Set Fire to the Rain //altair..

[bellatrix]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 500px; background: url(http://i996.photobucket.com/albums/af82/sataraalcaelahn/Tar%20Valon/Flames_from_Fire_Wallpaper_18.jpg); border-radius: 30 30 30 30 px; padding: 10px;] . I set fire to the rain And I threw us into the flames let it burn Eniko couldn’t help but wince as she got dressed. The scar stretching all across her front, from her left shoulder to the inside of her right hip, was not really a scar yet. 120 stitches were still implanted firmly in her. The doctors said it would be a month until she was able to move freely again, and it might never be the same. She would always have a ugly scar. A scar that ruined her dreams. a scar that served as a daily reminder of her past. It disgusted her. She had to have surgery in the end, and that wouldn’t have had to happen if she hadn’t bled out so much she bet. The only reason she was left there bleeding was because the butler had to decide between her life, and the possibility of the news finding out about this and ruining her parent’s careers. Of course, that was the sick and twisted way of the world. In the end it was actually her brother, the one who did this to her, who called the hospital. She wished he didn’t She wished she had just been left there to bleed out. Save her from this shit hole of a world. But no, that would be too merciful. Because she couldn’t bend over, Eniko had to hire people to move her stuff into the dorm, as awkward of a first impression that probably made. Not that she minded what others thought. The movers put everything up high, and nothing required her to bend over to get it. Even the bed was raised to accommodate. Putting on pants was too hard though, so Eniko was stuck wearing dressed. Today she slipped on a black long sleeved yet short dress. In the future Eniko knew she’d have to wear turtlenecks or jackets to hide her future scar. Well, those could be worked out fashionably she supposed. She threw on a Valentino Ruffled trenchcoat over it. It was a gift from her first modeling with them for her hard work. It was also one of her first big modeling breaks. Lastly Eniko fought to get her shoes on, and then almost laughed at her outfit. Valentino Coat, Alexander McQueen dress, Chanel handbag, and Prada shoes. In all her outfits net worth was probably greater than the students in this school put together. What a joke this small town was. Eniko was used to being around those from her agency. Other models that wore the same clothes and understood fashion. Here, she probably wouldn’t even find someone who recognized her bag. It was a waste, but it was also the only kind of clothes she had. Besides, she didn’t care what they thought of her or if they just didn’t. Eniko left the building swiftly, and climbed into her car. She had it halfway paid off with her money from modeling, and when the contract with Prada would have gone through, she would have had it completely paid. With her own money, not that of her stupid parents. But no, now she would either have to use her savings to cover the rest of it, or find another job. That pissed her off. The porche Carrera Gt was a car that had potential to attract attention in a small town. Eniko wasn’t exactly expecting an area like this though, where her car just might be one of the nicer ones. Then again, let than 1,300 had been released. Even though Eniko never purposely flaunted her wealth, she wasn’t going to inconvenience herself by neglecting it. Despite all this though, just by her attitude most people expected her to be some street rat from the slums. Eniko was heading out to a party. Some elemental kid she ran into mentioned it. Eniko was in a slightly nice mood so she didn’t insult him, and just shrugged that maybe she’d be there. High school parties were lame though, no matter who threw them or why. To Eniko, the only kind of party’s worse, were the ones her mother put on. Whether it be a formal ball for her father’s senators and campaign workers, or a cocktail party throw by her mother, they all sucked. Yes, her parents did come by for those times, but she never exchanged so much as a formal greeting. The only good thing about those parties was the fact she was always a main attraction, and there were a good number of managers from other companies around to notice. Eniko knew that she had her mother’s almost alien bone structure and ease of a metabolism and it was the only thing the stupid woman ever gave her. This party thrown on by the kids was the same as every other. In reality, she only went there to see if there was a decent guy. Her chest wound would inconvenience her, but it was possible. She’d just have to keep a shirt on. When Eniko walked into the house, she observed that it was fairly good sized. There were drinks and a large amount of people. Eniko didn’t look around too much, but went to a couch and sat down. She knew what she was doing. Soon enough someone did come up to her. One look at the guy though, had Eniko ignoring him until he just went away. It passed like that for a good fifteen minutes. Nobody who approached her fit her style. When the clock struck thirty after ten, Eniko had enough. She at the very least needed a breather from the sweaty environment. Eniko walked through the house, and out the back door. There was a pool full of people, and she ignored that as well. She was looking for somewhere with cleaner air-ironic for someone who always smoked. She found it on the left side of the house with nobody around. There was a small swinging bench and she took perch there. Better than in the midst of hormonal boys that just weren’t her type. Eniko did have a type despite popular belief. With a sigh, she removed her trenchcoat. Her wound wouldn’t be seen due to the high neck of this dress, but she knew it was there. It’d always be there. “What a fucking joke” She mumbled.

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words // 1,043 // tagged // altair // outfit // clicky

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Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT]

Altair pulled her skin-tight jeans up, unlit cigarette hanging from her mouth. The other girls around her were chatting and gossiping as they dressed, and a few even conversed with her. It used to be that they were met with a cold shoulder, but now Altair humored them with snarky replies and her usual dry wit. The joys of being a Brit. ”Did you hear about Nadia?” one of the girls said to her and Altair shook her head before slipping on strapless top that shimmered under the obnoxious lighting of the changing room. The girl—Altair didn’t even know her name—continued. ”She got into some nasty shit with her pimp. In the hospital.” Altair shook her head as she pulled her white hair out of its updo. That’s why she didn’t have a fucking pimp. Too much to be responsible for, and if something went wrong, it was your ass. ”I’m going to visit her today.” Picking up her bag and taking out her keys, Altair waggled her fingers as she started to leave. ”Tell her I said hey.” And that was the friendliest the girl had probably ever saw her.

She quickly exited the scummy building, the stage with built in poles. Once upon a time, it was the runway and the flashing of bulbs. Once upon a time she and her sisters were on top of the world. She wondered how things got to be so wrong. She knew Syria must have fallen apart after her friend’s death, and Rowena…she didn’t even know about Rowena, even still. Herself? It was the fall of that runway, the surgery, the Vicodin that dug its claws into her. And from there out, it was the Bennet triplet troublemakers, always in with the law. It was their drugs and the partying and the drinking until it was fleeing the country. Now it was Altair’s stripping and whoring out and trying to piece everything back together without Syria with her. As she walked out to the red Ducati so startingly out of place in the lot, she thought of how she hated returning to an apartment that Syria wouldn’t be at. There was a physical emptiness she felt there, and she wondered when she was ever going to get over it.

Placing the bag on the back of her bike, she put on her helment and shot off. A guy she talked to—and fucked whenever the mood hit them—told her about a party tonight, and hopefully that would be a good distraction. Was it bad that she still did these things even when trying to get better? She was working on that nasty addiction, because if she was getting high all the time, how could she help Ro with her own addiction? But she still like to drink and do stupid shit and be reckless. She couldn’t change that part of her, not ever. She spotted the clusterfuck of cars in front of the house and parked outside, her heels click, click, clicking against the asphalt as she stepped up and entered the house. Already, she recognized a few people. One such guy approached her, obviously shitfaced and she gave him her ice-cold stare. ”Haven’t seen you around, baby,” he said, placing his hands at her waist, one holding a beer. She placed her hand on his neck, letting her fingernails glide against his skin as she moved it down to his chest before pushing him away. ”I have better things to do than entertain lowlife potheads.”

She was trying a new life, after all. Trying her best. But really, it didn’t work. She found a cooler and cracked the bottle top off of the counter. She needed to get as drunk as possible or find something to entertain her before she startd thinking about Syria. It happened all the time now, caught her off-guard whenever she thought of that mirror-edge girl, who always seemed to be the happiest out of the triplets. Deciding nicotine would help in her endeavors, she stepped outside and lit up, watching people by the pool. And the fag disappeared into a bud far too quickly, and something caught her eye when she moved to snub it out in the grass. A girl was sitting on the swing, and Altair squinted before saying, ”Fancy seeing you here, Eniko.” Even though nothing in her expression, her piercing blue eyes or glossed lips betrayed friendliness, this was Altair at her best. She sat down on the swing, crossed her legs. ”You seem like your having a ball.” It was amazing—now that she wasn’t busy snapping necks, she actually knew how to converse.

[bellatrix]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 500px; background: url(http://i996.photobucket.com/albums/af82/sataraalcaelahn/Tar%20Valon/Flames_from_Fire_Wallpaper_18.jpg); border-radius: 30 30 30 30 px; padding: 10px;] . I set fire to the rain And I threw us into the flames let it burn Eniko wasn’t paying attention to anything or anybody around until she heard her name. She tried to recall the sentence it was used in, and did so with a little effort. Her eyes trailed over to the left and towards the cause of it. The girl that called out her name looked familiar. The obviously dyed white hair, porcelain skin, and even that tone of voice seemed to ring a memory. For a second Eniko stared, as she had a habit of doing when she saw someone. After that small time frame was up, it clicked. She had seen her at one of the parties her mother threw. More than one probably. She even exchanged a few words she was pretty sure. “Altair Sabina Bennett eh? Never thought I’d see you outside of those parties the Queen threw.” She said. Eniko always referred to her mother as ‘the queen’, ‘the bitch’, or ‘queen bitch’. In her mind Queen was worse than bitch and right now she was pissed at her mother. Mostly because she hated her in general, but also because she hadn’t even spared time to see her own daughter. Even when Eniko was fading in and out of consciousness, the only face that she ever saw was her brothers. Not her mothers, not her fathers, but Dmitri. The one who caused it all. It was sad, but he was probably the only one that felt any concern at all for her. And that made her sick to her stomach. Of all people, he was certainly not the one he wanted pity from. When Altair sat down and jolted the swing, Eniko couldn’t help but wince a little. Thanks to her weight-or extreme lack thereof- her skin never folded over and it was almost impossible for her to get wrinkles, so it spared her injury a lot of pain. However, when she sat down there was a crease above her pelvic bone. When the girl sat down it jolted it slightly, allowing her to feel the pain and her eyes closed briefly followed by a quiet: “fuck”. That never felt too good. Even though the pain killers barely numbed the pain, Eniko decided to take some. They might take some of the edge out of it. Cursing her father’s genes for making her virtually immune to painkillers, Eniko reached into her Channel handbag. The pill bottle and a small bottle of water came out of it. The bottle was something she always carried around. Most would laugh seeing it. It was a hello kitty disposable water bottle, but looked brand new due to the fact that she took good care of it. Eniko would never admit it, but she got it from a little girl after a runway show. The little girl had claimed she was her role model. Eniko didn’t know why, but she couldn’t throw it away. Instead it was one of her frequent accessories. Eniko opened the pill bottle and popped four Vicodin in her mouth. The bottle was almost full, despite the fact it had been four days since she had been released. She slipped the pills and water back into her bag when she was done. She wondered if this girl knew. It had been a headline in a few places. Most saying things like: 'senators daughter jumped in an alley: nobody is safe" or "Future Prada star Eniko Lapina violates contract", or the one that pissed her off the most: "Eniko Lapina! All hopes of taking over where her mother left off are no more". Such thoughts pissed her off enough to numb her pain. It wasn't something she wanted to think about. Instead Eniko turned her head back to the girl.“Yeah. Fucking fantastic time.” She drawled sarcastically. She was hoping to at least pick up a guy, but so far none of them had made the cut. They either smelt of drugs, or just weren’t hot enough. It was a pity. She probably wouldn’t stick around much longer. Maybe she’d drive into town and find someone there. “Not even a body worth fucking in this hell hole.” She was as vulgar as ever when she spoke, no surprise to anyone who’d actually heard her in private. For those who only knew her as the pretty face on the cover of Gucci or Dolce and Gabbana, they would never guess what she was really like. When Eniko really looked at the girl she came to a conclusion. “Yer not modeling.” She knew it. She had an eye for that kind of thing. Mostly she knew it due to her weight. She was thin by any normal standards, but not in the way a model needed to be. No, she wasn’t close enough to being anorexic. Eniko was always praised and critiqued for that. The companies loved her bone-showing condition, but a lot of people critiqued it. They were all fat jealous bastards though, so she didn’t care. No, with Eniko wavering between 100 and 120 all year round, she never got up to what they called a healthy weight. Whatever sold though. This girl didn’t have an eating disorder either. Her nails still had their color as did her teeth. No bulimia. She wasn’t thin enough to be anorexic. No… the stress of modeling for anything more than a Wall-Mart catalog, or a low brand wasn’t apparent on her. And then, something clicked. This girl was here, which would mean that she was an elemental. Wow... Eniko never saw that one coming. “You’re like me then huh? Let me guess… A bitch like you could only be a fire chick.” Once more her words were harsh, but that was who Eniko was.

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words // aroudn 900 // tagged // altair // outfit // clicky

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Table made by Satara of Caution 2.0!

[ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT]

Eniko was almost like a fragment of a history Altair wanted to regain. She didn’t know anything about the girl, really. She was a selfish person, she didn’t care about anyone. Except for her sisters. But she knew that the girl was a model, didn’t know whether she was doing it anymore or not. Perhaps she could keep her entertained. That’s really all she wanted after all. To forget. And if the booze and the drugs and the sex couldn’t do it, she’d find another release. She’d find something.

Altair snorted when the girl stated her full name, apparently remembering her. She took a swig of beer. ”That’s long gone,” she told the other girl, her voice firm with no nostalgia or wistfulness to speak of. The glamour had faded from her life anymore, and it was further tarnished with the loss of light. Her sister, the one who seemed like she could do anything. Their rock, just…gone. And all the glitz that she had left was in her too-expensive clothes that she couldn’t really afford with her crap job. In her crap life. I’m going nowhere, huh. She thought very highly of herself, actually, her ego was enough to knock everyone else and their opinions out of the way. But she knew that between her and Ro, the Thunder girl was the one going places. The one with the artist’s hand, who’d just picked up designing again. Altair really only had her body, and she flaunted it for all it was worth. Flaunted and abused and destroyed it. Someone so straightforward could be so complicated.

In her disturbance of the seat, Altair heard the muttered curse and sent a glance over to the girl beside her, bottle poised at her lips. ”You all right?” she asked, without any concern in her voice. She didn’t go out of her way to make sure people were okay, it was just an odd reaction. She hadn’t done anything to Eniko, and could see no reason for her to be so perturbed by her just sitting down. Even so, she couldn’t realy find it in her to care. She was a selfish person, through and through. Even when she put Rowena before herself, she always thought about her own needs, too. The best part of her was her sister, actually, her redeeming qualities were in that girl. She didn’t put too much thought into it, into how pathetic that was. She didn’t think a lot at all—her life was for fighting and fucking, that’s what she stuck to. That’s what she was good at, other than showing off her body to a crowd. She saw the girl take out a pill bottle, and she turned her gaze from it. She didn’t want to think of pills, or the Vicodin, or anything that had destroyed her life. Mind over matter, that’s what it was. All she had to do was ignore it and it went away. It’s not what her therapist told her, but it was her own way of dealing with things. She didn’t want to listen to others anyway.

Altair only turned her head back when she believed Eniko to be done with the pills. You don’t need them, Altair, don’t you dare ask her for them. That was a sign of weakness, anyway, and she’d never go asking another person for their pills. That was just simply retarded. ”I don’t blame you,” she said casually, taking another drink, enjoying the buzz filling her body. It’s not enough, it’s never enough. Mind over matter, she had set herself to, but it was her mind that was the problem. How about ignorance over matter? She really didn’t know what to do, and she didn’t want to turn to other people for help. Not even that goddamn counsellor. She only enjoyed toying with him, and grew angry when he acted as if he knew exactly what she was going through, knew what was going on in her life. ”If you’re looking for a good fuck, you should be aiming higher than shitty high school parties,” Altair said bluntly. ”Everyone here are bloody idiots, anyway.” She could tolerate Eniko probably because they were similar: neither of them had a filter and neither of them gave a shit.

Altair lifted an eyebrow at Eniko and said, ”No.” She wasn’t going to go into detail about what had happened, about how the industry had torn her and her sisters apart. About how one of the Bennett triplet models had overdosed and died just weeks ago. Altair didn’t know who had had it the worse or the best, but it didn’t really matter. In all, she was probably the healthiest. Now she was definitely healthier than her sister, who was underweight by far. The girl had told Altair there were other problems, and she could tell what they were without asking. Why did I wait so long? She couldn’t help blaming herself for how everything fell apart. ”You?” she asked in return for conversational purposes. Just as she didn’t pour out personal information to Eniko, she didn’t expect anything like that in return. She noticed that the girl beside her was wearing a rather high collar dress, but didn’t really think too much of it. She was still confident and beautiful like any model should be.

Snorting, Altair shook her head. ”And what if I wasn’t like you?” she drawled. ”You would have just sounded like a crazy fuck.” Another drink. The feeling of sinking into a warm tub of predictability. She was still destroying herself, wasn’t she? Self-destruction wasn’t something that one simply got over, after all. It was something she’d been practicing for years that she just couldn’t end. ”Yeah, Fire. How about you? I hope to God you’re not an Earth pussy or I might just have to burn you alive.” There was no smile to accompany a joke, because she was dead fucking serious. She lived by violence, and that was something else she simply couldn’t give up even if she tried. Even if it would make both her and her sister’s lives better.