The Moulin Rouge
Nov 22, 2006 2:09:16 GMT -5
Post by Belladonna on Nov 22, 2006 2:09:16 GMT -5
((Because it's 2AM and I'm bored and I reallyreallyreally want to go ahead and put Bella here. And I just sort of made her whorelife out of every badphic I've ever read where Meg or Christine becomes a whore ;D))
At a glance, nobody would ever recognize the small, scantily dressed whore as Belladonna. Her long, beautiful golden hair was looped into an exotic concoction of braids the likes of which she would never have worn at the Opera, and though it still sparkled (She did depend on her looks every night, after all) there was something so utterly alien and strange about the twist of the braids, and one could see knots here and there where she had not cared for herself well enough to brush out her hair. Her once flawless porcelain skin was bruised in all of the wrong places, and a few cuts flared up against her pale skin. The tiny, modest girl of the Opera had been replaced by someone who wore the tightest, lowest cut dresses and the strappiest, sexiest heels. She had managed to effectively camouflage herself against this flamboyant world of sin- nobody from her past life would ever recognize her like this, unless they focused on her eyes.
For no matter what she did, no matter how tight or how slutty the dress, no matter how high the strappy heels, no matter how exotic and strange her hair, or how much makeup she packed onto her face, she could not disguise her eyes. Her eyes had always been such an important part of her face- they were huge, blue, and beautiful, and everyone had commented on her eyes. Anyone from the Opera who got close enough to meet her eyes would recognize her immediately, and she did not know what she would do then. But, she would argue with herself, her eyes were different now. And they were- her eyes held fathoms and fathoms of pain and heartache of the most painful kind, rather than the shining, happy glaze of hopes and dreams for the future.
Though she knew that her eyes would give her away in a moment, Belladonna simply could not wear glasses or anything of the sort. Her eyes had attracted so many of her customers that she dared not cover them up; she decided that it was not worth losing customers and that her overall disguise would protect her.
Although she was one of the newest and youngest girls, Belladonna had fast become one of the hardest working and most successful of the whores in the house she was staying in. There were very few nights when she would not change partners almost every hour, and she always seemed to have a line of men waiting around for her. She was not choosy about her work- any man who could afford her could have her, and did.
She was a mystery to most of the other girls. Some thought she was power hungry and attempting to climb to social heights through the gentlemen she slept with. Some believed her to simply be a tiny being driven by her sexual desires. A few who had caught a glimpse into her huge, pained blue eyes guessed correctly that she was running from something more painful to her than selling herself every night, but none of them understood what, exactly, she was running from.
She had been there for at least two months by now. The night began as normally as any other had been since her arrival. The other girls in the whorehouse helped to lace her into her skintight dress and she had adjusted the dark blue satin to cover her body in the most flattering way possible. After helping a few of the other girls with whatever problems they were having, she had laced on her usual strappy heels, applied a copious amount of makeup, and headed out the door with two other girls, Gisele and Marie, who were a bit older than she was but who had immediately adopted the little blonde when she had arrived, looking bruised and fragile, at the house.
The three girls had hurried off to the Moulin Rouge. She had only recently started coming here, because the girls who worked at the Moulin Rouge tended to keep the men busy and she hated to compete with them. But Gisele and Marie insisted that she start going there, and she didn’t care enough about it to argue.
She had walked in and immediately began to scope the place for clients, while Marie ran off to go sing for who knew what person who she believed would take her to the top. Marie and Giselle loved to sing- but Belladonna refused to. She was afraid that if anyone who had heard her at the Opera was in there, they would recognize her and make some remark about her to someone at the Opera, and she did not want for that to happen.
The night went smoothly until she left the Moulin Rouge to drop by a bar she had visited before, wanting to pick up one last customer.
A few hours later, she returned to the house with a broken wrist.
The next night, her wrist was bound tightly underneath a pair of satin gloves, and she had on even more makeup than usual. But such was her life now, she supposed.
At a glance, nobody would ever recognize the small, scantily dressed whore as Belladonna. Her long, beautiful golden hair was looped into an exotic concoction of braids the likes of which she would never have worn at the Opera, and though it still sparkled (She did depend on her looks every night, after all) there was something so utterly alien and strange about the twist of the braids, and one could see knots here and there where she had not cared for herself well enough to brush out her hair. Her once flawless porcelain skin was bruised in all of the wrong places, and a few cuts flared up against her pale skin. The tiny, modest girl of the Opera had been replaced by someone who wore the tightest, lowest cut dresses and the strappiest, sexiest heels. She had managed to effectively camouflage herself against this flamboyant world of sin- nobody from her past life would ever recognize her like this, unless they focused on her eyes.
For no matter what she did, no matter how tight or how slutty the dress, no matter how high the strappy heels, no matter how exotic and strange her hair, or how much makeup she packed onto her face, she could not disguise her eyes. Her eyes had always been such an important part of her face- they were huge, blue, and beautiful, and everyone had commented on her eyes. Anyone from the Opera who got close enough to meet her eyes would recognize her immediately, and she did not know what she would do then. But, she would argue with herself, her eyes were different now. And they were- her eyes held fathoms and fathoms of pain and heartache of the most painful kind, rather than the shining, happy glaze of hopes and dreams for the future.
Though she knew that her eyes would give her away in a moment, Belladonna simply could not wear glasses or anything of the sort. Her eyes had attracted so many of her customers that she dared not cover them up; she decided that it was not worth losing customers and that her overall disguise would protect her.
Although she was one of the newest and youngest girls, Belladonna had fast become one of the hardest working and most successful of the whores in the house she was staying in. There were very few nights when she would not change partners almost every hour, and she always seemed to have a line of men waiting around for her. She was not choosy about her work- any man who could afford her could have her, and did.
She was a mystery to most of the other girls. Some thought she was power hungry and attempting to climb to social heights through the gentlemen she slept with. Some believed her to simply be a tiny being driven by her sexual desires. A few who had caught a glimpse into her huge, pained blue eyes guessed correctly that she was running from something more painful to her than selling herself every night, but none of them understood what, exactly, she was running from.
She had been there for at least two months by now. The night began as normally as any other had been since her arrival. The other girls in the whorehouse helped to lace her into her skintight dress and she had adjusted the dark blue satin to cover her body in the most flattering way possible. After helping a few of the other girls with whatever problems they were having, she had laced on her usual strappy heels, applied a copious amount of makeup, and headed out the door with two other girls, Gisele and Marie, who were a bit older than she was but who had immediately adopted the little blonde when she had arrived, looking bruised and fragile, at the house.
The three girls had hurried off to the Moulin Rouge. She had only recently started coming here, because the girls who worked at the Moulin Rouge tended to keep the men busy and she hated to compete with them. But Gisele and Marie insisted that she start going there, and she didn’t care enough about it to argue.
She had walked in and immediately began to scope the place for clients, while Marie ran off to go sing for who knew what person who she believed would take her to the top. Marie and Giselle loved to sing- but Belladonna refused to. She was afraid that if anyone who had heard her at the Opera was in there, they would recognize her and make some remark about her to someone at the Opera, and she did not want for that to happen.
The night went smoothly until she left the Moulin Rouge to drop by a bar she had visited before, wanting to pick up one last customer.
A few hours later, she returned to the house with a broken wrist.
The next night, her wrist was bound tightly underneath a pair of satin gloves, and she had on even more makeup than usual. But such was her life now, she supposed.