❝ happiness is the same price as
Red bottoms . . . ❞
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taylor johnston
tags ; ; emerson, grant, saffron
location ; ; rooftop
ooc ; ; that was a lot to deal with xD
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║╚═════════════╝ The brunette perched her lips and developed into a smile, surprisingly. Looking far too sweet to have a sour expression, it didn't suit her anyway. Frowning brings on premature wrinkles, that's what her mother would say, there would always be pressure on her to look flawless. Perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect teeth. Money was never an issue. Johnston women, some of the most famous socialites on the Upper East side; Of course appearance was paramount to them.
She parted her hair over her right shoulder as he spoke, just observing. Not showing any real reaction to the boy who was clearly trying to offend her. A slight giggle did escape her lips although, he talked the talk but she was convinced he didn't walk the walk. Perhaps she found the situation humorous?
"You're wrong," smile turning into a devious Cheshire Cat grin.
"I'm not like every other girl." Her words breathed certainty. At that moment a waiter had brought her over another Cosmopolitan, he had seen her glass was empty. Wouldn't want to upset an investor's daughter.
"Save me the bull**** my daddy buys my love cliché, you're wrong again. " Her words were so passive aggressive and yet her tone was almost, but just short of flirtatious. She took the glass of the waiter's tray, took a sip, for such a small girl she held her drinks well. They didn't seem to hit her at all. She waved him away with a thank you, her manners, to strangers at least, were deceivingly impeccable.
"I didn't come here to sleep around either," she replied after a while, never too quick to answer. She wore what she wore because, quite frankly, she liked the attention, husbands drooling and their wives tutting. Boys staring and girls watching. It was empowering. Although she would be equally as confident in a dress that covered her ankles arm and neck. The one thing that did slightly bother her was his sexist comments. From then on she knew exactly who he was and so much clicked into place.
"Being slut shamed by the playboy," she laughed, pearly white veneers gleaming in whatever light reflected from the dull setting.
"How ironic," eyes lit up as if it was the most amusing thing in the world, one finger held up to her temple.
For someone so good at reading people, it seems he had made too many wrong assumptions. Grant had began to approach at this stage, she had noticed him in her peripheral vision. Emerson seemed very concerned about Taylor embarrassing herself, by people knowing who she was but the only reason for her to be embarrassed was the scene that had just been created by the playboy.
One hand reached behind her head, releasing the lace bow that held her mask in place, she let it dangle for a few seconds in front of her face while looking at Emerson, before holding the frame of the mask in her two hands down by her waist, her eyes following.
"I may no longer be wearing a mask, and yet you still don't know who I am." The figurative meaning is what she meant, not literal.
At this point Grant was standing with the pair, able to hear what they were now saying. She was just about to leave to find her better taste in company when the gambler began to speak. She looked at his outstretched hand, and back up to him. Completely ignoring the gesture as she didn't appreciate the comment. The girl behind him seemed quiet, but the boy she was with appeared loud and confident, it was easy to be shadowed by him.