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[COC] Beyond the Mountains of Madness
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<blockquote data-quote="KitanaVorr" data-source="post: 821650" data-attributes="member: 9167"><p><em>July 19th, 1933</em></p><p><em>Amherst Hotel, New York City, New York </em></p><p></p><p>The <a href="http://elfman.filmmusic.com/media/chicago/chicago1.rm" target="_blank">wisp of smoke</a> curled into the air from the end of a long slender cigarette holder. Burning an orange glow, the cigarette flickered and a bit of ash began its descent down to litter the plush Persian carpet, coming to rest beside a very expensive high-heeled slipper. The short-lived smoke blew up against long lean legs, shockingly bare, that seemed to stretch endlessly upwards before coming to the lacy edge of the designer dress. Although the flapper style of the day relished the shapeless waif figure, the body poured into this little number had enough curves to send a train flying off its tracks – willingly. Over that lacey outfit, a thick white fox fur coat draped, though how it hung onto those slender shoulders only she knew. </p><p></p><p>A pert little hat sat at a rakish angle atop thick brown curls full of golden sheen. The unique face that looked out at the assembled crowd all at once had an air of shrewdness and mischief. Slashes of golden brown eyebrows over emerald green eyes that caught the flicker of lights in the room, pouty lips on the edge of a smirk, and lashes thick enough to rate their own forest ranger.</p><p></p><p>Everything appeared perfect.</p><p></p><p>A feminine upperclass rake.</p><p></p><p>Until she opened her mouth and the accented voice that echoed from there placed her squarely on the side of New York City that society mavens certainly didn’t frequent. It was clear, smooth, and luxuriously husky as if she was ready to dip whoever listened in a naughty vocal bath. A voice made famous ever since the social scandal of the season seven years ago when Joseph Rockefeller, the darling of wall street, married some jazz singing tart from the wrong side of the City.</p><p></p><p>Jazz singing <em>dancing</em> tart named Roxie Hart. </p><p></p><p>Of course the murder trial two years ago made for some pesky business, and now the stepchildren, yet another nuisance. But what a boon for her singing career! It seemed everyone wanted to hear Roxie Hart Rockefeller over that radio – sensationalism…that’s what sold the papers and won the hearts of the denizens of this fine fair city.</p><p></p><p>Resting a ringed hand on one hip, Roxie tilted her head slightly to one side to address the man standing beside her. “So which one of those two do you think’s this Starkweather, Tony?” she asked while jerking her cigarette holder in the direction of the men at the table. “My money’s on the bouncing prick.” Though what she really meant by that was anyone’s guess.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="KitanaVorr, post: 821650, member: 9167"] [i]July 19th, 1933 Amherst Hotel, New York City, New York [/i] The [url=http://elfman.filmmusic.com/media/chicago/chicago1.rm]wisp of smoke[/url] curled into the air from the end of a long slender cigarette holder. Burning an orange glow, the cigarette flickered and a bit of ash began its descent down to litter the plush Persian carpet, coming to rest beside a very expensive high-heeled slipper. The short-lived smoke blew up against long lean legs, shockingly bare, that seemed to stretch endlessly upwards before coming to the lacy edge of the designer dress. Although the flapper style of the day relished the shapeless waif figure, the body poured into this little number had enough curves to send a train flying off its tracks – willingly. Over that lacey outfit, a thick white fox fur coat draped, though how it hung onto those slender shoulders only she knew. A pert little hat sat at a rakish angle atop thick brown curls full of golden sheen. The unique face that looked out at the assembled crowd all at once had an air of shrewdness and mischief. Slashes of golden brown eyebrows over emerald green eyes that caught the flicker of lights in the room, pouty lips on the edge of a smirk, and lashes thick enough to rate their own forest ranger. Everything appeared perfect. A feminine upperclass rake. Until she opened her mouth and the accented voice that echoed from there placed her squarely on the side of New York City that society mavens certainly didn’t frequent. It was clear, smooth, and luxuriously husky as if she was ready to dip whoever listened in a naughty vocal bath. A voice made famous ever since the social scandal of the season seven years ago when Joseph Rockefeller, the darling of wall street, married some jazz singing tart from the wrong side of the City. Jazz singing [i]dancing[/i] tart named Roxie Hart. Of course the murder trial two years ago made for some pesky business, and now the stepchildren, yet another nuisance. But what a boon for her singing career! It seemed everyone wanted to hear Roxie Hart Rockefeller over that radio – sensationalism…that’s what sold the papers and won the hearts of the denizens of this fine fair city. Resting a ringed hand on one hip, Roxie tilted her head slightly to one side to address the man standing beside her. “So which one of those two do you think’s this Starkweather, Tony?” she asked while jerking her cigarette holder in the direction of the men at the table. “My money’s on the bouncing prick.” Though what she really meant by that was anyone’s guess. [/QUOTE]
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