Dying to Breathe

10.3: if it quacks like a duck...

A/N: Hello! Please listen to the song below (it's an important part of the ambiance). This update is a tad whack 

CW: mention of a d**d b*dy again. Mild gory depiction.

Chapter 10, Part 3: If it quacks like a duck & people call it a duck, it might as well look like one

By the time she reached the inconspicuous door of The Desperate Carnival, she felt a ghost of a smile tip her stained black lips up—the chill of the soon-to-be October air biting at the exposed skin between the white material hugging her tiny figure. It wasn't much in terms of a costume, but it was one hell of a statement piece as she made her way down the glowing purple stairs.

Flashing her student ID card to the man at the thick checkered curtain, she took a deep breath before turning her phone back on. She shot a quick video of the nearly empty surroundings around her, sending it to the group-chat with the single caption: I dare you to come find me.

She felt the insufferable vibration as the notifications over the day rolled in as she scrolled down to Chloe's contact information.

"You're alive." Chloe's voice broke through the deafening soundcheck in the background as she picked up Penelope's call. "Everyone's been trying to reach you all day." She spoke monotonously, clearly the last to care about Penelope's wellbeing.

"Did you see my video?" Penelope spoke, removing the light fall-coat; revealing the white, almost transparent bustier, paired with a hastily cut, thin, white skirt. The ripped neckpiece covering her collarbones hinted at the costume's identity; the white material brushing against the colourful sparkles on her skin as she fixed her fingerless gloves and thigh-high socks. Standing up and smoothing her daring outfit down, she smiled at her scantily cladded form in the distorted mirror.

"Yeah, I saw it." Chloe hummed, "Everyone else has as well—you've got about ten minutes until they finish dressing up, and five until they get there."

Pushing the short neon peach strands of hair behind her ear, she shook her head, "You better get here in five then."

"And why would I do that exactly?"

Penelope smirked, making her way to the bar, "Because you're curious and not one to back away from a challenge."

"Well, would you look at that, I seem to be already half-way there. Guess I'll stop in. See you soon, Penelope Jones."

Blowing out an amused breath, Penelope ended the call, gesturing to the bartender for bottle service. It was still early, the club nearly empty save for the band doing soundcheck and the couple of people seated in the lounging areas. Even the atmosphere of the club felt vastly different from the maddening wonderland she had experienced the week before. Instead of red lights filtering the air, a royal purple tinted the hazy atmosphere; fitting perfectly with the removable decorations that had been replaced with Victorian-like décor and chess board designs and dry smoke machines. Still, it was quite the wonderland, both elegant and bloody. Almost revolutionary—French style.

"Damn... and here I thought I would be the center of attention tonight."

Spinning around, Penelope batted her fake white eyelashes as she sipped at the golden bubbly in the flute. "Champagne, ma cherie?"

Passing her a ridiculously fancy champagne flute with gold flakes in it, Chloe took a swig after a moment of hesitation.

"Awfully loud costume, new blood. Trying to get your picture taken before heading off to the mental ward?"