Chapter Text
Her name was Violet. She had called a week ago, asking after an ad looking for models, her voice soft and demure. For some reason, over all of the people that had called, Pearl was drawn to her. Something about her tone, perhaps the way her smile was almost audible in the way her words twisted into a little breath at the end, told a story, made Pearl want to know more. There was a certain elegance in the way words drifted from her lips that spoke of vintage fashion, of savory perfumes and rose-colored silk. It made Pearl want to capture it between the pages of her sketchbook, color it in pastel pinks and dark, rich reds. So, she asked her when she was available. The surprise was evident in the girl's voice, and Pearl could hear her smile as they agreed for her to come a week later.
When she walked in, Pearl was hunched over a sketchbook. Fingers dark with charcoal, wisps of blonde hair falling out of her bun, and dark half-moons under her eyes, she looked the part of a tired artist, but the passion that shone in her eyes as she stared at the sketch in front of her spoke to the inner drive that kept her going, even when nobody else believed in her. Violet moved so quietly that Pearl didn't even hear her walk in; when she cleared her throat gently, Pearl jolted upright, dropping her sketchbook and very nearly flinging her charcoal across the room. Her mouth opened as if she were going to say something, but the second her eyes landed on Violet, she froze, face going pink.
She was exactly the vision of beauty that she sounded. Her hair, dark and perfectly curly, hung free, framing her face and tumbling down her shoulders, and Pearl couldn't help but look at her for a moment. The dress she was wearing, a rich ruby red, clung to her body, stopping just above her knees, and gold shone softly from her neck and wrists, the outfit complete with black kitten heels that Pearl had no idea how she kept so silent when she walked in. Pearl could've sworn she felt her heart leap into her chest when her eyes danced back up the girl's body to her face, drinking in the perfectly-smooth skin, ruby lips that Pearl tried not to think of as kissable, all the way up to intelligent brown eyes, framed by immaculate makeup.
Suddenly aware of the awkward silence that stretched between them, Pearl dropped her eyes, flushing. She ducked down, going to pick up her sketchbook and charcoal, and froze again mid-standing up.
"You're Pearl, right?"
Her voice was even more stunning in person, and it took Pearl half a second to snap herself out of it and straighten up, charcoal and sketchbook in hand.
"Yeah, that's me."
"It's nice to meet you."
She smiled, eyes crinkling just the littlest bit at the corners, and Pearl couldn't help but break into a grin as well. With the backs of her hands, she pushed loose hair away from her face, self-conscious of how messy she looked. Sweatpants and a grey hoodie weren't exactly flattering, and she was sure there was charcoal smudged on her face, not to mention the fact that she didn't have on a stitch of makeup. Normally, she wouldn't care; she didn't ask models to come over to her apartment for her to impress them, she asked them to come over so she would have someone to draw. But with Violet in front of her, she felt... inadequate.
Pearl cleared her throat, glancing down at her sketchbook. Beat by beat, the silence stretched on in her studio. She had told Violet to be there at ten and let herself in, thinking nothing of it - that was how things went with the other people she drew, the other bodies that filled sketchbook after sketchbook. When she looked back up, Violet had dropped her gaze as well, looking down at her hands. She was fiddling with them, and Pearl realized she was probably just as nervous. For different reasons, probably - it was a bit awkward to pose naked for someone you'd never met before - but she was nervous all the same.
"I, um, there's a room you can change in, if you'd like? And, uh, I have a robe."
Violet nodded, reaching up to toy with the end of a strand of hair. Pearl tried not to wince at how shaky her voice was, or at the fact that she was nearly stuttering with nerves.
"That'd be nice, yes."
Flipping her sketchbook closed, Pearl nodded and smiled, doing her best to keep her breathing and voice even.
"Give me a minute to wash my hands."
She lifted a blackened hand, wiggling her fingers a bit at the red-clad girl. Violet laughed softly, and Pearl grinned at her, then moved to set down her sketchbook and charcoal. She turned, walking out of the room and into the bathroom, turning on the sink and washing her hands quickly. As the water greyed and ran down the drain, Pearl let herself think for a moment. To say Violet had startled her wasn't entirely wrong, but stunned was the more accurate choice. It wasn't so much that she was simply gorgeous - there were plenty of gorgeous girls in the world, many of which Pearl had met at bars - but she exuded a sort of beauty and grace that Pearl had never encountered before. The entire room felt different when she was in it, and Pearl didn't know if it was exhilarating, terrifying, or both. Ever-the-smoothest, the only time Pearl wasn't nervous around cute girls was when she was drunk or high - today was sure to be interesting.
Sighing softly, the blonde cupped her hands underneath the water and leaned down to wash her face. The water was refreshingly cool against her skin, and when she straightened back up, Pearl took a deep breath, reaching for a towel. She dried her face and hands quickly, then yanked the hairtie out of her bun, shaking her hair free. Pearl paused for a moment, looking in the mirror in front of her. She looked a right mess, hair going every which way, face bare and dark circles under her eyes. It doesn't matter, she told herself, Violet's only here to model. The girl sighed softly and put her hair back up into a (slightly neater) bun, then walked back into the studio.
When Pearl walked back in, as quiet as she was, Violet nearly whirled around, her face coloring. She had been flipping through the sketchbook laying on Pearl's desk, the book now laying open to the drawing Pearl had been working on when she arrived. Pearl was sure her face was the same shade as Violet's, and she couldn't pull her eyes away from the open sketchbook.
"Sorry," Violet almost whispered, and Pearl looked up at her. "I shouldn't have opened it, I'm sorry."
Her eyes were downcast, almost scared.
"No, it- it's fine, I don't mind. You're welcome to look at anything you'd like, if it'd make you more comfortable."
Pearl felt strangely naked. Here was this girl, this stunning, enchanting girl that Pearl was oh so envious of and yet enamored with, standing in front of her, looking at the art she created.
"Oh."
She looked up at Pearl and smiled, soft and warm, and her gaze dropped back to the open sketchbook.
"Thank you."
Pearl stepped closer, reaching out to touch the page gently.
"I can show you some of my paintings, if you'd like."
"I'd love that."
She looked up from her sketchbook to find Violet looking at her with an undecipherable expression. It was part curiosity, part a sort of peaceful happiness, part nervousness, and part something else that Pearl couldn't read. The other girl's lips parted with a soft exhalation, and Pearl looked away quickly, stepping around Violet to avoid her seeing how red her face got. She walked across the room, evenly and artificially lit, towards the door that lead to the rest of her apartment. As her hand touched the doorknob, Pearl thought about how many hours she spent in that studio, unable to tell if it was night or day because she had long-ago blacked out the only window with several layers of garbage bags. It was almost a communal space, with how many people had come in and out throughout the two years Pearl had been living there, but the apartment beyond had been something intimate and personal to her.
It was where she brought finished paintings to dry, hung them up across every open bit of wallspace, and where her most cherished pieces of art had stayed, ones that were too close to her heart to sell. It was one thing to show her models the sketches she had made of them, scrawled sloppily in sketchbooks, filling page after page, but another entirely to show someone the paintings that hung across her walls. Sure, she brought people home from the bar, but the girls that followed her stumbling, drunken footsteps to her bed didn't care to spend time looking at the paintings. Pearl pushed the thoughts of those dark, heated nights from her mind and turned the knob, stepping from the studio into her apartment beyond. Violet followed, her heels making minute clicking sounds against the floor.
The girl's soft intake of breath was almost too quiet for Pearl to catch, and when she stepped to the side, Violet stepped forward, face a picture of awe. It wasn't a particularly large space, nor was it the Sistine Chapel, but the art that hung on every available space made it a hodgepodge of color and shapes. The warm morning light shone into the room, and it was disgustingly cliche, how it lit up Violet's face and illuminated her smile.
"You're so talented."
Her voice was gentle, wondrous, and Pearl's cheeks went pink again.
"Thank you."
Violet looked at her then, that queer mix of emotions that Pearl couldn't read. It made her nervous, not being able to tell what she was thinking - after spending so much time studying bodies, she was usually good at picking up what people were feeling or thinking. This girl, this strange, beautiful, otherworldly girl, confused her, made her uncomfortable with the fact that Pearl had no idea what was going through her mind. She had shown Violet her most private place, where she lived and slept and hung her heart of hearts on the walls to dry, and she couldn't read her, and all it did was draw Pearl in even more. This place, where the only other girls to have seen it came for reasons that only happen past midnight when you're drunk or high or both, almost felt sacred to the young artist, but for some reason, seeing Violet there, looking at her, felt right.
"That sketch in there... violets?"
Pearl blinked, startled out of her thoughts by her voice.
"Oh, I- yeah, they are."
She was suddenly readable again, her smile soft and eyes knowing, glittering as if to say, I know what you're thinking, and I know it's about me.
"Coincidence?"
Pearl heard the challenge in her voice, the flirtatious edge, and rose up to meet it.
"You could call it that."
There was an unspoken tension between them for a moment, before Violet turned back to the room, her eyes landing on the wall full of portraits. Bodies of every shape, size, and color posed in careful brushstrokes, some dainty and demure, others proud, with nothing to hide.
"You're good at capturing emotion."
The edge had dropped from her voice, and Pearl couldn't tell if she was relieved or disappointed.
"I try."
Her response seemed almost idiotic, and she tried not to wince, instead hoping Violet didn't mind. Evidently, she didn't, when she looked back at the blonde with the same wondrous expression as before.
"Should I get changed now?"
"Yeah. Uh, this way."
She turned and walked back into her studio, Violet following. Pearl crossed the room, motioning to the bathroom where she had washed her hands of charcoal earlier.
"There's a robe in there."
Violet nodded and walked past her, shutting the door to the bathroom with a quiet click. Pearl sighed, walking back towards the door to her apartment. She pulled her hair out of her bun, shaking it loose and running her hands through it, moving over to her own bathroom. She picked up a brush, pausing to look at herself in the mirror.
What am I doing? She's just a model, some girl looking for money that thinks she's cute enough to sit here naked.
Pearl shook her head, putting down the brush and tying her hair back up. Chewing on her lower lip, the girl walked back to her studio, clearing off her desk and going to the cabinet by the door. She opened it, pulling out a new sketchbook and a set of pens, walking them back to her desk. It was how she did all of her model sketches, in pen, so she wouldn't let herself fixate on the tiny details and erase them over and over. She tended to do that - get stuck on one little thing for hours at a time, adjusting and readjusting to make it absolutely perfect. It was her personality, Pearl supposed. Not obsessive, but someone that got stuck on things easily.
She was the type of person that fell in love with the first girl to smile at her over a drink. Over the two years she had been living in her apartment in grand New York City, Pearl had brought home countless girls to her art-filled apartment, spent night after night with them in her bed - and her in theirs. But, the morning-after texts and notes never lasted, and Pearl was alright with that - so long as there was someone else to fill the void the last one left behind. Her nights were full of meaningless sex and one-night-stands, bars and drinks and smoking, getting drunk and high to forget about her days, days that were full of art, drawing and painting, but she didn't mind those as much. It was the weekends of gallery shows and talking meaninglessly with fancily-dressed people with money, looking for something new to decorate their already-lavish suites and homes that bothered her, and not the shows themselves. It had always been the people. People without a passion other than money, that worked early to late hours and came home to a dull family with the same plastic smiles, people that didn't care for artists like her, with dirt under their nails and bags under their eyes. People like her parents, all-too-willing to send their daughter to a far-away city with a fat check in the mail every week, enough to cover all her bills and leave over enough to spend at the bar every night.
People that would do anything to keep their precious little girl from ruining the family name. Her extended family thought she was away at some prestigious bullshit job in the city, spending her days commuting to some prissy, too-clean, glass-sided office building. Pearl didn't care to know what they thought she did for a living. It didn't matter, since she never saw them anyway. She was "too busy" working on her next big project, working late and getting up early, dedicating her entire life to her boring little office cubicle. They were the people she hated, the people she stood around with and looked pathetic next to every Saturday and Sunday, people that didn't give a fuck about what she did or why she did it. People that gave her money to shut up and give them the painting, the art that they decorated their empty homes with because they didn't care to fill them with anything else.
People that filled their lives with the beauty of things other people created, because they had no care for the beauty themselves. It was all for everyone else, all for appearance. People like her fucking parents, that would willingly disown their own child and pay them to shut up lest they tell their precious little circle of rich friends that she was gay.
"Pearl?"
Soft fingers touched her shoulder, and her head snapped up, dislodging her thoughts. She hadn't realized how long she had been sitting at her desk, hands curled into fists in her lap, staring down at a closed sketchbook. Violet was standing in front of her, black silk falling off of one shoulder. Pearl's breath left her chest, and she stumbled up, clearing her throat and trying not to stare.
"Are you okay?"
Violet was looking at her with that unreadable face again, her hand still featherlight on Pearl's shoulder. Her touch was electric, in the most horrid and cliche way. It made Pearl's skin tingle, and she had a hard time pulling her eyes up from the neckline of the robe, perfect black silk that contrasted her paleness beautifully, matched her hair immaculately, and framed sharp collarbones.
"I'm fine."
Her answer, when she finally did speak, was much harsher than she intended, and the blonde hurriedly covered it with a softer, more gentle explanation.
"Just thinking."
Violet took a half-step closer, around the side of the desk, and the way her voice softened made Pearl's heart hurt.
"About?"
Pearl's teeth dug into her lower lip. It was a loaded question, one she certainly wasn't about to answer for this girl that she had met less than twenty minutes ago, no matter how head-over-heels Pearl thought she was. All it would take was a few drinks, a bowl, and some other pretty girl in her bed for the artist to forget Violet.
"Doesn't matter."
The two of them looked at each other for a moment, Violet's expression confused and concerned, Pearl's dark and closed-off. They stood like that, the beauty and the artist, opposed yet together. An eternity passed between the two of them before Violet dropped her eyes, and Pearl's shifted to the side as well, back to the pens and sketchbook on her desk. Pearl stepped to the side, turning to her cabinet, still open. She walked over, shutting the doors and hesitating before turning again to face Violet. The dark-haired girl was standing there silently, looking at the floor. Her face was once again unreadable, though she looked slightly more upset than before.
"Of course it matters."
When her reply came, it was soft and confused, with a decent amount of apprehension. Pearl's heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't for the life of her tell whether she wanted to kiss Violet right then and there or kick her out of her studio for good.
"Not really, no."
This girl, this strange, ethereal girl, had walked into her studio not a half-hour ago, and Pearl was on the verge of breaking down into tears in front of her. It was so unlike her, so foreign and terrifying, and she wanted nothing to do with it. Everything felt stronger, she was feeling stronger, and Pearl hated it. She absolutely despised the way emotions were rising into her throat because of Violet, she hated the way she felt like she was drowning in them all of a sudden. Pearl was never like this; she was normally so stoic and calm, monotone. She was graceful and quiet, absorbed in her art, polite to the people that sat for her. She was carefree, not emotional and broken like this. Her parents used to not matter to her, the people in dresses and suits in the gallery used to not matter five minutes after she walked out of the building with their money to her name.
"It's okay."
Violet's voice had taken on a strange, comforting quality, and Pearl looked back up at her.
"I understand, you don't have to talk about it."
Pearl was glad to let the topic go. She nodded, reaching down to touch the sketchbook's cover. The blonde cleared her throat, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind an ear.
"We can, um, get started, if you want."
"Yeah."
For a moment, the two of them were silent, looking at each other. Violet, as unreadable as ever, and Pearl, trying not to stare at her. She couldn't figure out what it was that made her fall so hard, drew her in and drew her under. The moment was broken when Violet half-turned, looking at the only part of the room not lined with a paint-splattered tarp.
"Do you want me to just pose, or do you want something specific?"
Pearl shook her head, sitting down on her stool. She picked up her sketchbook and a pen, carefully writing 'Violet' across the cover in bold letters.
"Nothing specific, whatever makes you comfortable."
The brunette nodded, stepping to the center of the bare area, brushing her hair behind an ear. Pearl flipped open her sketchbook and uncapped the pen, sticking the cap on the end of it. She busied herself dating the sketch in the corner of the page, and when she looked up, Violet had dropped the robe.
Her body was absolutely breathtaking. She was perfectly proportioned, and the way she held herself was absolutely exquisite. It was obvious she knew her body well in the way she posed, limbs dynamic, like you had frozen her mid-step. With Violet's eyes cast to the side, Pearl let herself drink the girl in for a moment. She had several tattoos, the ink complimenting her pale skin, otherwise unblemished. The build of muscles in her thighs and abs made it clear she was strong, but they didn't detract from the softness of her beauty. Everything was smooth and rounded, and Violet held herself almost proudly, chest out and chin up.
Uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had been staring for far longer than what was socially acceptable, Pearl ducked her head and began drawing. Quick, soft lines began to shape out the girl's frame, and before long Pearl was glancing up and down, between her sketch and Violet. She didn't waste time looking it over when Pearl was done; instead, she cleared her throat and Violet's eyes flicked to her. There was absolutely no shame in her, and Pearl envied it.
"You can move."
Violet smiled, stretching briefly before arranging herself into another impossibly gorgeous, elegant pose. Once again, her eyes were turned away from Pearl, but not in a shy way. There was an air of almost pretentiousness, but that wasn't the right word - no, it was a type of narcissism, something that Pearl couldn't put her finger on, but it screamed allure and under-the-lashes bedroom eyes at the same time as it screamed being too good for such debauchery. Drunk on the way Violet held herself up like this for her, Pearl's sketch was shaky, rough, nothing like the smooth, confident lines she normally drew. It was frustrating, how she couldn't seem to really pull her eyes away long enough to focus on the ink on the page, but at the same time, Pearl was perfectly okay with it.
Pages passed, entire pages dedicated to one depiction of the girl's grace came and went. Violet moved from pose to pose with an effortless grace, ending up laying on the floor, eyes closed and back arched higher than Pearl swore was humanly possible, one leg extended and held parallel to the ground, the other bent at the knee, but neither foot touching the ground. How she stayed like that for the handful of minutes it took Pearl to draw her, the blonde had no idea, but when she finally murmured for the girl to move, she almost rolled upwards with how smooth the motion was.
"Is that enough? I can keep going."
Pearl glanced down at her sketchbook, now almost halfway through.
"I think that's enough for now."
Violet nodded, collecting the robe and wrapping it around herself. The silk once again covered her body, and Pearl swallowed hard against something rising in her throat, something akin to disappointment. Something that part of her wanted to let become an offer to Violet, a second invitation into the personal part of her home, the personal part of her body, but something unknown held her back. Dignity, maybe, or perhaps nerves. Pearl didn't know, and she tried not to care. Without another word, the brunette almost glided back into the bathroom, and Pearl flipped back through her sketches. They were pretty, and each one gave off the same aura Violet had been emanating as she was posing, but none of them captured her. Sighing softly, she flipped the sketchbook closed, replacing the cap on the pen. Pearl had a feeling that only a painting could possibly come close to capturing Violet, but that was another issue for another day.
She stood, bringing her sketchbook and pens back to her cabinet. Humming softly to herself, Pearl put them away and made sure everything was at least semi-orderly before shutting the doors. It took Violet significantly less time to change this time - or perhaps Pearl noticed her faster - but when she walked back into the studio in her dress and heels, jewelry once again glimmering from her wrists and neck, Pearl had barely sat down at her desk again. Immediately, she stood up, feeling almost obligated to stand in her presence, like she was royalty.
"Was I alright?"
The apprehension and almost apologetic quality to her voice was confusing - with as much confidence as she had earlier, why was she nervous that she might not've done well?
"Incredible."
Pearl's voice was the tiniest bit breathless, and Violet missed nothing. Her face transformed into something much darker, smoldering, and Pearl flushed bright red.
"You're- strong. You pose well. Are you a dancer?"
The artist was trying to backtrack as hard as she could; pretend there was no want behind her voice. But, her words only made Violet's ruby smile bigger, and before she could say anything, Violet produced a card out of nowhere, handing it to Pearl. Then, before Pearl could even look at the card, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against Pearl's cheek, murmuring in a tone that set her entire body on fire.
"Come find out."
With that, she was gone, with a swirling skirt and a small wave. Even after the door shut behind her, Pearl stood absolutely frozen, her cheek tingling where Violet's lips had touched her skin. When she could breathe again, the artist looked down at the card. It read, in perfect black letters on a cream background, Violet's name and the name and address of a gay club across town - and the words 'burlesque dancer'.