dealt with my fucking sailor's mouth for this long, I don't know how you'd be able to handle my mother. Of course I got fucking sick of it. Gilbert was in the middle of beating me as Anne watched when I pulled out the gun. I had been fourteen, sick of the bullshit, and Gilbert kept a gun around for whatever reason. I shot my dad, I'll admit it. Hey, if anything, it's his fucking fault. I grew up in a violent as fuck home, with nothing but lashings and abuse, and I got back at them the only way I knew how to, the only way I could think of that would solve my problems: killing him. Gilbert was shot at impact, and Anne started screaming, and crying, using a language that I'm pretty sure doesn't exist. I told you, my parents are fucked up crazy. So I shot her, too. And then, I ran. I left a note, one that made it seem like I was abducted, and for a long time, I hid. And then I got older, and fucking hot. I had been a late bloomer, so nobody recognized the suddenly bombshell I had become.

I quickly realized how I could use all of my assets, and boy, did I use it. I started this 'gold digger' business when I was sixteen, and by my seventeenth birthday, I had millions of dollars in a bag, plenty of diamonds, and lots of knowledge. I was a quick learner, and I learned the game extraordinarily quickly. I moved completely on my own. That is, until I was nineteen. Three years of success, and I had become as hard as a stone. And then I met Brett McClair. He was eight years older than me, and hot as hell. He saw me walking on a normal day, just pretending to be part of the crowd, and 'recognized me immediately.' He had seen me before, on the arm of multiple politicians, actors, models, any sort of man or woman with money to pay for my interests. I was amazed at someone clever enough, though a little angry, too. Someone had noticed? That meant I wasn't doing well enough. Regardless, he took my surprise, and I ended up living with him. See, he was similar to me. He played the same game I did, only he used the women. Together, we were unstoppable. Both of us would go out on the hunt, meet up in the early morning after the deed was done, and laugh over all of the foolishness of the undeserving wealthy. We deserved it. We worked for it.

I never fell in love with him. Oh, I wouldn't, I'm not stupid. But men are, and after a year of living together, laughing together, stealing together, I began to recognize a familiar glint in his eye. He wanted me. At first, it was lust. Our comradeship became full of sex, lust and the collision of body and sweat. It stayed that way for six months. We couldn't keep our hands off of each other, once we started. We maintained out 'outside interests,' but every time we saw each other again, we would spend weeks in bed, never getting sick of it, not once. But then he started trying to make things intimate. He tried to take things slowly, spending too much time in foreplay, kissing my neck with too much affection. After the first night of that, I left. He never found me again. Later, I found out he committed suicide. Oh well.

The next partner I found was a woman named Laura Wells. Now there was a woman I could have fallen in love with. She was twelve years my senior, and I met her when I was twenty one. She had no idea who I was, what I did, but we did end up living together. She caught my eye because she had so many wealthy friends around her. She wasn't wealthy herself, but she had many rich acquaintances. So I worked my way into her social circle, and made her my lover. Or as close to a lover as someone like me would ever have. She ended up telling me all of their secrets, ended up letting me in on her secret. She wasn't like me, she wasn't like Brett McClair, but she did pickpocket them frequently. She would somehow use her beauty and social graces and airs to invade the boundaries, and slyly take from their bags when they weren't looking. I commended her for it, and we became friends, as well as lovers. We were accomplices. I began to join in on the pick pocketing, giving me nimble fingers and a lithe nature in my movements.

She never learned of my extracurricular activities. I never went after her friends, all too aware of what would happen if I even tried. Instead, I told her I was going to travel and pickpocket new faces, go to a far off city, and spend a few nights there, the same man, emptying all of his riches slowly but deliberately. After four months of this, the long train rides got old, and I left Laura with one last hurrah: a theft. I didn't mind stealing from the woman who had given me enough pleasure to compete with Brett, believe it or not; yes, I know, I'm heartless. Fuck that, who cares? I have no idea what she's doing now; I don't really care.

And then I found an agent of the FBI. Oh fuck me, I had no idea he was a part of the FBI. He looked wealthy enough, so I approached him, began flirting harmlessly, began acting like the struggling actress. I even pouted a little for him, leaning forward the tiniest bit to 'unintentionally' show off my cleavage. He was captivated. We spent one night together... and then I found his badge. I felt my insides drain. I wasn't going to mess with a fucking FBI agent. So I stayed with him for two years. Two fucking years. I would tell him I was going to an audition, steal from other rich men, and come back to him. This act went on for two fucking years. It was hell. I couldn't leave him, I needed to stay close to him. Occasionally, he would come to me with complains that a few of my victims had filed, joking that it might be me, for all the adjectives they used: "sexy" "beautiful" "a fucking demon in bed." I laughed, hiding my surprise. Those fools had filed complaints? They could make double the amount of treasures I had taken in a month, those filthy bastards.

A few weeks ago, he approached me with an idea. "You're a struggling actress," he said. I nodded as if it was true. "You can work for us!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around me. I tried to lead it into something actually interesting, like sex, but he pulled back. And then the plot unfolded before my eyes, and I agreed. Hey, it would be the most honest work I'd have done in years.

So begins...

Anneka Vanity's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Ivory Peirce Character Portrait: Anneka Vanity Character Portrait: Evony de la Longine Character Portrait: Clara Jane Mason Character Portrait: Kaydence Dixen Character Portrait: Anthony de la Longine Character Portrait: Regan Monaco Character Portrait: Haley de la Longine Character Portrait: Jasper James
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“The Midnight Lounge, how can I help you?” Evony answered the phone crisply, her voice laced with smooth confidence and an air of business-like authority. It was a tone Evony had come to perfect over the years, as answering the phone seemed to be a constant staple in her life; sort of an occupational hazard that came with her line of work. It was exactly the tone a man wanted to hear when doing business in this field. They didn’t like to be pestered, or have to go through the formalities, especially her wealthiest clients. And Evony was well adapted to catering for those types.

”Miss de la Longine, it’s Lucian Norton.”

“Ah, Mr Norton,” her voice oozed professionalism, “Confirming your appointment with Ray J, I assume?”

“Yes, eleven thirty tonight?” he asked. Mr Norton ran a hedge fund in the city. He was in his mid-four ties, and had a wife who he lived with yet didn’t speak to, and four daughters in their teenage years. He had a regular booking with Ray every fortnight on a Wednesday evening. He was the kind of man who checked everything, even the tiniest things. Under his watchful eye, not a single appointment, figure or date went unchecked. He was a perfectionist, but he was wealthy and used her services, which was all that mattered to Evony at the end of the day. Of course, she liked to have some degree of knowledge about her clients but, to her, business was everything. She was cut-throat and she didn’t like failure.

“That’s when I have you down for, Mr Norton,” she informed him.

“Perfect. Good evening,” he replied, before hanging up.

Evony set the phone down on her nightstand, a beautiful little circular table crafted from a deep purple marble. It rested on three golden metal legs, arranged like the points of a triangle, beside her four-poster bed. The bed was adorned completely in white bedding; white duvet, white sheets, white throws, white cushions. Thin, white strips of material swept up towards the top of the bed, winding along the wooden columns that held up the canopy. The wood was painted in the same shade of purple as the nightstand. The style of Evony’s room was exceptionally glamorous, which fitted with the Madam’s general demeanour.

There were three floors to The Midnight Lounge. On the bottom floor, at the entrance, was the bar. Behind that, the building gave way to six individual rooms where the real money was made. Each room was themed in a different style, so as the customer could choose what feel they wanted. Above that was the second floor, which was the main living quarters. There was a main room in the centre, with a small kitchen and sitting room. The girl’s bedrooms came off that room, so they could live on the premises. Above that was the third and final floor, which acted as a home to Evony and her children. It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford a house of their own; Evony easily had enough money to buy several houses of her own. But businesses did not run themselves, and places like this which made high profits and catered to the entitled who easily had the ability to be choosey required a lot of work. Evony simply didn’t have the time to maintain and live in a house of her own. Their floor was considerably more spacious than the one the girl’s occupied. Each member of the family had an en suit bathroom and a large bedroom. They also had a sitting room of their own, and a small kitchen, but it was rarely used. Coming off Evony’s bedroom was a small office, where she ran usually ran the business from. The girls were strictly forbidden from entering the top floor, unless an emergency arose that required her urgent attention. After all, she had to maintain a certain degree of privacy. In the basement was a gym and a swimming pool. The girls were expected to keep their bodies in a certain condition, and if they were unable to maintain the looks she’d employed them for, they were gone.

This evening was a particularly busy one for Evony. She’d been booked by a wealthy senator, David Beaumont, for his retirement party. Evony’s girls were expected arrive towards the end of the evening and socialise with the guests. Then, as the party drew to a close around eleven and only his close friends were left, that was when their day jobs finally begun. They were expected to drench the men with attention and then, of course, sleep with them. Evony was escorting them, to make sure order was kept and they did their jobs correctly. Jasper was also coming along, to ensure their safety, and also Haley, to help manage business, but mainly because Evony didn’t want to leave her at The Midnight Lounge without the watchful eye of herself or Jasper. Because Ray J had a previous booking, she was the only girl not coming, but Evony had known Mr Norton a while and was fairly confident Jasper was not required in this situation. Anthony was also staying here, to keep the bar open, should any police or others come poking around. Evony knew leaving Anthony alone with a girl, especially one she knew he’d had his eye on recently, was just tempting fate, but she didn’t have much choice. She didn’t want to leave Haley to front the business instead. It wasn’t that Evony didn’t trust her daughter; it was just that she was often so much vulnerable than her brother. Though he was only two years her senior, he still behaved so much older than Haley. And frankly, despite his inability to keep his eyes and hands off the prostitutes working here, Evony trusted him to look after himself more. And so it was settled, that was their evening.

Evony stood up from the bed, bending back down to smooth the duvet and replace the cushions in their correct place before leaving her room to enter the family sitting room, where she knew Haley would be.

“Haley, darling?” Evony asked her daughter. “Can you please let the girls know we’ll be leaving in forty minutes, make sure Jasper knows too. And would you please be ready to go then as well.” Though her words were phrased politely, it was a question and not a statement. She’d used a term of endearment for her daughter, but she did not expect the girl to defy her mother.

Evony knew Haley wasn’t fond of the lifestyle she’d chosen for the family, and she wished she’d chosen differently. Evony had always been close to Anthony, their relationship had always been caring and he’d rarely held any resentment for her. But her relationship with Haley always felt slightly strained. Of course she loved her daughter, but she never seemed to quite connect with her in the same way she did with her son.

But tonight, Evony’s family issues were irrelevant. She dealt in sex; that was the plain and simple of it. People came to her to forget their issues and their problems. Her girls would take all that away, in their skimpy dresses and lacy lingerie. They gave the men what they wanted. They created a fantasy, a gloss of perfection that overlaid reality and erased it for a time. Evony didn’t just trade in sex; she traded in an evanescent mirage. The unattainable.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Ivory Peirce Character Portrait: Anneka Vanity Character Portrait: Clara Jane Mason Character Portrait: Kaydence Dixen Character Portrait: Anthony de la Longine
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A party for a senator usually meant a roomful of flies, perfect for plucking, ready for reeling in. A party for a senator usually meant a flood of wealth in her pocket. Even now, if she closed her eyes, Anneka could almost tangibly feel the chime of gold falling on her like rain. She would run them over her eyelids, preparing the next phase of her burial as the Egyptians had once done, drowning in the treasures she had collected. All of her beauties were still at Robert's, the fool of a FBI agent. How could any man paid to wheedle out the worst in society fall in love with a minx such as herself? She would never understand. No matter how vile, unattractive, undesirable they were, men always found themselves worthy. It made her cackle. Worthy? When did worthy ever matter? No, it was about the game, the chase, the thrill of knowing you would win, no matter how long you drew the torture out. It was the ecstasy of watching a tycoon beg for her sweet weapon, the apple that tasted heavenly, increasing in pleasure, and right before the peak... right after you began to get excited and hopeful... would turn sharply and slowly, ever so slowly, suck the light from your eyes. Death would be merciful, then; you would long for death, perhaps run towards it. But the pain would be slow, and you would be left only with the thought that you don't deserve this suffering.

But you do, Anneka thought lightly, as she surveyed herself in the mirror. She was naked, glistening with the shower water she hadn't bothered to wash off. She quite liked her physical blessings, and didn't mind roaming the second floor without her clothes. She was a prostitute, after all; how could any girl like her feign modesty? The girls here knew her as Angel, but anyone who knew her would recognize immediately: she was no angel. Not if she didn't want to be, anyway. And right now? She definitely didn't want to be. Tonight, she would make money with her job, not her fingers, not her own deceptions; she would play the role of a prostitute feigning aristocracy expertly, and then please any man, any woman, into bonuses unto bonuses afterwards. The trick was to remember who you were playing, while you were playing. Tonight would be tricky. She was expected to be refined, high fashion, high end... that, by itself, was no difficult task. Quite simple, really; it was the first role Anneka had taken on.

But she had to remember the layer she had right underneath that fine act of class. She would be the prostitute playing the role of a wealthy woman, completely at home in a room full of politicians, wealthy, influential men. She would be playing a woman playing a woman. It would be tricky... but immensely challenging, and immensely fun. She looked forward to it.

Once Anneka was sufficiently air-dried, she ventured into her bedroom, examining the contents of her closet. A scream resonated a few moments later, but who cared? It was of no importance to her. Right now, she needed to face a greater threat: finding the right outfit to wear. Most of the girls would be wearing dresses - black ones, at that. Of course, how predictable. Gag. Impulsively, overcome with disgust at wearing something so commonplace, Anneka grabbed the first colored dress she could find: a green beauty she could not wait to don. And for the fun of it? She wouldn't wear underwear. Okay, maybe a little sticker or something for nipple coverage, but you will not find any underwear underneath the long skirt. Not tonight. With a smirk, Anneka set the dress aside, with plain white heels to offset the suddenness of the dress.

Next would be the hair, the accessories, the make up... The list went on and on. I'm a prostitute, Anneka thought bitterly, resolutely, I refuse to do anything. Her only job, after all, was to entertain, to please, to elicit gasps and moans. Sex was her pedestal, and she relished in it. Thus, the hair was left wild, untamed, uncombed - it would fall apart during nightfall, anyway - and her make up was done sparingly. She wore absolutely no jewelry, no accessories; the theme of the night was minimalism.

She was ready in a matter of fifteen minutes. The dress would come on much later, right before she had to leave; it didn't take much work, anyway. Right now, she wanted to remain naked. She hadn't talked to the other girls much; she was more or less a loner in the Midnight Lounge. And what better way to make a lasting first impression than to 'show off your goods,' as one man had so delicately put it. Completely nude and carefree, Anneka walked towards the room that held the screamer - Natasha, if she could recall correctly. She leaned against the door frame, the side unoccupied by Madame's son, and surveyed each girl calmly, noting the one nicknamed Beauty by the customers, and the innocent-looking fairy, the screamer who was quite beautiful if she hadn't looked so.. disheveled at the moment. And as for Madame's son... well, she had never been one to change anything for the sake of one person.

Anneka raised her eyebrows at Natasha and ignored Anthony, directly speaking to the girl before doing anything else. "You okay?" she said softly. She was the new girl, the newest of all the other whores in this place. She would act accordingly.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Ivory Peirce Character Portrait: Anneka Vanity Character Portrait: Clara Jane Mason Character Portrait: Kaydence Dixen Character Portrait: Anthony de la Longine
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As a voice spoke to her, Clara's eyes flitted over to the man in the door - Anthony.
She raises her eyebrow as he speaks and then laughs with Natasha when he adds, "You should know that, Clara."
Feigning innocence Clara softly replies "Why on earth would I -of all people- know that, Anthony?"

Looking back over to Natasha, she eyes her face suspiciously, knowing that something as petty as a spider wouldn't make her scream like so did, yet she could not see anything that gave away what it really was on her friends face and so she dropped it. For now.
It was at that moment that their newest member decided to join them - Angel, naked as anything Clara bit her lip from letting out a little sigh.
Okay, the girl had a great body but really, did she want to make herself anymore tempting for the boss' son? Does she not know what he's like? - Clara knew that she did but still, she felt a little jealousy for this girls good-looks and so, felt a little resentment toward her.

Realizing she still held her two dresses in her hands so re-looked at them and turned toward Natasha, "Now, the reason I was coming over to see you," She starts, "was because I need your expert advice." Clara then holds up the two dresses so that Natasha could see them better.

Then she looks over to Anthony and grins, "which do you prefer?" She asks, lifting the two dresses up.
She did love her red dress but then again, the blue was very - sexy.

Clara knew exactly what to pair with both - The red would go with a more minimalist style her black heels and a little gloss would suffice whereas the blue dress called for her favourite red lipstick and silver kitten heels.
She still had to get ready and this now large group of people was only stopping her - Some would argue that she was a whore and so, who cares what she's wearing? Its not like she going be wearing it that much and yet, it made her feel better to be well presented and you did get more richer clients when you look good.
Also you don't want your standards to drop because otherwise you could potentially be threatened about being kicked out and she just couldn't handle that, not now she's actually grown to like the place and has somewhere where she feels more at home that she ever did, anywhere.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Ivory Peirce Character Portrait: Anneka Vanity Character Portrait: Evony de la Longine Character Portrait: Clara Jane Mason Character Portrait: Kaydence Dixen Character Portrait: Anthony de la Longine Character Portrait: Haley de la Longine
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"Alright, Mum," Haley replied, standing up from her position on the sofa and skulking off to her room. There was no softness to the words, no care or emotion. It was clear Haley didn't want to be there tonight, and Evony hadn't exactly reasoned out to her daughter exactly why she didn't want her staying here without her mother or Jasper, but she still didn't expect such a seemingly cold reception.

With a soft sigh, Evony returned to her own room to get ready. After all, it wouldn't do for her not to be ready when she expected all the girls to be perfectly on time. She changed into a black dress. The garment was fairly simple and classic in style, clinging to her curves right the way down her body, only flaring round her knees to give it a touch of uniqueness. Evony was not usually the type to dress down. She loved picking out something glamorous, emphasising her assets and dressing to create an impression. But tonight was not about showing herself off. Tonight was business, and purely business. Though she needed to blend in with the wealthy feel of the evening, meaning she had to wear something elegant, she also had to remain looking professional. These types of parties were often where she picked up new clients. She was certain there would be men there tonight who's numbers she didn't have in her little black book, and she needed to create a certain image in order to lure them in. What she wore had to say a certain thing, and so the classic black dress was perfect for the occasion. Her jewellery was also simplistic and classic. On her wrist she wore a simple, thick, gold bracelet and in her ears rested studs in an identical shade to her bracelet. Her hair was pulled back off her face to create a businesslike impression, and her make-up was light and natural, except for her eye-liner, which was slightly thicker than usual and her eye-shadow, which was a very pale charcoal colour.

Halfway through applying a thin coat of natural lipstick, Evony froze in front of the mirror, catching the sound of a scream downstairs. She held still for a few moments, but soon she heard voices. She couldn't tell who'd been responsible for the scream, but it was clearly resolved. She slipped her feet into a pair of simple black heels. Though they couldn't be seen under the floor length dress, they gave her additional height on her already relatively tall five foot seven frame. Finally, she checked herself in the full-length mirror, looking herself down for any imperfections. In these situations, image was everything. It could make or break a night, be the difference between earning new clients or losing existing ones.

Remembering she was leaving her son alone with Ray, Evony decided to make certain he was clear on the rules. Besides, since her daughter was being particularly icy with her tonight and she certainly wasn't going to ask any of the girls, she wanted someone's approval on the outfit, and her son was always sweet to her. She exited her room into the main family area, crossing it and knocking on Anthony's door. But there was no answer. She made her way downstairs to find him. But when she reached the second floor, she discovered what the scene was all about. Inside Natasha's room, the owner of the room was standing up from the bed looking a little dishevelled, but thankfully dressed for the evening - which was more than Evony could say for certain other girls... Clara was holding up two dresses, obviously trying to get an opinion.

"The blue one," Evony said to the woman, announcing her entrance to the scene. The blue one would offer more temptation, and pull in the money much faster, Evony was sure of it. She paused before raising her eyebrows, "Is there a problem here?" But she didn't wait for an answer.

Kitten was also ready, and as the Madam flicked her eyes over the girl, taking in her appearance, she realised with a faint smile how much money the baby faced prostitute was going to make her tonight. However, her expression darkened as her eyes fell on Angel. Evony wasn't especially font of the new girl as it was, and her complete disregard for any kind of dignity only riled the woman further.

"Angel," she said coldly, "I hope you're not planning on leaving here like that... I'm sure the longer you spend in this business, you'll come to understand that it's all about temptation; something you haven't quite grasped yet..." Sarcasm dripped from Evony's voice like syrup.

She glanced at her son, the real reason she'd even entered the scene in the first place. "Anthony, a word, please?" she beckoned to him and left the main room to stand by the stairs, to give them some privacy. She didn't glance back to check he was following her, she simply assumed he would.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Ivory Peirce Character Portrait: Anneka Vanity Character Portrait: Evony de la Longine Character Portrait: Clara Jane Mason Character Portrait: Anthony de la Longine
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    The lack of balance in the room was evident; she could smell it. And its source? It came from Natasha. Anneka prided herself on noticing, on seeing the tiniest traces of instability. The girl hid it well, admittedly, but could anyone fool the master? She could even sense the revulsion at her nudity, but why should she care? She wasn't here to make friends; she was here to bring them all down. But on second thought... perhaps she needed their affections to pass suspicion. She needed to fit in. Madame wouldn't tolerate any 'funny business,' as Robert called it. He had warned her of everything. He was in charge of the Midnight Lounge case, which meant his career rested in her pretty little hands. Oh, if only she could let them crumble out, like ashes from her lips. But it would cost her more than his anger, it would most likely cost her her life. So Anneka made a small sympathetic noise and perused the room. "A spider? You poor thing." She kept her voice soft, rough and low and husky, smooth edges and all texture. Her normal voice was much more feminine, higher and girly. But she was a prostitute, and that wasn't the voice a prostitute ought to have.

    She didn't mind that Clara ignored her. She would expect nothing less. And she hardly cared about the 'man' of the house, Anthony de la Longine. Just another pest of Madame's. Anneka would much rather dig her nails into the diamond of the house: Natasha. It was no use denying her attraction to the girl; it ran in her veins even now, this longing for possession of the powerful. Because that was what Natasha was: powerful. She was the top girl of the Midnight Lounge, the drawer of money, of attention and the hollers of men. She wanted to own Natasha. She wanted to be on top of her and make her scream, she wanted to know that she alone had the power to bring her to such divine pleasure. It was her nature, to seek the people at the very top. She would have gone for Madame, if the woman hadn't repulsed her so. The woman did not own Anneka. No one did. Not even Robert, the fool who believed he had conquered the untamed beauty.

    Well, speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Or in this case, a she. Anneka turned and found herself face to face with the Madame herself, in all of her icy splendor. She hid the immediate hatred that flooded her tongue and tossed her hair out of her face, lowering her chin in what would pass for humility. She stepped out of the way, making sure she headed in Natasha's direction, and gave the woman some room. This was her number one enemy, the woman at the top of her black list. She was the one Anneka was conspiring against, and she must not think anything irregular of her. But... well, she was naked. She knew Madame's type: the kind of woman who wanted perfection, rushed after it, would not stop until she attained it. And nudity wasn't acceptable, even for the prostitutes under her care.

    Madame's words proved her correct, but it still elicited a strong indignant in her. She quelled it and nodded her head meekly, meeting Madame's eyes obediently. "I'm sorry, Madame," she said dutifully, swallowing down her biting, bitter words gently. "I'll work hard to remember tonight, Madame. I will follow my peers' example." Even though I don't fucking need it, you bitchy serpent, Anneka added silently. Her face was carefully masked with a blank deference, and she maintained it even after Madame walked away. She would not lose control; she never did. She had no trouble flicking her true emotions aside, but this woman was bound to test her. Anneka would have to earn the woman's trust.

    She was up to the challenge.

    Anneka turned to the other girls and offered them a smile, albeit distant and a little detached. "Oops," she said calmly, shrugging her shoulders sheepishly. "I hope you girls don't mind about my, well..." Anneka motioned down her body with the back of her right hand, making a backwards J gracefully. "I was just a little worried about the scream." She knew how she was coming off: cool, confident, mysterious. She liked it that way. Let these girls wonder; perhaps it would draw them closer. She leveled her gaze on Natasha and smiled once more, adding a little warmth to her lips. Perhaps it would draw this girl closer. "But everything is okay, and I will go get dressed now. I'll see you all tonight."

    And with that, Anneka left. She entered her own room and touched up her make up, slipped into her dress, and smiled coolly at her reflection. Beautiful. Smoldering. And absolutely irresistible. As usual.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Ivory Peirce Character Portrait: Anneka Vanity Character Portrait: Evony de la Longine Character Portrait: Clara Jane Mason Character Portrait: Kaydence Dixen
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#, as written by Jynxii


Natasha was standing awkwardly while everyone came into the room, exchanging remarks. Her cool hues rested gently on the floor, glancing every now and again to the bathroom. Clara held up two dresses, and Natasha glanced over both of them, considering and weighing the options of each. It was the Madam, though, that answered. "The blue one," Natasha had to agree. The blue one did look very nice, it cupped her breasts neatly and accented her curves. The Madam was right, as always. "A spider? You poor thing." Naty looked to Angel, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, and then softening. She's not the enemy. Natasha gave a little nod to Clara, to illustrate her agreement since words still seemed to stick in her throat. Natasha was going to say there was no problem, when asked by her boss, but the lady's attention was caught by Angel. "I hope you're not planning on leaving here like that... I'm sure the longer you spend in this business, you'll come to understand that it's all about temptation; something you haven't quite grasped yet..." Natasha winced a little. The Madam scared her. "Anthony, a word, please?" Saved... "I was just a little worried about the scream." Angel added gently. Natasha looked to her and found that their eyes met. What are you playing at? "Thanks, Angel..." softly.

With that, Angel slipped back out of the room. Natasha turned to Clara again, and looked her over. "Are you coming with me tonight for a foursome?" Walking over to her vanity, Natasha set about fixing the wild wisps of her hair that had escaped the perfection of earlier during her fall. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she grinned at her reflection and turned back to Clara. The images were gone, her game was on. Confidence returned, she noticed Kitten was still in her room. Annoyance swelled in her chest and she rudely gave the baby-faced whore a once-over. "Don't you have something to be doing?" Her words were soft, in the way that razors are soft to the skin until you press too hard. "Oh, and Kitten... You look beautiful." Her words dripped like warm honey, hanging in the air in a chokingly sweet way.

"Stick beside me tonight, won't you Beauty darling?" With a few short strides, Natasha was across the room again and slipping behind Clara. "Allow me." Tenderly she helped the girl undress and slip into the gown of choice. As she stood behind Clara, her fingertips graced the small of her back gently before she pulled the zipper closed. "So fittingly named, Beauty." Natasha whispered in her ear, tenderly kissing the girl's shoulder. She didn't care, or notice if Kitten had left yet. Natasha smiled and walked a 360 degree around Beauty. "Sit with me in the car?" Natasha led the way out of her room, allowing for anyone left in the room to follow before she shut her door.

Noticing the Madam and her son having a conversation by the stairs, Ivory decided to go into the kitchen for an apple. Taking one from the counter, she leaned against the cool wall and waited for the signal that everyone was ready and heading out the door. She would stay by Clara tonight. If her visions aroused themselves, Clara would cover for her. Call her a screamer. Tell them it was a kinky game. Make it fun. Make it fake. Make it okay. Cause that's what Clara did. She made everything okay.

Natasha glanced back to Angel as she began to speak.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Ivory Peirce Character Portrait: Anneka Vanity Character Portrait: Evony de la Longine Character Portrait: Clara Jane Mason Character Portrait: Kaydence Dixen
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Kaydence was brought into the room by Beauty, she had no intentions of entering the room but at that point she didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Seeing that Beauty came to Ivory's rescue she planned to leave, she knew Natasha couldn't stand her, hated her for some reason but as she turned to leave Anthony and Angel, the new girl, were in the door way. She was staring right at Angel who was completely nude and she had a hard time taking her eyes off the girl No wonder they call her Angel she thought. She dropped her gaze to the floor and decided to just keep quiet.

Natasha said the reason behind the scream was a spider, she looked over to Natasha and wondered how a spider could make someone so freaked out but she didn't question it. Clara went on about getting an opinion on what dress to wear for the night. She liked the blue one but Clara didn't ask her opinion so she wasn't going to speak up.

Juat the the Madam was at the doorway, she told Clara to wear the blue one. She then felt Madam's eyes on her and that made her feel very self-conscious at that moment. She was glad that the Madam didn't say anything to her, she wondered if the Madam not saying anything meant that she approved of what she was wearing, but she wouldn't ask. The Madam then remarked on Angel's nakedness then left as she told Anthony she needed a word with him.

"I hope you girls don't mind about my, well..." she heard Angel speak ans her eyes drifted back to the woman in the doorway. No I don't mind at all.. she thought to herself but said nothing. Angel then left leaving the doorway opened, this was her time to be able to escape from where she was unwanted but she found her eyes going back to Natasha, who has now moved to her vanity. As she was staring Natasha looked at her with a look of annoyance "Don't you have something to be doing?" Kaydence slightly cringed at Natash's words, she turned to leave without saying anything in response but Ivory decided to say something more "Oh, and Kitten... You look beautiful." Those words she never thought she would hear come out from Ivory's mouth, she was glad she wasn't facing Natasha anymore because she was clearly blushing.

"Th..thank you, I am glad you are okay. You look beautiful also" with those last words she walked out of the room not waiting for any response. She went to the living room area and sat down in a chair to wait. She felt alone at that moment, everyone seemed to have someone to talk to or go to, well except maybe Angel but she was still new. Kaydence just wished there was someone she could tell everything to but while she was working here she had to keep everything about her real self bottled down inside her and just keep on living this lie.[/size]

((ooc:I am unable to tag characters, once I can I will. Natasha, Clara, Angel, and Madam were all mentioned in the post))

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Ivory Peirce Character Portrait: Anneka Vanity Character Portrait: Evony de la Longine Character Portrait: Clara Jane Mason
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"Now why on earth would I -of all people- know that, Anthony?" Clara asks him, batting her long eyelashes innocently but hardly containing that playful smile of hers at the act. He merely smirks at her and quirks up an eyebrow dubiously, though no clever remark parts from his smiling mouth, as the next person to speak is the woman whose scream called this little medley of people together into the hallway. Natasha, known as the sexiest girl in the lounge and the top money-maker of the girls, laughs a little bit at the miniature exchange between Clara and Anthony, a rather out of place sound, before offering a simple explanation for her little cry. Simple though it may be, and technically completely believable -or at least feasible- the Madam's son is no fool, and he recognizes it as somewhat suspicious. After all, it takes quite a bit to spook Natasha, known for being a bit of a psycho, though many of the customers only think of her as being hotter for it- like some gorgeous demon from hell or something like that. "I saw a spider and tripped. It was an accident. I'm fine, honestly," her emotions and expression are perfectly sincere looking, and Anthony would have fell for the excuse immediately if it didn't sound so out of place. Natasha? Tripping? still, his smirk never wavers and his arrogant gaze never falters, for he doesn't really care too much as to what gave Natasha enough of a spook to make her scream, as long as it isn't troubling to him or the lounge. He does have some things in common with his mother, the pair having a better relationship than Haley and she, and one of them is a surprising focus on the success of the Lounge. He's grown up in it, after all, and rather adores the establishment, with all of its grandeur and other means of beauty. "The blue one, Clara," he adds offhand.

Speaking of beauty, he does not fail to notice as the newest addition to the Lounge's lineup, Angel, as she struts down the hallway towards them in her nameday suit. His eyebrows shoot up with amusement, though it is a far cry from the first time that the young man has seen a beautiful woman naked, and he is briefly reminded of Irene Adler's appearance in the BBC show Sherlock. "Wearing your battle dress, I see," he comments smoothly, not missing a beat at her slightly off appearance. Although he may have been confused for the briefest of moments, such things melt away in an instant. He may not be one of the girls here, but he was raised in the Lounge, and has more experience than the rest of them in things such as sex, beauty, and the kind. Just because he isn't a prostitute doesn't mean that the young man doesn't know how they often may think, though of course no one is the same, even when lumped together under some vague catagory. Someone's looking to make an impression, he muses with that cocky smile of his, bringing out the slightest dimples. And making his blue eyes seem to crinkle the tiniest bit, as though the sea has been folded over.

A brief moment after his own comment, he hears his mother's voice as she suggests the blue one -just as he had moments ago- to Clara, before her cool gaze slides over the group. "Is there a problem here?" his mother asks, her voice calm and restrained- the very image, or perhaps sound, of what the madam of such an establishment should sound. Call him a momma's boy, but Anthony has nothing but the greatest respect for his mother, and wouldn't hesitate to attack the first person who hurt her. Though he may seem loose and indifferent at times, the young man puts a very strong emphasis on family, and is more protective over his mother and sister than people might tend to assume. He glances over towards Angel as she responds to his mother's scolding, and hesitates for a moment at the demure appearance of her, thinking that it contrasts far too much with her current state. The girls of this Lounge are magnificent actors, for the most part, but fooling others is rather hard when you have put up evidence against it. She doesn't really seem like the streaker type, anyway, he thinks, remembering the tiniest glint of hunger that he had seen in Angel's eyes when she looked towards Natasha.

"Anthony, a word, please?" his mother addresses him, and the young man winks at the girls before smiling fondly at his mother and nodding. "Of course," he says, almost as a little lordling would, before following after Evony, obedient as you like. Yes, call him a momma's boy if you please, but it is with good reason. His mother demands respect, after all. When both have come to a stop, he leans against the wall and smiles at her.

"So- what is it that you wish to say?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Ivory Peirce Character Portrait: Anneka Vanity Character Portrait: Clara Jane Mason Character Portrait: Kaydence Dixen
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Clara watched the scene unfold before her, yet always kept her gaze on Angel, trust that girl she did not. She was too false, always seemingly up something yet able to cover it up with her sugary-sweetness.
And so Clara picked it up immediately when she let her guard drop, seeing the hunger that filled her, she searched for whom she could possibly be staring at - Natasha?
No, why would she, biting her lip Clara frowns, knowing that if Angel had any plans for her Ivory that they would not be good ones.
She had to keep a closer eye on her friend, make sure she stays safe, her crazy pretence hid her from almost anyone, except Angel.

As the nude girl took her leave, Clara turned to Kitten, immediately sensing the tension.
What will Natasha do? she wonders, staying silent.
Surprise flicks onto her face as Natasha compliments the girl but she suddenly masks it, smiling brightly at them as Kitten takes her leave.

Nodding she walks behind the girl as she sits at her vanity, "Sure," She replies sweetly, thinking about their duty tonight.
And then as Ivory stands up, helping her dress she looks at her friend - Such a broken girl, and yet Natasha never once has mentioned anything about her past.
Was it so awful? Clara would ask her but she didn't want the girl to be frightened once again and anyway, it wasn't any of her business.

"Of course," She agrees to all the girl says, knowing that she would stick with her, especially after what happened, she daren't leave the girl on her own or worse: with Angel.
She would cover up any of the girls visions and make it all OK, or as OK as it could be.

Feeling Ivory's soft kiss on her shoulder she turned around slowly and took the girl's cheek in her soft palm.
"You know you can talk to me," She whispers, her other hand fiddling with the girl's hair.
Anyone watching the scene would probably assume them lovers, yet when you're in the prostitute business, you get more intimate with your friends than anything, you do not have to feel sexually attracted to them to be able to make-out or such.
It's all part of the act.

Yet just as those words leave her mouth she feels it, the burning sensation that courses through her body, burning her inside like molten lava.
She quickly moves her hand away from the girl's cheek and clenches them into tense balls at her side, biting down hard on her lip to keep herself from running to her supply, and most probably getting herself caught.
No, she had a specific time for that - at night while everyone's sleeping so she did not run the risk of getting caught and yet, she still could not stop the impulse that raced through her, to take everything and anything she could, just to feel that oh so precious high again.

Shaking her head bitterly, she forced herself to unclench her fists and put a smile on her face.
For want of an excuse she simply says, "Sorry, I just felt a little sick," And then rapidly changes the subject, "shall we go?"
Entwining her arm with Ivory's she waltzes from the room, acting like nothing ever happened.

Except nothing can stop it, not now; not ever.