amibordeaux

[amibordeaux]

[amibordeaux]

gabrieldesilva‌:

Gabriel let his eyes wander, taking in the detail of the well-tailored suit that she wore; the bright blue tie was a wonderful accent to the color of her skin and the pinstripe material of her attire, and, paired with her perfect coif, she might as well be a model. And maybe she was.

When she offered the women’s suit for purchase, the critic shook his head and clarified that he wasn’t looking for a gift, but rather, someone to make him a suit just like the ones on display. Gabriel went on to tell her that he found the shop through a friend who wore a dark, three-piece, pinstripe suit during a recent event.

“Though I’m afraid my friend forgot to tell me that this is a women’s shop, so I understand if you refuse.”

“What kind of business would I be running if I refused?” she questioned with a professional smile and a quirk of her eyebrow. Amelie preferred women, in every situation. The lines and curves that would construct her body, the complexities of her proportions, the intrigue of conversation. Still, her talent for tailoring attracted a few men to her door and she would not turn them--or, more importantly, their money--away. 

“I will caution,” she said, pulling her bright yellow tape measure from its hiding place beneath her lapel, “my fabric choices aren’t necessarily conventional for menswear. But we can work together to find something you’re comfortable in.” In her experience, a man bought a suit and wanted it to look identical to all the others in his wardrobe. “If you’ll step in the back, we can look at some options and I can take your measurements.”

[amibordeaux]

drunken confession.

your muse is drinking with mine and has been given the chance to question my muse anything they want to know. some may be triggering, others won’t. send me a 🍻+ the question you want to ask my muse for a tipsy, drunken ( honest ) answer.

“ what’s holding you back in life ?”

“ is everything alright? ”

“ when did you choose to give up ?”

“ what’s the kinkiest thing you have ever done ?”

“ how many have you slept with ?”

“ what’s your biggest secret ?”

“ do you believe in love ?”

“ what’s the meanest thing you have done ?”

“ what scares you more than anything ?”

“ have you ever considered running away ?”

“ do you love me ?”

“ what’s your dirtiest fantasy ?”

“ who hurt you ?”

“ what made you this way ?”

“ is there anyone special in your life ?”

“ why are you always smiling ?”

“ what lie have you told that hurt someone ?”

“ if you could do anything in world, what would it be ?”

“ who are you, really ?”

“ is there anything you regret ?”

“ what’s your biggest regret ?”

“ tell me about your first kiss ?”

“ what is your deepest, darkest fear ?”

“ is there anyone you regret kissing ?”

“ have you ever cheated, or been cheated on ?”

“ what is the most embarrassing thing in your room ?”

“ who have you loved, but they didn’t love you back ?”

“ is there something you have never told anyone ?”

“ when was the last time you cried ?”

“ how come you keep running away ?”

“ have you ever made someone cry ?”

“ if anything, what makes you hate a person ?”

“ what takes for you to fall in love, trust someone ?”

“ do you believe in true love ?”

“ what have you done that people would judge you most for doing ?”

“ do you regret letting me close ?”

“ is there someone you have a crush on ?”

“ what is the strangest place you have ever had sex ?”

“ tell me your most awkward date story ?”

“ do you ever get scared ?”

“ what do you really think of life ?”

add your own for further development.

[amibordeaux]

Baby Face (1933) dir. Alfred E. Green

[amibordeaux]

Marlene Dietrich in Morocco (1930)

[amibordeaux]

[amibordeaux]

gabrieldesilva‌:

@amibordeaux

The clean lines of her suit were impeccable and the craftsmanship shined through, Gabriel found great pleasure in undressing Anais that night and the critic teased about having a suit made just like the one she wore. The songstress indulged him and gave him a store name, but it wasn’t until a week later that he found the time to seek the tailor out– he was only going to browse.

The bell that hung above the door rang softly, and Gabriel let his eyes wander: on mannequins were creations that varied in styles, androgynous looks for women and contemporary gowns. The critic approached the nearest display and let his fingers touch the material, he hummed approvingly before turning his head when he heard a voice.

“I was just admiring the material. This is Charmeuse silk is it not?”

“Can I help you, sir?” Amelie asked, poking her head out from the workspace in the back of her shop. From the top down, Amelie looked every bit the professional. Her hair sculpted so that not a strand was out of place atop her head. A pinstripe tuxedo vest was buttoned over a baby blue tie. Her trousers billowed out from her hips, the legs loose but pleated. At least he’d caught her in retail mode, rather than design mode. It was a rare day when a man she did not owe money to entered her shop. His presence immediately made her suspicious, though she did her best to hide her hesitation. Instead, she put on her most well practiced saleswoman face. The kind that made her seem humble and eager rather than just plain desperate to sell a dress.

“You know your fabrics, Monsieur,” she agreed, allowing him a glimpse at her most pleasant smile. It was crêpe, but it would do her no favors to correct him. Amelie moved out into the open, but kept the sales counter strategically between them. For the time being at least. He didn’t look like a man capable of carrying out the dirty work of some of her more aggressive investors. But one could never be too careful. “That’s a one of a kind. If you’re looking for a special gift for your wife, you won’t find anything more unique.”

[amibordeaux]

mxmmon‌:

It was easy to tell the difference in the air when he entered Amelie’s studio. For one so engrossed in their work, even though her eyes were not on him he felt her presence deftly aware of him. Were she a feline her hair would be stood on end.

Anthony’s eyes glanced at the mannequin seeing the swoops and draping of the fabric and imagining it on a beautiful figure. The young woman had chosen the right profession. With a nod, he hummed in agreement.

“Yes, is it anybody I know?” He queried casually, making small talk silently. He was never one to lay down the hammer unless the moment required and with Amelie it wasn’t. Merely small nudges from time to time.

“Now, now.” He placed his hands before him. “I have merely come to visit. See what you’ve done to the place.” He began meandering through the shop, feeling a few fabrics that were laid out for other projects. “See what has become of my money.” He added on as his fingertips ran across some particularly soft silk.

“I was thinking of getting another suit for the summer. How is your hand at the male form?”

Amelie watched him meander around her space. Rarely was she in the company of men in her own domain. With very few exceptions, she found their presence, no matter their relation or intent, always carried the smallest thread of potential violence. Anthony, she knew, as no threat to her so long as she upheld her end of their arrangement. Still, she couldn’t help the desire to shrink in his presence. Her studio felt smaller with him in it. 

“Well, my hands always prefer the curves of a woman’s form,” she allowed herself a daring quip. Her index finger traced the side seam of her dress on the hour glass figure of the mannequin. “But I’m sure I can make do with your form if need be.”

She turned away from him and made busy work of the liquor she kept on hand for when she worked. Two crystal glasses and an ornate bottle of absinthe waited for her on a shelf among a scattered assortment of sketch books and rolled up fabrics and boxes of buttons, pins, clasps, and zippers. She offered Anthony a glass as she sipped her own. “I’d offer you a snack if I had anything here other than a box of stale biscuits.”

[amibordeaux]

Amelie’s wide brimmed hat concealed her face from prying eyes. The dim lighting cast a shadow over her features, hopefully obscuring her from the gossipy types who loved to make a fuss of the new comer into the much watched social circles of Paris. She sat upright in her seat, one leg crossed over the other with the sharp pleat of her slacks taking the shape of a talon ready to strike. 

The Moulin Rouge was a break from her usual haunts. One where she could avoid being seen. She owed money to more than just Anthony. And some of her benefactors were less kind than the Mobster. Anxiety churned in her stomach as she waited for him to enter the seedy club. She wanted no part of his vile grin and breath that smelled like death. She didn’t want to be the object of his hungry eyes trying to find some part of her to gawk at beneath her very intentionally chosen suit.

The bell chimed and Amelie felt her muscles tense. Though, the figure entering the lounge was not the person she awaited.

[amibordeaux]

🌎 - Does your muse want to change the world? How would they go about it?

I don’t know if Amelie thinks about changing the world. At least not right now. She is very focused on what is in front of her: surviving in Paris and making a name for herself. Later, in about ten years, she will take an active role in war efforts and propaganda against Germany and that will be her way of changing the world for the better.

[amibordeaux]

dallasrxxd‌:

Nothing went better with drinking than a smoke, so the bouncer gladly accepted the pack offered and pulled a cigarette out. “I can still teach you how to throw a punch anytime. Just say the word and we’ll go knock some fool to his ass,” Dallas offered with a grin. He stuck the cigarette out for her to light for him. 

Evening taking a long drag couldn’t curb the dread that crawled in his stomach from the alcohol and the reason why he began drinking at the bar anyways. “I dunno if you wanna hear what I have to say.” 

“Well,” Amelie’s voice came on the heels of a stream of smoke as she exhaled, “if you’re going to say that Rosalie Murdock is the most gifted innovative mind in Paris fashion, then you’re right. I don’t want to hear what you have to say.” She leaned back in her seat, one leg folding over the other as a grin tugged at one side of her lips. 

“But I have a feeling that isn’t something you have very strong opinions about, hm?” She teased, a hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. Her fingertips carried comfort and reassurance that was genuine, rather than the well practiced false affection she offered most men she came into contact with. “I hate seeing you so glum.”

[amibordeaux]

gracefontaine‌:

Grace pretended to contemplate for a moment, as if she wouldn’t have dropped any plans she already had for Amelie, at a moment’s notice. “Well, let me think…” She trailed it out, just for a minute and then broke out in a laugh. “Of course I’ll be there.” She replied, nodding confidently. “Anything for you, you know.”

It was something that felt so rare to her - Someone she genuinely cared for, there were very few of those people. Perhaps only Carmen, actually. There were people who’s company she enjoyed, or who she tolerated, but caring was different. Amelie was…  She was important. It was something she couldn’t completely understand, but at the same time something she knew she wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. 

Amelie barely caught herself. The dreamy way she watched Grace as she laughed, a moment passing before she remembered that she should respond. Or, at the very last, not look at this young woman with so much blatant love and affection. A friendship was one thing, but the smile that found an easy home across her lips might easily be read as something more. Something neither of them could afford.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she said softly. “You wouldn’t believe how impossible it is to get models to work for someone whose name isn’t Chanel or Murdock.” The women who wore Amelie’s clothes weren’t interested in inhabiting the same traditional wardrobe as their mothers. They came to her for a piece art, with equal parts joy and edge. But those women were often not the ones who could afford to pay for the luxury of custom pieces. “If I can find a buyer with this show... It could change everything.” 

[amibordeaux]

mxmmon‌:

Snow fell from a grey sky to land on the black hat and black coat of the man who held himself with air of quiet confidence. Though many knew of him, few knew the real him, and even with the whispers, even fewer knew the same him. With gloved hands upon a glistening walking stick for such dreary weather such as this, he gave of somewhat of a mysterious and possibly alluring charm depending on who you asked.

He would not have ventured outside just to pay somebody a visit, however he had been asked to the police station. No questions he could not answer albeit whether it was the truth or not. It ended up being a brief visit, exactly what he had intended from the very start even if he had parted a few Francs shorter. The brevity of the meeting meant he had time before dinner to pay a certain somebody a visit. It had, after all, been far too long since he had.

Approaching the door of the studio, he already had the key out. There was no intention in the visit besides his presence. Always to be made known that yes, it did not do well to forget him. With the door opening he was greeted with more warmth than the outside at least as he took off his hat and hung it upon a hook beside him.

“That depends. If one enjoys snow, I suppose.” He mused as he placed his cane, leaning against the wall before shrugging off his coat. “Who is that for?” He gestured at the mannequin as he hung up the garment and turned to the stylist. 

A cold January breeze swept in, brushing her bare legs and sending chills up her spine. The comfort of her work attire was overwhelmed by the sudden intrusion of the man into her world. 

There was a trained sense of propriety in Amelie that sounded an alarm inside her head. The impulse to turn away from the task at hand, to take his coat and his hat, to show him to a seat, to offer him a drink. It was an instinct that had served her as well in her mother’s tavern as it had in Anthony’s club. But Anthony wasn’t a client; he wasn’t a patron. And so, she continued her work, careful to angle herself around the mannequin so that she could watch him move about her space. As determined as she was to assert some authority in her situation, she did not trust Anthony and that made her fear him.

“An heiress,” she sighed, her voice light with false chipper as she tucked pins into the cotton ball on her work tray. She moved away from her work, to take in the view in full. “Lovely, no?”

Her arms folded over her chest. “Don’t worry, this is a paying job.” Amelie turned to face him fully for the first time. “That’s why you’ve come today, right? You don’t need to worry. I haven’t forgotten.”

[amibordeaux]

madamemoreau‌:

Vivienne cast her eyes around the room as she waited for the young woman to make her mind up. Hopefully she was as sweet and considerate as she seemed. If so, then Vivienne couldn’t help but think this whole endeavor might even be fun, never mind just charitable.

She steeled herself from smiling as the young women began to acquiesce. If she’d learned anything in rep it was that the promise of bread always got them, in the end.

“Oh no. My pleasure, I promise. Now let’s get out of here. Before we have to trudge all the way back again.” She tilted her head towards the hallway and gave a slight smile “Come on, then. ” She paused for as second she took in the woman’s collection of belongings. “I’ll give you a hand with those.” She stuck out a hand. “Here.”

As she turned to lead the way, a thought occurred to her.  “Oh, I’m sorry, miss. I forgot to ask your name!”

“Oh no. Thank you,” she said with a smile as she slung a bag over her shoulder. “I’ve got it.” As unlikely as it was, Amelie was afraid to run the risk of her stage manager guessing that the minor weight of her back was comprised of a few rolled up outfits so she could convincingly look as though she were not sleeping in the theatre basement and some supplies she’d “borrowed” from the costume department. She could never have enough needles and thread in her own studio and the theatre could always order more. She knew they weren’t hurting for money.

She moved ahead to open the door for Madame Moreau, accompanying the gesture by a gracious bow. “It’s Amelie,” she told her. “After you, Madame.”

Outside the theatre, in the cool night air of Paris, Amelie felt a strange sensation of freedom that she hadn’t felt in quite some time. It was a false sensation, she knew. She was anything but free, with no one and little money and the deadline of a payment breathing down her neck. At least she might have a bed to sleep in for the night. Perhaps she might even earn the friendship of a woman in a station much higher than her own.

“This is very kind of you,” Amelie remarked, her voice cutting through the silent bubble that held them as they walked the street. “I’ve met very few such generous people in my time in the city.”

[amibordeaux]

dallasrxxd‌:

As much as Dallas hated to admit it Amelie’s touch comforted him. The former dancer, now fashion designer extraordinaire, became one of the first girl’s to take Dallas under her wing when he joined the L’ Enfer family years ago. For that, the bouncer, would forever be grateful to see her. “At least I get to knock some teeth out every now and then or else this place would be unbearable.” 

“So sweet of you to tell me,” he said with a groan and swigged at his bottle. He was between the space of heavily buzzed and blackout drunk with his body feeling hot and fuzzy. Amelie blurred in and out of his vision for a moment until Dallas focused on her face. “I’m sorry that was rude. I’m rude.” 

Leaning back in her chair, Amelie placed a cigarette between her lips before nudging the flimsy pack towards the man. “If only I had been allowed to knock some teeth out,” she said with a kind smile, “I might have been able to stand this place a little longer.” She light a match and the tip of her cigarette came to life with an dull spark.

“You’re not rude,” she said softly. “Okay, maybe a little rude. But I’m going to let that pass.” Because he was Dallas and the amount of affection she had for him couldn’t possibly be measured, she would let nearly anything slide for him.

She tapped the ash from the tip of her cigarette in the tray in front of her. “Talk to me?” she offered. 

[amibordeaux]

@mxmmon

It was almost finished. Pins that held the straps together would be pulled out one by one as she sewed the last seam on her newest masterpiece. It was a jade cocktail dress for a woman with no qualms about bearing her beautiful tanned skin. The sleeveless dress fell loosely into a boxy shape, the sides completely exposed down to the dress form’s beige padded hips. The open back held together by a dainty golden chain that dropped into a delicate Y down her spine, ending in a brilliant tear-drop cut emerald. The beaded skirt ended just above the knee, with fringe that chimed as Amelie ran her fingers over her hard work.

Her hair was pulled back into a tight sculpted bun as she worked. Her work clothes would have embarrassed any proper lady of society. She wore a pair of slacks cut into shorts that were even less modest than the work at hand. An old men’s dress shirt salvaged from her time at L’Enfer draped loosely over her shoulders, so threadbare it was almost as sheer as the chiffon she held against the dress form before deciding it brought the design down.

Amelie was in her element. Disheveled with pins held between her teeth, her studio looking like the aftermath of a deadly storm, looking to a significant pay day on the coming horizon. The simple joy of creating made her heart flutter in her chest. But the way her client freely dripped wealth over every inch of her studio? That was Amelie’s ticket to survival.

Amelie had clawed her way though a desert to get here, and she could feel her destiny just on the other side of this sleek teal mountain.

Amid her concentration, focused completely on perfecting the work of her needle slipping through the delicate silk, the sound of her studio lock punctured her safe, silent bubble. And just like that, all of her joy was sucked out of the room. Only one other person had a key to her studio. One person who dropped by to remind her in no uncertain terms that she owed him a debt that she may never be able to repay.

“Bonjour. Belle journée non?” she called as the door opened behind her, “Please do come in. Make yourself comfortable.” Amelie didn’t turn away from her work immediately, stealing precious seconds to steady her composure as she finished her careful stitch.

[amibordeaux]

madamemoreau‌:

“Oh dear,” Vivienne said, her brow furrowing a little as she spoke. She cast her eyes down to the rumpled pile of cloth that had obviously been serving as this woman’s sleeping space. She prided herself on not being too much of a snob, but she had to admit that things looked fairly dire. “Mhm. Uncomfortable, indeed.” Far too much Artificial Silk for anyone to bear, she thought to herself. In any context, really.

She hoped she could trust this bohemian-looking young lady. The  kind of regular, upstanding sort of people she knew would never dream of inviting a mere stranger to tread across the threshold.

But then again, she liked to think that she wasn’t destined to be regular. Or upstanding, even.

Where was the fun in that?

“Are you sure?” she asked, as lightly as she could manage. “There’s plenty of space. A nice big plush bed is there for the taking.” A tiny smile worked its way onto her face. “Or a cup of tea, if that’s appealing.” Tea was about as far as Vivienne’s culinary prowess went, unfortunately. “And perhaps some cheese? possibly. Bread at the very least anyway.”

There was a certain terror that came with accepting someone’s help. Even the gentlest gesture from the most well-meaning person felt like a capitalistic transaction. For better or worse, everything in Paris came at a cost and Amelie, in her time in the city, had yet to meet a single person who offered kindness without a price-tag.

What price would she have to pay for a bed and some tea? Certainly it wouldn’t be greater than the price for a bed in a glorified brothel. 

“Actually,” she exhaled, hesitant. Amelie wondered if her acceptance would confirm for the woman a suspicion that her hired costumer was, in fact, a homeless vagabond. “That sounds lovely, madame.” Torn between a keen sense of self-preservation and the desire to sleep on something other than a pallet of muslin and cotton batting, Amelie gathered her things.

“Are you sure it’s not too much an imposition?”