[ Her natural reaction should be to yell, to shout, to scream so someone will intervene, but Alexa knows she's on her own at In&Out, fuck, she's on her own at Rosebud as well. She's got no-one. No-one but herself. Timm's out back, doing his dark, dirty deeds and anyway, she's not one to rely on anyone else to come save her, is she?
No-one certainly does. She swallows thickly as she gets to her feet, her legs shaky pillars of bone and flesh, and looks around at the crowd where most have already turned away and the few who haven't do as her gaze passes over their faces.
The tears stop as suddenly as they started squeezing out the corners of her eyes. It's an empty, worthless sort of feeling, being this insignificant and this disliked. Normally Alexa doesn't care what people think about her, she doesn't ache to be in any of the available cliques, the lined-up boxes, but as Girard drags her towards the bar, she feels like a piece of trash on its way to the waste bin. Only men can make you feel so unimportant, like you're not worth the air you're breathing, like you're a fucking thing. Not even the Lipstick Brigade from Rosebud can make her go all void and dumb.
Fucking psychos, all of them. This guy especially. She turns her head to glance up at him, it's not a real look and she hates herself for it. Instead it's a stolen glimpse, sideways and indirect. Alexa Hase is currently doing her best not to provoke him.
Her. Alexa. The master provocateur. Look what he's reduced her to, the fucking scumbag. ]
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No-one certainly does. She swallows thickly as she gets to her feet, her legs shaky pillars of bone and flesh, and looks around at the crowd where most have already turned away and the few who haven't do as her gaze passes over their faces.
The tears stop as suddenly as they started squeezing out the corners of her eyes. It's an empty, worthless sort of feeling, being this insignificant and this disliked. Normally Alexa doesn't care what people think about her, she doesn't ache to be in any of the available cliques, the lined-up boxes, but as Girard drags her towards the bar, she feels like a piece of trash on its way to the waste bin. Only men can make you feel so unimportant, like you're not worth the air you're breathing, like you're a fucking thing. Not even the Lipstick Brigade from Rosebud can make her go all void and dumb.
Fucking psychos, all of them. This guy especially. She turns her head to glance up at him, it's not a real look and she hates herself for it. Instead it's a stolen glimpse, sideways and indirect. Alexa Hase is currently doing her best not to provoke him.
Her. Alexa. The master provocateur. Look what he's reduced her to, the fucking scumbag. ]