Sometimes, you just have to accept things for what they are. Sometimes, there’s just no way out, and all you can do is deal.
My name, my full one, is Alexandra Evelin Benedict. But I go by Ally, or I have ever since the nickname was given to me in my sophomore year of high school. Technically the nickname was Ally Cat, but only those who know me well are allowed to call me that. Otherwise, you might be nursing a fat lip.
Now you’re thinking, “Oh, she’s one of those tough chicks.” Well, yeah, sort of. I’m not the kind of ‘tough chick’ that goes lookin’ for violence, or makes a habit of startin’ fights everywhere she goes. Nope, that’s Livvie… heh, wouldn’t she just love to give ME a fat lip for letting that nickname get out! Livvie’s the nickname I appointed for a sweet little girl named Olivia when we were 9 years old together, and she’s hated it even from the very first. Things are never dull when that girl’s around. Might be safe to say she’s partially responsible for a lot of the stupid decisions I made in high school…
Back to my point. I’m only tough ‘cause I gotta be sometimes in my line of work. I’m sure bar fights are no foreign concept to you. Well, I’m a bartender most nights of the week. Can’t tell you how many fights I’ve had to break up in the 9 years I’ve been workin’ at The Haven. It’s a hell of a lot more than I can count on all my fingers and toes, I can tell you that much. Not only that, but I inherited my absent mother’s good looks, so I occasionally (occasionally? More like constantly) get the creepy stalker types, and have to make sure they understand what my knuckles look like real close, if you know what I mean. That is, if I don’t get Mark or Anton, the bouncers, to do it for me. Sometimes I just need the satisfaction of poppin’ that fucker myself.
I didn’t used to be this way. I was one of those little girls who played with her dolls, imagining true love in Ken’s painted eyes as he looked at Barbie. I wanted to someday have a husband who was blonde, muscular, and only talked the way a little girl imagines that men do. My illusion of what true love really means was shattered when my mom up and left us when I was only 7, and Adrian was 10. I’d fully believed that my parents were the epitome of that look in Ken’s eyes, that they’d be together forever like in the stories. I’d been wrong.
Fuck. I don’t like talking about my fuckin’ mom. My life went on a rollercoaster ride after the day she left. It didn’t really start going seriously downhill until I was a freshman in high school, and started getting urges I couldn’t explain, and didn’t have a mother to ask about. I don’t just mean the sexual ones, although that probably would’ve been a lot simpler if that was all I got. I got urges to steal things. Urges to run out late at night when everyone in the house was sleeping and go commit random acts of debauchery. Eventually I managed to incorporate myself into a small group of other teenagers who had the same urges I did, and you can imagine the sort of influence they had on me.
I did a lot of things back then that my dad would simultaneously shit himself and have an aneurism if he found out about. But I never got caught for any of it, so that’s never come up. And I quit doing that shit a long time ago. Like, when I was a junior, and discovered other loves: the internet, especially. Um, the point of all this, was that I ran around the streets doing shit I shouldn’t have, slinking through alleys and whatnot with my friends and confidantes. Hence, Ally Cat.
A few years passed; I had ambitions to go to college, to become something cool and be rich, like most young people do. I got a job waitressing at the Haven just after I graduated high school thinking the money would help pay for my tuition, but it ended up only paying my bills, mostly. I was referred there by Adrian, because he was dating a girl who worked there. Originally I think Jack, the owner of the Haven, was hesitant to hire me since I was only 18, but we got along well from the first, and halfway through the interview we were laughing it up, lounging back in our chairs and smoking cigarettes. I was hired without a second interview.
I realized early on that life is too fuckin’ short. Too short to be all uptight and nervous during a job interview, for example. Too short to quit smoking, especially since it helps my nerves. Definitely too fuckin’ short to hesitate about getting my labret pierced, and getting the bitchin’ tattoo that sprawls across my back. Honestly though, I only got those after Jack took me to get my bartending license on my 21st birthday, and I realized that I was undeniably stuck there, paddling in place in the proverbial ocean of life. Paddling in place, and possibly, slowly drowning to death.
Sometimes people ask me why I don’t care more about shit, why I’m so seemingly careless with my life at times, why I don’t mind being a bartender in downtown Seattle, at a place that’s slowly turning into a run-down shit hole from the constant rain and general building deterioration. Why I’ve spent most of my nights these past few years drinking and partying my life away with the wrong types of guys.
Well, I’ll tell them, we’re all dying slowly, some of us faster than others. And maybe if you struggle too hard, like a bug caught in the spider’s web, you simply end up dooming yourself further. Maybe this is all there is to life. Maybe this is the lot I’ve been given. Maybe it’s not exactly what I want, but as the song goes, “you can’t always get what you want”, so you gotta make the best of it somehow, right?
My mom used to play that song when I was little. Fuck memories anyway. I gotta get back to work. If you’re not drinking, get the hell offa’ that stool, so someone that’s payin’ can sit there. Got it?
Body Type: Slender, somewhat athletic
Hair: Brown-black with royal purple streaks throughout; mid-back length, straight and silky.
Distinguishing Features: Both her tongue and labret are pierced; her tongue has a purple plastic barbell through it, and a silver, spiked stud juts from just beneath her lower lip. Her ears are pierced four times, three on the lobe and one through the cartilage at the top.
She has a large tattoo across her back, sprawling from the side of her left thigh up to her right shoulder blade, of dark brown-black tree branches, bearing dark purple and blue flowers of various different types. The types of flowers are significant.