lolaquacious - Tumblr blog

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin‌: 

“There was a lot of information going on around him, and he was far too high to really consider most if it. What he was able to gain from what she had said was rather simple. Sunrise, homosexuals, costume, and sunrise. Seemed relatively easy to understand. Obviously the sun going up and down was the most important part of the whole conversation. And then, he had to stop altogether because she had clearly decided to just look at him. To think, for a moment that he was completely unaware of what was going on. It was the exact opposite of Scott. Well, not when he was on any substance of this proportion. Certainly he had experienced some opium from time to time, but he had gotten a bit caught up in the spirit of things. Berlin was already getting to him.

“Sunrise. Yes, of course.” He had agreed to something, and all that mattered was that Lola was going to take him somewhere. Apparently, somewhere that would look over the city and give a clear view of the sun coming up from the horizon. If he was able to sit down and write something, Scott would talk about the symbolism of it all, how the darkness of the night was filled with joy while the sun only brought more opportunity, the bright city never really hiding itself from the world. But if someone put a pen and paper in front of him, Scott might not be able to write his name.

“I asked to kiss you earlier, didn’t I? Or was that a dream. It couldn’t have been a dream, I haven’t slept yet. Not since I met you. Have I?” It wasn’t even the drugs now, it was merely his lack of sleep. This was somewhere near hour thirty-seven, his trip and experience of the city so far bringing him into hallucination. Cocaine only made the situation more eventful. “Did you kiss me?”

Her grin was wide and toothy at his agreement, and she hummed a note of pleasure before turning to the table beside them -- occupied by a man who appeared to have fallen asleep in his chair -- and swiping the half-drunken glass of dark liquid from the tabletop. “To the sunrise!” She declared, raising her glass but moving to clink it with nothing, before she swallowed it all in one fell swoop. Lola slid the drained glass back onto the man’s table, and dug around in the small bag she’d brought with her. She extracted a handful of coins -- no more than 2 or 3 marks -- and dropped them onto the table beside the lipstick-rimmed glass. 

She turned back to look at Scott, and was uncharacteristically quiet as she listened to him speak. When he finished, she smiled and patted his shoulder in what was meant to be a soothing gesture. 

“Don’t fret, darling -- you’ll be in bed soon! I’ll walk you over after sun-up, and see that you’re all tucked in. A bit of sleep will help you settle yourself out.” Lola herself had suffered through similar experiences of trying too much of something too quickly -- she’d been made to learn from her mistakes on more than one occasion. 

“Now, as to your question...” Lola smirked, and wagged a finger at him in a mockery of a disapproving parent. “You asked, and then you did! Without waiting for a proper response, naughty boy!” She laughed at herself, and continued: “you’re going to get me into trouble, you know!”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“Morning seems just around the corner.” Lifting up his wrist, he tried his best to examine the face of the watch. The arms that combined to tell him an accurate time seemed to be spinning, though he imagined that was his own eyesight. At best, he knew that it was very near four or five in the morning. The sun would be up soon enough, along with the respectable community of Berlin. “Overindulging has never been my forte. Though I suppose nothing is anyone’s forte in a city such as this.”

His face scrunched up slightly, finding that word unpleasant. Ooze was not something that he compared with sex. Ooze was for abnormalities, such as a bleeding wound or an infection. There were many, however, that might find the comparison suitable. Back home there were those who he questioned how they had children. The sight of someone dressed as Lola would give them a heart palpitations. The likes of the men on stage would probably kill them on sight.

At the mention of one of the performers, Scott glanced up and tilted his head. “I thought you said this club was frequented by homosexuals.” The thought of a town like this, where men dressed in feminine clothing and then went home to a wife and children, did not quite add up in his mind. Perhaps it was that the idea of a town so open that this club would exist lead to an assumption that single men were not looked down upon for their actions. Yet it seemed as if even in Berlin, what was considered respectable would override one’s personal preferences. His eyes now turned to Lola, looking up and down her own outfit. “And yourself? Is that a costume?”

“How dreadful,” Lola intoned with a sigh, “soon all the fun of the evening will be over, then.” Lola hadn’t the faintest idea of what time it was, and rarely knew -- for her, it was more of a matter of when she felt too tired to go on. Given she’d not taken nearly so much cocaine as her partner -- and the added fact that had been drinking since her arrival at the club, and before whilst in her dressing room -- she had a mind to think that soon enough she’d begin to feel heavy and weary, and give in to sleep for the day. “I’ll tell you what, though -- the greatest thing to see in all of Germany --” she paused, adding ‘besides me’ “ -- is the Berlin sunrise. Have you had the opportunity yet?” Without waiting for his response, Lola went on: “I’ll just have to take you!” Smiling fiendishly over the idea, she took up her glass and mentioned with a wink before draining the cup’s contents: “it can all be very sensual.”

Lola hummed at Scott’s comment, and nodded her head. A fury of mostly-straight red hair flew with the action. “Frequented largely by homosexuals, certainly. Men -- and women -- who’d like to come and see something a bit more feminine...” and she paused there, to accentuate her figure with a quick brush of her hands, “...prefer something like our club, whereas this little club caters more to those who’d like something in-between or different altogether! But then, darling, look at us! We’re not homosexuals, after all --” Lola paused, adding: “or I should say that I’m not, in any case. And I adore the club! Everyone is always in such a cheery, lovely mood. And I’ve never once paid for a drink!”

One of Lola’s hands moved to rest on Scott’s shoulder, and her electric green nails curled into the fabric of his shirt. “As I’ve said, this is Berlin! You can be what you like here, and you can do what you like here! Especially at night.” Lola wasn’t sure to what extent that mantra extended to the daytime. In truth, she was scarcely awake for enough of it to have an accurate opinion on the matter -- but she felt confident nonetheless that it was fact.

The ever-present smile on Lola’s lips seemed to sharpen at his inquiry, and her hands rested innocuously on the hem of her slip. “No, I wouldn’t call it a costume...it’s an identity, and it’s always been me.” Lola couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t thrived on the feeling of having all eyes on her -- and the outfits certainly did help in that respect. “But if you mean to ask if I’ve clothes which are more appropriate...well, certainly. For when I’m feeling pious, I’ve long skirts and all that! But what’s the point of trying to act like something you don’t want to be? I think that everyone should be precisely the version of themselves that makes them the most happy -- don’t you, Scott?”

Lola did not allow him much time at all to answer. One of her hands had returned to his shoulder, squeezed, and dropped down to find his hand. She brought his hand closer to her face, so that she had a better eye on the watch on his wrist. “Oh -- we should be off if we want to see about that sunrise. Will you come along?”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“I really do want to believe you on that.” He didn’t know what the future held for him. At least, in the short run, it was decent. But the long run, as in tomorrow morning, it seemed like it would definitely be more difficult. Then again, he was being rather gracious to himself. There was no way that he would be waking up in the morning.

Lola was on again, talking about being a star. That seemed to be a running theme for actresses or dancers of any caliber. They all believed that they were going to be the absolute best in their business. Writers, at least in his own experience, never got quite that sure of themselves. Certainly there was some hope that success would be found, but nothing on the bombastic scale to which Lola and others of her breed seemed to think. It was all very confusing on some levels.

At her question, he finally came back to some form of reality. “Well obviously your show is better. This was more for spectacles sake, rather than an artist license. Though I do think that the costumes are quite nice. Or are they costumes? Does it count as a costume if one wears it constantly?”

“As well you should! Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of accidental overindulgences! I once got into quite the mess in Paris, involving a few rich gentlemen who shan’t be named, and an extraordinary amount of opium! In fact, I left France for Berlin not long after I came to -- it was quite the ordeal. I think I may have slept for three days straight!” Lola seemed lost in the memory for a moment, before she smiled widely and reaffirmed: “but it won’t be that way for you, darling. Come morning-time, you’ll be as miserable as the rest of the world and wishing to go back to how you are in this instant!” She paused, shrugged, and added with a twisted grin: “or at least, something closer to this than that.”

Her smile grew wider still as he declared that the show performed at the Kit Kat Klub had been better, and she scooted her chair closer still to his seat, so that she could better be heard by him. “See -- that’s precisely how I think, as well. There’s some art behind what we do! There’s practice, and choreography! You have to work to ooze sex as we do! It’s all well and fun here, but it’s just quite a lot of mindless thrusting and grinding, don’t you think?”

A delighted laugh left Lola at Scott’s inquiry, and she leaned back and looked over at the stage where the performers danced. “They are costumes, yes -- many of these men have got to still go on and work during the day and go on with their families and whatnot.” She pointed out one man who danced, and commented: “he has a wife and three children, believe it or not! You’d hardly recognize him in the daytime!”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“I don’t know if I want anything on my skin right now. It’s very… Tingly.” Every one of his senses filled with different sensations, each one seemingly more chaotic than the last. It was a lot to deal with, though he wasn’t certain what he could do about it. “I suppose we’ll have to see if I have any talent after all.” Part of him wondered if he did. Perhaps he was completely without skill, and that’s why he was here. If a man cannot make a penny while at home, then he hasn’t the ability to do it elsewhere. Which sounded like some form of advice his father would have given. Or worse, his grandfather. It all seemed rather irrelevant as he watched another man walk by, this one barely wearing any fabric that only covered his groin.

“No, I’m just… Curious. I am wanting to write about all of this. I just want to know things. There seems to be a fair amount that I’m completely unaware of. I imagine so many are also unaware.” Once again he looked at his surroundings. No, this lace was not quite as fabulously adorned as the previous building that they had been sitting. But it was still beautiful to look at. And every single person, whether they were in the audience or in the show, seemed to be some form of attractive. Scott did not really know much of his own sexuality, had never really considered it. All he knew was that he was attracted to very specific people. Most of them had been women, but there was the instance of attraction to men. Sexual chemistry, or any affection on such a level, was not his forte, however.

“I would consider myself more an observer than anything else. One who sits around and learns, rather than has first hand experience.” Shivering with a mild violence for a moment, he shook his head. “I have the sudden urge to run a mile, dance, and fuck at the same time. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Lola’s shoulders shook with mirth at the explanation provided by the American, and she leaned over to give his hand a friendly squeeze. She quite enjoyed the sort of tactile euphoria brought on by the drug, but it seemed apparent that Scott had perhaps...overindulged. “Just let yourself enjoy, darling. You’ll be perfectly alright come morning -- right back to yourself!” Only she imagined he’d be perfectly miserable in the wake of the come-down. She didn’t envy the pounding headache he’d no-doubt wake up with. She’d have to remind him to bring a glass of water to bed. 

Turning her head back to the stage, Lola watched with some clear amusement as a couple of men gyrated on one another to the tune of some brash music being played by their band. She shrugged at Scott’s words beside her, and commented off-handedly: “I wonder if that will ruin how special it is, if you go and sell all of our little secrets.” Turning back towards him, she added with a cheeky grin: “of course, if it does sell so well so as to make it into a picture -- make sure that I’m the star, alright? It seems only fair.”

 She observed the show carefully once more, and broke contact only to take a long drink from the cup of gin she’d swiped. Her body shuddered in the aftermath of the swallow, but she smiled nonetheless. She ignored Scott’s line of thought altogether, and instead inquired: “so, which show do you think is better? You can be honest!”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“I doubt I’d be considered a rogue by any measure of the word.” He raised his eyebrow as if he were going to consider that for a moment before shrugging slightly. “I’ll read you two poems later, I promise that much.” Scott wasn’t certain what reading poems would mean for their relationship, whatever it might constitute, but he imagined that there was a fair amount of jest in her sentence. Still, the drugs that was still passing through his system made his mind move at a pace in which trying to process sarcasm wasn’t exactly easy.

Stepping into the club, he moved over and sat down, looking around at the collection of men in various costumes and stages of undress. Having experienced his own fair share of events through his life, seeing another man in any form of dress was not something that was new to him. Though, if he were honest with anyone, seeing a man in traditionally ladies’ clothing was not something that he had experienced before coming to Berlin.

“Everyone seems to have such a fine collection of lingerie in this city. Is that a German tradition? Is it akin to lederhosen?”  Whatever logical portion of Scott that remained knew that his question was ridiculous. However, he was no longer in full control of his reasoning skills, nor was he really knowledgeable about what the culture of the area or even the cabaret scene in Berlin. But whatever the logic was behind everything, he did want to know.

“Maybe not yet,” Lola replied, “but just wait until this city’s slipped a little further under that skin of yours. You’ll see!” What he’d see exactly, Lola couldn’t say. But that was neither here nor there. She laughed as he promised to read her two poems, and she nodded her head. “You’d best believe I’ll be holding you to that, Scott! And none of anyone else’s work, understand? I want to hear what a talented writer you are!” 

Lola sashayed along into the club, and waved every now and then with exuberant declarations of oh, hello darling! as she went. She passed the stage and halted before a man performing, and the dancer donned in a corset and boa paused in his routine to bend at the waist and drop a kiss to her cheeks and lips, before he returned to his routine. Lola turned round to look back at Scott, and when she did so she revealed that she now had red stains on her cheeks and lips -- though she hardly seemed to take notice. Beckoning him on to follow, she sequestered a table amidst a row that the occupants of the Kit Kat Klub had taken up for themselves. A waitress passed by with a serving tray, and Lola nicked the two glasses off of it before placing them down on the table before Scott. “I do hope one of those is gin,” she remarked, “but I suppose anything will do.”

Slipping the monstrous fur coat from her shoulders, Lola dropped the fine garment over the back of her chair before she moved to sit down beside Scott. It left her in what was really no more than a slip -- but modesty had long since been abandoned for the headliner. When she crossed her legs, the hem slid up to bare her garter. 

“I don’t know a thing about German tradition,” Lola replied cheerfully, as she scooped up the glass and drank. She was lucky -- it was gin. “I hardly speak the language, truthfully.” It was her luck that so many spoke English. “Why do you ask, darling? Looking to buy some of your own?” 

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

an-american-in-berlin2:

“A fair amount of things are taboo back in the States. In case you forgot, we made booze illegal. And, remembering that, you’ll understand why so many Americans come over to Europe. Berlin, to be more specific.” Yes, Paris and Rome and the like were rather wild places. But, from what he could tell, nothing quite compared to this. There was hardly anything that stopped people from doing whatever they cared for. It was a riotous amount of fun, though he imagined his head would be dying by the time he woke up. Whenever that might be, of course.

“I find that, when one tries something once, it immediately becomes a habit and consumes you. Either you try it again and it becomes an addiction, or your life is suddenly focused on not making that mistake again. But by doing nothing, we avoid all possibilities of suffering.” Scott went silent, as if contemplating his previous statement as a philosopher might. “On the other hand, if we try everything, it becomes a hell of a lot more fun.” For a moment he glanced up at the club, shrugging to display his ambivalence toward who frequented the club. “A good time is a good time is a good time. Can I kiss you?” And, as if to complete the full circle of his intoxicated state, he pressed his lips to hers without waiting for the response.

@lolaquacious​

“Oh yes, I’d heard of that. It sounded just dreadful. I think I’d just die if they went and made gin illegal -- why, I can’t even think of a world without it! I’d be forced to flee the country myself!” Those poor, horrifically repressed Americans were coming over in droves to drink and fuck without having to worry about the consequences -- and that was a rationale Lola both admired and deeply identified with. “Speaking of gin, I’ll be needing a glass of that -- a large one.”

Lola hummed at Scott’s words, though it was clear she hadn’t really been listening. Her eyes were intent on the door, and she’d taken his hand to begin pulling him toward it. The small amount of cocaine she’d taken had brightened her up, but her tolerance was such that she’d have to continue on with something if she wanted to keep enjoying the evening. Gin seemed to be just the thing. “Very profound, darling. You should consider writing screenplays! I’d be tickled to be your star!” 

She’d turned round to pay him mind when he’d asked to kiss her, and had no time at all to form a response before his lips met her own. Rather than pull away or bat him off, Lola opted to embrace the moment -- a decision she was often prone to making -- and so she kissed him. 

The snickers that pervaded the air told Lola that her companions were watching, but she ignored the urge to be more worried about such a thing. Perhaps Viktor wouldn’t run off and tell on her, even though she had swiped Scott. (After all, it certainly appeared as though the American wasn’t homosexual -- though one never could be fully sure.) 

“How very roguish of you,” she commented when she’d pulled away, noting with clear amusement that what was left of her red lipstick had left her lips and transferred to his. “Without having even read me a single poem!” 

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“America is still very much a buttoned up place. We had a short moment of freedom, and then prohibition, and then money became useless… Things aren’t great back there.” Though, on reflection, he might have realized things weren’t great here at all either. That wasn’t for this moment, though. Not on the drugs and not with a beautiful woman practically carrying him through the streets. 

With Lola’s suggestion, he laughed a bit. “Well, I think I can manage. Depending on how much money she throws out, and what she’d want. And maybe what she looks like, though that might not matter at all.” Turning to look at her at the entrance of the club, he couldn’t help his next statement. “As long as there is a chance you could replace her spot in bed.” Now his eyes moved to the Eldorado. “Looks… Homely.”

“Such a shame,” Lola replied, “I see no sense at all in behaving as if sex is taboo. What else is there to enjoy in life?” She’d heard something of the economic turmoil being suffered in America and in other European nations -- but Lola cared very little for politics, and listened very little whenever she was amongst a group discussing it. “I will say, however, that American film is far superior to what I’ve seen here and in other countries -- I saw The Jazz Singer not long ago, and it positively moved me!” There was not a lie to be found there: Lola had been in awe of the film, and it had seemed to reinvigorate something in her that demanded she become an actress of such a caliber as Al Jolson. “I was crying like a child at the end.”

“My, my,” Lola began, her shoulders shaking with mirth, “picky, aren’t we? I say that trying anything at all at least once is for the best,” she replied matter-of-factly. “It only helps to make you worldly -- and a skilled lover too!” The redhead snickered at his comment about having her replace the woman. “Oh, you are trying to get me into trouble, aren’t you?” Viktor had come along with them to the club -- and since Lola had stolen the American for the night, she was positive he’d tattle to Felix if he caught her doing anything uncouth. What a bore. 

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Lola insisted, “it’s almost as good as our club! This is a club for homosexuals,” she elaborated, “but it’s quite fun for everyone else, too!���

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“Nonchalant, maybe? Or should I come up with a more German word for it, considering our surroundings.” Thinking about what she was saying, he shrugged slightly. “Americans often come off as being too distant. Or so I’m told. I would say I’m the opposite of distant.”

Scott nodded a little, sighing. “I suppose I’m like most around here. A starving artist. It suits me, don’t you think?” Everything was bright and everything so very intense. Even the wind blowing against his face was sending a euphoric through his veins. It was like he could feel the blood flowing underneath his skin, expanding and pulsing. It was quite a bit more than he had ever been used to. “Well I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with Felix. But I can’t promise that I’m not going to try to get you into a bed.” Was he being that blunt? Well, all bets were thrown away by this point.

“Payment in sexual favors? Or payment for sexual favors? Because I feel like they’re different. Are they different? Either way, I suppose it depends on who I’m doing the fucking with.”

“I should say not! Listening to German day-in and day-out has grown particularly exhausting. It’s a treat to have someone who speaks English as their first language about! Nonchalant will do just perfectly!” Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Lola gave a delighted laugh. “No, not distant at all! I think you’re warming up quite beautifully!” No doubt aided by the significant amount of cocaine he’d consumed, but that was neither here nor there. A spot of gin could help balance him out. “I imagine love and sex and all that is given much more freely here than in America -- it’s given much more freely than any place I’ve ever been before, and I’ve been to very...free places.”

He was right to say that his profession -- or lack thereof -- put him in a category occupied by a majority of Berlin. The city was swimming with all sorts of art, but seemed to lack any real wealth to go along with it. “You and half of Berlin!” Lola retorted, waggling her eyebrows even as another peel of laughter escaped her. 

“Payment for sexual favors, darling. I think we could find a wealthy old woman tickled to throw money at you if you keep her bed warm. Oh, but you may not be afforded as much time to write as you like -- depending on her appetites...” Lola trailed off as the group came to a halt outside of a club with a facade not unlike the Kit Kat Klub. Just outside, a bearded man in women’s clothing stood smoking a cigar. “Here we are!” 

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“Americans are often underestimated.” He smiled a little, moving with her as they struggled through the streets. She definitely made the smarter choice, but he did think that she had quite a bit more experience. There were quite a few things that Lola seemed to be a professional at while he remained an amateur.

“I’m sure that I will be, you seem very capable.” As he looked at her, rummaging through her purse, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small case. Popping it open, he gestured it out to reveal a collection of cigarettes. “I hope that these are good enough for you.” But as he revealed them, she had found her own. Before he could put it back, he laughed at her question.

“I’m fairly certain I have about ten or fifteen Reichsmarks to my name. So if my landlady asks for rent, I’ll be coming over to your place.” Gesturing forward, he sighed. “Just down the street, about half a kilometer away. Right now I’m doing nothing for money. I suppose that won’t continue.”

“Oh, do you think so? I suppose we Europeans do believe that we’re a bit more...oh, what’s the word? I’m trying to think of something that sounds a bit fancier than relaxed. You’re the writer, why don’t you think of it for me?” Fumbling once more in the small bag, Lola discovered a book of matches, and struck her cigarette to life. 

“Ten or fifteen marks? I daresay you’re in worse financial strains than even me,” Lola replied, laughing at the idea. It was a shame that Scott wasn’t wealthy -- but it didn’t mean that they couldn’t be friends, at least. She’d save the status of lover for someone who could do something for her. “I can’t say I’d particularly recommend that course of action, darling. It’s not that the image of you coming to my room and begging for a place to sleep isn���t enticing -- but I’m a bit between places at the moment. I’m staying in the flat above the club for the moment, and you see, Felix -- that’s the man I’m sleeping with -- can be such a jealous thing. It’s really all a bit much -- after all, I explained to him quite plainly: any good actress must have a long string of truly passionate affairs!” 

"I expect you’ll need to do something for money,” Lola went on, taking a long drag on her cigarette. “Perhaps I could find a wealthy old matron to take you in. Are you terribly opposed to payment in sexual favors?”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“I think that is a good plan.” He nodded a bit, looking down the streets. Trying to find out what he was going to do. When his eyes went back over to Lola, his vision was slightly off. The drug had hit him a bit earlier then he expected. But that was alright, it wasn’t his first time down this path. “I’ll be fine. I’ve taken more. Though, perhaps not that fast.” Oh, this was definitely a mistake. One that he was certain would end poorly. But for now, fuck it, right?

Reaching over, he wrapped his arm around Lola’s waist, just trying to steady himself. Already he could feel his eyes going large, every ray of light that was before them seeing to explode. Perhaps swallowing hadn’t been a good idea. It probably had sat in his mouth for too long, dissolving. Of course, doing anything was probably not a good idea, but Scott was past that point. “We can go to Eldorado. Or I can just take you back to my place. I can make schnitzel. Or strudel. Or something, fuck, they need to turn down the light in this city, your skin feels really nice.” 

“Have you? My, my...perhaps I’ve underestimated you, Scott.” He had said that he’d toured through some other parts of Europe -- Lola supposed it was likely he’d been a part of the night scene in those places, and perhaps in America as well. Maybe he wasn’t as repressed as she’d initially thought. 

Another laugh left her lips as he wrapped an arm around her in a clear attempt to keep his footing, and she pat a hand against his torso affectionately. “Not to worry darling, I’ll take perfectly good care of you!” The rest of his words came and went, receiving only a minor hum of acknowledgement from the redhead as she walked and simultaneously dug once more through her purse in search of a cigarette. Her case had been empty, but she usually could find a loose one or two if she looked hard enough.

“Tell me, where are you staying? And what are you doing for money while you write? I don’t suppose penning a novelist is the sort of thing that would pay on a week-by-week basis.” Victorious, she extracted a cigarette and put it between her lips. “Are you rich?”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“Let’s, then.” He smiled, watching as she grabbed hold of him and began to drag the man through the doorway. “I’ve seen that much. Though I don’t think that makes Berlin much different from the others. Everyone seems to have not a care in the world.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. On his way into Berlin the other day, he had seen some people who took everything very seriously. Marching through the streets, flags waving and such. It was an odd sight for a city that many still considered rather depraved.

“Sounds like you’ve got it rather well planned out. I’m sensing you have a bit of a pattern.” Now he was trying to figure her out, to see how much he could learn about Lola’s behavior. “I thought Berlin wasn’t a place where people had patterns. It was all about the freedom and opportunity to do whatever you wanted.” Now the reaction that he got would tell him plenty about those who lived this lifestyle. Though he certainly did enjoy the way that people moved, he was still here mostly for the chance to write.

Taking one of the capsules, he popped it into her mouth and let it slide down his throat. “Apparently you don’t even take your cocaine like everyone else. I don’t know if a capsule makes it more efficient or if it takes the fun out.”

“Well, one must know where one can find the most fun, hmm?” His secondary response drew a large smile from Lola, and a loud laugh quickly chased it. “Oh, you’ve very smart, aren’t you? Quite right, Scott -- far be it from me to try and control the direction of the evening! If you see anything at all that catches your eye, just give a holler, and we’ll go have a look! Though, really, I do think you’ll enjoy Eldorado...it’s not quite the Kit Kat Klub, but then again, nothing really is.” Of course, the reason the club was so popular was because of her. 

Lola smiled as Scott took the capsule from her, and busied herself with popping open the manmade container she’d taken out for herself so that she could sprinkle a bit of the substance onto the top of her hand. With a quick inhale, the powder had disappeared -- and with a swipe of her finger, she applied whatever residue that had been left behind to her gums. When she looked up again, she saw that Scott had swallowed the entire thing. 

“Oh my,” Lola spoke, her eyes widening, “I do hope you’ve no intention of sleeping these next few days, dear.”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“Lola, then.” Smiling once more, he nodded a bit. She become slightly disinterested in him for a moment, or at least that’s how he took it. There was always something going on here, Scott understood that much so far. Everyone seemed to be on the top of the world, looking down on each other as if there was always someone to pull you down. It was a strange feeling, but it didn’t really matter to Scott. He wasn’t trying to pull anyone anywhere.

“I suppose they do. And if I do, I suppose it might be well earned.” Glancing over at Viktor, his eyes turned quickly back to the redhead. “I do wish to experience Berlin, absolutely.” Slowly he moved away from Viktor, stepping closer to Lola and glancing toward the door. “I thought it was a bit late to eat schnitzel, but if you know a good place, I suppose I can’t decline.”

Whilst the behavior of the lone American in the room suggested a hint of repression, Lola couldn’t help but to think that there was a great part of him that wanted to indulge in all that Berlin might have to offer. It seemed impossible that he’d come only for the writing inspiration. Maybe he had come for someone like Viktor, and was simply being too shy to come out with it. A little bit of gin and excitement could do wonders to open him up. “Wonderful,” Lola replied, flashing a toothy smile the American’s way. “Then let’s get at it, darling.”

The Emcee and the remaining crowd began moving towards the door, and among them some raucous hollers started up -- the second or third wind of the night having been picked up. Lola took a firm hold of Scott’s hand and pulled him along, flashing something of a superior look over her shoulder at Viktor. Better luck next time, sweet pea. “The first thing you’ve got to learn is that there’s no right-or-wrong time to do anything at all,” Lola instructed. “For example: we’re off to Eldorado now, and then after we’ll be off in search of that meal -- and then after that we may be able to swing by a little comedy cellar I like to frequent from time to time. It’s the most wonderfully dark and dim little place! Oh, I know -- you could read a poem for us there! Yes, I think that’d be perfect -- the owner is a former lover of mine, and I’m certain he’d give you a spot. No one cares much who goes on when that close to sunrise anyhow!”

As they stepped out into the street, Lola took a deep inhale of the cool nighttime air. “I just adore Berlin at night,” she mused, “but perhaps it’s because I don’t see much of it during the day.” Fishing around in her purse, Lola extracted two clear capsules, each filled with a bit of white powder. “Here you are, darling. This’ll keep you from falling asleep.”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

“Thank you, miss.” It should be, it wasn’t his. Like all aspiring young men, he had to fudge a few things to make himself seem a bit more appealing. And stealing the name from one of his favorite writers, F. Scott Fitzgerald, made that a little easier for him. It gave Scott some form of confidence that let him feel as if he had everything together. “A writer, yes. Mostly short stories, a poem or two. But I’m working on a novel about, well, Berlin. Everyone talks about Paris or London or Venice, more people need to see what’s happening here.”

Before his little speech could end, he was being held by one of the twins that he had seen before. Scott wasn’t certain of what was happening, but he didn’t entirely care. When Lola got his attention, he looked up once more. “I… I would very much enjoy that, miss… Lola. I would enjoy that.” And it would help with some inspiration for when he got back to his apartment.

“Dear, darling Scott -- you’ll have to stop calling me miss this very minute, alright? It makes me sound like I’m some sort of schoolteacher! It’s so...so boring. I simply won’t be able to stand it.” She hummed at his explanation of his career, and tried to not let any visible disappointment show on her face when he revealed that he was, in fact, not at all connected to any film projects.”Oh, well -- you must read me a poem of yours! I’m sure it must be...” She sighed, searching for the word: “...perfectly sensual.” 

“Americans come to Berlin because nobody knows what is happening here,” Viktor challenged, a laugh escaping him. “You are going to let the cat out of the bag, eh? You may earn a reputation, Scott.” 

“I think it’s a marvelous idea!” Lola interjected, “after all, why shouldn’t we be famous? In order to properly write about it, though, you’ll have to really experience Berlin.” And all of the sheer decadence that went along with it. “Luckily for you, dear Scott, it would be such a pleasure to assist you.” 

She offered a victorious smile when he accepted her offer, and reached out a hand expectantly. “Wonderful! Come along, then,” she bid, wiggling her fingers. “Viktor, be a dear and free him, won’t you? We’ve got ground to cover! There’s a show at Eldorado that I refuse to miss, and after that I’ve still got my mind on that schnitzel.” 

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

He could hear the chuckles of laughter coming after him, but he didn’t care. That had been the attitude of many when he visited such places. That came with the awkward nature of the moment, unable to completely understand what was going on and feeling slightly uncomfortable, but still not willing to stop. There was a constant determination in Scott, once he was focused nothing would ever change. So far, Berlin had not shown too much of a distraction, though there was still quite a bit that could distract from that thought.

“American, yes, miss.” Smiling a little, he leaned in and felt her kisses, and he tried to mimic them. There was a slight pause on his end when she came close to his own lips, but it faded quick enough. “Pleasure to meet you, Lola. I’m Scott.” Of course, that wasn’t his real name. It was as much of a stage name as Lola, most likely. Reality didn’t seem like a reasonable thing to expect at a place like this. “Well, I suppose I’d be very good company in that regard. I’m a writer, so speaking comes rather naturally to me.”

“Scott,” Lola repeated, rolling her tongue over the name. Feigning an American accent poorly, she went on: “what a brash, American name!” Lapsing back into her own posh accent, she spoke: “you could be a part of our dear Texas’ act as a cowboy!” When she turned to look at Texas to see if she’d heard the joke, she found that the chorus girl -- and her lover -- had both disappeared. “A writer, you say?” If his nationality alone had been of interest to Lola, his career was the icing on the cake. “What sort of writing do you do? Anything I ought to know? Do you write for films? Are you in Berlin for a film?”

“Lola,” Viktor interjected, appearing once more so that he could wrap a casual arm around Scott -- a power play for the redhead in the room, though she’d have none of it. “Where is Felix? Isn’t he coming with us?” 

Lola recognized that for what it was as well: Viktor’s way of trying to assert her unavailability. “Felix is staying in,” she replied with a sniff and a pout, “to count the night’s earnings and turn in early.” Turning her gaze onto Scott, she ignored Viktor. “Dreadful, isn’t he? Leaving me all by my lonesome.” Gasping, she spoke: “oh, I know. Scott, you can be my date for the evening -- or, what’s left of it. And you can talk to me in that delicious accent of yours all night long. What do you say?”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

an-american-in-berlin:

Scott glanced up at the woman who seemed to have collected the least amount of thin fabric to cover herself with, the star of the show. If he recalled, he had heard her called ‘Lola’ at one point. Though her name seemed to be the absolute last thing that anyone seemed to care about. What she did on stage, the way that she moved and spoke and everything else, was enough to distinguish herself from any others in the building. The redhead at the Kit Kat Klub, that would suffice. A fit enough description, though not nearly detailed as she might have liked.

Smiling at the three others that, he bowed his head a bit and began to wiggle through the small crowd. “Excuse me, miss, gentlemen.” Sliding down the small distance, he moved toward the woman, looking at her. There was a fair amount of caution that seemed to be held in his eyes. This was the exact opposite type of atmosphere that he had been raised in. And though he had certainly spent some time in the big cities back home and in Europe, few things could compare to Berlin. Even fewer to this cabaret, in particular. “Yes, miss?”

From the way the stranger wiggled about in an attempt to free himself from the cage Frenchie and Viktor had created around him, Lola knew precisely two things: he was a newcomer to Berlin, and he would be hopeless if he didn’t learn the rules soon enough. Laughter chased him as he approached her -- Viktor and Frenchie took a great deal of amusement at being referred to as gentleman and miss -- but Lola did not join in on their laughter. She watched quietly, wide-eyed and intrigued, with that same fiendish smirk painted onto her lips. 

When he addressed her properly -- up close and personal -- Lola lost her train of thought almost immediately, and instead appeared slack-jawed with shock. “You’re English!” She cried, clapping her hands together with excitement. “Or, well, American...but that’s close enough, isn’t it? Oh, how wonderful, how divine!” Squealing with excitement, she went on: “oh, but where are my manners?” Tossing the glass carelessly back to a nearby table, Lola took a hold of the man’s face with both hands, and pulled him down to press a kiss to each cheek -- though on the second kiss, she lingered dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. Remaining nearby, she whispered: “I’m Lola, darling.” 

As if nothing had happened at all, she dropped her hands from him and stepped back, continuing on gleefully: “it’s been so long since I’ve had a proper conversation with a proper English-speaker -- I’ve simply been desperate for it.”

this is berlin, darling!

[lolaquacious]

this is berlin, darling!

Though the band had long-since played a cheerful parting number – accompanied by the resident Emcee, nearly-nude as he was by the end of most evenings and bidding the crowd adieu with cries of aufwiedershen! À bientôt! Good night! – the infamous Kit Kat Klub had all but emptied. It was not entirely uncommon for the evening to stretch long beyond the final act, and often times the after hours saw the club stocked still with friends (old and new, as the term ‘friend’ could not be looser) eager to journey on to the next act of depravity before the sunlight called them home. The lingering crowd was a mix of those who were bushy-tailed and bright-eyed – no doubt aided by the powdery white miracle drug they so often took to inhaling – and those who glared through bleary, half-lidded eyes in a vain attempt to defy their own exhaustion.

In the hazy air filled with the heat of cigarette smoke and sex, some already had began to resign to their fate. This was evidenced by two bandmates that sat with their feet dangled over the edge of the stage; heads piled atop one another as they rested. Short bleats of flat noise escaped their saxophones every now and again: the result of snores breathed into instruments that still lingered near their lips. Not five feet away from them, a woman named Marjorie (who danced and sang under the stage name Texas that evening) swayed under the arm of her lover; her eyes drooping lower and lower before snapping open again suddenly. When her mouth opened wide and a loud yawn escaped her, the man she was curled beneath spoke to the tune of snickers: “only open your mouth that wide if you mean it, mein liebchen.”

Contrarily, those who were more alert prowled through the remaining guests who meandered about the club – their predatory nature evident as they hunted for the night’s food. It was one such woman, a dark-haired girl who’d performed as Frenchie, that approached the lone American in the room. (She’d been given a tip as to the man’s nationality by one of the waitresses who’d served his table that evening. The often-repressed, eager-to-explore Americans made for the perfect late-night snack.) Her thick German accent contradicted marvelously with the name she wore for the show, and she inquired with a tone of expectancy: “you want to buy me a drink, ja?” Releasing a loud scoff into the air, another man separated from where he’d stood with his identical twin brother – Viktor and Bobby, as they’d been introduced in the presentation of the cabaret boys – and approached the two, insisting: “he would like to buy me a drink.” (The cabaret boys -- and much of Berlin’s boys in general, as it were -- liked to assume some sort of monopoly on American men. It had caused a stir amongst the female workers on more than one occasion.) As Frenchie and Viktor both eyed the man with unabashed intrigue and hunger, a merry humming broke up the scene – and Lola arrived onto the floor from where she’d been holed up backstage following her grand, raunchy finale.

“I think I’ll just go mad if I don’t have a spot of gin and a great big plate of schnitzel – posthaste, ladies and gents!”

A nearly-gone cigarette dangled from the fingers of the cabaret headliner – the nails of which were painted an electric green that called to attention the yellow nicotine stains that surrounded the nail bed – and a curl of smoke trickled past her red-painted lips while she gave a wide and toothy smile to her companions. The emcee who had lingered behind slung an arm around her shoulder and pressed a smacking, wet kiss to her cheek – the effect of which was a peel of giggles from Lola. “Another astounding performance, mein liebling. How they worshipped you.” The others nearest her murmured similar words of encouragement, which seemed to do wonders for the way she nearly glowed where she stood. She beamed beneath it for a moment, half-ready to spin around at their praises, and only when the moment of glory had passed did she begin to make her rounds through the remaining party and introduce herself to those with whom she was unfamiliar.

Not unlike the others, Lola hadn’t bothered to change from the outfit she’d worn in her last number of the evening. The dress (which served as more of a slip than anything) that she wore was a cream color with a lace trim that danced at a racy high hem, displaying a flash of pale thighs before her the thigh-high tights (secured by a garter she’d played with seductively throughout her songs) began. Upon closer inspection, one could see that there were blue-green dots sprinkled across the slash of bared skin. If ever questioned on it (which she rarely, if ever, was), she could only wink and whisper: the calling card of a voracious lover, darling. The light color of her skin stood in contrast to the striking red of her bobbed hair, which had at first been curled immaculately – but had since begun to sag in what was clearly a preferred straightness. Up close, one could see the dress Lola wore was sullied with stains and tears that evidenced significant wear. The netted tights were damaged just the same, and even the heels on her feet were scuffed and dirtied. A glittery necklace dripped around her pale neck, and though it had seemed pretty from far away, it screamed it’s cheapness up close (the spaces where her neck brushed against the chain had turned a green to compliment her fingernails and bruises on her thighs).

Her face had been previously powdered a shocking white that had made her almost glow beneath the stage lights, but after wear and heat it’d begun to fade -- and the natural flush of her cheeks fought to rise up from beneath it. Atop the powder sat a dark kohl liner that drew over her eyes and elongated her brows nearly to her temples, as per the style. A deep red rouge stood at attention atop her pronounced cheekbones (just above where her skin naturally reddened), whilst ridiculously high false lashes threatened to tickle her brows when she blinked. Her red lips, which had also seemed immaculate from the stage, were now clearly faded from hours of singing and talking and drinking and kissing. The perfectly-drawn edges had smudged along her lower lip, exaggerating the size as it drooped down. Atop it all, Lola sported a magnificent fur coat that dwarfed her lithe frame. The size of it was so great that it sagged down on one side and bared a shoulder as pale as her thigh, though one could not be certain if the coat had done it of its own accord or if Lola had arranged it to suit her image: effortless, cool. 

Regardless of one’s opinion of the so-called Toast of Mayfair, the strut of her step professed an unshakable confidence and pride.

Lola flounced from person to person – from cluster to cluster – each time pressing kisses to the cheeks of her brief companions and making a moment’s conversation. Her voice was high: loud and excited, and likely made so by a bit of that same miracle powder her companions had already enjoyed. Or perhaps she was always so excited. She stopped once after she’d made a half-circle about the room, ground the remnants of her cigarette into a forgotten ashtray at one of the tables, and scooped up a half-drunken cup of scotch that still had the lipstick marks of the last owner. She sipped it thoughtfully – paying no mind to the intended burn of the liquor – and turned her gaze onto the area of the room where the American had been cornered by Frenchie and Viktor. Her brows lifted with curiosity, and a devilish smile spread across her lips.

“My, my, my, my…” Lola clucked as she approached, “aren’t you a rather tall thing!” Turning back to look at her friends with a grin and an exaggerated shrug, she added: “or, well, I suppose I might just be a rather small thing – but those are just semantics, and nothing could bore me more!” An amused hum vibrated in the woman’s throat, and as she turned back to face the stranger she offered a curled finger in a come hither gesture. “Won’t you be a perfect darling and come down here?”