dancing is what to do >> frida&theo

dancing is what to do >> frida&theo May 23, 2023 10:45:43 GMT -5

Quote

Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on May 23, 2023 10:45:43 GMT -5

Fuck this shit, man. The low bass of the next track starts to bump as Frida, whatever her name is, gets on stage. I feel it pump in the floor and vibrate within my chair. The floor pumps with life, a life that isn’t ashamed of itself, as the crowd watches. The lights, the costumes, the drinks, the two boys in the corner that fall over each others bodies as they whisper to each other, this place held no shame. The community they’ve built rests in its’ little hands, but does not apologize for the life that they celebrate.

I don’t get it. I never have.

I’m a prideful bitch, know that. I love the skin that I’m in. I love me- my mama, my blood, the person I’ve fought to become. But I don’t love my love. Woods and I ain’t a normal thing in our roads of Eight. We don’t take pride in our relationship. Walking into this bar that Raul was so ecstatic about - ”it’s one of the best in the Capitol,” he’d beam, waves of doubt began to crash into my mind. Raul was… different, if that’s the word, from the boys back home. The BASE boys. His flamboyant little attitude was one of the first. His buddies are just an accommodation - an equally excitable gaggle of men. It isn’t torturous. They let me drop the pink for the night because it was against my will to come to this bar.

Frida was doing a slower number. The slow pace gave good reason for my eyes to search other directions of the bar. It was a gothy place. Dominantly black, it had accents of reds and whites, and greys, trying to honor the bar's name. It didn’t take long to find a set of eyes on me, which quickly turned away when met, causing a deeper pit of discomfort in my chest. Other faces included the blue-haired boy at the bar, some old pudgy dude that sits at the bar to watch the younger adults, and countless others that have come to such a public display of identity. They don’t look nervous at all. How does that feel?

The music suddenly stops, with a "Stop the music, I said stop the music, bitch!” coming out of Frida mouth. This causes me to whip my head back to the performance, hoping to see some bitch in heels punch a guy. But, no, as my eyes meet the performer's glance, I remember that I’m more of a star than she is. "so y'all just let the baby victor walk up in here and didn't say a single word to me, huh?" Her finger is directed right toward my face. Fuck.

Raul and his buddies are gooped and hollering, giggling to themselves and elbowing each other as they see me being caught like a deer. I freeze. One of the last times I felt so pointed was in the arena. I can’t find the words to say shit, which makes the lump in my chest expand like cancer. I should not be here. I don’t belong.

"Don't worry baby, I'd recognize that face anywhere - that's Theo Horner, everybody!" And all of the faces that jabbed glances at me start to hoop, and holler, and shout, and scream. My body jumps at the sudden boom of applause - the districts don’t cheer. Raul grabs my shoulders and I have to shove him off. ”Stop, dude.” I keep my eyes on Frida, knowing she likely wants more than just an introduction. My hands find Raul’s shoulder as I pull him in front of my face, spearing his ear angrily. ”Did you tip this bitch off?” A hushed, aggravated whisper darts into Raul’s ear. Raul shakes his head, his friends reach out to take me off of him, but my wildered expression stops them. ”Liar.” I’m only a public toy for him to show off. Releasing the boy, she continues her tribute.

"Well come on, get up on stage I'm sure everybody wants to get a good look." Fuck, man. My body starts to slide back down into the ground, but Raul’s buddies stop that. They take my sides and shove me up onto my feet. Everyone’s now watching me more than her, and I hear a whisper behind me, ”go on, man,” and I just feel like a scared boy again. I need more alcohol for this shit.

Fuck, man.” I grumble to myself as I realize it’s worse to sit back down than go up. Raul’s eyes meet mine as I whip back around, and I mouth ”you’re fucking dead tonight,” before I turn to Frida again. I take a chokehold of my pride and accept her invitation. ”Alright, fuck it.” The crowd parts like the damn sea as I walk to the stage, and as my feet echo against the wooden platform they’ve created for the queens, the air is silent. What do they expect me to do? Dance? I’ve already killed people for these freaks.

Maybe I’ll just play with them, become a public doll with their own personal doll. ”I don’t dance, Crowe. You got any tips?” Eight don’t have clubs, let alone drag queens. My eyes find the orange hat and brown eyes of the boy who dragged me here. ”I’ve heard great things, so I only expect the best.”