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Chapter Three: Onward

Violet closed her door, clinging to it as it shut. She let her body slide to the floor, oddly exhausted by the day that she just had. It wasn't that she and James had gone far or spent a lot of time out, it was just that it tired her to try to figure him out. But at the same time, she liked this challenge. Honestly, she was worried her life would become mundane without the constant bickering of her parents to spectate, but this hotel, this man, they promised her a future of excitement, at least for the next few months that she planned to live there.

She stood up and walked into the bathroom, looking into the mirror. Unsurprisingly, she appeared the same as she always did—little makeup, straight hair, porcelain complexion, grey bags under her dark eyes, the dark color of her dress contrasting with her lighter hair and skin tone. Sighing, she silently hoped that James was joking about the party, but she knew that he wasn't.

And it wasn't the fact that he was planning a party that pissed her off, it was parties in general—birthdays in general. Why celebrate something that everyone has, every year? You aren't accomplishing anything, and to the people who would retort with "you're accomplishing another year of life," Violet would give a large middle finger to.

Birthdays were ridiculous to celebrate, but parties…oh, parties. Violet was a fan of the occasional get-together with close friends for purposes of drinking, but legitimate parties with hordes of people that the host never seems to know and that are all jam-packed into one tiny room, half passed out and the other half naked, Violet didn't like those so much.

But something told her this wasn't going to be one of those parties. And while relief flooded Violet at the thought that she wasn't going to have to take care of some random blond girl puking over a couch, it also caused her worry. What was this party going to be like? James was certainly extravagant, and most definitely peculiar, what with his 20s flare and Brahmin accent.

Which led Violet to her next concern: what was she to wear? Violet liked picking out clothes, and she claimed to have a good sense of style, which she would define as eclectic. But eclectic rarely made sense at formal events, which Violet assumed this party to be. Not that it mattered, though, because unsurprisingly, Violet chose to wear a flower print dress and a cardigan that she very much liked. It was her party and she was going to wear what she wanted.

Unsure of what time this last-minute party was going to start at, Violet went towards the bar out of both boredom and the desire to meet the bartender. She was tall and bald, wearing an extravagant silk dress. The woman was mixing a drink, her back facing Violet, but she must have sensed Violet's presence, not turning around as she said, "Aren't you a bit young to drink?"

Sitting down anyways, Violet said to the woman, "What's your best drink?"

The woman turned around, exposing her full self to the young girl. Her blue lids matched the expensive fabric of her dress, which hugged her tightly around the waist. Her nails were long, and Violet imagined they would be hard to deal with. But the most intriguing part of the bartender was the haunting look on her face, as if she knew more than you ever could, and she knew you wouldn't believe her if she told you.

Pulling out a Martini glass, the woman said nothing. Violet spoke up, "Do you have anything stronger?"

Freezing, the woman looked at Violet as if the girl was brain dead. "Honey, these are no ordinary martinis." She continued to make the drink and poured it into the cone-shaped glass, glancing up at Violet to ask, "So what are you drinking for?"

"Liberation," Violet responded very matter-of-factly.

"Ah," the woman said, her eyebrows shooting up in understanding. "Well then I'll keep these coming."

Violet downed the drink, which true to the bartender's word, was amazing. She looked up at the woman who was already pouring more into her glass and asked, "How long have you worked here?"

"Quite some time," the woman said.

"So it's safe to assume you've met the owner?"

"Mr. March? I did notice the two of you walking out of here together." She paused and leaned over the counter a bit, placing her elbows down on the countertop, and whispered, "He hasn't left this hotel in years."

Eyebrows knitting together, Violet asked, "Why not?"

But there was suddenly a loud and charming voice from behind Violet which said, "Ah, Miss Taylor, I see you have acquainted yourself with the lovely Miss Harmon. And you have made her a nice sidecar? How about we get two Barbary Coasts? We must get her in the mood for her party!"

Jumping around, her blue dress flying behind her, the bartender grabbed for the gin. Violet turned on her barstool, coming to face James, who was wearing a different suit (yet again), and retaining a smirk on his face. "What's a sidecar?" she asked.

"A sidecar is what you were just drinking. What did you think that was, my dear?"

"A martini, what else would one serve in a martini glass?" As Violet quipped back to the hotel owner, James's eyes connected with Liz's, whose perfectly filled eyebrows raised.

The owner's eyes returned to the young girl he had become intrigued with that day, and his smirk grew larger as he took in her sarcasm, responding in the same tone she had just used, "Well this is an old hotel. And in old hotels, we serve what you would consider to be old-fashioned drinks. Now a sidecar was a classic cocktail from the good old days, and they were served in martini glasses. In fact, if I remember correctly, the sidecar was popular long before the martini. So I do believe that you are mistaken, and that you were expecting a martini in a sidecar glass."

Violet's face remained emotionless, not willing to let James know that she knew he was right. Liz watched from behind the couple, a smile creeping onto her face. She knew this new girl was perfect for James, intelligent enough to match his mind, and able to hold her emotions back, which would be helpful for when James inevitably lost his temper. She was good, and everyone in the hotel knew it. Or almost everyone, but that's a story for a later time.

Holding James's dark gaze, Violet tilted her chin up, a small smile curving at the end of her lips. James liked her flare, and his lips curved as well, blossoming into the closest to a smile she had ever seen on his face. He purred, "As much as I enjoy this, you will be late to the party if we continue, Miss."

"You can't be late to your own party," Violet quipped, popping up from her stool, leaving the drink Liz had made behind her. She strutted towards the hallway containing their rooms, stopping to turn back at the pair still at the bar. "Are you coming? I don't know where this party is." James slowly began to walk towards her, stopping at her side. Violet looked over to the woman behind the counter and said, "I'll be back, Miss Taylor."

"It's Liz, honey," the bartender called to her new friend.

Violet then turned her attention back to the dark figure next to her, whose arm flew out for her to catch. She unsurprisingly declined it, to which James said, "How will you ever make it to the party without me on your arm to guide your way?"

Knowing he wasn't going to back down, Violet begrudgingly lifted her hand towards his elbow. He smiled, sensing the pure rebellion dying to come forth from her. He turned back towards the long corridor and said a single word. "Onward."

Just a fun little chapter, but I hope you all notice that Liz is here, which I hope makes you ask about who else might be here too...

Next chapter I'll get into a bit more of the history of some of our favorite characters!

And if you get the chance, go read Stephycats7785's story "Imperfection" and ghm's story "Born To Die." They're both absolutely brilliant writers and I guarantee you'll love their stories!