07-21-2011, 06:43 AM
Isadora Marae sat at her small vanity table, intently staring at her reflection in the mirror. She'd never been an insecure girl, always embracing her flaws to the best of her ability, and now she just looked and wondered, wondered and looked. Green eyes roamed over her fair complexion, barely visible freckles, jet black hair, and oval face. Her bottom lip had been tucked in a bit, chewing on the soft pink skin. She stopped, her bottom lip popping back out.
Reaching out a lean hand, Izzy grabbed her gold tube of red lipstick, applying an even, slick coat. She topped it with clear gloss, making her lips look seductive but sweet, hot and cold. She'd been dancing at Burlesque since she was eighteen, just of age, one of the longest dancers the club had seen. It wasn't a bad thing though, she absolutely adored it.
Her mother had left her and her father when the twenty two year old was only two, nearly too young to remember anything. Her father started hitting the bottle, but soon it wasn't off, and he began hitting her, at the ripe age of twelve, too. It had made Izzy grown to resent the man, finding release from her pent up emotions through dancing. She guessed it worked out for the best, but it didn't make her despise her drunk father any less. After all, she had to suffer through it for year, her father never once becoming the attention of accusing stares. He was a police officer, top notch to be exact, so of course no one ever questioned the bruises on the raven haired female's face and body.
Pushing away her dark thoughts, her forest green gaze rose to the owner of the club, a smile instantly pulling at her lips and lighting up her features. The woman had become like a mother, especially to the younger Burlesque dancer. She took her under her wing when seeing her in a community play Isadora was in, making her feel right at home.
Swiping mascara over her already long lashes, Isadora took one last glance at herself and stood, grinned at the owner. "Hey Mama Vee," the talent, light voiced girl beamed, affection in her words as she used her personal nickname for the older, but not too old, woman.
Swish! A drink slid out of Nathaniel's hands and down the long bar, expertly stopping right in front of the customer at the end. An impressed thanks was sent his was, and the Rome native grinned in response. His dirty blonde hair was pushed back from his face, setting off his piercing blue eyes.
Humming to himself, the experienced bartender served customers speedily and happily, dilligent and proud in his work. his black vest showed off his muscled bisceps, a tattoo of a crescent moon surrounded by fog peeking out from the top of his upper arm. On his wrist was a beautiful red rose, a petal falling from the flower and resting on the middle of his forearm. The petal was black, artistic and simple.
"Hello, how are you? And welcome to Burlesque!" He greeted a customer, smiling and nodding at a few dancers that walked by and into an entrance leading to backstage. His accent was thick, but his words were still understandable. Twirling ice through his fingers as he dropped it in a small glass cup, Nathaniel "Natty" Glecia hummed an old lullaby from his home country, the tune light and simple.
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