Dying to Breathe

3.4: clawing out of wonderland

A/N that has nothing to do with the book: This fucking song. Idc if you're boring and straight (just jokes but also my motto is if you're hot, you're hot), listen to it. "Me and your girlfriend playing dress up in my house. I gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on my couch." LIKE hellooo. The pure audacity of this bish.

Girls are gonna fucking overrule the patriarchy (and the cis men that live by it) by stealing their girlfriends. Ok back to the story now

Chapter 3, Part 4: Clawing Out Of Wonderland

"I'll be back!" Penelope shouted into her girlfriends' general direction after numerous songs had passed. Motioning to the bar, she slipped between the sweaty bodies around her and up the stairs towards the seating arrangement, reaching the circus themed bar. "Excuse me? Can I get a water?" She called towards the bartender; her voice small compared to the booming music surrounding the club and the demanding customers encircling the bar.

Scratching her chest, she sighed in defeat before instantly chastising herself for her bad habit. Her skin would never again be the same after the year was finished with her if she kept it up.

"Come on, newbie... part of the Carny experience is finding you have a voice!" Someone said behind her, "Try again, but louder."

She looked back, only seeing a dark silhouette against the lights that were behind him. The only thing noticeable was his blonde hair at the top, tainted bloodily from the red lights. Squinting, she hesitantly nodded, turning back to the bar.

"Excuse me!" She called a little louder, leaning against the sticky counter.

"Eh, Fizz!" The man behind her spoke again with a piercing whistle.

And just like that, she was beginning to believe The Desperate Carnival was actually a disguised time machine and that she had been teleported to the 1920s through some portal she accidentally crossed while going to the bar.

The bartender finally spun around, acknowledging the two with a curt nod, "The usual for you and the lady, boss?"

Penelope looked at the man behind her again, her eyes widened at the casual nickname. Either the bartender was seriously into boosting the egos of men, or this man was someone important.

She didn't rule out the first one.

"Make hers a water." He chuckled, leaning against the standing table, acting as a ledge behind him.

Penelope watched as the bartender quickly mixed up the guy's usual before filling a glass with ice and tap water. As he placed the drinks onto the counter, Penelope's eyebrow quirked up amusedly at the brightly coloured cocktail next to the water glass.

"Interesting choice, 'boss', is it for your girlfriend?" She mocked, handing him the girly drink with a bemused smile.

"What's even more interesting is believing flavours are gendered, love." The sound of his rumbling laugh made her blush as he casually scolded her conservative stream of thoughts. He turned and left with a lazy two finger salute in the air, "Toxic masculinity will not take away my right of getting fucked up on sugar!" He yelled passionately out into the madhouse before being completely devoured into the now-giggling and cheering crowd.

Her cheeks began to hurt from smiling so much as she shook her head in amusement, laughing at both herself and his idiocy. So, not exactly 1920s—she doubted it was known for its deep dish into the sociology of gender. But at least she was getting a free lesson in Sociology.