Sofia "Skip" Hughes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfmarked) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-11-30 09:09 pm
wolfmarked) wrote in undergrounds2015-11-30 09:09 pm
Entry tags:
Wings (December catch-all)
Mama told me not to waste my life
Department store, Havering, December 5th
"I fuckin' hate winter."
Skip isn't directing the comment at anyone in particular, no, but she isn't keeping the thought to herself, either. Every so often, she pulls out a hanger, examines the piece of clothing... then puts it back. She sighs, flicking through a few more.
"Is it impossible to find something cute this season?"
At an end cap, she finds stockings. Thigh high, decently thick. And in a few different colours.
"See, this is what I'm talkin' about," she says, cheerfully.
Don't let what they say keep you up at night
Jolly Roger, all December
"C'mon, c'mon, break it up."
Her voice was easy enough as she stepped around the bar, waving off the two who were about to start going at it. There was always something, but, well, around the holidays it wasn't hard to wave off people by reminding them about their families. After all, she wanted to get through this with as little drama as possible. Everyone had a little more to deal with around this time of year, so she could try to lessen it.
And, then, she looked up when someone came in.
An easy smile, a push of her hair -- just a single strand that had come loose -- and a remark. "C'mon in. Grab a seat, an' I'll get you a drink."
Then they can walk on by
Southwark, mid December
Every day of classes before exams, Skip can be found at a coffee shop down the street from the University of Art. More than once, she has a portfolio and pictures spread out on an inside table, choosing them carefully, as well as the order to put them in.
Every afternoon after exams, Skip goes to a little diner she knows for a cup of soup. Just a little something to keep out the chill. Her book bag goes down every time with a thump, and she always sits at the counter, usually without asking if the seat is taken or not.
And I can't hear a sound
for Nancy, December 14th
Meeting with Nancy wasn't an unusual thing. After all, a regular at a bar -- both front and back room -- and a waitress who now got to moonlight as a bartender would know each other. And two girls like them? Well. Skip liked having someone to hang out with. They both got it.
Today, she smiled as she came into the restaurant. Her treat, she'd promised Nancy. It was a decent place. Nothing too upscale but somewhere nice and cozy for them to talk.
"First things first." She produces a small little box, done up in green wrapping paper with a red bow. "Happy Christmas."
But it was Skip. Just doing something nice... wasn't her style, even if she didn't mean for it to be like that.
"Now. Mind if I ask a little favour? I'm looking for a Christmas gift for someone."
Walk, walk on over there
North Pole, December 19th
She isn't going home for Christmas. Skip decided that long ago, and her father made it official this morning. It's safer for her to have her 'flat' at her aunt's place than to be in the house with her father and brothers for Christmas.
So she gets to spend Christmas basically alone. At least she has Christmas Eve plans, even if she hasn't made the person they're with aware.
But that's a week away. Which is why she's at the North Pole tonight.
She has high red stockings on with white heels. Unremarkably, her skirt is short but full, red and trimmed with white fur. Her shirt has long sleeves, but it's also red and trimmed at the cuffs and collar with white fur. It's entirely sheer, and her shirt underneath is white and a corset top, complete with red lace sleeves just off her shoulders.
When she drinks, she doesn't sit, instead just leaning against the bar. When she dances, she's always looking for a partner. Anyone who looks like they might be playing wallflower is fair game to be pulled into the fray.
Your words don't mean a thing
Birkbeck Tavern, December 26th
"Oh, God damn it! You gotta be blind! What the fuck kinda call was that?"
Boxing Day means one thing-- sports.
Specifically rugby, for Skip. She's got a Munster match on one of the pub TVs. For some reason, no one wanted to argue with her when she started demanding it, getting in her one opponent's face even though he was twice her size. Since then, she's gotten quite a few people pulled into it. Though they've got plenty of other games to be interested in.
"That's what I'm talkin' about! Oh, c'mon! Don' just let him--"
Then, on a shot of one of the players, she grins to herself and takes a drink of the pint in front of her.
"Fuck. Still way too hot."
Department store, Havering, December 5th
"I fuckin' hate winter."
Skip isn't directing the comment at anyone in particular, no, but she isn't keeping the thought to herself, either. Every so often, she pulls out a hanger, examines the piece of clothing... then puts it back. She sighs, flicking through a few more.
"Is it impossible to find something cute this season?"
At an end cap, she finds stockings. Thigh high, decently thick. And in a few different colours.
"See, this is what I'm talkin' about," she says, cheerfully.
Don't let what they say keep you up at night
Jolly Roger, all December
"C'mon, c'mon, break it up."
Her voice was easy enough as she stepped around the bar, waving off the two who were about to start going at it. There was always something, but, well, around the holidays it wasn't hard to wave off people by reminding them about their families. After all, she wanted to get through this with as little drama as possible. Everyone had a little more to deal with around this time of year, so she could try to lessen it.
And, then, she looked up when someone came in.
An easy smile, a push of her hair -- just a single strand that had come loose -- and a remark. "C'mon in. Grab a seat, an' I'll get you a drink."
Then they can walk on by
Southwark, mid December
Every day of classes before exams, Skip can be found at a coffee shop down the street from the University of Art. More than once, she has a portfolio and pictures spread out on an inside table, choosing them carefully, as well as the order to put them in.
Every afternoon after exams, Skip goes to a little diner she knows for a cup of soup. Just a little something to keep out the chill. Her book bag goes down every time with a thump, and she always sits at the counter, usually without asking if the seat is taken or not.
And I can't hear a sound
for Nancy, December 14th
Meeting with Nancy wasn't an unusual thing. After all, a regular at a bar -- both front and back room -- and a waitress who now got to moonlight as a bartender would know each other. And two girls like them? Well. Skip liked having someone to hang out with. They both got it.
Today, she smiled as she came into the restaurant. Her treat, she'd promised Nancy. It was a decent place. Nothing too upscale but somewhere nice and cozy for them to talk.
"First things first." She produces a small little box, done up in green wrapping paper with a red bow. "Happy Christmas."
But it was Skip. Just doing something nice... wasn't her style, even if she didn't mean for it to be like that.
"Now. Mind if I ask a little favour? I'm looking for a Christmas gift for someone."
Walk, walk on over there
North Pole, December 19th
She isn't going home for Christmas. Skip decided that long ago, and her father made it official this morning. It's safer for her to have her 'flat' at her aunt's place than to be in the house with her father and brothers for Christmas.
So she gets to spend Christmas basically alone. At least she has Christmas Eve plans, even if she hasn't made the person they're with aware.
But that's a week away. Which is why she's at the North Pole tonight.
She has high red stockings on with white heels. Unremarkably, her skirt is short but full, red and trimmed with white fur. Her shirt has long sleeves, but it's also red and trimmed at the cuffs and collar with white fur. It's entirely sheer, and her shirt underneath is white and a corset top, complete with red lace sleeves just off her shoulders.
When she drinks, she doesn't sit, instead just leaning against the bar. When she dances, she's always looking for a partner. Anyone who looks like they might be playing wallflower is fair game to be pulled into the fray.
Your words don't mean a thing
Birkbeck Tavern, December 26th
"Oh, God damn it! You gotta be blind! What the fuck kinda call was that?"
Boxing Day means one thing-- sports.
Specifically rugby, for Skip. She's got a Munster match on one of the pub TVs. For some reason, no one wanted to argue with her when she started demanding it, getting in her one opponent's face even though he was twice her size. Since then, she's gotten quite a few people pulled into it. Though they've got plenty of other games to be interested in.
"That's what I'm talkin' about! Oh, c'mon! Don' just let him--"
Then, on a shot of one of the players, she grins to herself and takes a drink of the pint in front of her.
"Fuck. Still way too hot."
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It's weird to say it. Even weirder to think about it. Seriously think about it. But it's worth considering. Maybe even doing it.
"Used t' be my older brother's job, keepin' th' girls on the street safe. Maybe I'll look into expandin' that sorta thing t' here. Y'know?"
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So her brother had been an ally for the girls. "Good on him. And you, too, if you do it. I can say I wouldn't tell you no. With tensions so high in London, too..." She shook her head.
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Well, and manage a lot of criminal activity. But that doesn't really matter. It doesn't need to be said. What matters is sticking with... well. They're friends.
"So. Maybe I oughta look into it."
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She swallows.
"That'd be... Maybe."
Skip wouldn't hurt anyone, but she wouldn't have expected that from Fagin, either, if she'd met him later in life. Not at first. And Skip, as far as she knew, wouldn't deal with fencing and picking pockets like Fagin did. She wouldn't feed off of children.
But it was still close enough to make Nancy wonder.
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"Like I said, I'll think 'bout it at least, y'know?"
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"If it's not you, then it's not you."
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She shook her head a little, leaning back.
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She shrugs.
"We take care of 'em, my family."
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It's more than she likes to say, but it's something she can tell Nancy.
"We keep tabs on their bosses, too. Ones workin' for themselves? We take a small cut. Ten quid a month." Which wasn't a lot, no. More than reasonable fee for a self-employed girl. But it added up with enough girls under their protection. "Ones who work for someone else? We take it up with the boss. They don' wanna pay?"
She shrugs and shakes her head.
"We still look after the girls. Bastards don' get t' decide that. But the girls don' pay us."
They just found other ways to get paid. Not through any harm to the girls, no. God no. A lot of them ended up working either for themselves or for Percy. Which... those girls? Well taken care of. She knew a lot of them. Hung out with them when they weren't working.
"'Us.' I keep talkin' like I'm part of it. I just know 'bout it. More'n I'm supposed to. Always supposed t' be the 'good' one. Artsy, school kinda girl."
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Besides, ten was nothing.
Fagin was taking 30, in exchange for quite a lot of things, let alone all of his demands.
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"Think it's somethin' t' do with wolves, y'know? Our girls... Well. They matter. A lot. Guess my family, at least, kinda looks at all girls like that."
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"Alright, that makes sense. Some sort of biological pact, yeah?"
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"I know you will."
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She grins wide.
"You an' me. We need to go out an' just have fun some night."
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"Oh hell yes," she breathes. "I know lots of places." Plus going out and having fun and dancing was always, well, fun and she wanted a break from work that wasn't involving politics.
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