fontainegirl

[fontainegirl]

they were two halves, a yin to a yang, where irina's craving for chaos and destruction met opal's yearning for calm and simplicity. yet, often she was coaxed out of her shell by her friend's behavior, engaging in activities not entirely legal nor safe. yet - it was exciting. the thrill was better than any drug, any alcohol, the same type she felt when plugged into a machine and asked by a higher up to do something for the gang. search files, comb through security footage, find the flaw in data that indicated something was up. "i do to," fingers tap across the hood of the car, dark eyes filled with excitement for the days proceedings. "something harder to get out?" opal suggested with the quirk of an eyebrow, following irina's example into the car.

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 : opal fontaine ( @fontainegirl ) .

like    a    moth    to    a    flame    ,    trouble    seeps    into    irina's    veins    ;    the    allure    of    crimes    so    unthinkable    nearly    tantalizes    the    bloodstream ,    her    entire    being    aroused    for    violence    that    pushes    past    even    the    greatest    societal    taboos    .    how    was    it    fair    that    such    a    pretty    shell    could    cover    for    something    so    rotten    ?    doe    eyes    that    appear    so    innocent    glisten    ,    slightly    inflamed    by    their    hunger    for    bloodthirst    .   a    glint    so    mischievous    ,    it    beckons    her    to    dance    on    the    verge    of    morality    .    irina    ,    a    living    paradox    of    fragility    and    ferocity ,    holds    a    pink    knife ,    sliding    it    across    her    collarbone    .    blood    splatters    like    an    unholy    canvas ,    and her    gaze    fixes   on    the    crimson    trail    .      ❛    i    think    this    works    ,    don't    you    ?    ❜    irina    smiles    ,      approaching    her    aston    martin    .    ❛    now    ,    don't    mind    this    .    ❜    she    muses    ,    running    over    running    her    fingertips    over    a    small    stain    .    ❛    daddy    hasn't    sent    me   my    allowance    of    the    week    just    yet    .    ❜    a    tap    on    a    keychain    unlocks    the    doors    .    ❛    maybe    if    i'm    lucky    ,    i'll    end    up    with    another    stain    before    the    end    of    the    night    ?   ❛    she    speaks    with    a    hum    ,   opening    the    car    door .

[fontainegirl]

wherever he steps, opal accompanies, gaze sweeping the floor and those on it. the casino feels more manageable in company, less like an ornate prison designed to ensnare the senses, more like someone you come with people. it can be dizzying for them to scower floor after floor, so much of it the same that it feels like a trapping maze. all opal needs to know is where the stage is, where the changing rooms are, and the exit. everything else is dressing. the question makes her 'hmm' in thought, as she had all the time in the world. would such an answer make her seem desperate? as if his company was overly-desired? "i suppose it depends. how much would you like to spend with me?" she responds. zekai is not unpleasant, and an evening or entire afternoon would be enjoyed. "empathy is easy - watch an ankle twist the wrong way or a blade find itself between finger webbing and watch how people wince. i would not say those reactions are taught,"

He likes her.     He decided this within the spare moments of their conversation.     They spoke not to barricade their ideals into another,    but simply to water down the intensity of existence.      For someone who doesn’t like introspection,     they sure seemed educated in extrospection.     Zekai is unsure which is worse:    to see too much of the world,    or not enough.     He wanders around the floor,    not quite lingering too long at a table to want to sit and place a bet at it.     “What do you have time for?”      The gruff voice questioning her not out of suspicion,    just that vague feeling of wanting to connect with someone.      She follows him,   but perhaps he follows her.     Time is an endless circle after all    —    always repeating itself,    the father turns to the son,    the son turns to the father and so on.         “Humans are the only mammals that know pity.     But,    we are difficult creatures to teach empathy to,   eh?”

[fontainegirl]

no words are needed spoken to opal who's friendships have so often been shallow, or fleeting, or based on some silly mutual obligations. so many of them they cannot even remember, holes poked into a fragile memory that is a lot worse than she lets on - it is a lot easier to nod and accept things they're told than question what she no longer knows. no matter what, though, opal is always glad to see heart, no matter where the two may be. "still," even if burning gods had nothing to do with it either, it still made opal think. for hours she'd sat hooked up to a computer, trailing through miles upon miles of local data, trying to find a source yet - nothing substantial.

"i bet you're shattering them, you look drop dead gorgeous tonight! real femme fatale," so unlike opal who instead has to look somewhat regal for the job they're performing as. the dress is beautiful yes, but also tight, sequins itchy. every stitch rubs against their skin like a painful rash. "i'm just letting you know the offers there. i'd hate for you to end up going home alone," it is genuine, their concern, the want to do right by heart.

SHE WANTS TO REACH OUT AND BRUSH THE FACE FROM OPAL'S HAIR. tell her something kinder than hello or goodbye. something like i value our friendship or you look lovely tonight. but she sits, placid and unmoved by the direction of her own heart and watches opal smile. she is unchanging in the wind or in the flicker of candles forever the heart who cannot truly say what she means and the woman who crushes innocent insects underneath the ball of her foot. they have committed no crime except for living and still she cannot help herself to bring her foot down upon precious fragile things. opal is precious and fragile and fear creeps into the maw of her rotting in between gums and tongues. she will destroy this like she was destroyed everything else in her life. she pushes her body against opal's said touching them with a gentle, swaying contact. heart a stark contrast in black and white. like a vision from a noir film her dark hair cuts across the creamy fabric of her dress. her leg slips easily out through the slit edging on an unsafe territory but thrill alights her regardless. "i try to keep my head out of that kind of business." she laughs tilting back to watch frenetic partygoers buzz in between each other. if the executioners have nothing to do with it then she's happy to leave the nasty shit to anyone else who's game. "i'm just here to break hearts and make money." the dark gaze slips up watching opal wind like morning mist around themselves. "i think my date would be annoyed if i went home with someone else but we could probably make an exception for you."

[fontainegirl]

Elle Fanning as Katherine the Great in The Great (2020—)

[fontainegirl]

EMMA THOMPSON as Beatrice MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING (1993, dir. Kenneth Branagh)

[fontainegirl]

ANYA TAYLOR-JOY for Tiffany & Co. high jewelry campaign (October 2023)

[fontainegirl]

"don't have time to be," because it would be soul destroying to think upon themselves more than they already did. opal may not have a life filled with near constant tragedy but, there was something to be said for a great fall. to know how icarus felt, so close to the sun, only to plummet to earth while he still believed he could fly. perhaps that was opal, not wholly aware that she was in such a sharp free-fall. opal kept themselves busy to avoid such spiraling thoughts that so easy plagued her, glad for the sudden uptick in problems her organization was interested in. it was comforting, getting lost in code, that binary much more easy to understand that their own human condition. she does follow zekai's direction around the table, dark eyes looking upon the cards. "that, and i often find it leads to self pity,"

How quickly the muscles reform memories.      How even beneath the skin the weather either warms or freezes off the nerve endings.     How the noises remain piercing in his eardrums   —    the click of a lighter,     the slide of cards upon velvety felt tables,     the shuffling of playing chips.       Things are observed without his conscious mind accepting it.      He is always poised for war,     preparations that began in the bloodstream long before he had ever learned to crawl.       The casino floor is busy and crowded.     He shifts for a moment in his stance,     glances over at his companion with an expression built for attempted indifference.     But the mouth smiles,    the eyes dark and watchful.       “Not too introspective,     eh?     I think that’s a good thing.”       A nod,     he moves his gaze towards an open spot by the blackjack table.      Zekai mumbles another comment,     absentmindedly noting the exits a few meters away.      Content enough to stay in one place,    he hovers around the free seat,     hand waving in a semicircle to direct her to it.       “Spend too long inside yourself and you’ll miss shit happening around you.      Or ain’t that what they say?’     

[fontainegirl]

so often opal felt like a marionette on a string, the freedom of her movements pulled by the invisible maestro that was hidden by the shadows. it could be the higher ups of the casino, the leader of burning gods or...even the woman in the crowd who looked upon her like one looked upon a completed project. an architect admiring their own work, the slopes and character if a building so complete to their vision, a real magnum opus. she is, after all, a complete mesh of man and machine, a seamless blend between the two.

in gaining her life back, it has cost her the ability to do as she wished. debts needed to be repaid, after all. the blonde wouldn't let anybody know she wasn't wholly human, still unsure where she stood on it after all these years. sometimes, while examining the seams where cold metal met warm flesh, she wondered why she couldn't wholly be one of the other. dead, or not human.

the made cannot escape the maker, her smile that stretches awkwardly across a face almost as if it isn't used to making such an expression. opal smiles back, trying to similarly appear genuine. is this how man would be, upon talking to their god? no, for a man couldn't keep his cool in a situation.

"hello back," they purred with a smile, going in to kiss both of the other woman's cheeks in a proper french greeting. opal never did this with anyone else. "oh, you know. performances to give, stores to shop at, the world turns!" a laugh rings out.

"how are you doing? its been an age,"

@fontainegirl / event with opal.

narcissism seems to be something that's passed on for generations in the stone family. claire watched opal with a sense of achievement, being involved directly in the work to save them, to make them functional and more - exceptional. there was a point where the woman had harboured some jealousy for them; the want to be a replicant herself had been strong at that time but the birth of her daughter seemed to make her a lot more comfortable in her humanity. well, a lot more comfortable or a lot more susceptible to succumbing to her fragile emotions - they would always end up keeping her back in one way or another.

looking at her fine work in the performer did give her a sense of achievement as they acted as a reminder that she was indeed capable of great things. at this time, claire's considering holding her hands up and walking away from it all but there's always a reason that makes her reject that notion. her reasoning changes as she talks herself out of it, again and again. this was all she'd ever known. what would become of her when celine didn't need her anymore and where would she find herself? her uncertainty was obvious to some, although she tried to hold her nerve. finally catching the other in conversation, claire gave opal a smile, one that was intended to be friendly and could come across as forced. "hello, you." her nose creases as her smile widens. "your performance was lovely. it's been a while since i've seen you." while she speaks, the brunette's eyes can't help but scan the other, up and down.

[fontainegirl]

wealth is not so sickening for opal as it is others, as it is something she has always been afforded - a silver spoon place in her mouth no sooner her cord cut. there is nothing the bird in the gilded cage could ever want for, the moment it thought the object placed in an open palm. sometimes, what was given was not what was truly desired ; attention, affection, time. things opal has always desired from mother but only given to her in warped forms. attention when she did things wrong, affection when she managed to keep a perfect 25 inch waist despite a holiday, time when styling hair.

none of those things are hunger, nor warmth, real people problems. opal doesn't feel at home amongst the elite, though, nor among the common, occupying a fragile middle ground. everyone at the top has a chance to fall off their pedestal, and they all end up at the same fate...swallowed up by the sea of concrete.

heart's gaze makes those thoughts quieten down, ready to instead chat about those that are fretting and threatening to leave over a little darkness. "it's crazy, isn't it? wonder if it's something to do with those poisonings a few weeks back," opal mused, thinking this was potentially gang related as there were quite a few of them at the gala tonight. the rich and the criminal were common bedfellows, after all. "if it's still fucked by the end of the night, i insist you come stay at mine,"

WHAT IS SHE AFFORDED EXCEPT FOR THE SMELL OF HER OWN PERFUME. heart can lean, heavy-handed and irritatingly sober against the wall and listen to the sound of an oligarchical crowd buzzing with anxiety. though they would never understand the total cost of winter. she feels freeze bite at her fingertips, an angry reminder of everything that she has become. her mother sits somewhere in her brownstone probably in front of the fireplace working on a crochet project and at that notion she can still if only for a moment. wealth makes her sick in self-reflection, so accustomed to her own materialism that now it has become a second skin to her. the price of her underwear makes her shudder. shadow, in midnight’s hour casts itself over the world. strangeness settles to see such a behemoth felled by something as inconsequential as electricity. buzzing zaps of light and energy transported through wires. she hopes, maliciously, that at least a few of these charlatans have been inconvenienced by the night-death.  opal’s face though is lovely even smeared with candlelight. heart grins, pushing herself off the wall with a huff. they understand her frustration and respond in kind, this is the communion of wayward souls so prepared to entertain. an occupational hazard of beauty and the price that remains with it. “yeah well, i thought i’d stick around and watch the chaos for a little bit. besides my phone is dead and i really don’t feel like walking to the subway right now to get home.”

[fontainegirl]

history is doomed to forever repeat itself while the wealthy have excuses to flaunt their cash around for good causes, if one can consider funding the ballet company a good cause. while the food bank struggles down the street, hundreds will flock to the seasons premiere of the magic flute. or - something. opal doesn't know how this works, and doesn't attempt to understand yet, has been attending such soirees for as long as they can remember. every one is the same, polite conversation, soft digging for information, some man at the bar bores her to death. the latter is currently happening, apparently he knew their mother and amongst those who know who opal truly is, it's the topic of conversation. sympathies. inheritances. her savior from such a droll conversation is unexpected, hand outstretched and attached to sol. a smirk grows on their face. "love to dance. didn't realise you could," a dig, nothing out of the ordinary for how they usually converse.

at the candle-lit barside, with @fontainegirl

the world's dominion had become a stage. men, women, and the many inbetween were crested as it's performers. more likely, it's pretenders. marionettes if you will, strung up on ego & the illusion of self-legislation ⸻ how long before the falsehoods gave way to actuality? there is the cue to take their places but this is no rehersal; no limelight made to blind the onlooker. rather, they cling to the shadows, people tend to become something entirely different when only their contours can be seen in the lowlight. solomon finds her still, at the edge of the bar nursing a conversation he could smell disinterest wafting from. he had not known opal in any particular way, no. but, he knew her wounds ⸻ by form alone, and this knowing had been a weapon. let's call this approach salvation, "opal," a hand outstretched for them to take, name spoken with a certain abandon. "still like to dance don't you?" or is it all just an act.

[fontainegirl]

@chorusgirls ft. dove

location: nybc fundraiser, pre-show they often get ready together and it isn't unusual despite having personal stylists for events for dove and opal to somewhat either match, or end being the complete opposite of the other. it's the latter today, opal's champagne coloured dress adorned in individually beaded fish that swim down the skirt and around the bust area amongst leaves. it's very intricate, and heavy, which is good as opal isn't required to dance around much, they can stand stationary for the entire night should they wish and sing. of course, there's a certain level of interaction expected, flattery and flirtation from those who witness the performance. it's something opal's been doing since she was young yet, never really enjoyed. people will offer their condolences to their mother, say what a great actress brigitte was, one of the greats of the era. maybe give her a compliment on her acting, ask if there's anything else in the pipeline. they'll look at her tits before walking off, and opal will fight the urge to roll their eyes and tell them to fuck off. it's then they realize dove has said something, so caught up in false scenarios - "sorry - on a different planet. what's up?"

[fontainegirl]

@jezebelrisen ft. heart.

location: nycb fundraiser, hour two. they say their voice is synthetic. that's the gossip, that opal's throat was damaged in that accident years ago, that they (stoneage, maybe, just the boogeyman, the tell tale all catch term for people with deal with non-humans, that give cyborgs skin and working lungs and false memories) put false vocal chords in. the blonde has never listened, and is always quietly insulted by such a thing; a voice like that clearly couldn't be organic, couldn't come from her waifish form. that album she released when she was 15 sounded terrible. a voice couldn't mature, training couldn't be given. no! it had to be fake. opal thinks that after their performance, mics down, her and dove reduced to the simplest setting of live orchestra and the power of their vocal chords. they aren't looking for their singing partner right now, though, eyes surveying the crowds that stand with new unease. there is a tension, that something is now able to happen without it being caught on camera. a quick blade, a spiked drink, and nobody would be any the wiser. "- heart!" opal finds who they're looking for, friendly smile on painted lips. "surprised you're still here, lack of actual lighting seems to have put most people off,"

[fontainegirl]

[fontainegirl]

Sharon Tate in ‘Valley of the Dolls’, 1967.

[fontainegirl]

[fontainegirl]

perhaps it is part of her own personal illusion, an immaculate vision of blonde hair and pale skin, voice of the angels she so heavily imitates, for underneath hides darker things. opal is familiar with death in a way few realise, for though they have never taken a life their own once hung in the balance. it often still feels like it does, walking around knowing you shouldn't be alive. that in exchange for breath, you have been caged. "i don't know," again, opal shrugs, for she works in a casino yet doesn't gamble much. bright lights and noises are much easier than sitting across from a man for 10 minutes and trying to ascertain if a twitch of his eyebrow means he's bluffing. "i'm excellent company," the blonde assured him, still walking alongside.

Some mountain had hid him from most of the war.      That or he didn’t remember much.      How the mind builds walls and rearranges the furniture,    before one even realizes the old house of it had been burned to the foundation.       Or so the story goes.      He hadn’t seen much of it.    The healing,    he means.     The wound and the scab,     he means.     If anything,    he is prone to bleeding harder out here.     Teeth and fangs look alike in the dark,     and the streets are filled to the brim with things that might have an easier time becoming something beckoning.     Abyss-mouth,   abyss-fated.    Either way,   the world eats.      It chews.     It never swallows.        The Star lingers ahead of him,    however,    fully alight    —    transparent in the way they move across a stage.     The world wrapped around their fingers,     or so it would seem.     He knew how quickly the rope was tugged.      How soon the reaper says follow.     “Ain’t all the games about something a bit deeper?     How to read people?”       A pause,   suddenly grows a self-conscious admiration and he hesitates.      Boots headed towards the exit,     head tilting to the side to reply over his shoulder,      brows raised.       Seems too much like a bunny,    hopping from one stage to another.      But there could be something more of a hunter-instinct in her that he wasn’t aware of.        Curiosity and all those warnings.       He ignores it,    and continues on.      “I got good company,    eh?”     

[fontainegirl]

Appreciation For PINK Fashion Throughout Film: Serving Sara (2002) | The Girl Next Door (2004) | The Sweetest Thing (2002) | Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion (1997) | Austin Powers (1997) | Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961) | View from the Top (2003) | Pearl (2022) | Scary Movie 2 (2001) | 27 Dresses (2008) | The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) | Niagara (1953) | Coyote Ugly (2000) | Cinderella (1950) | Coming to America (1988) | How to Marry a Millionaire (1953) | Jennifer's Body (2009) | Miss Congeniality (2000) | Funny Face (1957) | The Love Witch (2016) | Ziegfeld Follies (1945) | Nope (2022) | Legally Blonde (2001) | American Horror Story: Freakshow (2014) | Bring it On (2000) | Crossroads (2002) | Clueless (1995) | Marie Antoinette (2006) | The Fly (1986) | The Seven Year Itch (1955)