brunch at marchello's | z & v

(( vittoria antoinette ))

Doll on display, I continue to raise the bar. 

Literally, this bar hasn't seen a show as lit as this since it was made. Marchello's is a cute venue, they don't let just anyone perform here. Being an Antoinette, I'm the exception - exceptional might as well be my middle name, people call me it so, and they call me so often. Cricket may be my mother, but I'm still a home made kind of creature. All she gives is the clothes, I provide the talent. I plan all my shows meticulously, especially at Marchello's, where the patrons come several times a week. I'm a semi-regular here, performing the last few months and making myself acquainted with the best tippers. 

They love me, and I love, well, their dollars. 

Call me shallow, I know what I'm here for, darling. My show starts off with me in a glass box - protection, in a sense. It's black lit, me a silhouette before the music starts, Burn Me Alive by PANDEMONIUM starting with an indie remix for a queer touch. Not the right crowd for heavy rock, but damn if I can't get enough of that band. The light above me ignites from black to blue to orange to red, with me inside it, pulling some ballet vogue the best I can within the confines of the glass. As I step forward, making intimate contact with the front of the box, the marionette string connecting me to the back panel pops just as planned. It's like a magician's trick, how my clothes peel off of me.

The first, a grandiose rococo dress from before the dark days. Quite seriously, Cricket borrowed it from a Capitol Museum for a burlesque musical performance once and just held onto it. Lost it in the labyrinth that is her overflowing closet, which spans across two walk in rooms. It's a nook I get lost in often, just as the audience gets lost in my performance. As the dress sheds I follow it, sliding down sultry into the plush of its fabric. A bedding it becomes as I whip out some leg-ography; can you blame me? Look at these legs, look at all of it. 

The second, a lavender gown tailored to hug my body, is what I wear for this segment. As they're distracted by my choreography, my hands dig for the prop hidden in the remains of my first grand dress: a candelabra. This is where things spark up - if the beginning wasn't enough, I will surely catch their attention now. As I circle to my feet, I hold the candle tree in my left and kick the historic dress to the right of the box, safely away from what I plan to do next. 

BURN ME ALIVE -- I flick a match out of my bra and strike it against the coarse of the nightgown's abdomen, designed specifically for this stunt. Despite how I've stoned it, I still consider it cheap. I always hate to waste good clothing, so destroying this gown will be no problem. First I light each of the candles, seven in a row, before turning it onto the gown I wear. There's gasps and a scream from the crowd as the fabric combusts up to my neck, a flame resistant choker protecting my precious skin. I am no stranger to a stunt, especially if it means a good dollar afterwards. I watch as the patrons dig into their wallets, my eyes greedy but I don't dare break character. 

As the fabric immolates off of me, black debris coating the glass ground beneath me, I dance through the end of the song. The end being a duo of guitar rifts performed by Althea Lux and Maddox Remus, both of which I would do despicable things to given the chance. I pull out my rockstar stunts here until the background guitarist dies off, leaving just the soloist of Maddog. This is when I begin to break through the sugar glass, pounding the candelabra against the front panel until it gives way, allowing me through to where the good stuff is. 

The tips. 

Members of the audience meet me half way, forcing their dollars into my greedy hand and who am I to stop them? Only when the song comes to a close do I allow myself to smile, breaking the character I had built up through the song. I join the audience below, allowing them to touch me until I am in the center of the banquet room. The smell of brunch is thick in the air as the second song begins to wind up, the usher coming to bring people back to their seats. I, myself, am ready to be playful - I always love to play with the crowd. There is a table of older men and a single woman with a buzzcut, I sit in her lap as I let the men pour their mimosas into my mouth. 

There's a few people taking videos, and I try not to acknowledge them, moving from one table to the next until I land on a rather stiff looking young couple. They do not look at each other, but at me, while most others enjoy both. First I play to the girl, pretty as she may be, I act as if I'm seducing her as I look at her boyfriend. At first I lean into her, crouching to level with her as she drunkenly mouths the words next to me, kissing me on the cheek and ruining my foundation, no doubt. She slips a ten into my choker before I walk to the boyfriend, standing in front of him commandingly, pressing my heel to the exposed bit of seat between his manspread. 

He doesn't look like he's enjoying himself, though he doesn't take his eyes off of me. He looks familiar enough, too; looks like a perfect victim. I continue my lip sync as I slyly hook my manicured fingers around his tie, tugging lightly to see if he'll play along. The stage awaits us both, the glass cage being replaced with that of a kingly chair, a table with an envased-rose, and a large black box behind it all. Follow me, let me make you a star. 

Let me show you a real show.