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Phantom
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#1
Old 01-08-2014, 10:20 PM

Virginia Evelyn O'Connell

'Well isn't this just the bee's knees..'

Ginny could hardly stand to look, but found herself unable to turn her gaze away from her own reflection, '..It's like some kind of pink, floral...train wreck.' Her eyebrows scrunched together as she turned from side to side, desperately seeking a flattering angle (or at least a less unflattering angle) for her reflection. The ugly old gown that her grandmother had given her hung off her shallow curves like a pink death shroud, its faded, greyish rose pattern glaring out like hundreds of small, angry eyes.

Ginny's friends had offered to let her borrow some of their dresses--sequined things of beauty that came up right to the knee! And such lovely shades of blue that matched the color of her eyes and made her look..almost pretty. But this monstrosity was, perhaps, the only dress in the whole house (read "in the whole country") that met with her grandmother's approval--ankle-length, lacey, and terribly...terribly modest. And to top it all off, it clashed quite alarmingly with her ginger locks. Oh, but her hair was another story...

She raised a hand to her hair (feeling the scratchy material on the sleeves of her dress clawing at her skin as though warning her not to move too much). It was so long and....straight. So dull! But Grandma would not allow her to curl it or cut it off. In fact, Grandma considered it more than generous to allow Ginny out of the house without forcing her to tie her hair back or where a hat or something to that effect.

Ginny looked like some sort of ugly, abandoned doll in that awful dress with her awful hair. Her face was young (she was 18 but didn't quite look it), slightly freckled, and heart-shaped. She might have been pretty if she wasn't so scrawny..

A knock sounded at the door and the girl felt her heart sink deep into her stomach.

'He can't see me like this.'

Panicked, she made a break for her room. Sprinting through the kitchen and up the stairs, Ginny almost made it to her door when Grandma appeared before her suddenly. With surprising strength for a woman seemingly so frail, Grandma clothes-lined her grandaughter, pointed down at her accusingly and, as if reading her mind, snarled, "You will do no such thing."

Sprawled on the floor, Ginny looked up at her caregiver and started to weep, "..I-I can't. I simply can't. Not like...this." She sobbed quietly as her grandmother helped her up and straightened the dress (it had twisted slightly askew in Ginny's rush to hide). Grandma looked her straight in the eyes (eyes that were the very same shade of blue as her own), "You will go down there. You will open the door and introduce yourself. You will go out," and, as an after thought, "..and you won't be an old maid. I won't allow it."

She guided the young woman back down the stairs and parked her right in front of the front door, just as the doorbell rang again. Ginny looked up at her grandmother pleadingly, her eyes puffy and her complexion paler than usual. Her Grandma would have none of it, "I worked hard to set this up for you. You haven't a clue how lucky you are! Don't be ungrateful!"

With a nod, the old woman disappeared into the kitchen but remained just in sight to make sure that Ginny stayed put.

Ginny watched her go and, with a sigh, she quickly wiped her eyes. Gripping the door knob as if it was her only hope, she opened the door slowly and put on the most genuine smile she could muster under the circumstances.

Two figures stood in the doorway: a woman several years Ginny's senior, and a young man. They seemed a little bewildered by Ginny's appearance, hardly able to hide the look of puzzlement and disgust that briefly crossed each of their faces for a split second. The woman spoke first, "Ginny! Dear! You look--" Ginny stopped her chaperone mid-sentence with a knowing shake of her head, "Thank you, Mrs. Elliot." She then glanced over at the young man and gave a small curtsy, "..you must be John?" The young man nodded and, though he was returning her smile, Ginny could tell he was having second thoughts about their date that evening.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Ginny snatched up her clutch from the table in the foyer and joined the pair on the porch. She closed the door behind her and then turned back to John, "So..uhm...where to?" She smiled again, praying that the ugly dress' ugliness was less noticeable in the dim light (the sun was setting).

"Oh," John started, fumbling with the pockets of his jacket as if he'd forgotten a ticket or something, "Uh...there's a new club I've heard quite a lot about. I thought we could get dinner there.."

Ginny gestured to the car in which the two had arrived, "Well then, lead on."

'..just the bee's knees.'


Last edited by Phantom; 01-08-2014 at 11:43 PM..

Xavirne
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#2
Old 01-10-2014, 06:13 PM

Tonight was going to be fun. Something in the air said so. Even his mood reflected this. He was unusually happy, having a bit of a skip to his step. Even though the room was empty, save for those setting it up for the grand opening, it was hard not to get a feel for the exciting yet dangerous environment. Everything about this place screamed class and fun times. The walls were painted gold and black to really add a bit of spice and pzazz to the place. The decor was a bit racy but it just added to the atmosphere. This place was to be fun, hip, and cool. It was to be the epitome of the roaring twenties.

A black vest was tucked neatly over a freshly-pressed button-down white shirt with the faintest hints of silver stripes. A silver tie was hidden beneath the vest, but its knot was exposed, showing all of his wealth and lineage. A matching silver pocket watch's chain dangled out from the vest pocket, which happened to match the chain that poked its way out of the man's right pant pocket. Around his waist was a belt with a silver clasp that held up his deep black pants that were ironed so that a crease ran down from his crotch to the shoes. Speaking of shoes, new leather shoes covered up his toes and the silver, metal tip was barely visible in the dim light in the club. Atop his deep goldenrod hair was a black fedora that was cocked slightly to the side. A thick set of strangely black lashes rimmed his auburn eyes.

Shifting his silver wrist around so he could eyeball the time, the twenty-something year old clapped his hands together, calling everyone in the club to attention.

"Listen up, folks. We've got to get this place shinin' brighter than ever and looking classy as a cat. You there, polish the tables. You two, clean the glass. You and you, let's get some mood music going. By the time the ticker hits the big number, I want this place to be full of life." Flicking his fringe aside with a simple tip of his head, he went back to what he was doing, finishing up a sign. It wasn't just any sign either. No, it was the club's sign. He stenciled it himself. His penmanship was flawless, too. The way he wrote the words and the boldness to them, it just begged for people to pique their curiosity and enter. It looked dangerous. It looked criminal. It looked... fun.

With a final stroke of the brush, he moved to paint on a clear coat. There was no point in having all his work go to waste. No, that would just be a shame. Within moment, he had it all tidied up and ready to hang above the bar. Even though liquor was forbidden during these times, the club was full of it. It was well-hidden, too. Each of the cupboards was equipped with a secondary cupboard that housed the liquid gold. To get to it, though, you needed a key and you needed to know to knock twice, click twice, and pull down. What cop would think of that? None. It was fool-proof.

"Let's drink, my brothers! A toast to this front! A toast to our new lives, our new beginnings, and our humble patrons that will bleed gold for us. Let's make The Iron Croce the prison to die for."

A cork flew into the air just as applause overcame the large room. Glasses went around and everyone drank up. The guests would be here soon and Croce, Dante Croce, needed to be ready to great them to this paradise.

Even though it wasn't open yet, people were drawn to it. It's lure was irresistible. The club was expected to get a flood of guests tonight so the Croce family was ready to oblige and give these fools (yes, fools) one hell of a good time. You see, the club was more than just a club. Yes, it hid their liquor collection, but it also hid what was really going down. This club was just a front for everything. If they got here, they really couldn't do too much about it. But if there were caught at their warehouse or the cellar, well then, they would be knee deep in trouble. Hell, probably belly deep in trouble. The club merely served as a way to deter the police's attention and give them a couple of years of peace and quiet. By the time the police knew what was going on, the Croce family would be on to bigger and better things.

Granted, who would mess with them. After all, they were the largest family in the... Italian Mafia.

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#3
Old 02-12-2014, 02:36 PM

Ping me if you post.

 


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