Title by Green Day. Basically, you meet Ember (the cinderelly chick) a couple of the girls, club manager, and learn a bitty bit more of her tale. STORY YOU GUYS AUDITIONED FOR.
To hell and back and hell again I've gone.
You're not my type.
Not my type.
Oh, the irony. Ember chuckled softly to yourself, as the men on the street corner whistled rudely at her passing. If only they knew... They were as far from her type as anyone could possibly get.
One earphone dangling just above her collarbone, and the other in her ear, she pumped Green Day until the bass was overflowing her very core. The short song switched to Marilyn Manson, and once again, she was lost in the raspy symphony of sonic lust.
Now the humor of the irony was gone, as the men on the corner slowly stalked their way into her path. Eyes low, pace fast, she ignored their ignorant cat calls.
"Hey baby, feel like getting me into the club tonight? A girl as sweet as you don't deserve a man who ain't got one as big as me... 'Cos I'm... I'm..."
He looked over to his friends, with a glassy haze in his eyes - so drunk he had no idea how to finish the sentence.
Yes, she worked at the club. Yes, Ember was the audiences favorite. Yes, she was often labeled as an "unintelligent whore". Yes, that meant lots of men treated her like shit. For some sick reason, because she had been ground into the carpet, alongside the rest of the worlds dirty trash, that gave people the fucking right to make judgments about her.
At the club, she was greeted warmly by Fae, Hozzie, and Jude. Still too far away for verbal communication, Jude simply attacked his red rubber watch with an impatient finger.
Grumpily, she nodded her head, and trudged her way into the massive wardrobe. She peeled off her layers of worn cotton clothing, and slipped into the silky, sparkly piece of eye candy. It was the sort of thing that all women had a silent urge to wear. However, all women had the fucking sense NOT to make the frivolous purchase.
Silently, Fae and Hozzie made their way over to her area of the room, staring at her blatantly.
"... Yes...?" She asked hesitantly, not really certain I she WANTED to know their excuse for staring.
They exchanged another look.
"Hey bro. What gives?" Hozzie inquired.
"Men. Street corner. Fucking ignorant dick heads."
Hozzie giggled to herself, knowingly. Ember started giggling too, laughing at her co-workers ridiculous laugh. Hozzie instantly turned a violent shade of red, but continued her hysterics.
Ember should see Fae desperately trying not to broadcast her own ridiculous laughter.
Trying - and failing.
Seeing as all of them had had a deliciously late night, and a brutally early morning, the three all fell to the carpeted floor. You see, when one has a certain lacking of sleep, everything has a tendency of being 109 times worse.
Jude, the beloved club owner, took that particular moment to swoop majestically in, in all of his gay glory, to pick the girls out of their hysterics.
"Hey now, sweet fucking peas, I'm glad to see you're all laughing in this shit hole of a world, but I can't help but notice we open in half an hour, and none of y'all are in makeup." The girls traded glances, not missing the 'shit hole of a world' bit.
No doubt, Jude too had a late night as well. He was always just a little more tense than usual when he had a lack of z's.
"Alright, Boom" (A/N: Heh... See what I did there...? BoomBoomJude...? Ha haaaa ha...)
The girls called their manager by his nickname. He tried his best to scowl, but seeing as he was also failing, he just turned away, desperate not to let his "tough guy" cover slip any further.
"A'ight, foo. Let's get this freak show in the road."
Ember swiped her bubble gum colored hair out of her eyes, and once again, tried to forget her pain. Although she may be with friends now, she knew that before long, she would have to go back to her fake family. Her fake fucking failed fucking forsaken fucking... Family.
But for now, she pulled a fake smile over her massively flawed faced, swallowed her daily anti-depressants (which didn't work) coated her scars with a thick layer of cover-up, and continued her preparations.
Okay. Okay. I'm done now. Sorry, it's short. Sorry, that got a bit like Charlies Angels in there, too. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I'm pretty pissed at myself for that. any who... Thanks for your eyes.