Fic: Give Her a Mask (And She Will Tell You the Truth)
Title to Oscar Wilde.
Give Her a Mask (And She Will Tell You the Truth)
Serena/Blair - AU Gossip Girl
PG-13 | 5,704 words
For a smile they can share the night.
It is dark, but hardly pitch, when she slips in through an unmarked door. A bouncer who is all muscle and no neck manages an impossible nod in her direction when she meets his eyes. She looks away. There is a vague shame at being recognized here. She takes her usual booth in the corner and waves away a waitress who comes to call for alcohol. She does not want anything to cloud this night. There's a fade to black, then a follow spot trains on the apron of the stage, the foot of the catwalk.
Something like anticipation curls in her belly as she waits for the words the announcer is speaking to reach her. It doesn't travel well, the acoustics here are awful, but that's not what she's here for. When the lights dim and are filtered red, the velvet curtain parts and Serena actually catches herself leaning forward in her seat. She watches unblinking as a small hand extends from the break like a question.
Serena answers: yes yes yes.
A perfect, pale body follows the tiny hand out of the curtain. From where Serena sits, the girl looks like a porcelain doll. She is all high heels and red lipstick. At the center of the stage, she stops and wraps that delicate hand around a silver pole. There is music, something slow and dreamy, as she starts to move. Serena's eyes are greedy and she drinks in this performance like she may never get another. Which, incidentally, she may not.
--
The first time Serena sees her, it's an accident. She'd even been doing her very best not to look. There had been a flash of bright, warm color that pulled her eyes to the stage. Breath caught at the back of Serena's throat and somewhere someone was whistling.
It took her nearly an hour to find Victrola because it didn't have signs and Chuck had been mostly drunk when he'd given her directions. She spent the last of her cab money on the cover charge just to get in the damn place. Inside the seedy strip club, Chuck was waiting facedown in his own drool. Serena had cursed her mother again for marrying Bart Bass. She has never heard of someone marrying out of money. Now there was this. A drunkard of a stepbrother was the last thing Serena needed.
Chuck looked like he might actually drown so Serena seizes his collar and pulls, trying to get him upright. He only manages to fall out of his chair, but this, at least, wakes him up. He grins up at her like he's happy to see her, like they're old friends out for a night on the town. “Hey, sis!”
Serena could just punch him in his stupid mouth.
She gets him angled toward the door but he's having trouble keeping his feet from tangling together. Behind her, Serena hears a swell of applause and nearly turns her head to look. Then she remembers where she is, thinks she all would get is an eyeful of naked girl. She has a mirror at home for that. At the door, Chuck falls against the pushbar to open it. They are almost outside when he starts patting his pockets, mumbles about his wallet.
Serena's eyes roll so hard, she fears they might actually fall out of her head. She has to squeeze past two girls in feathers to get back in the door. At the bar she spots Chuck's faux-leather billfold and stretches to reach it. She is mid-lean when a light strobes where the stages must be and before Serena makes the conscious decision to do so, she looks up and focuses.
The wallet slips from her fingers.
--
Tonight, Serena does something she has never before dared. She moves from her booth. She finds a seat at the back of the floor, closer than she has ever been. There is a wad of singles stuffed messily into her pocket and they seem to be growing heavier. The weight of them becomes oppressive and Serena reaches with shaking fingers to draw them out.
Now that she's brought them, she has no idea what to do with them. Her palms are sweating and she can hear the music winding down. She knows this set is about to end and a new girl will be taking the stage. Serena decides the best thing to do is wait. When the chords of this ballad finally close, the lights go down and Serena releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
The girl at the end of the stage bends a final time and gathers her tips before turning. Serena watches her approach and sees tension in the way she carries herself, like she's trying so hard not to run. Serena catches a whiff of perfume as the girl passes at eye-level. She sees a bare ankle and has the sudden, unreasonable urge to just reach out and touch.
Her hand twitches. She clenches it into a fist.
A new song has begun, something loud and fast and vulgar. This dancer is blonde and moves like she's having sex. It's dirty and Serena feels dirty for watching. But she doesn't stop watching until that small hand breaks her line of sight, lands on the cash Serena left on the stage. Serena thinks she knows that hand so well, she could pick it out of a line up, out of a crowd. She follows the hand up an arm to a face she has never seen so close up, this well.
Serena has forgotten how to make words.
The girl's fingers close around the money, fanning the bills to appraise their value. She makes a soft noise of satisfaction. “You want a dance?”
Serena knows if she tried to open her mouth, only a crack of sound would fall out. So she nods, it's the very best she can do. Those little hands take purchase on either side of Serena's shoulders as this girl pulls herself up into Serena's lap. Almost, but not quite touching. She starts to move. This time, Serena has to sit on her hands to keep from touching.
Serena is suddenly feverish because this girl is so close and so warm. Heat is rolling off her in waves. She does not move like this is a show, like she is working. She moves with slow grace outside of the music behind her. It is beautiful. Serena feels a flush creep into her cheeks as the girl twists and turns in her lap. The girl gives Serena a knowing look and asks Serena if this is her first time. Again, Serena nods.
I want to know your name, Serena thinks.
The girl catches Serena's stare and her painted lips pull into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Serena hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. The lips part to reveal tiny, white teeth. “Ruby,” she says. “Ruby Red.”
There's disappointment in the pit of Serena's stomach because she wants a real name. Serena looks down and pulls at green where it's tucked into a lace waistband. The girl sits back abruptly, her face a mask of disbelief and outrage. Before she can say anything Serena repeats calmly, “I want to know your name.”
The girl is still in Serena's lap and she gives Serena a once over. Then another. She moves quickly, tries to lean over Serena's head and grab at the money. Her fingers find only air as Serena stretches her hand out of reach. When she leans back, the girl's face is frozen like it's not sure how it's supposed to look. Serena can see her reflection in the girl's eyes, can see pleading and desperation and something like wonder.
“Just tell me--” Serena begs.
The girl says nothing and slides to the floor, leaving the money and Serena behind.
--
Serena stays away for nine days. She has dreams where everything is red, even the music somehow. It tastes red. Then she finds her way back through blank doors into that smoky room. She's a little late and the blonde who dances like sex is already on stage. Serena scans the place for that curtain of dark hair, a glimpse of perfect pale skin. She finds none.
Serena waits.
After an hour she stops someone in white taffeta, she isn't sure if she's speaking to a man or woman. She asks for Ruby Red.
“Ruby? Oh, she quit. Going on five days now, honey.”
Serena takes each word like a blow to the gut. She nearly doubles over, feels the loss like physical pain, like a missing limb. She has forgotten how to breathe.
--
The second time Serena finds her is not an accident. She had been doing her very best to look. There had been a flash of light and the absence of color pulled her eyes to the train. Breath caught in the back of her throat and somewhere someone was whistling.
Of course, the subways are old and the light bulbs are bound to give out eventually. On the F train, going South to Queens an overhead light dies with a pop like a scream and a gasp comes from the other side of the nearly empty car. Serena's eyes move toward the sound and she sees most of a girl behind a Sunday- edition paper. The print is obscured on either side by tiny hands, hands that Serena would know anywhere. In a lineup, in a crowd.
Serena stares at the paper as if she can see through it, to the girl behind it. She prays to any god that will listen and wills that paper down. When it falls, the girl behind it meets Serena's gaze and holds it like she's trying to place her. Serena is gripped by the fear that she has been forgotten, that she has meant nothing. She realizes with a sudden humiliation that she most likely has been, that she probably does not. A lump like lead rises in Serena's throat.
The girl folds her paper and lays it primly across her lap. She does not look away. Serena has always been one to act impulsively and has more often than not been one to regret it. So, it only makes sense that she would not consider to consequences of her actions before standing and crossing the car to where this girl sits. She takes the seat opposite and looks over the face that has been in the forefront of her mind for so, so long. The girl is not wearing her stage makeup and without it she is a child, no older than Serena herself. She is wearing a skirt and tights beneath her coat. Without the lights of a stage to hide behind, she is a different kind of beautiful.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I'm going home,” Serena says, finding her voice at last.
“Oh,” she says. Her dark eyes move back and forth between Serena's, as though she is trying to catch one of them lying.
“I looked for you,” Serena tries. “At Victrola.”
“I quit.”
“I noticed.”
“Why?”
Serena takes a second to answer. She blinks. “Why what?”
“Why would you notice?”
“Why wouldn't I?”
The girl shakes her head and her curls bounce. Serena feels that old urge twitching at her fingers. “There are other girls.”
“No,” Serena says. “There aren't.”
“You didn't even look,” she says. Serena is about to argue. She looked, but she saw nothing she wanted. “I watched you. Every week. You hid in the back like you thought I wouldn't see, but I did. When I was working, your eyes never left my face. Even when I was dancing for you.”
She pauses there, her voice low. Serena isn't sure if she's supposed to wait for more, or speak at this.
“You didn't look once,” she finishes.
“That's not what I was there for.”
“What were you there for, then?”
“What's your name?” Serena asks.
The girl watches Serena in a way she can't classify. There is longing and regret and the smallest bit of hope. She does not speak for long moments but when finally her lips part, she says what Serena has been aching to hear for such a long time.
“Blair,” she says. “My name is Blair.”
--
Serena fills the kettle before setting it on her little stove. Her apartment is small, but clean. Except for the futon she sleeps on; it is open and covered in twisted sheets. She sets out two mugs and a box of tea on the table in front of Blair. The table is also an ironing board. Serena sits on her upturned laundry basket since she only has one chair. They wait for the water.
Under the table, their knees are touching.
The tea is what Serena drinks when she can't sleep. It has a picture of a teddy bear in lilac pajamas on it. When Blair sees this she gives a little laugh. The reaction in Serena is so immediate, so instinctual, that she smiles without pause. Her stomach pulls at this realization. Her emotions are already so wrapped up in this person she hardly knows. It should scare her, it really should. All Serena feels is happy.
Blair covers her mouth when she yawns. It's a small, inconsequential sound, like a baby's. Blair looks up with guilty eyes and apologizes. Serena waves her dismissal. Blair's eyes are the deepest brown and Serena is staring.
“I wish,” Blair says, “you wouldn't look at me like that.”
There is no offense in her voice, no insult taken, just truth. Serena furrows her brow.
“Like what?”
Blair looks up again and meets Serena's eyes, says with significance “Like that.”
“I don't know how else to look.”
“What do you want with me?” Blair asks. It sounds like what do you want from me.
Serena doesn't know the best way to answer that question. She isn't sure how to express that she wants nothing from Blair, but everything for her. She is glad that Blair quit dancing. Serena knows she is better than that. She thinks in another time or another place, Blair would be the sort of girl who would want to go off to Yale in the fall, the sort who wore bows in her hair. All Serena wants from Blair is for her to see what Serena sees when she looks at her. Serena doesn't know how to translate those thoughts into words, so she does what little she can.
She lifts a hand to Blair's face, rests it against her cheek. Blair's hand covers Serena's and there's a small part of Serena that is expecting Blair to pull her hand away. Instead Blair watches her with wide eyes and squeezes Serena's long fingers. The grip is light but firm. It feels like a question.
Serena answers: yes yes yes.
Serena leans the scant space over the table and Blair meets her halfway. She stops a breath away from Serena's lips and speaks in a hurried whisper, like she's sharing a secret. “I'm not―I don't... I'm not sure I can do this.”
Serena opens her eyes and finds she is looking into Blair's. She can see her own reflection. There is pleading and desperation and something like wonder. She can see it in Blair's eyes, too. Serena doesn't want to push. She is afraid that if she loses Blair now, she will never find her again. Serena leans away and that perfect, tiny hand shoots out and catches the back of Serena's neck, holding her in place.
“You never told me your name,” Blair says. Her thumb is drawing circles beneath Serena's long, blonde hair.
“Billie Blue,” Serena says without hesitation. She is rewarded with a half-hearted pinch and an indulgent smile. “Serena.”
“Serena, okay.”
“Okay?”
Blair nods like it is all she can manage, like it's the very best she can do. Blair has stripped onstage. She has been naked under spotlights. But here, now, before Serena she is bared.
“Okay, I can do this.”
Serena closes the distance.
--
part two
Give Her a Mask (And She Will Tell You the Truth)
Serena/Blair - AU Gossip Girl
PG-13 | 5,704 words
For a smile they can share the night.
It is dark, but hardly pitch, when she slips in through an unmarked door. A bouncer who is all muscle and no neck manages an impossible nod in her direction when she meets his eyes. She looks away. There is a vague shame at being recognized here. She takes her usual booth in the corner and waves away a waitress who comes to call for alcohol. She does not want anything to cloud this night. There's a fade to black, then a follow spot trains on the apron of the stage, the foot of the catwalk.
Something like anticipation curls in her belly as she waits for the words the announcer is speaking to reach her. It doesn't travel well, the acoustics here are awful, but that's not what she's here for. When the lights dim and are filtered red, the velvet curtain parts and Serena actually catches herself leaning forward in her seat. She watches unblinking as a small hand extends from the break like a question.
Serena answers: yes yes yes.
A perfect, pale body follows the tiny hand out of the curtain. From where Serena sits, the girl looks like a porcelain doll. She is all high heels and red lipstick. At the center of the stage, she stops and wraps that delicate hand around a silver pole. There is music, something slow and dreamy, as she starts to move. Serena's eyes are greedy and she drinks in this performance like she may never get another. Which, incidentally, she may not.
--
The first time Serena sees her, it's an accident. She'd even been doing her very best not to look. There had been a flash of bright, warm color that pulled her eyes to the stage. Breath caught at the back of Serena's throat and somewhere someone was whistling.
It took her nearly an hour to find Victrola because it didn't have signs and Chuck had been mostly drunk when he'd given her directions. She spent the last of her cab money on the cover charge just to get in the damn place. Inside the seedy strip club, Chuck was waiting facedown in his own drool. Serena had cursed her mother again for marrying Bart Bass. She has never heard of someone marrying out of money. Now there was this. A drunkard of a stepbrother was the last thing Serena needed.
Chuck looked like he might actually drown so Serena seizes his collar and pulls, trying to get him upright. He only manages to fall out of his chair, but this, at least, wakes him up. He grins up at her like he's happy to see her, like they're old friends out for a night on the town. “Hey, sis!”
Serena could just punch him in his stupid mouth.
She gets him angled toward the door but he's having trouble keeping his feet from tangling together. Behind her, Serena hears a swell of applause and nearly turns her head to look. Then she remembers where she is, thinks she all would get is an eyeful of naked girl. She has a mirror at home for that. At the door, Chuck falls against the pushbar to open it. They are almost outside when he starts patting his pockets, mumbles about his wallet.
Serena's eyes roll so hard, she fears they might actually fall out of her head. She has to squeeze past two girls in feathers to get back in the door. At the bar she spots Chuck's faux-leather billfold and stretches to reach it. She is mid-lean when a light strobes where the stages must be and before Serena makes the conscious decision to do so, she looks up and focuses.
The wallet slips from her fingers.
--
Tonight, Serena does something she has never before dared. She moves from her booth. She finds a seat at the back of the floor, closer than she has ever been. There is a wad of singles stuffed messily into her pocket and they seem to be growing heavier. The weight of them becomes oppressive and Serena reaches with shaking fingers to draw them out.
Now that she's brought them, she has no idea what to do with them. Her palms are sweating and she can hear the music winding down. She knows this set is about to end and a new girl will be taking the stage. Serena decides the best thing to do is wait. When the chords of this ballad finally close, the lights go down and Serena releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
The girl at the end of the stage bends a final time and gathers her tips before turning. Serena watches her approach and sees tension in the way she carries herself, like she's trying so hard not to run. Serena catches a whiff of perfume as the girl passes at eye-level. She sees a bare ankle and has the sudden, unreasonable urge to just reach out and touch.
Her hand twitches. She clenches it into a fist.
A new song has begun, something loud and fast and vulgar. This dancer is blonde and moves like she's having sex. It's dirty and Serena feels dirty for watching. But she doesn't stop watching until that small hand breaks her line of sight, lands on the cash Serena left on the stage. Serena thinks she knows that hand so well, she could pick it out of a line up, out of a crowd. She follows the hand up an arm to a face she has never seen so close up, this well.
Serena has forgotten how to make words.
The girl's fingers close around the money, fanning the bills to appraise their value. She makes a soft noise of satisfaction. “You want a dance?”
Serena knows if she tried to open her mouth, only a crack of sound would fall out. So she nods, it's the very best she can do. Those little hands take purchase on either side of Serena's shoulders as this girl pulls herself up into Serena's lap. Almost, but not quite touching. She starts to move. This time, Serena has to sit on her hands to keep from touching.
Serena is suddenly feverish because this girl is so close and so warm. Heat is rolling off her in waves. She does not move like this is a show, like she is working. She moves with slow grace outside of the music behind her. It is beautiful. Serena feels a flush creep into her cheeks as the girl twists and turns in her lap. The girl gives Serena a knowing look and asks Serena if this is her first time. Again, Serena nods.
I want to know your name, Serena thinks.
The girl catches Serena's stare and her painted lips pull into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Serena hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. The lips part to reveal tiny, white teeth. “Ruby,” she says. “Ruby Red.”
There's disappointment in the pit of Serena's stomach because she wants a real name. Serena looks down and pulls at green where it's tucked into a lace waistband. The girl sits back abruptly, her face a mask of disbelief and outrage. Before she can say anything Serena repeats calmly, “I want to know your name.”
The girl is still in Serena's lap and she gives Serena a once over. Then another. She moves quickly, tries to lean over Serena's head and grab at the money. Her fingers find only air as Serena stretches her hand out of reach. When she leans back, the girl's face is frozen like it's not sure how it's supposed to look. Serena can see her reflection in the girl's eyes, can see pleading and desperation and something like wonder.
“Just tell me--” Serena begs.
The girl says nothing and slides to the floor, leaving the money and Serena behind.
--
Serena stays away for nine days. She has dreams where everything is red, even the music somehow. It tastes red. Then she finds her way back through blank doors into that smoky room. She's a little late and the blonde who dances like sex is already on stage. Serena scans the place for that curtain of dark hair, a glimpse of perfect pale skin. She finds none.
Serena waits.
After an hour she stops someone in white taffeta, she isn't sure if she's speaking to a man or woman. She asks for Ruby Red.
“Ruby? Oh, she quit. Going on five days now, honey.”
Serena takes each word like a blow to the gut. She nearly doubles over, feels the loss like physical pain, like a missing limb. She has forgotten how to breathe.
--
The second time Serena finds her is not an accident. She had been doing her very best to look. There had been a flash of light and the absence of color pulled her eyes to the train. Breath caught in the back of her throat and somewhere someone was whistling.
Of course, the subways are old and the light bulbs are bound to give out eventually. On the F train, going South to Queens an overhead light dies with a pop like a scream and a gasp comes from the other side of the nearly empty car. Serena's eyes move toward the sound and she sees most of a girl behind a Sunday- edition paper. The print is obscured on either side by tiny hands, hands that Serena would know anywhere. In a lineup, in a crowd.
Serena stares at the paper as if she can see through it, to the girl behind it. She prays to any god that will listen and wills that paper down. When it falls, the girl behind it meets Serena's gaze and holds it like she's trying to place her. Serena is gripped by the fear that she has been forgotten, that she has meant nothing. She realizes with a sudden humiliation that she most likely has been, that she probably does not. A lump like lead rises in Serena's throat.
The girl folds her paper and lays it primly across her lap. She does not look away. Serena has always been one to act impulsively and has more often than not been one to regret it. So, it only makes sense that she would not consider to consequences of her actions before standing and crossing the car to where this girl sits. She takes the seat opposite and looks over the face that has been in the forefront of her mind for so, so long. The girl is not wearing her stage makeup and without it she is a child, no older than Serena herself. She is wearing a skirt and tights beneath her coat. Without the lights of a stage to hide behind, she is a different kind of beautiful.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I'm going home,” Serena says, finding her voice at last.
“Oh,” she says. Her dark eyes move back and forth between Serena's, as though she is trying to catch one of them lying.
“I looked for you,” Serena tries. “At Victrola.”
“I quit.”
“I noticed.”
“Why?”
Serena takes a second to answer. She blinks. “Why what?”
“Why would you notice?”
“Why wouldn't I?”
The girl shakes her head and her curls bounce. Serena feels that old urge twitching at her fingers. “There are other girls.”
“No,” Serena says. “There aren't.”
“You didn't even look,” she says. Serena is about to argue. She looked, but she saw nothing she wanted. “I watched you. Every week. You hid in the back like you thought I wouldn't see, but I did. When I was working, your eyes never left my face. Even when I was dancing for you.”
She pauses there, her voice low. Serena isn't sure if she's supposed to wait for more, or speak at this.
“You didn't look once,” she finishes.
“That's not what I was there for.”
“What were you there for, then?”
“What's your name?” Serena asks.
The girl watches Serena in a way she can't classify. There is longing and regret and the smallest bit of hope. She does not speak for long moments but when finally her lips part, she says what Serena has been aching to hear for such a long time.
“Blair,” she says. “My name is Blair.”
--
Serena fills the kettle before setting it on her little stove. Her apartment is small, but clean. Except for the futon she sleeps on; it is open and covered in twisted sheets. She sets out two mugs and a box of tea on the table in front of Blair. The table is also an ironing board. Serena sits on her upturned laundry basket since she only has one chair. They wait for the water.
Under the table, their knees are touching.
The tea is what Serena drinks when she can't sleep. It has a picture of a teddy bear in lilac pajamas on it. When Blair sees this she gives a little laugh. The reaction in Serena is so immediate, so instinctual, that she smiles without pause. Her stomach pulls at this realization. Her emotions are already so wrapped up in this person she hardly knows. It should scare her, it really should. All Serena feels is happy.
Blair covers her mouth when she yawns. It's a small, inconsequential sound, like a baby's. Blair looks up with guilty eyes and apologizes. Serena waves her dismissal. Blair's eyes are the deepest brown and Serena is staring.
“I wish,” Blair says, “you wouldn't look at me like that.”
There is no offense in her voice, no insult taken, just truth. Serena furrows her brow.
“Like what?”
Blair looks up again and meets Serena's eyes, says with significance “Like that.”
“I don't know how else to look.”
“What do you want with me?” Blair asks. It sounds like what do you want from me.
Serena doesn't know the best way to answer that question. She isn't sure how to express that she wants nothing from Blair, but everything for her. She is glad that Blair quit dancing. Serena knows she is better than that. She thinks in another time or another place, Blair would be the sort of girl who would want to go off to Yale in the fall, the sort who wore bows in her hair. All Serena wants from Blair is for her to see what Serena sees when she looks at her. Serena doesn't know how to translate those thoughts into words, so she does what little she can.
She lifts a hand to Blair's face, rests it against her cheek. Blair's hand covers Serena's and there's a small part of Serena that is expecting Blair to pull her hand away. Instead Blair watches her with wide eyes and squeezes Serena's long fingers. The grip is light but firm. It feels like a question.
Serena answers: yes yes yes.
Serena leans the scant space over the table and Blair meets her halfway. She stops a breath away from Serena's lips and speaks in a hurried whisper, like she's sharing a secret. “I'm not―I don't... I'm not sure I can do this.”
Serena opens her eyes and finds she is looking into Blair's. She can see her own reflection. There is pleading and desperation and something like wonder. She can see it in Blair's eyes, too. Serena doesn't want to push. She is afraid that if she loses Blair now, she will never find her again. Serena leans away and that perfect, tiny hand shoots out and catches the back of Serena's neck, holding her in place.
“You never told me your name,” Blair says. Her thumb is drawing circles beneath Serena's long, blonde hair.
“Billie Blue,” Serena says without hesitation. She is rewarded with a half-hearted pinch and an indulgent smile. “Serena.”
“Serena, okay.”
“Okay?”
Blair nods like it is all she can manage, like it's the very best she can do. Blair has stripped onstage. She has been naked under spotlights. But here, now, before Serena she is bared.
“Okay, I can do this.”
Serena closes the distance.
--
part two