Under The Lights • •

[Veronica Trinity Hart]

Ronnie loved the loud music of Marquee. She had been sneaking into clubs like this for as long as it was possible and bumping shoulders on the dance floor was nothing new to her. The nightlife in New York was completely different to LA, but still kept Ronnie in those ridiculously high heels until dawn most nights. It was hard to believe that anyone could be born into this lifestyle, but Ronnie remembered the fabulous parties and grand clubs since she was a little girl. Of course, back then she was whisked away before any of the fun really began, but she understood it all now after living her life the way she had. Tonight she wasn’t out celebrating or drowning her sorrows, but simply looking for something fun. After a day of interning at a fashion house that she was already well acquainted with, the tall blonde had been dying to slip on one of her party outfits and hit the clubs for a night of dancing, drinking and mingling. It hadn’t been a stressful day, but with the radio on and the music playing, it had put the Beverly Hills girl in the mood to dance; something not entirely recommended when measuring lengths of fabric to the exact millimetre.

The second she had the chance, Ronnie showered, picked out one of her dresses and then went through the process of taming her thick hair. The radio blasted as she got herself ready, the twenty-two year old singing along as she struggled to choose between two different pairs of high heels. Once that decision had been made, all Ronnie had to do was check her purse and then lock her condo up for the evening. She only had one neighbour on this floor and she paused to chat with him for a short moment. He worked for a security firm and was the boyfriend of Ronnie’s personal trainer; in fact, he was how Ronnie had managed to get him for such a good price! She insisted she didn’t need it, but he checked in from time to time, especially if he hadn’t seen the young blonde in a few days. She thought she didn’t need it, but she appreciated his concern. It was still nice to have someone that cared and paid attention, and she didn’t need to worry about him having any ulterior motives when he called around. After pleasantries and the promise to do brunch that weekend, Ronnie was on her way again, catching the elevator down to hail a cab.

She had sent a few texts to friends she knew were still in the city, rather than on vacation, letting them know where she was going first. If they came along then great, but Ronnie wouldn’t call the night a waste if they were already occupied with dates or work or whatever else the city that never sleeps decided to throw at them. Ronnie was a big girl and she could cope on her own, even find fun on her own. Once her ID and a mischievous smile had been flashed at the bouncer by the door, Ronnie stepped inside the loud nightclub, her dark eyes taking only a second to adjust. She saw no one she recognised floating around nearby, so made her way to the bar instead, her long blonde locks tickling her arm as she leaned on the cool bar top. Pulling a crisp note from her purse, she gave the bartender a small smile and ordered a Kamikaze to get the night started. She stayed close to the bar, raising the glass for a short sip of her drink. The night was still early, but the Marquee was already pretty full.

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• • •

TAGGED! Open <3
WORDS! 657!
OUTFIT! Club Chica!
LYRICS! The Phrase That Plays - - - The Academy Is...
NOTES! <3 <3 <3

[Crystal Eva Graham]

Crystal breathed a sigh of relief as she wandered the dance floor at Marquee. It had taken her best persuasive effort and a couple of well-placed fifties to convince the bouncer to let her in and even then, the situation had been dicey at best. Now that she was inside though, everything would be perfect. No stressing over her job or worrying about the song she was supposed to create for class. Tonight was all about fun, freedom, and forgetfulness. She tapped her foot on the floor in time with the music. She didn't even know the band, but that didn't matter. All that mattered right now was the booming of the speakers and the rapid beating of her heart.

She took a deep breath and moved from tapping her foot to full on dancing. She swayed back and forth and spun in a circle, losing herself in the song. Her moves weren't quite as good as her voice, but she doubted anyone here cared.

She moved a little faster as she got into the rhythm. She made a mental note to Google these lyrics later. She absolutely had to know who the artist was. She glided across the floor, letting herself lose sight of everything around her. Unfortunately, she didn't pay close enough attention and slammed right into a girl standing near the bar. Crystal went sprawling to the floor. "Ow," she groaned. She quickly rose to her feet and hurried over to the other patron. "I'm so sorry!" she said frantically, "Are you all right?"

Outfit: Crystal at the club
Words: 257

[Veronica Trinity Hart]

If it was possible for someone to be raised in a party, then Ronnie had been. Even now if she returned to the Beverly Hills home there were fashion events, music events, parties everywhere she turned. Some people might be exhausted of them and bored of the people there trying to outdo each other with stunts or drama, but Ronnie knew the secret to having fun in moderation. If there was a clear head, no hangover and a pair of heels to don, then there was no excuse to be excused! She had definitely inherited her party habits from her father, landing just shy of trashing hotel rooms and being surrounded by groupies. There was a little less of that atmosphere in New York, but Ronnie enjoyed the anonymity while she was studying in the city. She had already made a small name for herself thanks to the young modelling career, but now she was taking her life in a slightly different direction and being able to go out without people recognising her or her parents was a blessing she hadn’t overlooked.

While most of her friends as a teenager had families of the same celebrity status or fame, Ronnie grew frustrated with those who used their parents to gain their free rides to the clubs or the parties. “Do you know who I am?” was something Ronnie could never bring herself to ask unless she was looking for something to make her cringe. She never threw the family around like they were a free ticket to anything and everything and she never could. The towering blonde was adamant against relying on her harsh mother’s critic to get her through life and her dad, while a name most could recognise, was hardly going to paint a perfect image for the wannabe fashion designer. He had partied hard in his youth and Ronnie had seen the looks from certain places when he came through the city or whenever someone asked her to clarify her name and if she was “the daughter”. She was much safer doing what she planned on doing, and building a name for herself in a way that none of her immediate relatives could touch!

Squinting across the dark club, Ronnie tried to get a good look at the DJ playing in the club tonight. She didn’t make a habit of acquainting herself with them, but she did know two of the Marquee regulars through other friends and through other parties and venues. With his cap pulled down and the poor lighting, she couldn’t make a guess at who it was working the deck, so Ronnie turned back around to the bar. Raising her glass to her lips again, she decided she’d finish this drink and then do a thorough lap of the floor, just to see if there was anyone familiar in the building. She wasn’t desperate for company, but she hated it when people she really could’ve spent time with overlooked her or her them on a night out. Her what ifs only extended to the kind of fun they could have had if they had met up. The cocktail glass was making another trip back to Ronnie’s glossed lips when someone collided with her, spilling the contents over the expensive dress and Ronnie’s softly tanned skin. Almost growling, she looked down at the mess caused and gave a quiet thanks that she had perfected life in sky scraper heels when she was a young teenager. If she had landed on the floor, things would’ve been a lot worse for the person who couldn’t navigate a night club. Turning around with a fire in her dark eyes, Ronnie shot a glare at the girl scrambling to her feet. “What the hell is wrong with you? Watch where you’re going!”

[/color] She took the cloth from the bartender and dabbed at the front of her dress and chest, mumbling beneath her breath the entire time.
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• • •

TAGGED! Open <3
WORDS! 657!
OUTFIT! Club Chica!
LYRICS! The Phrase That Plays - - - The Academy Is...
NOTES! <3 <3 <3

[Crystal Eva Graham]

Crystal wasn't surprised to find herself suddenly being yelled at. She deserved it. She really should have been paying attention to where she was going. She took in the sight of the liquid that had spilled onto the other girl's dress, guilt welling up inside her. "I'm so sorry!" she repeated frantically, "You're right, I should have been looking where I was going! Please, let me make it up to you somehow!" She hurried over to the bar, grabbed a spare napkin, and quickly requested a pen from the bartender. She took a deep breath and carefully wrote down the address of the university and the number of her dorm room. She hurried back to find the other girl. As she walked, she used her free hand to produce her wallet and quickly tally the remaining contents. With the cash she'd used up bribing the bouncer, she now had two twenties left. Mental note, she thought, Make a visit to the ATM later. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and moved a little faster.

"Here," she offered, holding out the napkin and the twenties, "That's where I live. You can send me your dry-cleaning bill. I'll pay you back. A...And you can use the money to replace your drink." She waited, hoping the other girl would take them. She supposed that this was pretty small compensation for slamming into this girl and ruining her outfit, but she didn't have much else to offer. A frown creased her face. Idiot! she chastised herself.


Word Count: 272

[Veronica Trinity Hart]

Ronnie could throw a superstar sized fit when the right bad mood struck her. It wasn’t because she came from money or fame either. The towering fashion lover was as feisty as she was tall and when she exploded she didn’t do so lightly. Luckily, she had usually been able to keep a lid on it when she had been on shoots or around the press, purely because she knew that it only took one gossip blog these days for the internet to spin an entire web of nonsense rumours about the family being out of control. Most of the time, Ronnie’s bad temper reared its ugly head in situations like this one or when she was behind closed doors and fighting with people who wouldn’t be believed if they tried to make some cheap shot at fifteen minutes of tabloid fame. Although, she had to admit, since stepping down from the catwalk to focus more time on her college education and the dreams she really had, most places only seemed interested in what she was wearing and where she was. It was a once, maybe twice a month snapshot that she usually posed for on her way into some lavish party that she had been invited to.

“Forget it! Just step the hell away before you manage to do any more damage.”

[/color] An angry sigh left her lips and Ronnie could already feel the alcohol soaking through the thin material of her dress to stick to her skin. No matter where the night took her now, or who else she bumped into she had the guarantee of waking up smelling like she had bathed in vodka. Classy. With the girl temporarily out of sight, Ronnie dropped the bar cloth back down next to where her now empty glass sat and pushed her fingers through the long lengths of blonde hair that had fallen back towards her face. Spilling drinks might have been part and parcel of a night out in any club, not just one in New York City, but normally it came after several drinks had been consumed and when the buzz was that good that no one really cared. In the past it hadn’t been until the harsh light of the new day that Ronnie had seen the damage done to some of her more expensive outfits and had been forced to whisk them down to her cleaners in full blown hangover state, complete with an ex-boyfriend’s hoodie and too-big sunglasses.

Ronnie was about ready to move on with her night when the girl reappeared, causing the blonde to raise an eyebrow and shoot an icy glare down at her. “My dry cleaning bill is going to be your next month’s rent. Just run along.”[/color] Ronnie didn’t use just any cleaning business. She had a brilliant company in the city that had been recommended to her by a fellow model back when she was seventeen and had spilt some red wine on a Christian Dior vintage gown she had loaned for a fashion event in the city. Flagging the bartender over again, Ronnie leaned on the dry part of the bar and this time ordered something much stronger to burn her throat and give her the pick-me-up her mood needed right now.
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• • •

TAGGED! Open <3
WORDS! 586!
OUTFIT! Club Chica!
LYRICS! The Phrase That Plays - - - The Academy Is...
NOTES! <3 <3 <3

[Crystal Eva Graham]

Crystal sighed, disappointed. She'd been hoping there was something to do to make amends for the accident. "All right," she said softly, "For whatever it's worth, I really am sorry. If you change your mind, you know where I live." She let out a small laugh and walked away from the other girl.

She took a deep breath and moved away from the dance floor. She didn't feel much like dancing anymore. She supposed that spilling alcohol on some random girl's dress had that effect. She went and sat down at the bar. She spotted her unfortunate victim sitting at the bar and made a point of sitting far away. The last thing she wanted to do was begin the argument anew.

She wasn't old enough to actually drink alcohol, so she ordered a Coke. She drummed her fingers on the bar, humming a tune to herself as she waited. Her first impulse was to begin putting lyrics to the tune, as she so often did, but she suppressed it. That would lead to singing and she was pretty sure that her fellow club patrons were inclined to hear anything of the sort.

When her Coke arrived, she politely asked the bartender to get her some napkins and another pen. She wasn't going to sing it out loud, but she had to at least write it down. The bartender nodded and hurried away from the bar. Crystal waited patiently until the bartender returned with the items. She began to scribble lyrics on the napkin. It wasn't the perfect medium, but it would do.

Word Count: 270