- - MANY MOONS

[RADHA ELIZABETH BANCROFT.]

tagged;; elliot
clothes;; yo

Putting all of her weight on the glass door, Radha left the agency with strong foot steps, each one smashing against the pavement with more force than was necessary. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wondered why she was putting up with her job. She could easily remember a time when a job had been unnecessary and the idea of employment on her part had been laughable. No, she would never laugh about it out lout but the concept still stood. She didn’t need to work. Her parents would have been happy to pay for her living in Italy while they stayed behind in India working; they certainly had the means to support her while she for her freedom. As time progressed, they would have gotten a bit aggravated with her but they never would have cut her off. Not in ten lifetimes. But Radha had chosen that she wanted to work. She had not necessarily chosen this profession and this industry; that chose her. Being an assistant could be a pain in the ass, literally and figuratively. She was bossed around like a slave in the workplace by some people, people who thought that they were senior to her when all they wanted was a brief power trip. It was beyond aggravating. It made her want to pour laxatives into the coffee that she retrieved every morning on their behalf. She grinned loosely at that thought. It would not happen but the idea was plain grand.

Walking down the street, she was already feeling better. She puffed on a cigarette as the stress rolled off of her shoulders. She was an assistant and that meant that she was a peasant in the business of fashion. Every day she crawled out of bed and considered quitting. It had yet to happen. Radha got out early tonight, before eight, and that was delightful. She had time to stop by the bar and have a drink or two. It was her way to unwind. All that she wanted was to be away from talk of skirts and dresses and models, this girl being too skinny and that too fat, this designer asking for too much or not enough. There was always a problem. From Radha’s point of view, these things were not problems. She could have shrugged any of them off and given a three-word-reply. It would have been that simple. But business had to be overly complicated. Perhaps it was best that she was only an assistant; she would fuck up any other job. She didn’t have the willpower to care about much.

She turned up on the road towards the club, hands buried in her pockets, cigarette hanging from between her lips. She was in fashion; it was a requirement to smoke. Even if it weren’t, she would have been world class in that aspect. Drinking was more of a release and a calming action but smoking was obligatory. Any little chance she got, Radha was burning a cigarette from one end to the other. Craning her neck some, she noticed a short line to get in through the door, a hefty man standing in the way. She exhaled a sigh of smoke and continued to walk, knowing that the line would not take all that long to go down. And her prediction was true; Radha was forcing her way through the throng of dancers and drunkards to the bar’s counter in about fifteen minutes’ time. Leaning against the bar, she looked down the line, waiting for the bartender to reach her. She took little notice of those around her, her eyes wandering vaguely to nothing in particular.

[MARCO ELLIOT CAPRIOGLIO.]

If you had seen Elliot just forty minutes earlier, you would have noticed the lazy look in his dull hazel eyes, and him hitting the beer dispenser off and on, with absolutely no one at the bar. Now, it was filled pretty well, and he was carefully pouring everyone their drinks, and even if he tried to add a few tricks, no one really noticed; he was basically just amusing himself, everyone else too invested in their own conversations, or looking around for their latest prey. Most of the people here seemed like that. Well actually, most people everywhere were similar, too busy in their own everyday life to really take the time to notice most other things, out of their bubble. Elliot figured no one really noticed like he did. He paid attention. He’d been an observer since a child really, which is how he understood most people so well, right off the bat. He also no longer really tried too hard to impress others, because it was just a general waste of time, it seemed. But those were Elliot and his thoughts; his own, rambling thoughts that dwindled down and went off to nowhere.

His eyes ran across those at the bar, making connections in his head of who wanted what, who would most likely only be able to handle a few more, before he’d really need to start keeping tabs on them. He felt bad for the poor schmo’s, even if he knew very well he was one a good percent of the time. He spent way too much time on the other side of the counter, and he knew the feeling of reaching the bottom of another class dripping in condensation, making small pools on the bar top. That slow wash of nothingness rolling over your senses, making the world around you dull and darker. It made everything fade away, and you were left with these funny little thoughts, these thoughts that seemingly were the ones that really wanted to come through the whole time. His attention snapped back to that of the bar, and he glanced around, noticing a woman at the very end of the bar, looking at others, and waiting for some sort of summons from a bartender. He stared at her, for a moment, seemingly forgetting he was the only one on staff tonight, since it was only Thursday.

The soles of his shoes hit the stone floor beneath his feet, and he threw a towel over his left shoulder, probably making a small water mark on his blue shirt. “For you?” he spoke, his voice seemingly with no sort of accent. Another thing he didn’t quite have, was one of those. Some works came out in different sort of accents and he had everything from Spanish, to English, to even a slight American accent slipping from his mouth. It was a very strange variation, and most people couldn’t keep up with his words. His hands were ready already on a bottle that he assumed she’d want, she looked like the liquor type, not beer, but that was his general assumption of this model like girl in front of him.

outfit; right here.
notes; sorry if i rambled & i'll add a picture when im less tired. ^^

[RADHA ELIZABETH BANCROFT.]

tagged;; elliot
clothes;; yo

Ah, but there was still tomorrow to look forward to, she reminded herself dismally. What was there to actually look forward to? That was the real question that she would have liked answered. The parties that she attended, always with her boss or another colleague, were told to her only a day or even a couple of hours in advance. That was the nature of being someone’s assistant. She was in the middle of one task, something potentially important, and then a person walked over and said to her offhandedly that she was required elsewhere. Immediately. Radha did often feel more like an object than a person working in a professional environment. How she had drifted to this same topic that she had tried to discard baffled her. When her mind wandered, her thoughts went straight back to work. Perhaps it was still too fresh in her mind. That must have been it; she had not been out of the office for an hour yet. She just needed time to relax and let all the shit from the workplace roll off of her shoulders. A bar was the perfect place for that.

Looking over her shoulder, Radha finally examined the crowd that was slowly filling the club. This place was always packed when the sun went down. There were few places with better music choices, better atmosphere, drinks, food, people, anything that a club could boast. This place was perfect for all of that shit. It might have been called a downfall on the consumer’s point of view, since, because the club was made of perfection, it was always so full and impossible to get into at some times of night. Radha was lucky to have gotten there so early. Then again, she would have gone to a simpler bar if the line through the door was going around the corner of the block. Fuck that, she would have said to herself, shook her head, and turned around, hands shoved into her pockets. There were a number of other bars and cafes in the area; this was Italy, right? Or, going in another direction, she could have gone back to her place and drank a bottle of wine, smoked a pack, and fallen asleep while watching black and white television.

She did not recognize any of the faces. That was not uncommon. Radha didn’t consider herself to be a social creature and she did not have a large number of friends. When she went out, she started alone and sometimes went home with a guy or a girl draped around her shoulders, to her bed or theirs. They ventured out to a private party and she woke up in a strange location the following day. Friends seemed so much less necessary when there were experiences such as those.

Blinking, her elbows on the counter, Radha’s eyes addressed the bartender. She smiled ever so slightly, the natural expression looking more like a devilish grin. That was always how she looked when she smiled; it lent to people that she was more of an asshole than she honestly could be. But that was how she was perceived. She didn’t mind it so much. Sitting up a bit more, Radha pointed to the bottle that guy was holding. “That’ll do,” she said, her voice marred with an English accent that was askew with another dialect. She had grown up in India but her father was British. Brushing her hair back off of her face, Radha asked him, “Has your day been better than mine? Somebody’s should be, I think.”

[MARCO ELLIOT CAPRIOGLIO.]

Most of the time, Elliot wasn’t even really aware why he continued to keep this job. He enjoyed it on some nights sure, and it did keep him from sitting at home bored for the rest of his life, but it seemed to give him no fulfillment at all. It was just a job, one that he wouldn’t take too hard if he lost. It wasn’t as if money was some sort of issue for him, it was actually the complete opposite. He had too much money, from his grandparents, to do with whatever he wanted, just like his mother did; and in the off chance that one of them ran out, another full supply would be back within two business days. Eli wasn’t even really aware of how his family had so much money, he just knew they did. He knew he was protected; which is ultimately what made him lazy, and not such an eager beaver to go and find his perfect career. That’s how he ended up becoming a bartender, and even earlier, dropping out of film school. There was no real push to finish. No one seemed to like his visions much anyways.


His eyes wandered to that of the girl waiting with no drink. The cut of her dark brown hair, her hard expression, stressed and exhausted from work. Her back was arched high though, as if she’d been taught well, and his eyes watched her in fascination. She wasn’t exactly like most of the other guys and gals that walked through, but you couldn’t quite say she was so unique, either. But you could tell she was different, if that really made any sense at all. It made sense to Elliot. He nodded at her answer, already knowing he’d be right, and poured the glass full, pushing it too her, and putting the bottle back, about to walk away, even though he wasn’t quite needed elsewhere. Then he heard her speak, and he spun around on his heels, his sneakers making an unforgettable squeak.

Very few talked to Elliot when he worked, and really, very few talked to him while he was out of work. He wasn’t the most exciting fellow, and people took notice of that. He was also fairly closed off, and didn’t keep up with many conversations well, and anyone daring to get closer, he became upset with, and cut off. His brows raised, and he shrugged his broad shoulders, leaning his hands on the bar, ”I suppose it might have been, however, mine was pretty damn uneventful.” This was a pretty long conversation for Eli, a pretty long sentence. He ruffled his hair, taking the towel off of his shoulder, and whipping away at the counter, glancing back at the beautiful, but distinct looking girl in front of him. She was a different sort of good looking. She wasn’t that girl next door, or Victoria Secret model that everyone else seemed to be, but more of a skinny, possibly geeky, super model sort of gorgeous. Most people wouldn’t recognize it, would say she was ordinary, but Elliot could tell you different, since he studied people so well, and spent most of his days, doing just that. ”Something wrong?"

outfit; right here.
notes; sorry i took so long! ):

[RADHA ELIZABETH BANCROFT.]

tagged;; elliot
clothes;; yo

She wasn’t a big talker. Not usually. Radha talked when she had something to say, and found that a lot of people should have done the same. Too many people talked to hear their own voices, or rambled on and on about nothing at all. That was irksome for her. It was one of the reasons why she didn’t like politics. Too much talking and too little action. Nothing was ever accomplished and in the rare cases that a conclusion was reached, it took so long that a solution needed to be changed and debated again. People could never agree right off the bat but that did not mean that talking and debating should be made to be so useless. Radha had been at odds about this subject many a time with her father, who was interested in politics and worked a lot on their behalf. He argued that she was waving off an important issue without addressing it. She shrugged, grinning. But it was never something to get into a huge fight about. They accepted one another’s beliefs, most of the time.

Being that she was quiet, Radha surprised even herself a bit by striking up a conversation with a guy she didn’t know. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before, but those instances had some backing, reasoning. This was simply prompted by a bad day that she wanted to vent off to a stranger. She would not have minded a lack of reply; she would have expected that more than any answer more than a sentence long.

The same small smile flitted across her face when he turned, his shoes squeaking on the ground. She breathed a sigh quietly, nodding to his answer, “Rather uneventful than a total clusterfuck.” Uneventful would have been a godsend compared to having to do everyone’s shit for them for nine hours straight. Radha looked down the bar, leaning on the counter. Her shaggy hair fell over her forehead again and she shook it out. She had figured out that that was one of her good looks, the hair in the eyes. Her friends told her that it was a sexy thing; she would never disagree when someone called her sexy. It was so rare. She took a gulp of her drink and set it back down on the counter.

“Wrong? No,” she said. “Long, long day. Enough to need at least three refills.” She grinned. “You’re lucky that your profession does not involve having to do the dirty work of a bunch of arrogant fashionably skinny and faggoty assholes all day. I do applaud and envy you, really.”