No Smoking

[Raelena St. John]

--open

Someone was smoking outside of the Cave.

Normally this would make sense. You smoked outside of clubs. Especially clubs that had ridiculous policies about smoking. After all, everyone knew that alcohol and cigarettes went together like peanut butter and chocolate. And if you couldn't smoke inside the building, then you went out.

But that didn't work when the owner of the club lounged outside.

Rae glared at the smoker, walking up to him/her and snatching the cigarette from his/her lips. She raised her eyebrows, holding the smoldering stick in front of him/her.

"This s**t will kill ye. I disnae like it anywhere near m'place, ye ken? Ye want ta kill yeself, find a less smelly way o' doin' it," she flicked the cigarette into a nearby puddle, and stared down the smoker. "I f**kin' hate smokin', tis a nasty, dirty habit. An' this is comin' from a lass wha' puts a lot o' strange thin's in her mouth, ye ken? So, bugger off."

She jerked her head, then turned, grinning at the rest of the crowd. No reason for them to get all worried because of one jerk.

OoC: I left the gender tags open like that in case someone wants to RP the smoker. It's not obligated, but I like to leave options open.

[Ϛ Neilen Darkshire]

Monica Delaney was more than a little shocked to have her ultra-light snatched unceremoniously from her lips. She watched in horror as it was waved around and thrown into a puddle, where it fizzled sadly before being drowned. She didn't even hear a word the thief and vandal said, and even after Rae had finished telling her off and turned to the crowd, Monica just stared sadly at the remains of what would have been a great pick-me-up.

Neilen, however, wasn't quite as into the role as he appeared to be. 'Monica' operated almost automatically, so familiar was he with the real-life inspirer behind her, and he was free to multi-task; to think about other things and let Monica just happen. So although Monica had acted as if she had no idea who her assailant was, in actuality she knew full well it was Raelana St. John.

"What did you do that for?" she muttered sadly, still staring at the puddle. "That was my last one..."

With tears nearly welling in her eyes, she began a quiet soliloquy, growing increasingly distraught with each passing word.

"I try to quit, I really do, but as soon as I do I start getting fat again, and then I'm so stressed I need a smoke, because if I get fat I'll lose my job, and my manager says I can't afford that because I'm getting older and I don't really have any marketable skills. I'd rather die from cancer or emphysema and be beautiful and famous than die fat, poor, old, and alone..."

A few of the people momentarily assured by Rae's grin shifted uncomfortably upon seeing the beautiful woman so upset.

---

[Raelena St. John]

A hot woman usually would get Rae quite riled up. Who was she kidding? It still got her riled up. But now Rae had a quasi-girlfriend, and it probably wouldn't go over well if she picked up a random girl at the bar.

Besides, the woman smoked, and that was such a turn-off.

"Nae smokin' near th' bar," repeated Rae. she still held little sympathy for the smoker. And the sob story didn't lighten her mood either. Just made her roll her eyes and cross her arms. It was all just so stupid.

"Chew gum," Rae suggested. Her voice was hard, and clearly brooked no argument. She waved patrons in, and worked the crowd around the incident. If it came down to it, she could always just work the crowd. Shouldn't be too hard for her.

"Hell, drink, have loads o' sex, find someit. I really disnae care, jus' disnae smoke around here."

With that, Rae turned, starting back toward her bar.

[Ϛ Neilen Darkshire]

Ouch, that's cold...

Even though she actually had a near-full pack of smokes on her person, Monica still stared longingly at the corpse of the cigarette that had had its life so prematurely extinguished. It hadn't even been able to reach its full, life-endangering potential before biting the proverbial dust, and the literal water. Monica looked about ready to read to cancerous stick a eulogy, or perhaps even to attempt CPR. She looked about as sad and shocked at that moment as someone who had seen their one true love's life ended right in front of them.

Slumping to the ground, ruining her nice clothes in the process but not seeming to care, she stared through the melancholy reflection of herself that resided on the surface of the roadside puddle. She was lost in the murky depths that surrounded the white cylinder, a lit buoy amidst the inky depths of a tormented sea.

Though the words Rae spoke didn't make it through to her, the spite and arrogance did, and that hurt combined with a crippling sense of loss pushed her over the edge, causing a single tear to escape her red eyes and fall into the puddle, lost in the comparative vastness, and yet it would be happy, because it was that much closer to the lost friend it was shed for. But as another tear joined the first, and then more, rolling down her flawless face, to her chin, and then to the surface of the water in a graceful and depressing manner, she could bear it no longer, and she plunged a manicured hand into the puddle, retrieving the discarded cigarette.

Cradling it in her hands like an infant even tinier than usual, she mourned the loss of its life, and at the same time, refusing to give up on it, she eventually brought it up to her face, and blew pitifully on it, as if hoping to dry it off, and at the same time, too aware of its fragility to do more.

Pulling a cute pink lighter out of a tiny pocket, she lit it below the cigarette, too far to burn it, but easily close enough to try and begin drying it off. She winced as the heat reached her fingers, but she was on a mission. Nothing was stopping her from reviving this poor stick full of tar and chemicals and death. How ironic was it that she desired to give life to the very thing that would kill her?

But she was not driven solely by her desire to get her fix, no, there was a meaning to the madness. She drew parallels between it and her, parallels that made her sense an inanimate object's plight. Cigarettes used to be glamorous, socially acceptable, commonplace. At one point, they were even applauded for their potential benefit to health. But, like her, when the world saw that they weren't perfect, that she wasn't as skinny and didn't have skin as perfect as society demanded, the world quickly turned on them, discarded them, threw them in the gutter and left them to drown. Cigarettes kill, models encourage eating disorders and self-image issues. Two 'evils' of the world, sitting on the the same curb, being looked down upon by the same people.

It was almost poetic, and definitely tragic.

[Raelena St. John]

Oh hell, now the girl was just being a drama queen. Snorting, Rae smacked her on the back of the head, then headed back into the club.

[Ϛ Neilen Darkshire]

Monica took the hit like a man and continued to sit on the ground, pouting, until a glance backward over her shoulder assured her that Rae had left the streets. When this occurred, she threw the damp cigarette back into the puddle, pulled out a new one, lit it up and took a huge drag, and then threw the nearly untouched smoke in the water beside its brother.

"I needed that," she said to no one in particular, shrugging off any attempts bystanders made to help her up. She brushed off her wet clothes as if they only had a little dirt on them, and entered the Club, seeking out the Cigarette Smasher herself.

Upon catching up with her, Monica strode to Rae's side and spoke, in a tone far less sweet and innocent than the one she had used in the display on the road, though it seemed to be happy, which was odd, considering the situation.

"So, 'Raelena St. John', we finally meet. You make quite the first impression," Monica said, the very image of friendly. But there was a hint of something far more devious in the way she spoke, in the way she looked at Rae, and in the way she carried herself. Clearly, the 'weak and helpless' act on the street had been just that; an act.

"So what do you think? Could I get into Hollywood with an act like that? I mean the movie business, not the city; the smog out there would do a number on my skin, and then I really would be out of a job." She snagged a drink from the bar as they passed it, not even bothering to check what it was before she downed the glass in one go.

"I figure you owe me a drink for the cig and the smack on the head. Sounds like a fair trade to me."

The drink turned out to be ale, and she made a face.

Weak, Rae. Where's the hard stuff?

But she figured she should give the rockstar a moment to actually squeeze a word in sideways, since Monica had a way of overpowering and monopolizing conversations, and she was still eager to see how Rae would handle this whole situation. Frankly, she was shocked Rae hadn't already jumped on her; she usually didn't have too much self-control around a good-looking lady. She was very eager to see if she could find out why Rae hadn't minded smacking a woman around instead of getting her in the sack.

[Raelena St. John]

Why did Rae have to play the monogamous game now? It was almost too hard. This woman was clearly attractive, and practically all over Rae. If it weren't for the smoking thing, Rae would be flirting back just as hard. Even with the smoking thing, she'd probably consider it, as the attitude was appealing in itself.

"I cannae get ye oop in th' world," drawled Rae, trying her best to ignore the hotness before her, "so disnae bother tryin'. 'sides, I tain't interested at the moment."

Bulls**t.

"An' ye lucky I only smacked ye once, ye idjit," Rae growled. Her eyes flicked over to the other girl, and her nostrils flared slightly. Like she couldn't tell another lycan when she met one. This girl had at least some of the blood in her, if she wasn't a full blood.

"I disnae like smokers. Tastes like s**t, smells like death, an' ages ye bloody skin. Ye smoke an' ye look ten years older," Rae shuddered. "How ye can stand th' bloody smell is beyond me."

Rae continued through her club, smiling and waving at the various patrons, doing her best to play hostess. Was she supposed to sing tonight? She could, it was her club. But was she the main act?

"Ye can pay fir ye only drink."

[Ϛ Neilen Darkshire]

"I am hurt, Rae," Monica said with an obviously-fake pout. "I'm not some leech, come to feed off your fame. I'm a model, you know, not some peasant. I just wanted your opinion."

She ignored the comment about the smack; she could handle the smacking. But the smoking comments really bruised her pride. She found she was having some difficulty remaining civil in the face of such blind prejudice, even though she was no stranger to hearing stinging comments. Modeling wasn't nearly as glamourous as it was made out to be.

"Well you know what? I'm already a 'dangerous, bloodthirsty' lycan, and a 'weird, unnatural' lesbian, so why the hell not go for being a 'smelly, disgusting' smoker as well?" There was venom in her voice that came from a place far deeper than Rae could possibly know, even though it was obvious she was drawing parallels to the other girl. It came from a lifetime of hurt, from the other personality that was usually swept aside in this form.

"Being a smoker may be a hell of a lot easier to kick than being a Lycan or a lesbian, but it's definitely not easy, and aside from that, I don't think it's anyone's right to judge me for it. It strikes me as odd that someone like you wouldn't understand that." In these words, there was a challenge, though they managed seductive undertones as well; the venom now gone and replaced with sultry implications.

Monica wasn't worried about angering the rockstar; Rae would find that further attempts to smack the girl around would be met by timely blocks now that the innocent girl act was up. Hell, a part of her welcomed the idea of a fight. This body wasn't the most suited for it, but in cocky eyes of the one behind it all, that would merely even the playing field.

[Raelena St. John]

Self-righteousness didn't work well with Rae when she wasn't in a foul mood, frustrated from a lack of sex and real fights. Besides, the girl hadn't exactly set out to impress Rae from the start, with the antics and drama. Not the best way to impress Rae.

"Let's see," Rae bent her index finger back, as if ticking off reasons, "I disnae ken aboot ye, but I was born a lycan. Tain't someit ye can really kick. An' most disnae choose it, even if they tain't born wit' it. As fir likin' lasses," that struck her as odd, that someone would be that upfront about it. Most lesbians didn't outright say "hey, I'm a lesbian." They generally hinted about it. Even Rae, who was about as subtle as a jackhammer, preferred to hint. You didn't even do it to make a point.

"Likin' lasses tain't often a choice either. I disnae care fir men m'self, an' I certainly tain't aboot ta stop chasin' lasses. Bother m'lass, fir one," Rae chuckled, shaking her head. "I disnae like smokers. Ye choosin' it, disnae b**ch aboot it. I've been called names ta my face fir likin' lasses. I suck it oop, cause tha's how I want to f**kin' live. Ye made ye bed, lie in it."

Rae snorted, and then headed around her bar. The more she talked to Monica, the more she wanted a drink.

[Ϛ Neilen Darkshire]

Monica was pretty well aware of the fact that there was no cure for lesbianism or lycanthropy, but apparently Rae hadn't caught her meaning. And really, how could she blame her? The rocker had never been the greatest logician to walk to planet, so she couldn't e expected to catch every nuance of the conversation.

However, whether she blamed Rae or not, the tone of conversation was really getting on Monica's nerves. Especially the bit about choosing to smoke; you could argue that she'd chose to start smoking, but peer pressure had been a huge factor in Neilen's first cigarette, and it wasn't exactly the sort of thing you could just choose to stop. Monica didn't have the willpower, and while Neilen may have, he relied on the comfort they gave him that he couldn't derive from anything else far too much to just give them up. It would be like asking Rae to give up sex.

But Monica knew Rae was too bullheaded to have her view changed on the matter anyway. The only reason she'd even bothered to start was that Rae had got under her skin. This, in and of itself, showed that Neilen was getting a little too into character, because nothing got under his skin.

So he simply shrugged Monica's shoulders and sat on a barstool.

"Whatever you say. You can stick to jumping on anything that moves and doesn't have a penis, and I'll stick to inhaling toxic smoke for fun. But I think we can both agree that drinking is in the safe zone."

And with that, she ordered a scotch from the barkeep.

She figured maybe Rae might be pissed enough to refuse her service, but the wad of bills she pulled should show she's good for it, and if Rae wanted to turn away a paying customer over a bit of a personal grudge, that was fine with her. Neilen could just as easily ditch Monica and come get boozed-up in some other guise.

[Raelena St. John]

Personally Rae was rather irritated with the woman. Which was unfortunate, to some extent, because the woman was certainly attractive enough. Still, she had given up the fight, and Rae couldn't very well argue with drinking, not as often as Rae got sloshed.

So she just nodded at the bartender, and the man poured the scotch for a smoker. He then rambled off a price, and took bills when offered.

Rae didn't see a point in lingering around, not with someone surly and a smoker. And now she couldn't even hang around the bar and drink till she felt better. So the lycan wandered in the direction of the stage, eying the equipment. They regularly kept things ready, just in case the proprietor felt the sudden urge to sing.

Like now.

Rae climbed onto the stage, preparing things and eying the audience. Those that knew her and saw her began nudging those that hadn't or didn't. Raelena St. John had taken the stage, though she looked p**sed. They were in a for a hard song soon.

Rae tapped the microphone, going through the tests, occasionally looking over the audience. The anticipation on their faces made her smile. This should lighten the dark mood whatshername had put Rae in.

[Ϛ Neilen Darkshire]

Monica proceeded to drink herself into a stupor, all the while contemplating what it was that could have possibly turned Rae off woman. Sure, she mentioned smoking as a reason, but that didn't seem like nearly a solid enough out, especially for someone so notoriously available.

It occurred to Neilen, upon thinking about being 'available', that perhaps Rae was 'taken', but he quickly dismissed the thought as quite absurd and let Monica get her drink on in peace.

_{curtain call?}