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Christened As || » Roxanne Dana Taite Channing
Addressed As || » Missy Rox ; Ms. Channing
Hollered As || » Roxanne, Roxy or Taite ; never "Dana"
Upon This Miraculous Day || » November 5th, 1984
Up, Down, And All Around || » 5'7" // 127lbs
I Fit Into These || » 7's usually ; depends on the brand of shoe.
Semblance To || » [x - x]
A man once compared Roxanne - as most men having a habit of doing - and for once his words were able to stroke her fluctuating attention span. What he said had her pursing her lips, at once pleased, contemplative and inspired. Few would liken her to the twilight jewel when there were so many other, more widely recognized and cliché things to compare hchrome://myqna/skin/tekformat2.gif
tekFormat 2er with. Why would a man consider her a stone, black and cool, with a fine sheen and sound structure? Her performances tend to heat the blood of the most stoic man, and yet this one male individual left her stumbling for reason and clarity. "You lack vision, for all that you are like the velvet of obsidian. Good night, ma chérie."
French b*****d. Confusing a girl like that.
Briefly, the alluring femme fatale stands at a height just an inch or so shorter than average at five foot seven, and a disciplined weight that averages in the mid one-twenties. Roxanne is a bit of a fitness freak, to say the least, although she is not buff. There's a bit of feminine fat on her hips she just cannot seem to lose, so she could be aptly described as curvaceous. In fact, Roxy's a member of a private gym and every other day she works out from 10 am to 12 am. Toned and nearly full-figured --- with an eye-pleasing bust size for the sort of men that like curvy women --- this voluptuous siren takes pleasure in being the center of attention; whether for her sumptuous looks or engaging charm, it doesn't really matter in the end for her. So long as the spot-light is full and direct on her, Roxanne's charm, wiles and sensuous beauty will never falter. Full and fleshy as some college girls could never be, Roxanne is long in the leg, with a compact torso that speaks of toning and conditioning; not to mention the low back dimples her sinuous spine displays.
Descended from the barmaids of Ireland, Roxanne's heritage allows her to court the pale cream skin and luxurious tresses of her fellow kinswomen. Originally, Roxanne's hair was an eruption of sassy, curling crimson locks, dark and devious as a fire's roasting embers. However, with each new role that her job as an exotic dancer is delegated, her hair color changes as well. For the last few months, her glorious mane of rioting waves and slender curls have taken on a pitch black hue, struck with velvety blue-violet tendrils when the lighting is just right. She often wears it down, seeing as it's a crowd-pleaser, often arranged with ribbons, feathers, a few shiny accessories and so forth, and her shampoo is always scented.
Her facial features aren't what could be described as delicate, per-say, since they are on the stronger side. However, her skin is soft, her mouth full, pink and generous, her cheeks round with just enough height to draw attention away from the narrow slope of her nose. Sultry lashes rim long, dramatically gray-blue eyes, like a bank of fog creeping across a slumbering land during the twilight hours. It is these eyes of hers which reel in the unsuspecting and the suspicious, the wary and the oblivious. There is no escaping her stare once struck by it's all-encompassing power, intense and penetrating as sunlight. Just above these fixating irises are a pair of eyebrows that rise on a slight curve to give her a permanently foxy, clever expression that longs to sink straight into the depths of an unwary spectators mind and soul.
Shop 'Till Ya Drop || » Assuming that strippers are normal people once off stage, Roxanne has quite a clothing fetish. Her range of preferences expands from the plain, designer-esque spandex outfits she dons when it's time to hit the gym, to the studded leather boots that hug her legs straight up to her lower thighs when she feels like making an appearance at some hard-rock nightclub. On a regular basis, Roxy can be seen altering her clothes, being handy with a needle and thread. Thanks to her job, she's become remarkably skilled when it comes to knitting lace and sewing sequences onto her work outfits. She knows how to dress herself for almost any occasion, and despite her lack of cash in the back pocket, Roxanne makes up for her meager funds by ghosting thrift shops and cheaper boutiques. She has an eye for color and shape: for herself she tends to go for outfits that match and coordinate, in darks and vivid hues, especially reds, blacks, blues and violets. It isn't an uncommon sight to see her prancing down the street in a pair of needle-thin heels in eye-catching red while wearing nothing more than a pair of cutoff jeans and a snug tee shirt.
Among The Populace I Am A || » Exotic Dancer ; not that this is her dream job, of course.
The fact that Roxanne is obviously well-endowed with enough physical appeal to be harassed by men left and right has yet to get her down. In fact, it's her good looks that have allowed to get through the last couple years in her life, seeing as she's one of the lead dancers at a "gentleman's club", dubbed Plumage by its first owner. Of course, when the word 'dancer' is used, tutus and tap shoes are most likely the first thought to come to mind. Roxanne, however, is an exotic dancer. That's right: she's a pole-swinging, top-baring, role-playing, fantasy-making wanton dancing figurine, available from 9-pm to 1-am four or five days a week.
Twelve Years Or So Later || » She dropped out of her community college when her parents tried the whole "intervention" thing. She vows one day to join up with the New York Police Academy to finish her degree, get her training and become a real detective. Investigator. Whatever.
In & Out || » Welcome, welcome. Welcome to the club, the joint, the beat of New York's bleeding heart. Been here before? No? Good, good, you're in luck?
See there? Raven-wing hair, coiled back and poised like a scorpion's tale? That one there's our pride and joy, a masterpiece of flesh and bone, a flame luring you through the infinite dark, infinitely cruel world. Meet Roxanne. She's no Roxy Hart. No, she's something more, something finer to sip on than the sweetest champagne.
Here, take a seat, take a load off. I'll tell you a story. It's about a gal with raven-wing hair and eyes smokier than any wildfire…"
The female Scorpio has a deep, mysterious beauty. She's magnetic, proud and totally confident. But she has one secret regret: she was not born a man.
Now don't get me wrong: I didn't say she looked like a boy, nor did I intend to imply she doesn't do a bang-up job of being a female. It's just that, unconsciously, she would prefer to be a man. Less restriction - more opportunity. It's the one secret she even hides from herself, and seeing it exposed won't sit well with her. Maybe it has to do with her daddy always wanting a boy and getting a girl instead. I don't suggest asking her about either; the whip-lash afterwards might send you reeling. Don't worry: we're insured. Roxanne here figured out the difference between blue booties and pink booties early on, thanks to daddy-dearest. She resigned herself to her lot in life, not only since there was no denying her identity, but because she's fabulous at making the best out of a situation. But pink is not her natural color. The true shade of her nature is more of a… dark maroon, or deep wine-red. One of those husky hues, not that they're all that feminine. Shocking, no? To give her proper tribute, she's able to make you think it is. Roxanne here isn't' the type, but we had another Scorpian on our hands here some time ago. She was all about pretending to be a fragile, fluffy kitten. She purred so contentedly most men guessed she's an ultra-feminine Piscean, if you know what I mean~. They toppled into her trap and woke up later, sadder but wiser. She was definitely no kitten.
Unlike that sassy feline, Roxanne has a knack for subduing her dominating drive and magnetize a man with the heavy perfume of her exotic glance as she allows him to use his lighter to ignite her cigarette. That's far sexier than aggressively striking a match herself and blowing the smoke in his face, and she knows it. She knows lots more, which makes courtship a thing of beauty and painful awkwardness if you don't know the rules to her game. Another girl might rush headlong into your arms and shout her love from the rooftops. Ever see a girl walk towards you, slowly, seductively, and silently deliver her private message with all the time in the world on her side? There you go, that's this sugar-honey in a romance nutshell. It's puzzling, but Roxanne can spin your senses just by looking seductive in a pair of old jeans, jodhpurs or even basketball shoes - no, I haven't seen her closet. As for how: maybe it's her husky voice that creates the image. Don't ask me - she's over there.
You can give her a tumble, but she won't fall all over herself reacting to your overtures. Don't expect her to bat long, sweeping eyelashes at you, and adore you with blind devotion. With those beautiful, mysterious eyes that can read your mind so clearly, she doesn't need any extra trimming. Whisper something romantic that would melt another girl out of her senses, and Roxanne will give you this intense, penetrating look; one that will see right straight through to your real intentions. She's a human X-ray machine, so don't flirt, hear me? Unless you mean business, you're wasting her time and insulting her. I wouldn't advise you to insult this night diva. It's just not healthy. If you don't know what I mean, ask someone who has. He may have some stories to tell that will curl your hair. What's that? Oh, so you have been watching. Good for you; it may save you - and your pocketbook - one day. Yes, I'm well aware that this dangerous femme fatale can hide her power of retaliation with a tremulous smile, like that, gentle mannerisms, as so, and the most breathless voice this side of an angel, like that there. It's more important for you to be well aware. After all, you're the one who's seeking to tame her - or protect yourself against her - whichever. Probably both, now that you're here, now that you've laid eyes upon her. You can be sure that heaven certainly has no fury like that of this woman when she looses her hand on the reign. She can be overbearing and domineering, sarcastic and frigid - then turn as hot as an oven at 500 degrees Fahrenheit. She can hate with bitter venom and love with fierce abandon. She can shriek like a furious banshee or whisper like an affectionate turtle dove. One thing you can be sure of - she's never wishy-washy, just passionate.
The word "passionate" probably caught your eye; it did? Oh, good. She's just brimming over inside with passion, though it's usually kept under rigid control by a, ah, poised, frosty attitude toward strangers, and a surface smoothness suggestive of black velvet. I have to say that male sex is too inclined to relate passion strictly to romantic action; and that's selling her short. To Roxanne, it's involved with her feelings about everything she touches. She's never just slightly interested. It's impossible for her to be detached or casual. She seldom likes or dislikes a play, a book, religion, furniture or people. She either bitterly resents or she intensely worships. If one of these two passions can't be aroused, then she totally ignores, with ice around the edges. Yet, through it all, she'll remain essentially untouched by emotional storms, judging at least from that placid exterior of hers, which always drapes itself around her after each minor or major nuclear explosion. On the other hand, Roxanne has such fabulous virtues, you might know her vices wouldn't be skimpy, either. So think about her good points, hm? Oh, alright then, think about her good points after that lump on your head has healed. Told you not to get on her bad side.
Because Roxanne's drawn to investigation of the shadows, she may at first seem to be tempting: like a forbidden fruit - and the deep, strange expression in her eyes intensifies such an impression. It's true that the Roxanne sometimes wanders into dangerous waters in her efforts to penetrate life, and since there's not the slightest trace of fear in her, the search may indeed take her into some weird byways. Typically, though, Roxanne will emerge from any discovery still strong and pure. On that note, Roxanne likes to hear secrets, but she'll seldom tell anything anyone has confided in her, not even to her closest friend. You can also expect her to have a stack of secrets that relate to her personally, and don't try to pry them out of her. There's a private part to this woman you'll never touch, a part of her mind and soul that belongs strictly to her, and there's absolutely no trespassing there. She's not untruthful, in fact she's more often too brutally honest, yet there will always be those special thoughts and feelings she won't confide to you or anyone else.
Roxanne, most of all, is incredibly loyal to those she finds strong and deserving, but the weak ones will never be honored by her glance. Her dignity in human relationships can make her seem aloof and snobbish. All Scorpios are highly selective in friendships, and she's no different. She'll keep the worthy companions through an entire lifetime, and freeze the shallow, the common or the unworthy. There's an immense store of perseverance and determination buried in the nature of this vivacious woman, and any time she chooses, she can call on these to help her master the excesses which may tempt her, from drink and drugs to self-destructive, ruthless revenge and dangerous depression. She answers to no law but her own, and in her Pluto heart, she has more total understanding of the vow "till death do us part" than half the brides who blissfully murmur the phrase. Despite her own strong individualism, Roxanne will let her man be the boss; I think she almost prefers it that way. Instead of overshadowing him with her force and drive, she'll apply her talents to help him attain his goals. She may fight you wildly in private, but she'll defend you fiercely in public. She won't stand for anyone maligning you or taking advantage of you. Those who try will feel the lash of her righteous anger. There's a lot to know about her when it comes to her lovers, but that's another story for another time. You're not her man, after all.
Roxanne is… unreasonably suspicious, I'll admit, even when there's no basis for suspicion, so you can imagine what happens when she finds a real clue to possible infidelity. Picture the shape of a mushroom cloud and you'll get a general idea of what may happen, figuratively speaking. It's no good being suspicious of her, no matter how many opportunities arise; and there will be a goodly number of them, because she never exposes her deepest feelings. Naturally, this can arouse a few questions on your part. Just swallow them, along with the lump in your throat. Like that locked chest or drawer she's had since childhood, certain things about her are off limits. It will get you nowhere to probe. I realize fully that it isn't fair. So does she. But that doesn't change things a bit. That's the way it is. Take her or leave her. You'll probably take her. It's almost impossible to leave her. If nothing else, she'll haunt you the rest of your life. Adjusting to the idiosyncrasies of her nature is easier than suffering the nightmares that will surely result if you walk away.
She'll be possessive but she won't want to be possessed. One of the worst traits of both male and female Scorpios is a refusal to see any viewpoint but their own when the emotions are involved, and Roxanne is no exception. It takes weeks of introspection to bring them around to a semblance of humility. Her natural interest in the opposite sex, even if it remains platonic, may give you as much reason to be jealous of her as she is of you. She'll probably fascinate every male in sight on occasion, and you may have to sit by while they're mesmerized. It seldom leads to anything serious, but it can cause some uncomfortable moments. It can also lead to some explosive disagreements. In the heat of battle, it pays to remember that her compulsion to even the score usually makes her the winner in any kind of skirmish. She gets the last word. If you tell her a lie, she may tell two. If you stubbornly refuse to kiss her good-bye in the morning after a tiff, she may refuse to kiss you goodnight for a month. Roxanne's sense of justice is as strong as the sense of revenge: she'll remember every kindness and give you back double for that, too.
Hey, well, it's getting late and the show's about to begin. Let me just say that Roxanne will sometimes nearly drown you in her passion for living, yet in a real storm, her cool, calm reason and steely strength will be a life raft. Though she works her magic in strange and secret ways, her haunting eyes will always gaze at you with basic honesty, even while she remains just beyond the reach of human understanding. She's a little dangerous, perhaps, but undeniably exciting. Let other husbands cope with the flighty girls. You've known the compelling mystery of a lovely witch who brews a pretty good cup of tea and almost never bums your toast. When the cup is empty, let her read the tea leaves for you. She can - if she wants to.
You mean you didn't know? I told you there are things she keeps to herself....
Appeals || » Caesar Chicken Salad with extra chicken ; Cherry Coke ; solving mysteries ; Spring ; the time of day when she can sleep ; Working ; Queen ; red, the color ; Central Park and running through it ; chocolate [a private indulgence] ; watching dogs drink out of drinking-fountains [it's just so funny] ; free "stuff" ; good furniture ; big beds ; scented candles ; cocktails and martini's ; sewing in general ; soft fabric ; hot, strong, willful, powerful men ; good music, among which she likes the classics, the old stuff, jazzier stuff and music to make her blood run hot ; working out ; French pastries and the French ; sex ; romantic sex ; passion, loyalty, honesty and dedication ; dogs ; most animals ; snuggling in a warm blanket during winter nights, reading ; romance and mystery novels ; detectives like Sherlock Holmes and the Great Gatsby ; people she can be friends with, forever ; investigating life and the meaning of death.
Irritants || » Stalkers in general ; her mom and dad as she knows them now ; being considered a 'slut' ; the way her sister chews on her hair when she's worried about something; her boss ; some of the other dancers ; smelly breath ; not being able to eat chocolate whenever she wants ; the smell of manure ; girls who wear too much make up and guys who slather on the cologne ; infidelity, lying and cheating ; having her a** groped during a performance without permission ; science ; not being in control of things ; guys who use their accents to play it 'smooth' ; music being so loud it hurts her ears ; talking about herself.
Hobbies || » Sewing ; working ; going to chick flicks [although she can't stand horror movies since hookers normally die. Brutally.] ; dancing at clubs ; dyes her hair frequently, but likes black the best, with highlights ; eating healthy snacks ; wearing impossibly tall boots with thin heels ; is a huge weekend warrior in the sense that she goes to garage sales and clips food coupons for Saturday sales ; occupies her time by reading dime store romances and kama sutra, along with her favorite mysteries ; discreetly fantasizing and ogling hot men.
Habits || » Chews the inside of her cheek when thinking ; picks at her acrylic nails when she sees a client she likes ; she blinks a lot when she lies ; eats peanut butter and jam together out of jars with a spoon instead of just making a PB&J sandwich ; humming when she's tired or irritated.
Those Welcomed In My Home || » fRiENDS
~ Maximilien Jacobs Augustine, aka Maxi-Max ; 27 ; best boy friend in the world ; lover to Alicia ; working on his degree in medicine.
~ Celia Tristan Daniels ; 23 ; childhood friend, high school best bud and now irreplaceable source of strength ; single and happy about it ; manages a small legal firm and mother of one adorable baby boy.
~ Alicia Margaret Torrens, aka "Baby" ; 24 ; best girl friend in the world ; lover to Maxi-Max ; ex-Plumage dancer and bartender at a ritzy joint called Blue Tides.
~ DD ; 6 or 7 ; the "Apartment" cat that's loved by all and lives with all ; Roxanne considers him to be 'ear' when she needs someone to talk to.
fAMilY -
|| Devin Channing - father - 52 years old - Realtor - lives in Tennessee with his wife.
|| Linda Taite-Channing - mother - 48 years old - housewife - lives in Tennessee with her husband.
|| Felicia Arin Taite-Channing - younger sister - 19 years old - college student - lives in New Jersey.
Where I Live Out My Days || » Central Park, New York ; a city of dreams and broken hearts, angels and neon lights beyond a midnight sun ; a world in a world, her home, her stake for independence ; a downtown apartment with a broken air-conditioner, but a view to assuage any wounded heart.
Behind These Eyes || » Growing up in the so-called average American family was no big deal for Roxanne. While some little girls dream of a family warm and inviting, full of undeniable dreams and sugar-coated truths, Roxanne had faced reality dead on... and withstood the test of time. Her parents had few, if any, expectations in their oldest daughter aside from graduating from high school and going to work for her dad's company. Mr. Channing was, and most likely still is, a Realtor for Century 21; a job which fetched in a more than sufficient profit throughout the year. Although, Roxanne never did find out just what sort of satisfaction her father obtained by selling houses to strangers day in and day out. In a way, being a part of the medium-income census slot, Roxanne probably had more than the average family; especially during her early years when the economy was on the rise again. Then again, her parents weren't the doting type, and instead left her to her own devices. Nowadays, when she takes that precarious millisecond to reflect back, it might have been that inattention that sparked Roxanne's first need for escape. For freedom from the oblivion of regularity and monochromatic outfits and normalcy.
When her father started dragging her along to work during her years in high school [to whatever house he was attempting to sell at the time], she liked to sneak away and eventually ditch him altogether. The reason? All in order to meet up with a few friends or explore the neighborhood. Anything to get away from her father's falsely winning, somewhat cheesy, Realtor facade. Punishment was rare around her house - yet another sign of a resigned parentage; however, that might have been the reason behind Roxanne's outgoing ideology. The lack of command and presence she felt in both of her parents enabled Roxanne to seek out whatever freedom or entertainment she wanted. So long as she had a good excuse behind her nightly absences and a reliable back-up one - perhaps an alibi or two for all nighters - Roxanne was free to roam the town, settle scores and flirt with guys way too old for her. Albeit, she was a smart girl and knew when to draw the line when she was younger. Speaking of flirtations, it seemed as though guys were always ghosting around Roxanne, at home, at school, while she participated in some random extracurricular activities - everywhere. Needless to say, she had taken after her mother in the looks department - the key to success for any preteen and adolescent girl - and little else.
While in school, mathematics were her strong point by leaps and bounds. Roxanne had a knack for plugging away information and formulas in her head, and could even solve difficult problems mentally rather than use a calculator. During her Senior year in high school she took Honors Calculus and, well, passed with flying colors and a load of useless jealousy pinpointed at her back. In order, her favorite classes included math, Economics/Government, - which was oftentimes preferred over math -, drama, English, Photography/Art and Science. Irony would have it that Roxanne detested science among all her classes. One might assume that she, being such a math whiz, would enjoy her science classes as well - since they compliment one another. That hadn't been the case for Roxanne, though: she bloody hated science and took the minimum amount of courses required to graduate. There was no specific reason behind it, but the simplest one would be that it bored her. Exceedingly. To the point that she got other students in trouble by talking to them during class, received detentions for eating or sleeping, and even wound up a time or two suspended for awhile. Especially after that one occasion when she poured a vial of acid on another student thinking it was water... How she managed to evade an expulsion, all in all, is a mystery in itself.
Graduation came and went; Roxanne received some recognition in the math and Government departments, but no big colleges offered her enough in scholarships for her to leave home right away. When it came down to continuing her education, Roxanne settled with going to a community college rather than take her chances with loans and all that official, as she had so delicately put, s**t. Being a tad too care free, and having avoided most 'responsibility' talks with her parents - her mother lived at home - she got mixed up in the wrong crowd at her community college. Meaning: stoners and drunks, ravers and creeps. She learned how to party and party hard during her second semester of community college: she tried Ecstasy and got drunk one too many times for even her to count. Roxanne discovered men and the satisfaction of being with one; there was no comparing older guys to the boys she went to high school with, the horny snots. Finally, one fine September day, her parents did the first real 'responsible' thing ever for their first child: they tried to help her. Rather, they tried an "intervention" thing to "help" her. Needless to say, Roxanne freaked out, got mad and ran away...
...All the way to New York.
Roxanne, it would so happen, was suited for the big city. Or, perhaps the city was suited for Roxanne. Made for it, and it for her. Either way, she decided that she might as well try to make it large when everyone around her seemed to be glowing with finesse and success. So, she tried acting. And tried. And tried. And tried again. Let's just say that her acting career never "took off". Even when Roxanne had been in the Drama cast at her community college and in high school, she had never been cast as a leading role. Not even a supporting role. She had the looks to be a high-profile actress, but something about her had the directors swaying towards a 'nay' when deciding whether to hire her or not. The directors claimed that she was too animated and improvised too many of her lines [which she stubbornly defended, stating that she had been 'improving the script' and make it more understandable for the audience.] Consequently, when she auditioned for an amateur production of "Faust", she was cut after the first round. Luckily for her, or so it seemed at first, the co-director liked something about her and referred her to another theater. That audition didn't pay off, nor the next, nor the one after that. Eventually, Roxanne wound up at the door of a "gentleman's club" called "Plumage;" sick, penniless and desperate.
A few facts need to be made clear about Plumage. First of all, a gentleman's club is a sophisticated term for a strip joint; that being said, Plumage is an extraordinarily high-class strip joint, designed for wealthy men and women to be entertained by skimpily clad women, fine booze and good music. True to its name, the strip joint's theme consists of either tropical or exotic birds when considering the outfit of each 'lady.' The Plumage director is a short, fat and horny man, by the name of Leno Bernstein, and never had a more cliche man existed. He'd been known to accost some of his dancers, but the lucky ladies don't normally object because he's a rich b*****d and likes to shower his mistresses with perks. Luck, though the pretty lady Luck had been short-changing Roxanne for awhile, seemed to be in her favor when this same director tried to open up for that night. At the time, he had been looking for a sexy red-head for that season's theme, and it just so happened that Roxanne was both sexy and a natural red-head. Needless to say, she was pretty much taken inside, given a costume to audition in, and later, hired on the spot. Her natural wiles and 'energy' had finally come in handy.
A few years passed since then, and although Roxanne still works at Plumage, some things haven't changed. Like her lack of a suitable place to live. No, she doesn't bum around on the streets every night, nor does she habit the local parks for a bench [anymore.] Nowadays she lives in a rinky-dink two-room apartment with a old badger-like air conditioner that constantly goes on the fritz during the hottest parts of the year. She drives an old Volkswagen van; she has the habit of calling it her own personal "Mystery Machine", seeing as she had been addicted to Scooby-Doo as a kid. Some of the other girls that work at Plumage had offered her a better place to stay on several occasions, but Roxanne doesn't like the idea of mooching off another person, no matter how generous. The current theme at Plumage is a focus on birds of paradise. The plant, 'bird of paradise' is planted all around the entrance, which had been painted bright tropical colors for the occasion. The bird species change every few years to lure in new, young and rich clients, understandably.
Speaking of young and rich clients, Roxanne happened across one such specimen exactly one year ago. His name? Caspian Lorenzo. An Italian man - as if his surname hadn't serve to give that fact away instantaneously - who had come to America fifteen years prior to live with his father, Renard Lorenzo. Caspian's father was a wealthy man: actually, wealthy would be an understatement considering that Renard Lorenzo was the President and resident business tycoon of a well-known medical industry; Renard's father was the one who started up the business, back in Italy. The business had grown quickly as the Lorenzo's came from a family of old-money, and in many ways they were well-endowed. Financially. Intellectually. Physically...
To make a long story short, Caspian entered Plumage on a half-drunken whim when stumbling down New York's busy sidewalks one evening. At the time he was both heart-broken and lonely; his fiance had recently passed away due to leukemia and a failed marrow transplant. After a few hours sitting in a chair near the stage, with glass after glass turning up empty besides him, Caspian was arse over elbow drunk and completely captivated by Roxanne's alluring strip-dance. It was fate, really, when Caspian's drunken state made him bold and stupid; he reached up towards the stage as she was sitting down and lightly caressed her leg. Roxanne didn't have to say anything; instead, she remained silent and still as several bouncers fell upon the poor drunk sap and removed him from Plumage. Or, rather, kicked him out on his sorry a** to sit in an alley, miserable and incoherent. Any other night, Roxanne would have forgotten all about a man who had broken the 'no touch' rule, but something about Caspian had snared her interest. It must have been those delirious, smoldering green eyes of his: so desperate and mournful.
In the end, she felt sorry for him, and since he had drank himself into an incredibly coherent stupor, he was still lying about outside when she was done with her shift. So, at one thirty in the morning on a breezy Saturday night, Roxanne took this strange man home with her. The walk was a long one, but it was a nice clear night, and Roxanne was a stronger girl than she made out to be; supporting Caspian's six something frame wasn't all that hard considering he had lost weight by grieving over his dead fiance. His emboldened state of fascination with Roxanne hadn't at all been hindered by the alcohol; on three different occasions Roxanne had to - ever so politely - force his hand away from where it had been inching down her thigh.
Some eleven months later, Roxanne was never more certain that she had discovered what love was like. What had happened that one night had turned into a second, and then a third; finally, Caspian was visiting Plumage on a regular basis. Whenever he showed up at the club, Roxanne would hop off the stage when her dancing shift was over [and given a jacket by a bouncer if she's topless] and goes to sit in his lap. Roxanne loved to make him jealous by flirting with all the men around him, but she always made sure to give him all her special attention. They connected well, on both a physical and social level, despite coming from backgrounds on different levels of the social order. She being of the poor, him being of the rich. He was everything she had ever wanted in a man - and came to think of him as hers. In fact, Roxanne was downright ready to make their elaborate partnership into something permanent. A dress, a ring, a ceremony and everything. Not something she had ever planned or wanted so soon in her life. Caspian was the one not ready for that fragile step, of course; not yet; not so soon after her death. Roxanne knew who she was, and in a way she was always jealous of that dead fiance. She wanted Caspian to look at her and see only her, and not have to bear witness to the haunted shadows behind his loving gaze. However, Roxanne, in her own way, knew it was better to let him heal on his own time. She gave him time, plenty of time...
...Too much time.
Caspian died. End of story.
Eccentricities || » The panther tattoo on the back of her left shoulder ; wearing absurdly thin-heeled boots ; not taking up any offers to live in a real home ; sneaking chocolate when she can.
I Wish Upon A Star || » Her former dream was to marry Caspian and live a life worthy of talking about. Her childhood wish was to become a movie star in foreign films like all her idols. [Obviously that never happened.] Underneath it all, she really wants to work as an officer of the law, or perhaps as a federal agent.
From My And Their Lips || » "So, did you want to go in the back room, or are you this excited all the time?" // "I damn well don't care what other people think. Now get out of my face or your nose will be splintering into your brain before you can say 'Adios.'" // "Like what you see? Good, so do I." // "When hell shows up in Central Park, then I might consider going out with you." // "I worked for this tush, so don't you going around saying I'm anorexic or some other s**t like that. Go to gym if you think your fat, like every bloody magazine says you should. Or buy a jump rope and strangle yourself with it if you like. Not that I give a s**t." // "Well, cracker jack."
My Heart Goes Bump-Bump To This Beat || » "But its Better if you Do" by Panic! At the Disco ; "Roxanne" from Moulin Rouge
Puppeteer || » E- b o n y . E- c l a i r
 b o n n a b y · Sat Apr 12, 2008 @ 07:07am · 0 Comments |
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