d4 wip } Nike Krigel

d4 wip } Nike Krigel Aug 3, 2015 20:26:19 GMT -5

Post by анзие (Anz) on Aug 3, 2015 20:26:19 GMT -5

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i'm sitting pretty in my brand new scars

Nike Cheyenne Krigel

Her mother says, "Nike," like it's a curse, like she was born with a demonic grin and the ability to drive her father from Mother's desperate fingers. "If you'd been prettier or cuter or nicer as a baby, he wouldn't have left." Of all the if's and maybe's that Mother builds a could-have-been on, that one was her favorite. "If only," Mother says, the paralytic despair returning to her eyes with her final word. She returns to her sewing, delicate fingers made brittle with time and grief.

Nike hovers at the doorway, unsure how to inform Mother that dinner is now ready. After a moment of watching the needle flitting in and out of a patchwork quilt, she decides - like every other night - that it would be completely useless to signal for her attention again.

Mother, despite her near-constant state of stillness, is perfectly capable of feeding herself when she gets hungry.

Snagging a roll of stale store-made seaweed bread from the table for a bite, Nike pops the lid back onto the pot of thickened fish stew and stacks the plates on the counter in hurried movements. The clock hanging over the door marks her at 5:15 as Nike slips into the dimly lit room she calls hers.

Her outfit sits on the unmade bed, all lace and feathers and cheap cotton cloth that pulls tight over her hips as she wriggles into its skintight confines. The feathers are strung on gold, looping around her head to weave into the braid of her long pale hair; she pulls the end to rest over her shoulder and brushes the the depths of the ocean on her eyelids.

Nike knows she's meant for spotlights, gorgeous costumes and a life onstage - unlike the unknown, distant family who bears her name, she doesn't belong in the arena. That is not to be her source of fame, not the way it is Leon's and was Nat's. Besides, it seems that their family's luck has dissipated with Leon's victory - not that Nike's ever had any grasp on it at all.

Standing before the mirror, Nike meets her own gaze and wonders if this - somehow - is enough.

More often than not her part-time shift leads her into the arms of Heather Calloway. Yet another failed audition attempt sees Nike leaving well before the most profitable hours; yet another day she seeks comfort from Calloway's hands.

"Stay the night?" Calloway murmurs in her ear, and Nike looks over her shoulder at Calloway, hands sneaking across satin sheets to stroke her skin.

"Only tonight," Nike says, the false words like clockwork rolling from her lips; she knows, and Calloway knows, that the night will stretch into day and night once more before Nike thinks of parting from her lover, and another day and night again before Nike does. "My mother needs me."

"Only tonight," Calloway agrees, amusement in her eyes and desire on her lips as they reconnect once more.