Lavelyn Rynn
Apr 27th, 2004, 12:05:11 PM
There had been four of them. Suvin, Tiyl, Irae, and Lavelyn. Sisters and Brother. Quadruplets. Money-makers. They could sing, the four of them. Little children who sang together in sync as if they'd been trained for years. Mother and Father saw an opportunity. Mother and Father never let an opportunity pass. The four were exploited.
Go, sing!
Don't stop!
Now... dance...
Sing!
They were only five. Five and in costumes, parading in front of crowds that thought it was cute and yet unnerving to see four nearly identicle forms singing and dancing together. Lavelyn didn't think it was cute. She didn't think it was unnerving. It was sick.
Sick.
But that had been years ago, when she had been a child. Now she was nineteen. Nineteen and the only one left. The only one left of four.
* * *
She hated the prison. The stage, and the tables, and the bar, and the patrons... it was a prison. Every night she paid her debt, every night she made her money.
The lights in Garters shifted from bright red to a cold, cold blue. On the stage stood a young woman. She had milky, smooth skin that looked paler in the filtered light. Her short blonde hair fell forward as her head bowed, hiding her face. She was almost naked, a black leather bra and panties covering her frame, hugging her curves greedily. It was cold in the bar; goosebumps rose on her skin. Her breasts, hardly encased in the braziere, rose slowly up and down in a dance all their own as she struggled to breathe normally.
Lavelyn was still being exploited.
The music started then, a piano, notes dropping lightly in the air, a far cry from the raunchy bout that had preceeded her. She could feel their eyes, hungry eyes. Men, old and young, wanting her. Not just men either; there were women too, in the back, and it scared Lavelyn.
She wasn't sexy. She wasn't voluptuous. She was timid, scared, young... innocent. They were hungry for innocence.
"It's haaaarder than it seeeems...
It gets dark....
It gets cold with no one here to warm me..."
Lavelyn did not have an extroidinary voice. It wasn't bad, it wasn't great. It was just there. Soft and smoky, sliding over the words like ice. SHe delivered the song without any huzzah; she did not try to rouse the crowd, get them cheering. Only the ones sitting close, or paying attention to her face, could see that tears were sliding down her cheeks silently.
She was still being explioted.
* * *
"Go to th' back room."
Ziggy. The owner. Lavelyn shook her head, looking at the ground. The back room had only a bed inside, and a lock on the door.
"It's not my night."
"I dun't care; you've been 'quested, and I dun't turn away the creds. Go to th' back room."
She went to the back room.
who am i?
The back room had a red light. It made her feel cheap. The sagging matress that she sat on made her feel cheap. Lavelyn shivered. The doorknob turned...
Go, sing!
Don't stop!
Now... dance...
Sing!
They were only five. Five and in costumes, parading in front of crowds that thought it was cute and yet unnerving to see four nearly identicle forms singing and dancing together. Lavelyn didn't think it was cute. She didn't think it was unnerving. It was sick.
Sick.
But that had been years ago, when she had been a child. Now she was nineteen. Nineteen and the only one left. The only one left of four.
* * *
She hated the prison. The stage, and the tables, and the bar, and the patrons... it was a prison. Every night she paid her debt, every night she made her money.
The lights in Garters shifted from bright red to a cold, cold blue. On the stage stood a young woman. She had milky, smooth skin that looked paler in the filtered light. Her short blonde hair fell forward as her head bowed, hiding her face. She was almost naked, a black leather bra and panties covering her frame, hugging her curves greedily. It was cold in the bar; goosebumps rose on her skin. Her breasts, hardly encased in the braziere, rose slowly up and down in a dance all their own as she struggled to breathe normally.
Lavelyn was still being exploited.
The music started then, a piano, notes dropping lightly in the air, a far cry from the raunchy bout that had preceeded her. She could feel their eyes, hungry eyes. Men, old and young, wanting her. Not just men either; there were women too, in the back, and it scared Lavelyn.
She wasn't sexy. She wasn't voluptuous. She was timid, scared, young... innocent. They were hungry for innocence.
"It's haaaarder than it seeeems...
It gets dark....
It gets cold with no one here to warm me..."
Lavelyn did not have an extroidinary voice. It wasn't bad, it wasn't great. It was just there. Soft and smoky, sliding over the words like ice. SHe delivered the song without any huzzah; she did not try to rouse the crowd, get them cheering. Only the ones sitting close, or paying attention to her face, could see that tears were sliding down her cheeks silently.
She was still being explioted.
* * *
"Go to th' back room."
Ziggy. The owner. Lavelyn shook her head, looking at the ground. The back room had only a bed inside, and a lock on the door.
"It's not my night."
"I dun't care; you've been 'quested, and I dun't turn away the creds. Go to th' back room."
She went to the back room.
who am i?
The back room had a red light. It made her feel cheap. The sagging matress that she sat on made her feel cheap. Lavelyn shivered. The doorknob turned...