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Post by SARA STAYBACK on May 27, 2009 19:57:18 GMT -8
 whoever said this was a social scene anyway?[/size][/center] -------------------------------- If it hadn't been for the pack of smokes in her bag and the fact that she knew absolutely no one, Sara would have gone completely insane. As it was, she was already almost there. She got looks, of course, because in a community like thos the granddaughter of a long standing wealthy family popping up out of nowhere was huge news. And it made for fairly good gossip. Did she really leave hundreds of broken hearts behind? Did she really have an ex-husband who she left to start a failed career as a stripper? Was she really just as normal as she seemed? This gossip, however, was talked about more than the true facts. The facts that she smelled distinctly of cigarettes and was seen on more than one occasion walking around in other people's yards barefoot. No one could blame her though, because it wasn't as if she was aware of the boundary lines of rich people territory. Rich people apparently didn't need fences in Vegas, and they also apparently had senseitive feet. The pansies, in Sara's opinion, needed to get the sticks out of their asses.
The perks of being the long lost granddaughter of richies had it's perks, however, and Sara was now happily indulging herself with an expensive looking screwdriver and a whole new pack of cigarettes. Of course, the perks didn't weigh out the fact that the men that gave them to her were well over the hill, and were probably as unnatractive in their twenties as they were now on viagra. Sara made it her mission of the night to not complain, and to find some way to enjoy herself, and she did so greatly, downing the drink in one go, and stepping outside for a smoke.
She was filled with the great urge to do something fun and childish, so as she sat down at one of the tables out side, she set her keys, her lighter, and a white piece of paper on the table. Concentrating so hard that she forgot to take nod at the people who greeted her, and also forgetting to be polite, she worked. She scratched the key along the wheel of the lighter, watching as flint collected onto the white back of the receipt she'd obtained from a gas station last week. Once she beleived there was enough-meaning that the whole paper was covered with tiny black specks-she took a smoke from her pack of Marbolo Smooth 1oo's and moistened the paper her lips and tongue. With all the concentration of a scientist, she rolled the smoke along the paper, watching as the black specks attatched themselves to the paper, and then set the smoke to the side to dry.
It was time to let the thing dry. To entertain herself she looked around, and accepted a total of three more drinks. By the time she remembered about her special cigarette she was already a slight bit buzzed, and was enjoying watching the party immensely. She was able to think enough to realize that she shouldn't go by her grandparents. They loved her, yes, but they also knew she wasn't of a legal drinking age, and the minute they saw her smile and her ability to be polite, they'd realize something was very, very wrong. She reached out for her special smoke, lighting it up with a lighter.
The sparks were instantanious, and she watched with amusement as people stared at her and the way the sparkes flew from the smoke, not even making her flinch. People would walk by, and glance, and she'd wink. People would walk by, and glare, and she'd give them the bird. Her grandparents walked by, and they glared even harder, but she smiled in the cheekiest way possible. Sara stood at the door to the party, enjoying it more from the outside, as she watched the sparks come closer and closer to her face.
word count: 650
sorry for the suckage. XD this has to be the most rambly thing i've written...ever.
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Post by BROOKLYN DAVIS on May 30, 2009 13:55:18 GMT -8
  too high, can’t come down ,IT’S IN THE AIR,
AND IT’S ALL AROUND.
CAN YOU FEEL ME NOW?
High society was exactly what Brooke Davis lived for.
As a young girl, Brooklyn always imagined her life in the future as full of comfort, where she could get what she wanted whenever she wanted it, and monetary constraints and silly things like that simply didn’t exist. Of course she was naïve and young, but as she grew, the vision never changed. She’d lead a life full of wealth and exuberance, with a man by her side who could have provided her with anything and everything her little hard desired. Petty issues like recessions and gambling problems didn’t exist in her world, and now, they never would.
The thing about being considered Stanford Bentley’s unofficial widow was that she was morally obligated to mourn. But how could she? In truth, the man meant nothing more to her than the strands of pearls and the car he bought her, but he seemed to think otherwise. Which was a shame, because his final dying image of her was something utterly different than the truth. And how could she mourn when she’d been left such a lavish life? Monetary comfort, high society, and caviar. Truly, this was a dream come true.
Delicately gripping her second flute of champagne, Brooklyn Davis would sashay from face to face, allowing them to exchange words of ‘isn’t she Bentley’s whore?’ and such before nodding with approval at how nicely she could clean up and present themselves. Well, if only they knew. If only they knew what a conniving, manipulative, vicious goddess had been invited to live among them, to drink their champagne and eat their caviar. One day, she’d have them eating out of the palm of her hand, she was sure.
It had been hours since the beginning of this cocktail party, a decadent little festivity that gave the trophy wives an excuse to don their newest fabulous dresses and jewels, and the entrepreneur husbands a chance to talk business and network; set deals, really. What was most amusing the Brooke was the simplistic truth: while their husbands talked away about the upcoming real estate market, the wives eyed the men they were really fucking. And, even as obvious as it was, everyone seemed oblivious.
So she too put on a fabulous red dress that made it evident her mourning period was over, and after chatting up a fair amount of eligible bachelors and trust fund princes, Brooke Davis decided it was time to step outside. Cradling that half-full flute of champagne, the young vixen was greeted by a pleasant breeze, and a seemingly-similar aged woman seated not to far, with what looked like heaven in a joint. So she strolled over casually, a winning smirk plastered on her pink lips, as though they were already the best of friends. They both were wearing red after all; it was fate.
“You may be the smartest woman at this party,” she cooed, nodding towards the joint. “I’m Brooklyn; your biggest fan.”
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Post by SARA STAYBACK on May 30, 2009 15:20:48 GMT -8
Stanford Bentley’s Brooklyn? Sara decided that her lucky smokes were indeed lucky, and they brought her some wonderful form of entertainment in a girl who knew how to survive a party like this, and someone who wouldn’t give a flying fuck if she was twenty and already tipsy. She grinned up at the girl, and in one swift motion she stood up, taking another drag, and winking. The girl was wearing red, nice taste, obviously. Sara herself had been told to wear blue, or green, or something appropriate, but you would never see Sara herself do something like that.
“Sara Stayback,” she cooed with a smile, nodding. “You’re Standford’s Brooklyn, right? Not that I’m going to judge you. I love the dress,” Sara smiled, and held out her hand to shake it. She wasn’t sure what the hell people did in this place, if the kiss on the cheek was customary or whatever, but she liked to shake hands, and that’s what she’d do.
Although Brooklyn probably didn’t know it, Sara was actually thinking about everything her grandparents had said about this person in front of her. “That girl who’d married Bentley. That girl who isn’t mourning properly. That girl who will be no friend of yours, dear.” This was a wonderful start to a beautiful friendship if her grandmother and grandfather didn’t want her around. She loved those two old people very dearly, but in all honesty, they had no idea the type of things that Sara loved in a friend. A sense of proper adventure, and a bit of knowledge of the town was perfect.
“Maybe you could eventually show me around, you know. Being the long lost granddaughter doesn’t give you many friends around here.” At least they were in the same boat. She had problems with the way people thought about her and that Standford guy. And people hated her because her father was a hippie who wouldn’t live the way did. And the only reason Sara delt with it was because she had no where else to go. How fitting. Sara was smiling, and with a second thought, she held the smoke in her hand out, offering a try. It was, of course, not all the fun she had for the night, but sharing this little bit would show her intentions, or something.
And there Sara went again, thinking of building relationships as some sort of Animal Planet program. It wasn't as if she'd ever been a pro at these things, but she was sure that it could get easier, over time at least.
word count: 425
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Post by BROOKLYN DAVIS on May 30, 2009 18:05:41 GMT -8
too high, can’t come down ,IT’S IN THE AIR,
AND IT’S ALL AROUND.
CAN YOU FEEL ME NOW?
Brooklyn and the word ‘friend’ never properly went together, but that was that. The only friend Brooke was able to maintain over the years was Bianca Caldwell, and since high school, they’d been nearly inseparable. Though at times, hundreds of miles came between them, they always managed to remain somehow the closest of friends, each other’s most fabulous and trust worthy confidants, and practical sisters. Even through Bianca’s heroin addiction and losing James, Brooke had loved the girl and had put up with her, but other than that, any other friends Brooke had were long gone.
Anyways, since her move to Vegas, it was evident that Brooke needed to make some friends, especially if she was going to try to survive high society, and the reputation she’d already managed to piece together. She felt so out of place here, and if she was going to survive at all, she’d need a few allies. Well, at least one, that was for sure. And by the look of Sara and the fact that she was blatantly sticking a finger in everyone’s faces here, she was sure they’d get along just great.
“I refuse to be known as ‘Stanford’s Brooklyn’” Brooke corrected, wagging her free index finger so the other woman was sure to take note. She was tired of being associated to that man, and ready to live her life without his constant shadow being cast on her – even if she was living in his house, hoarding his money, and driving his cars.
“Plus, ‘Stanford’s Brooklyn’ wouldn’t be caught dead in a red dress a mere six months since her lovely boyfriend’s death, would she?” Brooke smirked, before slipping her hand into Sara’s. “Pleasure.”
After taking the smoke and raising it to her lips, she took a graceful drag and allowed her eyes to flick shut for a moment, and then open as she exhaled, watching the familiar smoke mix with the still breeze. “Much better,” she said, with a faint laugh, before taking another and then holding it up for Sara to take. “I see this friendship going far places. And I’d love to show you around, not that I know much about Vegas, except the shopping and the nightlife.”
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Post by SARA STAYBACK on May 31, 2009 14:02:12 GMT -8
“I’m sorry,” Sara said instantly, but she didn’t really feel bad for it. In all honesty, there were so many Brooklyns in the world, and she didn’t know any other than this person, but she had to be sure. She wouldn’t be able to use this woman for power against he grandparents if they didn’t know for sure that she was Stanford’s Brooklyn, which Sara could agree, was a pretty shitty thing to be known as when you were as gorgeous and awesome as this girl in front of her probably was. This girl, who refused to mourn for six months straight, was a person that Sara wanted to get to know. She, like Sara, knew that mourning forever would only bring your life down. With a thought of how Jessica would be proud of the fact that Sara could smile in the face of life, she smiled and nodded.
“I didn’t want to be rude, but you know how my grandparents talk. I wanted to make sure you were who I thought you were,” she shrugged. “And, to be honest, I think I like this Brooklyn better.” Sara took the smoke and inhaled, grinning as she picked up a glass from someone who walked by with a tray. She inspected the woman in front of her while she downed the whole thing, her eyes going from the smoke to the cig to the girl, and back to the drink again.
“I wasn’t aware that there was anything more important than the shopping and nightlife in Vegas,” Sara said with a teasing glint and a wide smile. She drank another sip, and took another drag. “So, I’m pretty sure this friendship is already doing very well.” Sara saw the glinting of the black dress her grandmother was wearing in her peripheral vision. “Would you like to sit down?” She asked, nodding behind her to a bench. “I have a full pack of smokes and the alcohol keeps coming. I think we could enjoy ourselves.”
In all reality, Sara wanted to escape the show of her being showed around like some trophy by her grandparents. When her father left, people around had known that her father was going to get married to some girl with his child. When Sara came back, no one knew what to think, but apparently she was just pretty enough to make them be interested. That type of attention was not the attention she was seeking while she had too much alcohol and a need for cigarettes.[/color]
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