This is my first fic for this ever! I don't own any of it but my OFC! I'm taking a few liberties with the frame of time because the story could not feasibly play out over such a short amount of time as was shown in the Electro episode. Hope you like! It gets better after the first bit. Gotta start somewhere, right?
She never meant to be one of those girls. It all started with Johnny.
She never went out; it just wasn't her scene, it was so bloody awful, so phony! But she couldn't stay in anymore, either. She was still a young thing, but she wasn't getting any younger, either, and her family was starting to drive her up the fucking wall.
She didn't know what exactly she was looking for that night, hadn't the faintest idea, to be quite honest. Didn't know where she was going, all dolled up to put every passerby to crying shame, what her goal was (if she even had one), or what she would find. All she knew was that she was out of that cramped house and that the cool London night breeze felt sensational against her face, tossing her long blonde hair in all different directions.
A sign caught her eye. The Velvet Onion, it proclaimed.
"Wha…" she started before breaking into a fit of giggles.
Dear God, it was so damn stupid! People just didn't even try anymore! May as well have called the place 'The Froofy Strudel' or 'The Golden Buttplug.'
She drifted closer, curious as to what she could see through the glass door.
Sweet electro beats hit her ears, one of the many sounds she enjoyed the most. That kind of music made her hips twitch and brought her arms up like nothing else, sent her hair flopping carelessly, even drove her to pull shapes in the mirror at times. The sound of the keyboard was her crack; she was a slave to the synth.
For the first time in her life, she sauntered into the place like she owned it.
She let the music take over, contorting her body into whichever positions it may, with no regard to who was watching or what they might have thought. She wasn't here for any of those fuckers anyway. Not a one of them had even stood out to her. She was out tonight for nobody except herself, in this retardedly named club for nothing except the music.
She didn't know how long she had been there when she felt the hand on her arm.
Her eyes popped open to their full wideness, spitting green fire, ready to go off on this ballbag who had cut into her reverie. She wasn't a violent person, but this had been her moment for herself and nobody else. The beauty of it had been shattered.
She took in the sight of some wannabe electro looking cheesedick wearing two hats. Whatever she had been ready to scream at the intruder was immediately forgotten as she frustratedly burst out with, "You've got two fucking hats on!!!"
The guy grinned cheekily as though he had just been complimented and said, "Yeah, I know, that's my thing! I'm Johnny Two Hats!"
"You look like a right tit!"
"You look beautiful! I've never seen you in here before!"
"That's because I've never fucking been in until now!"
"Why not?"
"Because I hate going out. Nothing but a bunch of idiots!"
"Well, you certainly looked to be enjoying yourself."
"I was, yeah. Enjoying myself," she replied, putting the slightest emphasis on the word 'self,' hoping he would catch her drift and go away.
She had no such luck.
"You know, you move amazingly. May I buy you a drink?"
She was sweating, she realized. And he did ask nicely.
"Yeah, okay, but don't expect any sexual favors just because you bought me one fucking drink!"
Johnny laughed. "No worries. Something tells me you're hiding a switchblade somewhere on you and that you won't be afraid to use it if you feel as though you have to."
Actually, it was only a small can of mace, so she chose simply to say nothing. It was a good idea, though, and she would have to thank him for it later, if she ever saw him again.
They spoke over drinks. He still by no means sent her into a state of cardiac attack, but he wasn't as much of a clueless nob as he had seemed at first, either.
He had a demo full of songs that he swore would kickstart a new electro revolution and was in a band with who he claimed were two of the most badass electro girls around, Neon and Ultra (she scoffed internally; she bet they were nothing but two airheaded, leg spreading mall girls fresh out of secondary school who had only adopted those names last week; Johnny might even have given them to them). They were called Kraftwerk Orange (she scoffed inwardly yet again at the clear ripoff from one of the cult classic film greats and outwardly at the even clearer and more unforgiveable ripoff of the true electro pioneers who, it seemed to her, never got the recognition they deserved). He didn't notice her disdain and continued.
"The only problem is, we haven't got a singer. I was thinking maybe you'd like to do it. You're certainly pretty enough to be an attention grabbing frontwoman, and the way you moved out there, wow! I bet you could pull shapes like nobody's business!"
She told him nothing of her mirror practice and replied, "No, thank you. It's very flattering, but I'm just not the band type. Stage fright would be an issue also. She didn't have the heart to tell him the true reason she declined- that she in no way wanted to be seen as a ripoff artist, and a foolishly pretentious one at that.
"That's too bad. Come back to my place, anyway. I'll give you a copy of our demo, you could have a listen. Maybe you'll change your mind. If anything, you could help get the word out about us."
"I'd love to give you a listen, but I'm in no way drunk enough to go to your place yet. I don't even know you!"
"Yeah you do, I'm Johnny Two Hats!"
She good naturedly rolled her eyes and shouted an order for another round. "I'm getting this one, though! So I won't owe you!" she exclaimed.
Two drinks turned into four and, after another brief stint on the dance floor, into seven.
"Let's get out of here, it's starting to spin!" she suggested.
"Okay, I'll play you our demo!"
"Sounds great!"
"Yeah, that's what you'll be saying when you hear it!"
"Oh, fuck you!" she laughed as they stumbled out into the streets of London.
They tipsily chatted and laughed merrily on the brief walk back to the flat he shared with Neon and Ultra, the two electro girls from his band.
"Are your bandmates here? I'd love to meet them!" she exclaimed as he fumbled with the key.
"Probably not. Those two are very rarely back in before four A.M., at least."
Sure enough, Johnny's call of, "Neon!!! Ultra!!!" was answered by nearly deafening silence. He flicked the light on.
Nail polish, magazines, makeup, clothes, CD's, books, and various hair paraphernalia were strewn all about. She hadn't met the girls, knew nothing in the world about them, but the place seemed too still without them.
Johnny smiled as she sidestepped, the spiked heel or her sparkling shoe narrowly avoiding a half-crumpled tissue streaked with wiped-off lipstick. "I take the bedroom; it was my flat first. They've marked the rest of the place all up, though. They usually wind up passing out on the couch, still in that night's clothes."
"What about when they…you know…entertain?"
Johnny laughed. "They either 'entertain' elsewhere or don't give enough of a shit to not fuck on the couch or the floor. I wouldn't put it past either of them to bring their conquests into my bedroom when I'm not here."
"That doesn't bug you?"
He shrugged. "Nah. We're like a family, really."
"I don't fuck people in my parents' bed, or my brother's, and I'd beat the shit out of my parents if they ever fucked in mine."
"They probably are right now," Johnny deadpanned.
She hit his shoulder. "That's fucking gross!!!" she shrieked, causing him to erupt into laughter.
"Listen, you'd better quit with the nasty shit and play me that goddamn demo before I go back home- where I won't find my parents fucking in my bed, by the way!"
"All right, all right!"
Johnny popped a tape into an old ghetto blaster (Very nice, she mentally noted) and hit play.
A heavenly sound filled the air, that of her beloved electro, and she was soon hypnotically moving along with the music, partly in an intoxicated stupor, but mostly in a gloriously hazy keyboard induced trance.
Johnny stepped closer. "Do something for me?"
"Yeah?"
"Go like that," he instructed, raising his hand in the air and bringing it down over his face where he quickly jerked it sideways and swept it across.
She laughed. "Really? Why?"
"Just do it for me, yeah?"
"What the shit is it?"
"It's a little move I came up with. The girls love it and I thought maybe it could be sort of our signature thing, you know? I want to see what it looks like in continual conjunction with this song. Go on, do it for me."
She rolled her eyes but smiled warmly and began imitating the move, alternating hands as she hypnotically swayed along with the psychedelic, nearly haunting electronic music emanating from the ghetto blaster.
"Yes, that's perfect! It looks totally cosmic! Oh, that was a brilliant idea!"
"Can I stop now, then?" she giggled.
"Yes, even though you look well electromagnetic!"
"Well electromagnetic!" she mimicked before cracking a smile.
"Oh, shut up! I was giving you a compliment!"
"I don't think it's me being a good dancer as much as it's this being a good neat. Do you have any words to it?"
"Nah, so far this one's been giving me some trouble. I was hoping a singer would help with the lyric writing."
"Well, hopefully you'll find one soon, because this really is some great music," she said before closing her eyes and letting the beat take over once again.
Before she even realized what was going on, his hands were on her forearms, pressing them to her sides, and his lips had softly brushed hers.
She opened her eyes to see him looking a bit apprehensive yet still firm in his decision, a fierce sort of light flickering in his eyes.
In that moment, she couldn't remember why she had ever had such a negative opinion of him at the start. Just because he had on two hats? Sure, it looked a little silly, but when you created sounds like the ones that were currently filling the air, you could afford to be a little silly-looking if you wished. And, unlike most people in bands, he was really nice (especially for someone in a band called Kraftwerk Orange).
She grinned at him, feeling the alcohol burning through her, making her dizzy, but too hot, wet and tingling between her legs to pass out just yet, especially not with this music, this dirty electric aphrodisiac filling the air, sweetly, blissfully polluting her entire system.
She leaned forward and lapped at his lips with the tip of her pierced tongue, letting him know that he was more than welcome to pick up where he left off.
He covered her lips with his and she pushed his jacket off and soon it was all a blur of articles of clothing being tossed onto various points on the floor as they stumbled into the bedroom, and the feeling of his lips all over as she finally let herself fall back onto the bed, exposed to him but too lost in her alcohol fueled electro fantasy world to care.
***
When she woke up, the first thing she did was groan; her head felt as though a hatchet had been hurled directly into it from across the room.
Johnny stirred next to her before stretching and yawning. When his eyes fell upon her, they widened in surprise.
"Oh! Hi…"
"Hi…" she echoed, slightly mockingly.
"Can I get you anything to drink , or…"
"Just some water from the tap. I've got some Panadol in my purse. God, I've got such a fucking headache…"
Johnny groggily rose to get the water as she crawled on the floor searching for her purse, clad only in her sheer black nylons from the night before.
He returned with a glass of water, which he handed to her.
"Thanks. Panadol?" she asked, holding the small open bottle out to him.
"Yes, please," he replied wearily as she swallowed the pills before handing the glass to him so he could down his. "Thanks."
"No problem. Hey, I'm pretty sure you aren't one of those types of guys, but just in case, uh…I'm not…you know…looking for anything."
"I gotcha. Nothing to worry about, I'm not either. You seem very young, anyway."
"Twenty. Not that young."
"Still quite a bit younger than me, though."
She shrugged and reached for her purse, fishing for a mirror.
"What's your name, anyway? I told you mine from the very start, but I never caught yours."
She smiled demurely over one pale shoulder at him. "Oh. It's Sarah."
A comical expression crossed his face. "Sarah?"
"Yep. With an 'h' at the end."
"That doesn't suit you at all! What's your middle name?"
"Victoria."
"A bit more suitable, but still completely off the mark."
"Yeah, I'm not so fond of it myself, but we can't help what we're named, can we?" she replied sarcastically as she brushed some smeared liner from beneath her eye.
"We can't help what our parents formally christen us, but we can have a say in what we're called. Do you think that the girls' birth certificates say 'Neon' and 'Ultra'? No, they adopted those names later on in life."
"Yeah, last week probably."
"Actually, I first met them around three years ago, and they were using those names even then. That's how they introduced themselves to me and I've never known them by any other names."
"How did they get those names?"
"They took them for themselves years ago, God only knows how many; they're the same age as I am."
She blinked. There went the little girls just out of secondary school theory.
"Tried to get their real names, but they wouldn't budge an inch. So they don't know mine."
"Well, you know my name, so what the hell is yours?" she asked.
"Johnny Two Hats. Just not the two hats part. Not on paper, anyway."
She rolled her eyes as she applied shimmering pastel pink lipstick. "Well, go on then, 'Johnny Two Hats,' christen me anew."
He reached up and turned her head to face him.
"I was kidding!"
"Oh, I know you were, smartass, but I think a re-christening is in order regardless. You're about as much a Sarah as you are a Frank. Now, let's see…"
His eyes raked over her face, scanning for detail.
The morning sun glistened on her newly made up lips, making the silvery-gold sparkle-particles in the sugary, demure pink pop; the way it made the silver eye shimmer from the night before sparkle was nearly musical.
"Glitz. You're Glitz."
She laughed softly and dismissively at first, but after moments of silence (in which she pondered the name Johnny had just bestowed upon her), she said, "Glitz. I really like that, that's beautiful!"
"It's you."
She smiled, a bit more sure of herself. "Yeah. It is me. I'm Glitz!"
"Yes you are."
Her glorious moment of sunlit rebirth was interrupted by the jarring sounds of a door being slammed open against the wall and wild cackling.
"Oi, Neon, be careful!"
"Oh, shut it! What's it to you, Miss Priss?"
"Miss Priss?! I ought to fucking gut you for that!"
"Oh, you know I'm right!"
"Whatever, Neon, you're still pissed."
"Yeah? What of it? So are you, Prissy Missy!"
"Neon, you bloody cunt-"
"Oi, Ultra, check out Jenny Two Tits in there with Johnny. Whatcha lookin' at, Milk Jugs?" the dark haired girl called Neon said to Glitz teasingly, leering.
Glitz realized that she was still in nothing but last night's nylons, but suddenly, she didn't give a damn. She would never give a damn again; she was Glitz now, and Sarah was merely a bored little girl who had went out last night and disappeared somewhere along the way.
She straightened, pushing her shoulders back, making her full, creamy, pink nippled breasts, completely bared and already nearly impossible to ignore in the blinding morning rays, all the more demanding to the eye.
"It appears as though I'm looking at you, Miss Pissed," she replied, making a play on Neon's nickname for her companion.
The pale, blonde one with coloring much like Glitz's own grinned cheekily while looking off to the side. The dark one, however, kept her eyes intently focused on Glitz.
"Ooh, get you, Mary Sue. Very cheeky. Why don't you nick off now? You'll be late for school. Wouldn't want the headmaster to give you a good whipping, would we? But I bet you'd like that, you dirty little minx. Did Johnny give you a good whipping last night? I bet he did! Did you, Johnny?!" she enquired with a sudden genuine, childlike enthusiasm, her eyes going a bit round. "Did you use my hot pink studded belt? I hope you did-"
"Neon, you're pissed," Johnny interjected, cutting her off.
"Yeah, we've established this already, thank you. First Ultra and then Little Bo Peep. We're all aware that I'm still quite pissed. Who the fuck is this smart-mouthed little slut, anyway?"
"Neon, Ultra, this is Glitz. Glitz, the spitfire here is Neon, and the strong, silent type to the left is Ultra."
Ultra waved and uttered, "Hi, Glitz," while Neon said "Charmed," in her typical surly way.
"Likewise, Neon. Ultra," she added, nodding and smiling at the more easygoing of the two (though, based on her observations, that still wasn't really saying too much).
"Do either of you have the time?"
"Fuck you, Johnny, do I look like fuckin' Big Ben to you?" demanded Neon.
"Kind of. I'm still pissed too. So is Glitz."
"She can fucking speak for herself, you know, you bloody git!" Neon jeered, looking away and shaking her head at what she perceived to be Johnny's chauvinistic audacity while Ultra said, to no one in particular and with no small amount of sarcasm, "Well, this is nice. An early morning still-pissed gathering in the electro flat. We really ought to do this more often!"
Neon stomped off in search of the time, muttering all the while about 'lazy bastards,' while Ultra smirked before going to assist her.
Glitz used the moment of their absence to ask, "Is Neon always so…mad at the world?"
"Well, she's a hard girl. They both are. But when they drink, Ultra chills down a bit, whereas Neon just get ten times worse."
Before any more could be said, Ultra sauntered back into the doorway, radiating cool.
"It's quarter to eight," she announced.
"Yeah, you're fucking welcome, Johnny, you bastard!" shouted Neon from somewhere out of their line of sight before appearing alongside her companion in the doorway, looking snarky and adding, for Glitz's benefit, "By the way, Blondie, that means it's seven forty-five."
"Yes, I'm aware of that, Neon, but thanks for the clarification anyway."
Glitz shook her Panadol bottle. "Panadol?" she offered.
"Fuck you!" Neon leered halfheartedly, while Ultra crossed into the room, walking toward Glitz, murmuring, "Shit, I'll take some."
Glitz handed her a couple of tablets and a glass of water. "Cheers," Ultra said before downing them.
As Ultra retreated, Neon glared and stomped over to Glitz, saying "Oh, fuck you. Give me some then, yeah?"
"What's the magic word, Neon?" Glitz sang, enjoying herself immensely.
"The magic word is give me the fuckin' pills, you tart!"
"Those are words, Neon, not the magic word."
"Look, bitch, give me the goddamn pills or else I'll cut your pretty little face!"
"Jesus Christ, Neon, they're just Panadol, it's not like she's holding X over there or something," Ultra remarked, her voice thick with disgust and condescension.
"Oi! You shut the fuck up, Prisspot! What the fuck's it matter to you? I'll cut your pretty face too!"
"No you won't, Neon!"
"You think I'm bluffing?"
"Even the hardest girls bluff."
"I've cut people I didn't even know! I've cut people I was fucking!"
"You won't cut me, though. Or her."
"You want to keep on acting as though you live in my mind?"
"Neon," Glitz suddenly interjected innocently.
"Yeah?" she demanded before looking slightly shocked for just the quickest of seconds when Glitz held up a couple of Panadol to her.
She recovered quickly, though, and snatched them, along with the glass of water, from Glitz, downing them like whiskey. Afterward, she took another drink and squirted it like a fountain onto Glitz, whose reply of, "Ah, the baptismal waters. Very much needed on this lovely morning of revelations!" was not the tirade of shrieks she had been hoping for. Johnny grinned knowingly while Neon just stared.
"What the hell are you on about, anyway, you nutter?" she asked before retreating back to the doorway and throwing in, "Nice shoes," after catching a glimpse of Glitz's sparkling heels on the floor.
Glitz grinned; from Neon (especially in her current state), that was as good as "You're beautiful" or "I like you."
"Thanks, Neon!"
"Oh, just because I complimented you, don't go getting all soft on me. 'Thanks, Neon!'" she mimicked comically, sounding like an overenthusiastic child, "Good God, you'd think the girl had never been complimented before in her life. Cover your tits," she added.
"I like my tits," Glitz replied nonchalantly.
"I like French toast sticks, but you don't see me walking around naked with 'em stuck all over me, do ya?"
"I'm not walking around, I'm in bed."
"You're completely crazy is what you are," Neon replied, for lack of anything better to say.
"Anyway, it's been a slice, but we're going to head back out and continue the search for a singer," Ultra piped up.
"What about sleep?" Glitz inquired.
"We'll sleep when we're dead," said Neon, as profoundly as she could in such a state and situation. Ultra nodded in agreement.
"Laters," Ultra said coolly. She and Neon simultaneously did the hand-across-face move Johnny had taught Glitz the night before and were out, just as suddenly and jarringly as they had stormed in.
Glitz turned to Johnny. "Well, that was interesting, to say the least."
"Yeah. Neon and Ultra are very interesting people."
"Yeah, that they are."
Glitz yawned and stretched. "Neon was right, though. I probably should be getting dressed. I need to head home. Take a shower or something. Nurse this hangover."
"All right. Listen, I know everyone says this but I mean it, because God only knows the next time I'll see you out since that's not your thing, but don't be a stranger, yeah? You should come by more."
Glitz smiled as she began redressing. "Are you sure about that? I'd love to, of course, but Neon and Ultra didn't seem too keen on me. Neon didn't, anyway."
"Are you kidding? They loved you!"
Glitz arched a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "Loved me?"
"Yeah! That's how they are, 'specially Neon. She gives everyone shit, even Ultra. You saw. You passed a sort of test of hers, that's for sure. You didn't cave in, and she was doing everything she could think of to get a reaction out of you. That's good. You need that sort of nonchalance to roll with Neon, and you've certainly got it."
"Are you sure?" Glitz asked, now fully dressed.
"Positive. Are you currently nursing any bruises, scrapes, black eyes, burns, bites, scratches, cuts, or stab wounds that you didn't have a few minutes ago?"
"No…"
"And are those shoes Neon complimented still here?"
"Yes…"
"Then they liked you."
"Okay. Well, I liked them. They've got spunk."
"That they do."
"All right, well, since you assure me that the girls would have no problem with it, I will absolutely be dropping by. Would later on within the week be all right?"
"Absolutely."
"All right, then."
Glitz smiled at Johnny demurely, almost shyly. Blink and you'd miss it, but a tiny bit of Sarah came through in the sunlight; Glitz was still new, she had to break her in, no matter how perfect a fit she was, custom made for this luminous, supremely stylish, above-it-all young hipster. Maybe to the untrained eye she was already Glitz, maybe she always had been, but to Johnny, who had given her the name, little bits of Sarah would always remain when his eyes fell upon her, and he would always be able to tell exactly when she spoke or looked out through Glitz.
It was for this very reason that Glitz knew right then, as they smiled warmly at one another before that fateful morning's temporary parting of ways, that they would never be anything more than friends and that last night's drunken, passionate antics would never repeat themselves, no matter how much they grew to care for one another. Johnny simply knew too much; he had seen Sarah, had known her, had fucked her, and it was time to put Sarah away. Glitz was who she was now and the only person anything more than a friend (or anything less than a damned good friend) could rightly know.
They did not kiss goodbye, merely nodded kindly as their smiles deepened, wrinkling the corners of their eyes with warmth.
"Goodbye, Sarah," Johnny whispered after the door closed.
***
Glitz sashayed through the streets, pleasantly bustling with the people of London's various morning routines, the sunlight making her wild, tangled blonde hair gleam nearly white. She smiled at every passerby, and if anyone gave her a funny look, she smirked at them as though they were shit beneath her shoes.
So she hadn't run a comb through her hair? So she hadn't changed out of last night's clothes or makeup? She was still the most fabulous, best damned looking thing in those streets.
She was Glitz.