She wasn't gorgeous. She wasn't exceptionally thin or toned or tanned. She didn't have humongous implants or any of the other things that most people pictured when they heard the words 'Exotic Dancer'. So when she told her parents, her conservative, right-wing, church-going, never-ever-sinned parents that she was becoming an exotic dancer... they freaked. Understandably. They threw her out- just as they had thrown her older sister out for being a lesbian, disowning children seemed to be a pattern with them- and didn't speak to her except to, once a month, call and ask if she had given up her 'sinful ways'. She currently sat in her boss' office, feet propped up on the table, ankles crossed and eyes rolling as her mother pleaded in her best 'where did I go wrong?' voice for her to come back home and save her soul. "Please, Isabella," her mother's heavily accented voice whimpered. "You cannot do this to your father any longer, he will have a heart attack or stroke!"

Isabella Klotz. The one thing that was even remotely 'exotic' about her was her name. Beautiful, it meant in German, the language of her mother's homeland. Sighing and twirling the phone cord around her finger, she made a point to speak softly and clearly, her voice falling somewhere in the mid-ranges of possibilities for human tones. "Mama, I love you, and I love Papa. But I am not going to give up my only solid income just to make you more comfortable." She glanced at the clock, cursing softly under her breath. "Ah, Mama, I have to go, my shift's in twenty minutes and I'm still in my civilian clothes. Ich liebe dich, Tschuss!" Ignoring her mother's protests on the other end, she hung up the phone, rushing out the door and towards the dressing rooms.

More luck un-dressing rooms, she thought wryly as she dodged flying clothes as her fellow dancers- strippers, hell, we're strippers- peeled their clothes off and shoved themselves into scraps of cloth too small and tight to be even considered clothes. Reaching her locker, Bella kicked it open- the lock never worked anyways- and drew her shirt over her head, with none of the careful, sexy calculation she would have to show on the stage in a little bit. Someone shrieked, and there was a protest, muffled- "Oi, Lorita, watch were you throw your clothes!" Lorita, her 'god-forsaken stripper name' as her mother would so eloquently describe it, had been the first thing she could think of when told to choose a name for herself. At least she hadn't chosen something ridiculous like... Candy, or Sexy. Speaking of...

"Ja, Ja, stop complaining, Sexy, work on shoving that ass into that underwear." Suiting actions to words, she pulled on her underwear- tiny lacy black boy shorts and an equally lacy and equally tiny black bra, followed by a tight black suede shirt that showed the vast majority of what cleavage she had, and low-rising leather pants. Her workplace, La Vie Boheme, was one of the few strip joints that allowed their strippers to start their acts fully dressed, and Bella took advantage of that fact, as it gave her more material to work with. She paused to pull her dim blond hair over her shoulders to make two very loose pig-tail braids that just barely tickled the bottom of her ribcage, and then pulled on a pair of five-inch black heels. "Et Voila," she said, turning and beaming at her coworker and best friend, Danielle, AKA Sexy. "Lorita is born." And just in time, as the buzzer sounded, and a couple of the girls shrieked, not yet ready.

Moments later, with the four other girls on rotation with her at the moment, 'Lorita' stalked up onto the stage, waiting, hands on her hips, for the music to start and the curtains to rise. Dark brown eyes scanned the audience through the crack in the curtains- full house tonight, it seemed, and she was suddenly glad for the large stage, so that she didn't have to be near the drunks and perverts who actually came to watch this. A slow tune started, and a voice from the speakers announced, "Tonight, gentlemen, I introduce to you: Sexy, Candy, Ingrid, Farra, and Loooori-ta!" Show time.

[XD Sorry that it's so long but has so little to actually work with. ^^; It's been a while since I've been this inspired. Oh, and in case you wanted it, I'e got a quick sketch of Isabella. ^^ Ich liebe dich means I love you, and Tschuss means 'see you later' pretty much. <3]

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(( No problem at all! Man I loved your post, that was a really great read. Your pic of Isabella is lovely! And I apologize for my severely, overly long post... intros always seem to turn out this way xO; ))


Revelers' Row, 3 blocks past the gun shop, straight to your left.

He scowled and jammed the paper back into his coat, looking upwards in disbelief. Well, here was 3 blocks down and to the left, and who would have thought he'd be staring at the gaudiest, pinkest neon sign he'd ever lay eyes on?

Girls! Girls! Girls! it blared, and alongside it in similarly nauseating hues, Featuring the foxy femmes of foreign! Escape to the exotic! La Vie Boheme. The man beneath the sign rubbed his neck, thinking darkly, This has gotta be a joke. Boss sent me here for kicks, and when the job's done, that's exactly what I'm goin' to do to him.

But business was business. Even if it took place on a dark, questionable street that stank of sewerage and echoed with raucous laughter. Smoke from street vents billowed about his feet as he put a hand on the golden door handle, its cheap paint peeling.

Inside, smoke formed clouds in the heavy air, which smelled of sour beer and too many people. The noise was unbearable. Pulling his low-brimmed hat down, he clenched his jaw and shoved his way through the rowdy throng, searching for the man in his instructions. He truly despised places like this, where the scum of the city collected every night to feed upon desires they'd never have. He wasn't about to claim he was any better than the so-called "scum," but at least he had the sense to stay away from loose-clothed, loose-moraled women.

He found his man by the bar-- flannel vest, white cap, that was him. Luckily, the stage curtains were still drawn, so it seemed he would have time to do the job and get the hell out.

"'Scuse me," he said gruffly, and the man reeled about, beer sloshing down his shirt. That man looked up to see a dark, swarthy figure, his collared coat drawn close, eyes shadowed by an anonymous black hat. "I'm from Delaney. You've got somethin' for me."

The man at the bar grinned widely, paunchy face reddened by alcohol. "Delaney, eh? So youse his man... big guy, are ya? Gimme your name and the code. You done tell no one 'bout this place, 'ave ya?"

"Laszlo. 'Jackknives in winter.'" His head rose slightly; cold gray eyes glinted from beneath the hat. "And if I'd squealed, I'd be lyin' in some ditch with bullets through my brain, not talkin' to you."

The other man grunted and dug into his pockets, producing a small, unremarkable box wrapped in brown paper. The man called Laszlo took this, and turning it over in his large hands, nodded curtly. "I'll be on my way."

"Aw come on, the show's just startin'! Ya gotta live a little, young man like you," the other man guffawed, jerking his head at the front, where various stooges were already hooting and trying to climb onto the stage. Laszlo frowned irritably, tucking the small box into his coat. "I'm on business. This joint ain't exactly my idea of livin', anyway."

"Don't be such a log! 'Ere, have a nosh, it's on me. Ol' Delaney can wait til tomorrow... right now, youse got babes t' attend to!" Before Laszlo could protest, someone was shoving a mug of beer into his hand, and the other man had returned to his reveling activities.

Boss is gonna pay for this. He's gonna pay, and pay hard. Laszlo stood grimly in the midst of the ruckus, beer dripping down one hand, splattering onto his worn shoes below. What else could he do? The lowlifes occupying the place had begun to mass at the front, in anticipation of the show; it was impossible to get out. And he didn't want to start a scene by forcing his way out; sure, he was big enough, looked intimidating enough that people normally left him alone, but he couldn't risk getting caught with the goods in his coat.

He rubbed his unshaven jaw, then heaved a sigh. Already some music was starting, the announcer barely audible above the hollers and wolf whistles. He took a swig of beer for fortitude; it tasted like piss and god knew what else. Finding an unoccupied section of wall near the back, Laszlo leaned heavily against it, folding his arms across his chest. For all the grief he'd been subjected to, this show'd better be damned worth it.

The music was slow, tantalizing, and matched the speed of the curtains as they rose, baring inch after agonizing inch of bare calves, high heel clad feet, shorts, pants, breasts, and then, finally, faces, smiling and smirking and smug, and all so beautiful. They remained, frozen in their poses, for eight long eats before flowing into motion, arms and legs and hips swaying to the music, each occasionally slipping their thumbs into their pant-lines as if to pull them down, but only teasing, for a few agonizing minutes that seemed an eternity to the audience members, until Lorita stepped forward and tossed her braids over her shoulder, automatically gaining the attention of the room. She slapped Ingrid's ass as the other girl passed, then clapped her hands twice. "ALRIGHT," she yelled in true La Vie Boheme tradition, "LET'S GET SOME REAL MUSIC GOIN' IN HERE!" There were a few clicks of a metronome from somewhere in the back, loud in the suddenly deafening silence, and then the music began, changed, shifting to a more moderate beat with bass that thrummed through her feet and up into her hips, chest, throat.

Whirling, she struck a pose, then let her body swing to the music, long legs stretching across the stage as she strutted to her designated 'spot', hips and shoulders flowing fluidly, shifting, as her limbs followed. She teased by tugging at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up to show her stomach, and then letting it stay there, gazing sultrily out at the crowd while her stomach gurgled inaudibly in disgusted protest. She faux-thrust against the nearest pole, her expression mocking, and then she lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it out into the mass of men and hoping that no one got beer on it so she could reclaim it later- it was of strangely good quality, for a shirt provided by her notoriously cheapskate boss. This was met by cheers- no, that was probably for Farra, who already had her shorts off as well. Sad, half the fun was in the teasing.

She hooked her thumbs into her belt loops and pulled sown slightly, hips swaying, then turned around, baring in one swoop most of her ass and legs as she bent nearly in half; half for the sex appeal of swinging her ass at the men, and they obviously liked it, and half to untangle her shoes from the leather. That accomplished, she turned around, smirking at the sight of all of the men practically drooling at her and her coworkers' actions. Pigs. One grabbed at Sexy's leg, and Lorita stalked over, setting her heel none-too-lightly into his wrist. "Now, now, what do we do with naughty boys who can't keep their hands to themselves?" Ingrid asked, and the crowd roared, displeased with the interruption in the act.

"THROW 'EM OUT," They shouted together, and the man was drawn back into the crowd and towards his questionable fate.

"Remember," Lorita said, even as she pulled the straps of her bra down her arms, using one hand and a bent leg then to grab a pole and bend over backwards, looking at the suddenly upside-down crowd, "If you want a whore, you go out an' buy them, boys. Tha'z not what we're paid for. Look- don' touch." And off came the bra. Shivering slightly from the slightly chilled air, she noticed the 'waiter's going through the crowd, advertising lap dances after this round from the girls who were currently on stage. That meant that her round on the stage was almost up. Rolling her hips, she ran her hands lovingly down over her body, as she and Candy, the last girls to even be wearing anything, were yelled at.

"Take it off, take it off!!!"

A bell rang just as Lorita turned and pulled off her boy-shorts, tossing them over her should and into the crowd. "Sorry boys," She teased, glancing at them over her shoulder as they oggled her bare ass and tried to convince her to turn around, "You don't get to see the goods tonight." There were audible groans, music to her ears, and she sashayed to them off the stage, grinning from ear to ear at Sexy, who was pulling on a robe.

"You are a cocktease," Sexy accused, and Lorita bowed gracefully before grabbing a set of underwear and adorning them, slipping a robe over her shoulders as the next five girls went out.

"That I am, my friend. But then, aren't we all? Alright, let's go see if we got lap dances to do before our next round comes up."


[XD I'm glad. I've never used Isabella before, nor have I used this pairing, so I wasn't too sure how good it would be. And thank you. ^^ It's no problem, it was fun to read, and I love Laszlo already. <3 As to length... er. I got carried away? XD;; Sorry!!!]

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(( Length is absolutely no problem ;) I hope you don't mind mine, LOL *bricked* Magnificent show! *claps and nosebleeds* ))


The curtains had dropped awhile ago, the smoky room resuming its boisterous chatter, and yet he had not moved from his spot against the wall. Arms crossed, half concealed by shadow, Laszlo continued to regard the stage in silence.

Finally he shifted, and with a grunt rose from the wall, shaking out broad shoulders. Well, guess it wasn't an -entire- waste of time. It hadn't been too bad actually, he was forced to admit, as he mentally reviewed past "shows" he'd had the misfortune to attend. At those the girls had looked like living corpses, red smiles plastered on waxy faces, clothes plastic and tacky and gone within seconds of the curtain rising.

Least the girls here had life, he thought as he watched two men scuffle over a pair of discarded shorts, cheered on by the crowd. That blonde one, the one who had talked, she was pretty good. She looked... almost normal, and in that way, she was different. He'd watched the other girls fling off their bras and underwear without so much a blink, but in spite of himself, he'd almost been a bit sorry that the blonde copped out in the end.

Makes you wonder how things woulda turned out, if these girls'd never started playin' for strangers. He shrugged and drew his coat collar up, then turned to leave. Boss wouldn't have a single right to be angry at his lateness.

The door slammed open, admitting a burst of cold air, as well as three heavily cloaked men. Their eyes swept over the noisy gathering, as if looking for something-- or someone-- specific. Laszlo, only steps away from the door, froze in his tracks.

One of the men wore an eye patch; another sported a nasty scar across his cheek. Shit, shit, shit, Laszlo cursed, swiftly blending back into the shadows. Wheeling about on his heel, he began to stride away rapidly, mind awhirl.

How the hell'd they track this place? Did they know I'd be on the job? He pulled his hat down with a grimace, the other hand gripping the box in his coat. Some bastard musta squeaked. I gotta tell Boss 'fore things get real bloody. The problem was, Laszlo had no idea where he was going; he was just putting distance between himself and the newcomers. Was there a back exit in this joint? Somewhere a dark figure could lose himself before slipping out?

"Excuse me, Monsieur." Startled, Laszlo whipped about with a growl; the waiter there dropped his clipboard with a small yelp. At least, the guy looked like a waiter-- he wore a bowtie and a red pinstriped vest. "I-- I meant no harm, sir! I'm offering services by the lovely ladies just on stage, private dances, in the back rooms--"

"Back rooms?" Laszlo rumbled, and the waiter backed up a step at the cold intensity in his eyes. "Y-yes, Monsieur. Downstairs. It's off limits to regular guests."

Laszlo glanced around, sweating under his heavy clothing, watching the three newcomers begin to question random revelers. "You got any of those dances ready right now? You got one now, I'll take it." He had to get away, as far away as he could. There had to be exits downstairs, and he'd have to find them fast.

The waiter looked surprised, before flipping quickly through his board. "Yes, it seems there's a few--"

"How much?" Laszlo fumbled through his pockets for his wallet, looking over his shoulder all the while. "The ladies set the price. You'll have to talk to her after," the waiter explained, handing him a slip of paper with something printed on it. "Take the back stairs by the stage. Once you get down it's room seven, to your right."

Laszlo moved onwards, trying not to run or else attract attention, and glanced at the paper in his hand. Lorita, Room 7, it read. Clattering down the stairs into the cooler, quieter halls of the basement, Laszlo began to run in earnest, tearing off his flapping hat and stuffing it into a pocket. His dark hair flew into his eyes but he hardly noticed... where was the goddamned exit? Could it be there was not a single exit on this floor?

Cursing loudly, he almost stumbled over some stage props, before noticing "#7" printed on the door beside him. Swiping at his forehead, Laszlo gritted his teeth, then made up his mind. This Lorita would have to know of any exits down here... and if she screamed or anything, he wouldn't have a choice but to subdue her.

He tore the door open, and burst inside.

Paula, a tall, muscular 'bouncer' of sorts who just happened to be The Boss's sister, stood by the door leading from backstage to the dressing rooms. She stretched out a leg when Danielle and Isabella tried to pass, waving a sheaf of papers teasingly in their face. "Hey hey, Sexy, Lorita! Gallies, don' ya wanna see yer assignments?" She smiled, softening the irritation that the words and tone inspired, and Isabella snatched the sheaf from her hand, rifling through the papers. "Killan, Kgh-whatever-the-hell-her-last-name-is, Klepura, Klotz!" She frowned, then shook her head. "I'm on the roster. Joy." She heaved a sigh, glancing at the room number. "Ah. Goddess. Room seven."

Danielle grabbed the sheaf next, then clucked disapprovingly. "You know the boss just wants to watch you swing it. He's hopin' maybe he'll luck out and you'll say yes to a sex-bribe." It was common knowledge that no one, except maybe Stripes who was possibly the most persistent exhibitionist in existence, wanted to room seven for their assignments after rounds. The relatively spacey octagonal room was covered in mirrors, with only maybe six inches of wall space between each one- for the customer's enjoyment, of course. The fact that there were also three monitors in the room, all aimed in such a way that there was no hiding from them, and that all three monitors fed back into the office, had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Sighing in resignation, Isabella pulled her robe tighter around her. "A'ight, so I gotta get some sexier undies, can't displease the boss. What'chu got?" Peering over her friend's shoulder, she chuckled. "Room three. Hey, it's the best one. Maybe he'll be nice and let you use the cushions instead o' the chair," she teased. Danielle never turned down a bribe, needing all the money she could get to take care of her two younger brothers, and her customers generally didn't play nice. Scowling, she swatted at Isabella with the sheaf of paper.

"Yeah, yeah, get your ass moving. Who knows, maybe your guy won't be a slobbering pig. At least my customers are all relatively decent." Isabella stuck out her tongue and ducked into the dressing room to avoid another hit with the papers, and yanked her locker open, browsing the selection of underwear. Already wore the black, don't even know why I bought the green, red, red will work, simple enough. Pulling on the red boy-shorts (as she was unwilling to wear the typical thongs, since she really did find boy-shorts more sexy) and white robe over a red bra- one that actually fit her, shockers!-, she slipped out of her heels long enough to rub at her feet and then slip on another pair, lace-ups that came up to about her knee.

Stiffening her spine, she stood, smiling at the girls who were on their way to the stage. "Hey, Stripes, babe, I got your room. Destroy the evidence for me if you can, yeah? I like the boss, but I don' wan him beatin' to my videos." That settled, she headed out into the back hall, shivering and hastening her steps when the cool air finally hit her. Her shoes clacked against the unfinished concrete floors rhythmically, and she swayed as she walked, staying just on this side of dancing. Really, the need for money wasn't all that drove her to what she did- there were very few respectable jobs that would let her dance like she loved to, so she took the one that didn't whore out their workers. Most of the other girls there had children to take care of, or siblings- it made her feel guilty, almost, that she had taken the spot that a single mother may have needed, but the guilt was gone the second her feet hit that stage.

As she moved, she changed her mindset- from normal, boring Isabella, to the cockteasing, confident, sexy Lorita. Her stride became longer, eyes straight in front of her instead of darting around, posture straightened. When she reached her assigned room, she opened the door, noting that it was empty- so no one had actually asked for her yet, that was a good sign- and striding to the chair in the center of the room. She had always wondered, oddly enough, what it was like to sit in the chair instead of having pseudo-sex with the person on it, so she sat down... and jumped back up immediately, yelping. "Yeeks! Holy Mother, that's freezing! How the 'ell do they stand it?"

And then the door flew open. Shocked, she spun around, catching sight of the ends of her robe flaring in her peripheral vision, courtesy of the god-forsaken mirrors. She looked him up and down, quickly regaining who she was supposed to be at the moment, and decided that he didn't seem so bad, that he'd get a discount if he played by the rules and kept his hands to himself. "Eager, are we?" she asked, noting the flush in his cheeks and that he was breathing harder than someone walking should have. Had he been running? No matter- customer and stripper, that was all that she needed to know.


[XD Of course not. <333 Hee, thankies! ^^; Would you believe that I've never written such a thing before? owo I spent a good hour writing it up. And sorry about all the transitions- Danielle and Isabella and maaaybe Ingrid will probably be the only three I do it for, the rest will just use their stage names.]

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(( Wow, first time?? I can hardly believe you've never been to a show yourself! *stabbed by pointy heels* kidding, kidding! xD No problem about the transitions, I can follow clearly! Btw... Stripes ahahaha. Man your posts are awsum. ))


He blinked dazedly upon entry, momentarily blinded by what looked like... floor-to-ceiling mirrors? For an instant all he saw was his face, over and over and over again, like in a bad dream. Flushed cheeks, tousled hair, lines in rugged features that made him look older than he was, five 'o clock shadow. And of course, all the unmentionable baggage that lay within. He scowled and glanced away, hating to look at himself, before suddenly noticing another figure reflected endlessly in the mirrors.

"Eager, are we?"

She stood coolly before him, icily imperial in a long white robe-- and not much else. It was the blonde from the stage. Lorita, was it? He swallowed uneasily, looking past the fact that she was half-dressed and watching him carefully, as if waiting for him to speak. He didn't have time to be dawdling around! The three searchers might have reached that waiter by now, who would no doubt remember what Laszlo looked like, and where he had gone...

"I-I'll pay you," he rasped in a low voice, then cleared his throat. It was hard to speak with no breath left in his lungs. "Just say how much and I'll cover it upfront. But I can't stay. You know of any exits on this level?"

His words came in a rush as he panted painfully, one hand tucked inside his coat, wrapped around the small box. She'd probably think him a complete lunatic, and he didn't blame her. But the most important thing now was busting this joint and getting back to Boss.

Without warning, faint voices echoed somewhere outside the room, and Laszlo paled under his tan. The voices sounded very much male, their tones questioning, as if they had stopped someone. How far away were they? And how'd they get down here? In any case, if he went out now, he was a dead dog. Frantically, Laszlo's gaze snapped back to the woman, his normally shadowed eyes wide in alarm.

He was actually rather cute, compared to most of her customers, she mused as he stood there. He seemed a little stiff though- more like he was about to be murdered where he stood than like he was about to get a lap dance. She shifted her weight idly, one hip jutting to the side slightly as her arms crossed, face staying carefully blank. Alright, so I'll give him ten seconds to say what he needs to say, or I'm out of here. Boss won't fault me for that.

And then the words he was forcing out actually processed, and her eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. "... Woah, woah, woah, what?" She frowned, knowing that this seemed somehow familiar, and then it came back to her- the ruffled, harried look, the insistence that he had to leave now, and were those footsteps and voices she heard out in the hall? Yes, they were faint, but there they were. "Aw, shit," she snarled, glaring at him. "Not another one of you people." She stalked forward, yanking his trench coat off and tossing it in the corner, regardless of resistance, and then removing her robe and tossing it, too, into the corner so that it covered the trench coat.

"There isn't an exit down here- my boss doesn't wanna risk one of us running off if one of the customers goes too far. Damnit, stop doing your fuckin' business here, an' tell your friends that too! You cause all sortsa problems for us."

She shoved him back into one of the corners that were mirrored, hearing the voices coming closer. "Stay still, and don't make a sound unless to pretend you're out of your mind with lust, got it?" She dragged the chair over to to corner, pushing him into it and then straddling him and planting her breasts firmly against his face. "Sorry," she muttered ruefully just as the door opened. She let out a very convincing shriek, clinging closer to him.

"Ah! What are you doing, you're not allowed in here! Oh, god, I'mma get fired!"

The men standing in the doorway looked her over, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Lorita, was it?"

She shook her head frantically. "N-no, Lorita's in room nine! I'm Farra!"

One of the men grunted, then turned away, and the other two followed slowly. When she judged them out of hearing, she slid backwards off of the man's lap. "A'ight, that'll work for about two minutes until they round the corner and realize there is no room nine. Get your coat and run like hell for the front room before they come back. The next round's dancin' now, so you can get to the door without them seein' you." She picked up her robe, slipping it over her shoulders, and sighed. "Don' worry about the money, either. Just don't bring your business back here again, most of the girls wouldn' understand an' you'd be dead."


[Hehe. ^^ Stripes is fun. And yay for totally cliched methods of hiding someone! Gets 'em every time. ^_~ Gotta have Laszlo alive. Hehe. Can you tell Isabella's been in this situation before?]

It was rather funny, actually. Despite the gravity of the situation, despite the fact that death had just went to check out a nonexistent room and would soon return, even though the woman had clearly told him how to save his sorry ass... Laszlo found himself frozen in the seat, entirely unable to move.

He sat there plastered to the backrest, white work shirt rumpled, with a shell-shocked expression that probably looked ridiculous on a man of his nature. The first thought that came into his head was, So Boss'd already been stickin' poor bastards into this dump before he got to me. Did he already know it was bein' spotted? The second thought was, She smelled like flowers.

Not that he had much prior experience with them in his career. He only knew that they smelled nice. She had scowled at him, cursed at him, thrown him around, but he'd forgotten it all by the time she tore off his coat, anger lighting her dark eyes. He'd been around women, of course, but he simply couldn't explain how this one -- a complete stranger, no less-- could trigger such unwarranted confusion within him.

Maybe he just hadn't had a warm body, long legs pushed up against him, for so long.

She was pulling on her robe; he came back to his senses in time to hear the word "dead." Reality finally hit and he sprung to his feet, sending the chair clattering to the ground, which he stumbled over on the way to his coat. Once there, he felt for the box instinctively.

As soon as his fingers touched it, a sudden, overwhelming wave of weariness washed over him. He hadn't fully realized how tired he was, how tired he was of this all. He slung the coat over his shoulder rapidly, caught his face staring back in the mirror, then turned away.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her. Instead he remembered that haughty, inviting smile, the toss of her hair as she glided offstage.

"...They'll be back here, you know." His voice was low, husky, as he stared at the floor. She had covered for him. She hadn't asked for the money. She hadn't asked for anything at all. He struggled to put his thoughts into words.

"Will you... are you--..."


(( Sorry for my delay! >_< Oh, Isabella, how ingenious you are. :wink: Laszlo's trying to ask if she'll be OK, the poor retard. lmao. you can assume he runs out after she answers, if she doesn't do anything further. ))

She was tempted to sneer at him as he stumbled over to his coat, seeming shocked. What, had he never had a woman stick her tits in his face before? Poor man. The urge was overridden by amusement, though, at the words that came from his lips. She stared for a second, and then laughed, not derisively, just with pure amusement and joy and maybe a little shock- how long had it been since anyone except for Daniella truly worried about her? Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she shook her head, then coughed, the sound dying down into faint giggles. "Ah, that was good, I 'aven't laughed like tha' in a while." She looked him up and down, then smirked slightly.

"Look, hun, tha'z real sweet. I know you 'ave a tough job, an' you gotta be a tough guy to do it, but tough guys ain't the only ones who can take care of themselves, yah?" She stepped up to him, chastely pecking his slightly stubbly cheek and then turning him towards the door, pushing him a little. "Strippahs gotta be tough too, y'know? I can take care of m'self, hun, and don' you worry about tha'. Jus' concentrate on getting your pretty li'l ass out of 'ere before they come back. An' hey, if you live, come back and I'll give ya a real dance, if ya like." She gave him one final shove, and then without waiting to see if he had left, arranged her robe in more or less the same position it had been in when the men had looked in on them before sitting down next to the chair, sprawling slightly to make it seem like she had been knocked over.

She considered something, twisted her bra slightly to the side, and then jammed the heel of her palm against the floor, yelping quietly and welcoming the tears that ran down her face. Sometimes a low pain tolerance could come in handy. She glanced up at the empty doorway, then heard heavy footsteps and angry voices. She'd had just enough time to affix a confused expression to her face before the three men burst in, and she let out a broken sob, mentally thanking her elder sister for the acting lessons as she scooted back, cradling her wrist to her almost-exposed breasts. "Oh, god, don' hurt me!" she cried, lower lip trembling. "I-I swear, I didn' know!! H-He went towards th' front!"

She cringed back as one of the men strode forward- the one with the eyepatch- and with a casual disregard backhanded her, causing her teeth to neatly slice into her lower lip. She whimpered, staying on the floor where his blow had knocked her, and trembled. "I-I swear, p-please..." There was a quiet conversation at the door, and she remained in her position until all sound had died down, then dared to turn her head slightly to peek at the doorway. Gone. Sighing in relief, she sat up, wiping the blood from her lip and hissing. "Goddamn sunuva whore," she muttered, heaving herself into standing position and once more picking up her robe. "If I 'ave ever asked for more excitement in my life, I apologize for it now."

Leaning against the wall, she sighed, then stalked out of the room on still-shaky legs. Threat of death or not, she had another round coming up. Work took priority, and she'd figure all the other shit out later.


[XD It's alright. I was doing an essay outline/having my uncle cram physical science into my brain through amusing anecdotes all day anyways, so it's all good. <33 Hehe, Isabella's a tough cookie when it comes to stuff she's done before. Aww, poor Laszlo. He's so adorable. The 'She smelled like flowers' line cracked me up. XDDD]

-
(( Warrgh, I really, truly apologize for this monster post! >____<;; Just blah blah character development blah that I had to get out of my system... you really don't have to pay attention til the end!! And I hope you don't mind that I progressed it a day. *shot for everything* ))


He'd never run this fast before in his life. He ran past stairs and women and drunkards, through smoke and motion and yells of "Hey, watch it!". Even as he burst out the door, wincing at the blast of night air, he continued running, not stopping until he had cleared at least four blocks.

A small, needling voice in his mind told him he was running away. That he was a coward, that he had let it happen again. He couldn't stop thinking of the blonde, of the way she had smiled crookedly as she pushed him out, knowing her own fate. And he had just turned tail and run, leaving her to the wolves. In his mind's eye rose the image of a pale, resolute face, her lips forming the word "Go," and he had turned his back then too, unable to even face her for the last time.

His jaw clenched painfully; he rounded the corner of the fifth block, and slowed to a stop. The streets were quiet and cold. Crumpling in a sweaty heap against a lone lightpost, Laszlo put his head against the cool metal and closed his eyes.

For awhile he stood there, listening to his breath coming in short, rasping shudders, and to the distant hum of night traffic.

Get it together, you miserable fool. That was then, this is now, and you've got a job to finish.

The streetlight above him flickered. He made himself rise, eyes falling upon a decrepit telephone booth nearby. Numbly he stepped inside and placed a call. When another voice finally answered, he could barely hear it through the crackle of static.

"Damn it, Malone, you know I hate it when you call my private number. D'ya even know what time it is?" The voice was groggy and irritated. Laszlo found he couldn't care less.

"I've got the goods. And you'd better stop sendin' blokes to that dump... Delaney's got it watched. Nearly got myself put out, and you'da lost your precious box, too." He didn't try to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah, but you got it no problem? The code worked?" The voice, much more awake-sounding now, seemed to wave away Laszlo's concerns. He exhaled in exasperation. "Look, Boss, all that don't matter, when Delaney already knows somethin's up. Maybe he has for ages. Why the hell you insist on doin' deeds in that pit, when he's got us in the palm of his--"

"You shut that trap of yours, Malone, 'fore I send someone to do it for ya! You're paid to work, not ask questions! Keep toein' the line, and you know you'll never see--"

"I GOT IT," Laszlo snarled, momentarily losing control. Breathing hard, he forced his tangled emotions back into place, before saying in a much quieter voice, ".....I got it. No need to keep remindin' me."

There was a brief silence. When the other voice spoke again, it was gruff, and almost apologetic. "....Right, then. I need you to show up tomorrow at 32nd Street, by the pawn shop. 7 PM sharp. The gang'll be there. You can pass off the box to Mel, she'll get it to me. Understand?"

".... Yeah, Boss." He was slumped limply against a corner of the booth, head bowed and shadowed, and the receiver gave a soft click by his ear. He listened to the dialtone for a moment, pulling himself together. Then he hung up and stalked out.

--

On the way home he passed 32nd Street, and wondered resignedly what tomorrow's job was. It wasn't too far from where he'd just come. The Boss rarely called the gang together, and when he did, it usually didn't bode well.

He noted two familiar figures a ways off, walking casually in his direction, and scowled-- just what he needed now, after a long, vexing night. Laszlo pulled his collar up and his hat down, jamming his hands into his pockets, making to pass them quickly-- and hopefully, unrecognized. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't an option.

One of the men slowed as he approached, a wide, infuriating grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, well. If it ain't ol' Malone, back from the graveyard shift." The other man chuckled, tipping his hat mockingly. "Hoooee, do you smell like a bucket o' roses. Where've ya been? Gettin' loved? Leave some for us!"

The quip came far too close for comfort. He bristled and faced them, eyes like hardened steel. "What d'you louts want? You got three seconds 'fore I wipe those smiles off your faces... for good."

Standing there, he loomed a good head above the other two. The man who had just spoken paled; the leaner man rubbed his head, unsure. As troublesome as they acted, they weren't inclined to take things too far with Laszlo... noone in the gang was. He was quiet and guarded, but the powerful lines under his coat told another story.

"Aw, c'mon... Dougherty here was just havin' a spot of fun. Weren't ya?" The man who had quipped-- Dougherty-- nodded quickly, wiping sweat off his round face. "Me 'n Pierce were just a'wonderin' whether Boss called ya in tomorrow. 32nd Street?"

Laszlo nodded, suspicious. Dougherty gave a weak, nervous smile, playing with the brim of his hat. "Sounds like a right ol' time, doesn't it? Haven't traded bullets with Delaney's boys since, oh... musta been a year now?"

Laszlo gave a start, momentarily forgetting that he was tired and cross. "Wait... what? We're facing off with Delaney's crew tomorrow?!" Why hadn't Boss mentioned that just now? He'd even yelled at Laszlo for bringing Delaney up!

The lean youth, Pierce, was watching him strangely. "Boss didn't tell you...? After we meet, we're headin' down to some strip joint on Revelers' Row. Seems Delaney's been hounding the place, sendin' in his goons, blocking up Boss' business. We're t'go and set things straight-- hey, Malone!"

Laszlo had walked away, not even noticing the two men gaping after him. His face was stony, strides long and hard. The woman's voice cut harshly across his mind: "Damnit, stop doing your fuckin' business here... you cause all sortsa problems for us!" So Boss hadn't told him, because he'd known Laszlo would object. He was expected to show up with the gang and do his duty, no matter what-- or who-- got destroyed in the process. Such was his job. Such was his life. Later that night, lying in bed in his cramped apartment, he tossed and turned before drifting off into uneasy sleep. He dreamt of mirrors, and of flowers.

--

Boss had told them to meet at seven, on 32nd Street. At six, Laszlo was pushing open the peeling doors of La Vie Boheme, glancing about self-consciously. He had made up his mind this morning, despite the fact that this was crazy, that he'd be skinned alive if any of Delaney's men wandered in early. But what he had to do... was important.

The place wasn't near as crowded as it'd been last night, and he was relieved. Some men sat around, shooting pool and drinking rounds, but it didn't seem like any of the shows had started yet. Were any of the girls even here? He thought of the blonde stripper, and of Delaney's three men, and his throat constricted. He had to do this.

Another quick survey of the place showed him a few women lounging by the stage, chatting-- they were tall and buxom, with the sleek legs of trained dancers. Laszlo swallowed and steeled himself, then approached them cautiously, removing his hat.

"'Scuse me," he rumbled, waiting to gain their attention. "Is there a, uh... a Lorita here t'night?"

[XDDDD It's alright, silly. I love reading long posts. <3 Besides... I CAN MATCH YOUR ATTACK WITH A MONSTER POST OF MY OWN! Actually, I just got reeeeally carried away again. XD;;; And I don't mind at all. Was planning on doing it.]


The music accompanying the last round of the day faded as Isabella walked away from La Vie Boheme, the dark of almost-midnight punctuated evenly by the too-warm unnatural light of street-lamps. She stayed in the light, too intelligent to walk in the shadows after over a year of living in the area. The night swallowed the sound of the strip joint, leaving only the soft slap of her flats against the road, the whisper of her jeans, fabric on fabric. Two rounds and one more lapdance had her feet aching, but she relished the burn in her muscles as her hips swayed, putting an extra sashay into her step. It was the closest to dancing she could come out in the open like this.

A turn around the corner put her facing her ratty little apartment building, and she dug some cash out of her pocket- tips from the last round, which was always more rowdy and typical of any other strip joint. She knocked on a door, then slid the bills under the door- Janice would know it was her rent- and bounded up the stairs, deftly unlocking her door, only pausing to pick up a yellow envelope that had been slid under her own door. “Darian, c’mere boy!� A large orange tabby peered around the corner at her, and she scooped him up, disregarding the fact that he was about the size of her torso from collarbones to waist.

“Hi, baby,� she murmured, burying her face in his fur and inhaling deeply. “Mama had a horrible day…� Shaking her head, she let him down, opening the envelope and freezing as a small silver cross studded with Zirconium slithered out of it and into her hand. “Shit. This can’t be happening,� she muttered, flopping onto her couch and closing g her eyes in despair. Could this get any worse? It didn’t take long at all for her to slip into sleep, dark and calming, with a vision of dark eyes in the background.

--

The next day, early, before the girls even started to get ready for their rounds, Isabella found herself once more in her boss' office, hand in a fist around the little studded cross so that the hand holding the phone wouldn't crush it in her nervousness. "Lori, don' do this to me, not you too," she pleaded into the phone, eyes closing against an onslaught of tears. "You know this is all I've got. It's my life! You can't- can't make me chose between my life and my baby sister. I love ya, sis, don' do this to me."

The high, fluty voice on the other end of the line heaved a delicate but still oh-so-burdened sigh. "Oh, my sister. I must not speak to you any longer, 'lest I lose my temper. You shall find the path to the light soon, as sure as I have faith in you. You are a good girl, I know that the burden of this sin is weighing heavily upon your sould. God bless." The phone clicked in her ear, and Isabella slammed it down, snarling and flinging the cross across the room. She sat there with her head in her hands for a few moments, then sighed, long and loud, before standing up and stalking out of the room.

She ignored Danielle, who had crouched near the door, unsubtly eavesdropping.

She made her way backstage, glad that the curtains were still drawn, and kicked off her shoes, closing her eyes and swaying softly to some imagined beat for a few minutes. Her left foot tapped, her hand rose to push her unbound hair back away from her bruised cheek, and then she whirled into motion, all the soft curves and tempting lines left to hard angles and angry jerks of the body. She put into it all of her rage at having another sibling taken from her by 'God', all of her sorrow at losing the last bit of family that she still could talk to, into every twist of her body, arch of her back, shake of her head and jerk of her arms.

And she danced.

--

The three women lounging around the stage, enjoying their break before work, quickly glanced up at the male voice, all of them frowning. The one sitting on the edge of the stage, a brown-haired girl with most of her hair pulled back and blue eyes accentuated by almost too many freckles to look any good, turned to the one leaning against the stage on her right, who seemed to be her twin, with a few fewer freckles and a triangle drawn, or maybe tattooed, on her forehead. "Didn' she head backstage, Farra?"

Farra nodded, not bothering to hide her interest in this man who was talking with them, not to hit on them like most, but to find one of their coworkers. "Yeh, Candy, she did. Ya saw her, righ' Sexy?" The third, a red-head who sat on the floor, shrugged, looking up at him. "Yeah, she's backstage," Farra confirmed. "Careful, she ain't in too good a mood t'day. Family issues or whateva. She paused, then narrowed her own bright blue eyes at him. "Go ahead back, we've got a while b'fore th' show starts. But if you've got anything t'do with tha' bruise on 'er cheek? Don' expect ta leave withou' some of yer own."

He inclined his head a fraction at the dancers, jammed his hat back on, then headed toward the stage. It had been his fault that the woman had gotten hurt. And if she wanted to take it out on him, he wouldn't deny her the right. Besides, there was something far more important at hand...

Feeling out of place as he navigated the dark corridors backstage, Laszlo finally found the door to the main stage. He paused, then gently opened it a crack.

Dim light shone upon the stage, although the curtains were drawn. There was someone there, her footsteps padding softly upon the wood, but her actions a startling contrast. She was dancing, but not with the slow, sensuous deliberation of last night; there was something harsh, almost savage in her movements, her face alight with anger and concentration.

He leaned against the dark doorway, profile outlined by a faint shaft of light, and watched. She looked so different like this, focused and raw, dancing for herself and no other. His gaze fell upon the black tinge on her cheek, and he looked away, uncomfortable.

An old clock nearby read 15 minutes past 6. Laszlo gave a start, jolting out of his spell, suddenly remembering the urgency of his task. As reluctant as he was to interrupt, he'd risked too much in coming here to back out now...

The door closed behind him as he stepped out, and stood with his back to it. She was only a silhouette in the darkness, highlighted by the dim lights above. He hesitated, then cleared his throat.


((Oof, sorry for my delay yet again. Woot for your long post! =D Aw, poor Isabella... they're just two angry little piles of angst, aren't they. lmao. Sorry for the short post this time, conversational posts seem to turn out this way XD;; Oh and sorta random but I has a doodle... very crappy atm (lol unfinished color and wonky anatomy), I tried to follow your ref but I think I faileds... TuT ))

Her legs were aching, her vision spinning even when she would pause for brief moments, but she refused to stop, feeling the almost tangible weight of her anger lifting from where it pressed down on her chest, and even though she was panting, almost struggling for breath, it seemed that breathing was easier. Her mind was completely blank, eyes almost closed as she lost herself in the silent music of her raw, pained rage. And then there was a sound that threw her off, and she stumbled- something that hadn't happened since she first started working at La Vie Boheme- and caught herself on a nearby pole, coughing and drawing in a ragged breath.

It took a few moments for the sweet, somewhat smoky air to burn through her lungs, and she closed her eyes, pressing her bruised cheek against the cool metal of the pole. Then she straightened, tugging down on the hem of her shirt and turning to see who had interrupted her.

Her eyes narrowed in the darkness, and she scoffed. "Hidin' in th' shadows isn' polite, y'know," she muttered, stalking over to one of the walls and flicking a switch. When she turned this time, her eyes widened as she saw who stood under the harsh stage lights.

She stared, stunned speechless for a few moments, then leaned against the wall, tilting her head to the side, feeling the weight of her braids sliding over her shoulders to rest behind her back. "Ah," she finally said, clearing her throat, flushing at how stupid she sounded. "So ya made it out. Good." She brushed a few stray strands back from her face. "Back a little early, though, you do know we don' start for another hour." She felt extremely awkward- she'd never really had to talk to anyone here except the girls and the boss, and she was extremely bad at small talk, especially to... what, one of her- Lorita's- customers?


[*q* Oh. My. God. *jibbers unintelligibly* FAILED? How can you say that!?!? Is gorgeous and ohmygod wow. I can't stop staring. XD And there's nothing wrong with the anatomy. ._. Mwehe, schmexy Lazslo.
Yes. Yes they are. The good thing about Isabella is that she's reaaaaally easy to distract, so she can forget about her problems easily. XD]

She looked unnaturally flustered, to what ends he couldn't define. Nor could he explain how... casual her words sounded, as if nothing extraordinary had happened last night, as if that dark blemish on her cheek ceased to exist. He had been expecting resentment, fury, accusation... anything but this resigned acknowledgment. It made him all the more confused, tongue-tied, as he stared at her reddening face.

She wouldn't be here at all in forty-five minutes, if he didn't deliver his message quickly. He drew a shaky breath, then bowed his head, low brim shielding all expression.

"You... you gotta get out of here. At seven, this place'll be grounds for a shoot-out-- I sure as hell didn't have a say in it," he added roughly, voice tinged with bitterness. "Those three hoods last night... their employer's been causin' trouble for my boss. He wants us to end it... and end it here."

He glanced upwards from beneath the hat, gray eyes stormy. "I got no choice. I gotta be there. But you saved my hide last night. Least I can do, not that it's any comfort, is t'warn ya... they'll be pullin' no stops today. Whoever's in the way goes down."

He hated to do this, hated to bring his damned work into this stranger's life. She'd made it abundantly clear last night that she wouldn't stand for it... but what could he do? He was just some powerless sap, getting blood on his hands, knowing no more than what he'd been told. Ducking his head once more, Laszlo shoved his hands into his pockets, fists clenching involuntarily.

"Just get out... warn those you'd like... but get out. You'll most likely die if ya don't."


(( lols! Wow, I'm super happy I didn't entirely fail. xD Thanks for the kind words; I'll try to finish coloring soon. *distracts Isabella with some bad news* >O ))

"... Fuck," she breathed softly, leaning against the wall as her legs failed to support her. She stared at him blankly for a few moments, the information slow in making any sense to her. She turned her face away, looking for something, anything to help make it make sense- and then, her eyes hit the clock. "Fuck," she forced out, with more feeling, and whipped around to glower at him. She opened her mouth, ready to cuss him out, but faltered. He had come to warn her. Her face softened slightly as she struggled with herself, then she groaned, stalking past him. "Fuck," she muttered for the third time, then paused in the doorway, head hanging.

"... 'Ey. Thanks. For warnin' me. An'... try not ta get your ass killed, yeah? Y'might wanna get outta here now, th' girls won' be as forgivin' as I am." Without looking back at him, she slipped into the dressing room, going to her locker and kicking it open, throwing everything in it haphazardly into the duffel bag that was stuffed in the bottom. She left it there, and ran out into the main part of the club, grabbing Farra's arm and whispering urgently into her ear. The freckled girl's eyes widened, and as Isabella hopped up on the stage in front of the curtains, Farra went around to the other girls, spreading whatever had been said.

Within fifteen minutes, all the girls were ushering the early customers out of the strip club with a quiet efficiency. This hadn't happened before, but their boss- son of a bitch that Jared was- was always prepared for everything, and it didn't take the girls too much effort to figure out what needed to be done. Isabella spoke calmly, voice carrying over the confused chatter. "We're having some difficulties in management tonight, so the club will be closed. Please leave quietly, or we'll be forced to involve our bouncers." Paula, standing at the door, leered at that like most of the patrons would at an offer of sex.

By the time the club had cleared out, it was fifteen minutes to seven. Shaking, the girls huddled together, with whatever belongings that they held dear held in their arms or slung over their shoulders. "Not the boss' office," Danielle said, trying to figure out the best place for the girls to hide. The only two strippers that had apartments were Isabella and Stripes, and neither apartment, even combined, could hold all of the girls. The rest lived in a large room upstairs, but that wasn't safe either. "Looks like the private dance rooms are gonna hafta do," she said grimly. Most of the girls didn't argue, immediately fleeing for the back rooms, ready to lock the doors behind them.

Isabella, and Paula stayed out front, Paula moving to turn on the music. "We can't let them know we knew, so we're gonna hafta act like there's actually a maintenance problem," Paula said. "Look, you go back to the rooms, an-" She was cut off by voices and footsteps. "Shit," she hissed. "Lorita, hide, now," she snarled, and Isabella quickly stuffed herself into one of the small cupboards underneath the bar, while Paula moved to look like she was tinkering with the lights- she'd made sure to disconnect them earlier.

Now all that was left was to hope that the men heading into 'battle' got their business over with and didn't feel the need to raid the back rooms.


[=3 Pshaw. Kind words nothin', I speak only the truth. <3 Sorry for the length... =\ 'Run away' is not in Isabella's vocabulary, and Paula's smart enough to know that if anyone figures out there was an informant as to what was going to happen, a lot of the girls would get hurt in the questioning. Jared, being Jared, didn't even bother coming to work. XD;;]

There was an ominous, electric tension in the air as Laszlo followed the gang down Revelers' Row; the heavy thuds of footsteps made it feel more like a march down Death Row. And in a way, it could be very well his last march. He didn't know most of the 40 or so men that trudged grimly ahead of him, but he did know that there were more members in the gang than this. Looks like plenty of them got cold feet and didn't show... Boss would have a field day with those cowards later.

As they neared the Vie Boheme, the second-in-command under the Boss, Maynard, stopped and turned to face the men. "Right," he barked briskly, sharp eyes betraying no emotion, scanning over the weary faces. "I'm not gonna feed you guys romantic stories of pride and victory. Youse get in there and fill 'em with holes like Boss said. If you die, you lose. Let's go."

Inside, the place was eerily quiet; Laszlo couldn't help but admire the blonde dancer's quick work. But as quiet as it was... it was certainly not empty. Men leered at them from all corners, leaning against walls, sitting on the stage, lounging at deserted tables. Fifty, maybe more of them... Delaney's crew. Laszlo frowned and reached instinctively for his weapon, as the rest of his group filed in, surprise and then resolution etched on their faces as they saw the opposition.

A lone giant of a man stood waiting in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, a bloodthirsty grin on his face. There was the eyepatch, the cloak-- one of the men from last night. Laszlo couldn't take his eyes off of the man, even as Maynard stalked defiantly out onto the floor to meet him. One by one the low murmurs and tense mutters stopped, as the two "leaders" by proxy silently faced each other, sizing each other up.

Finally, the eyepatched man spoke, his voice a threatening growl. "You pitiful lot made a mistake, trespassin' here on Delaney territory. Tonight we'll be shippin' your dead bodies back to your Boss as a warning."

Maynard snorted, then cracked his neck offhandedly. "Delaney's territory? Don't make me laugh--" But he suddenly broke off, as the eyepatched man's gaze had fallen someplace else, his one bloodshot eye growing wide.

"You!" he snarled, face twisting into an ugly mask as he spotted Laszlo among the crowd. Although under his coat, his hand was clenched painfully tight around the grip of his gun, Laszlo met the man's gaze levelly, not saying a word. "You're the rat who made off with our goods last night... think you outsmarted us, didja?! Give it back 'fore I let you have it!"

"Too late. It's passed off," Laszlo replied huskily, acutely aware of a hundred eyes trained on the two of them. "And seems it don't take much to outsmart the likes of you. Did you fellows ever find Room 9, by the way?"

The eyepatched man roared in fury, tearing his shotgun from his back. "Son of a bitch!!"

He knew what was coming. Adrenaline pumping, Laszlo threw himself out of the way, and just in time-- a ringing shot whizzed past where his head had been. And that was what started it all. Within seconds, the place echoed with shouts and heavy gunfire, the racket almost deafening. Coughing from the smoke and dust, Laszlo got to his feet, stumbling towards the nearest source of cover. Stray bullets pelted the table next to him; he swore as two men came crashing through it, grappling at each others' throats.

A bullet whistled past his ear; he turned and tore out his pistol, taking a single measured shot. A man across the room yelped; Laszlo winced, diving behind an upturned table, as his arm screamed in protest. It'd been awhile since he'd used his .45 caliber, and he'd forgotten how much the damned recoil hurt. But there was no time to stall. Ignoring his aching shoulder, Laszlo propped himself up behind the table... and saw a giant, cloaked figure advancing in his direction, uncovered eye bulging madly.

Shit, shit, he cursed, throwing himself downwards just as the crack of a shotgun filled the air, and two bullets streaked past above. Leaping to his feet, Laszlo began to run, only turning to fire at random over his shoulder. Three smaller men flanked the eyepatched leader as they pursued him; with a scream, one of them went down, Laszlo's bullet lodged firmly in his chest. Another went tumbling, caught in the crossfire of another battle. He had the lead, but Laszlo didn't dare stop to look, diving behind the bar counter as he came to it.

He was out of ammo. Squatting low beside the cabinets, he fumbled at the magazine latch, sweating profusely. That was when he heard it-- a muffled thump coming from behind him, and he froze. From all sides, gunfire and shouts rent the air, but there was no mistaking it... there was something... inside that cabinet. He reloaded with a snap, then yanked the wooden door open, pointing the weapon inside.

He nearly fired out of sheer surprise. An all-too familiar face looked back at him from inside. "What... what the hell are you doing here!?" he hissed, lowering the weapon. "You shoulda beat it when you could!!" Heavy footsteps thudded behind them; Laszlo whipped about, his back closing the cabinet door mostly, shielding it from view.

"Cornered like the filthy rat that you are." The eyepatched man was alone, but he was truly enormous from the viewpoint of the floor. A twisted, triumphant sneer sat upon his lips, the shotgun barrel aimed directly at Laszlo's forehead. Laszlo swallowed and wiped his hands on his coat, his blood running cold. Well, looks like this is truly the end of the line for ol' Malone.

"Get up. Drop your gun." The eyepatched man waved his shotgun slightly, tauntingly. Slowly, Laszlo got to his feet... and made a fast, desperate decision. Raising his hands, he dropped the pistol, where it landed with a dull thud behind him-- before the cabinet door, slightly ajar.

It was a big gun. It could screw up a shoulder or arm something bad if used improperly. More than that... she owed him nothing. He meant nothing to her. They were strangers, thrown together a few times out of sheer coincidence. And yet, last night... she had saved him...

He knew he was grasping, that he was a coward for even thinking he'd get lucky this time. Maybe, it really was meant to be the end. And if it was, he'd made his peace to going like this-- unfulfilled, unknowing, unhappy.

The other man raised the shotgun, an unpleasant smile curling his lips. Laszlo's raised arms gave a slight quaver. The man sighted, and aimed.


(( Man, I seriously can't apologize enough for taking like... two weeks to respond. .___. It was a combo of work, commissions, and pure writers' block that killed me. I'm really so sorry for giving you a wrong estimation of time back then... I'll try to be more on top of things now. *bows down* T_T ))

She could hear everything. Her own ragged breathing was drowned out by a single click, and then a slight rustling sound- the front doors opening. Footsteps, men filtering into the room, and she held her breath, eyes wide as she stared at the crack of light underneath the cupboard door. More rustling, and then something brushing against the bar above her- Paula, turning down the music that had been blasting moments before. Isabella could see it playing out, fitting it to what she could hear. Paula turning around, eying the men distrustfully- she always had been a good actress. "Hey, I don' know wha' you've heard, but we're closed righ' now."

"Oh...? And why would that be?" The stripper shuddered, wrapping her arms around her knees and letting out a shaky breath. The men that had been chasing... She was distracted for a moment by the thought that she had never gotten his name, though, she hadn't really expected to. Jerked out of that line of thought by an irritated snort from where Paula leaned on the bar above, she pressed closer to the door, ear against the crack as if that might help her hear better.

"As if it's any of ya damn business- Alrigh' alrigh', no need for th' guns, now. We got a problem with th' stage lights." More footsteps, and Paula grunted simultaneously with a thud against something hard.

"Stay out of the way."

"Sir yes sir," came the belligerent mumble, and there was a thud against the cupboard and a quick whisper- "Keep your ass hidden Lorita"- before heave footsteps walked away, accompanied by female curses and the sound of something- Paula- being dragged. Fighting to keep her breathing shallow, Isabella trembled, curling into as small a ball as she could, unable to do anything as she head the sick sounds of flesh hitting flesh hard, and hating it. After a few moments, everything settled into expectant silence, the air charged with the promise of violence to come.

Another click- the door opening- and the soft murmurs died down. She could barely hear what the two men were saying when they began to speak, and again, shifted forwards slowly to press her ear against the crack of the door, straining to hear. She just barely caught the end of a sentence in a familiar voice- "...ever find Room 9, by the way?" - and grimaced. Fool. She'd have to find a way out of here before they searched the place, now, or she'd be shot as an accomplice... or worse.

"Tch."

Within seconds, the sound of gunfire echoed in her ears, and she jerked back, thunking her head against the back of the cupboard and wincing. Her ears rang, and she could hear nothing but continual, overlapping shots. It seemed mere moments later that the door was yanked open, and she emitted a small, girly shriek as the barrel of a gun made friends with her nose as she stared at a face that was becoming far too familiar for her tastes. She could barely hear his angry hiss- "What... what the hell are you doing here!? You shoulda beat it when you could!!" - and had hardly any time to process it before he was gone, the cabinet door only a few inches from being closed.

Breathless, she peered out as much as she could, barely able to see the man towering above them from behind Laszlo's back. "Cornered like the filthy rat that you are. Get up. Drop your gun." The pistol landed with a thud inches from her face, and Isabella bit back a squeak, staring at it, and then up at Laszlo's back. She bit her lip, brows furrowing, and made a quick decision, hand snaking out to snatch the pistol. She knew how it worked in principle- hands around the handle, finger on the trigger, and she just barely kept her elbows from locking, remembering her father's hunting stories.

Never lock your elbows when shooting a gun, Isabella, Her father's warm voice reminded her as she stared along the line of her arm, aiming at the man who didn't look down for an instant. Too cocky... You can mess something up badly. Keep your arms loose, and if you're lucky, you'll just have some horrible bruising in the morning. It seemed like she had all the time in the world to get it right- the gun nudged against Laszlo's thigh as she let out a breath and pulled the trigger.

The peaceful quiet that had invaded her mind disappeared with that one gunshot as she fell back onto her ass from where she had knelt, a screaming pain ripping through her right arm. She cried out wordlessly, but didn't hesitate to raise the gun and fire again- with her luck she had probably missed the first time altogether. She was vaguely aware of a female voice- "Fuck, fuck, Isabella you idiot!"- as the gun dropped from her numb fingers.

And the only thing she could think was Damn... That was stupid...

[Gun Fights- another first in my RPing experience. XD And pshaw, don't worry about it. I understand completely. I do it all the time. =3]

-
(( Lol! Sorry if the gunstuffs were way confusing, it's new to me too. I winged it. XD; Ah and I really hope you don't mind if I move Isabella, and the setting, around a bit-- just for a change of pace. If I misrepresented her in any way, let me know and I'll fix it!! ))


The thudding of his heart drowned out everything as he stared down the barrel, waiting for the explosion, the flash, the nothingness. He had been ready........ but not for what happened instead.

An earsplitting crack, and his chest gave a lurch-- but why then was the other man stumbling, redness blossoming over one shoulder? The shotgun crashed to the floor, as a second hole erupted in the giant man's chest-- then the enemy was plummeting backwards, mouth open in a silent roar.

His collapse sent vibrations through the floor, jolting Laszlo out of his trance. Turning, he felt his heart stop for a second as the woman dropped the smoking gun, lips parted in a silent cry. His eyes snapped wide, and he froze. Old memories, fears, demons flooded in as she curled up around her injured arm, sweating-- and there he was again, six years the younger, standing dumbfounded as a life faded before his eyes.

The dancer was far from death, but his thoughts came irrationally in his panic.l No....... Not again, I can't let it...

"Hey..!!" He couldn't even remember her name... "Hey, you alright!?" He bent over her, a strange ringing in his ears as he gripped her good shoulder, turning her slightly. The woman still clutched her arm, but her eyes did not open; her breathing was shallow. It seemed she had passed out from the pain, and the shock. Nothing else entered his mind, despite where he was and what he was supposed to be doing, except to get her out. With a grunt he scooped her up-- she was light, almost too light-- braced her limp arm against his, and made for the exit.

He didn't know what had come over him, this blind recklessness spurred by the injured woman. Without stopping to check the battle's situation, unaware of anything around him, Laszlo bolted out the door. Half dashing, half stumbling down the night streets, he finally arrived at a stark, old apartment complex, and raced up the stairs. Through the narrow hallways, third door down... chest heaving, shifting the woman slightly to free a hand, he pounded loudly on the door.

After what seemed like an eternity, it finally opened a crack, and a suspicious face peered out. "Miz Margot!" Laszlo gasped, breath coming in painful shudders. "It-- it's me... you gotta help..."

The door opened wider, and a squat little woman emerged, her face wrinkling bemusedly. "Laszlo, dearie, ya know I don't work after 8..." But she halted, seeing the unmoving woman in his arms, his rattled demeanor. Her eyebrows snapped up; she gave Laszlo a searching look, her voice amused. "Been awhile since you came by like this, you dog. Last I remember, you liked 'em conscious though--"

"It's not what you think," Laszlo snapped. "Her... her arm--" he began, looking down helplessly at the dancer. The other woman frowned, her manner changing as she saw the look on his face. "Alright. Lay her down straight, an' I'll be up in a sec." Laszlo nodded and ran on, taking the creaky stairs up two at a time. It was even darker on the next floor; he fumbled with his keys for a minute, then entered his room.

Swearing as he stumbled over things in the darkness, he used his back to switch on the lights, then squeezed through the bedroom door. Kicking aside dusty boxes and books, Laszlo laid the woman carefully across his bed. Only then did he step back, drawing a long, shaky breath. She hadn't moved through any of this, her arm still hanging from a painful, unnatural angle... he turned away, filled with guilt. He had just opened a window, letting night air fill the room, when the plump woman arrived, carrying a bulging leather bag. "I'll see to her now. Wait outside, I honestly don't know how a big fella like you can even stand up in here..."

For nearly an hour he paced through the apartment, arms folded behind his back. He didn't want to think about what had happened, what would happen when Boss got word of this. Instead he picked up papers and moved aside boxes-- things he never got around to unpacking-- and wiped off layers of dust in the tiny kitchen and living area. He was rarely home, so nothing got used. But now, cleaned a bit, it really wasn't too bad of a place; dark wood and clean linen made it feel almost homey. When the bedroom door finally opened, breaking the silence, he jumped.

The voice behind him was tired, but amused. "Dearie, you're as bad as an expectin' father." He turned with a scowl, which disappeared at Margot's next words. "She's doin' alright. Dislocated shoulder-- nasty piece of work. I managed to get it back in place, but she'll be outta commission for three weeks at least." Laszlo nodded, feeling a faint trickle of relief, then a gradual embarrassment he couldn't define. "Thanks... Miz Margot. If you really need t'know... what happened--"

The older woman smiled crookedly. "You always been a question mark, Laszlo Malone. I know you got your reasons. And that's all I need to know." There was a pause, and he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "How much can I give ya, at least?" Margot waved a hand airily, hoisting her bag onto her shoulders with a wink. "Don't think of it. I ain't forgotten the last time you helped... exterminate those pests from the shop." She handed him a small white bottle. "Give this to the poor dear when she wakes. Painkiller. She was out cold when I popped her shoulder, but she's gonna be in a world of pain when she comes to."

He took the medicine, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Right. Thanks again for everything." The woman grinned. "Stay outta trouble now, darlin'." After she had gone, Laszlo re-entered the bedroom; Margot had covered the woman with his sheets, and she looked to be sleeping peacefully-- that, or still unconscious. Her left shoulder was heavily bandaged, her arm in a stiff wooden splint. He stood there for a while, watching the curtains billowing above her in the wind, then turned with a grimace. What had he done?

Tossing his coat onto a nearby chair, Laszlo sunk into it, ignoring the cold through his cotton workshirt. He wish he hadn't dropped his hat in the confusion; it was the fifth one he'd lost. The phone rang; with a sinking feeling, he picked it up.

"Malone."

He leaned back heavily, one hand rising to clamp across his forehead and eyes.

"...Yeah, Boss." It was going to be a long night.

Isabella wasn't aware of much, for those few moments before her mind went blissfully blank- nothing but the pain, as she futilely curled around the arm that sang with tortured nerve endings, trying to make it stop. Maybe that was why, when she slipped from unconsciousness to a deeper, recuperative sleep that her body had needed for a while, her dreams turned to old times, back when she was just a little girl, when her family was whole, complete. When she hadn't known how to be anything but happy.

"Mama, mama! Ich liebe dich, mama!"

"Ich liebe dich, darling. Come now, we must get you ready for church."

"But mama, where is meine Swester?"

"She is... away for a bit, darling. She is ill, but she will return all better soon."

She hadn't returned all better. She had returned doped up on a million different medications designed to 'cure' her love of other girls.

[i]"Tanja? Tanja, was schmertz?"

"Nothing hurts, Bella. I'm alright."

"Where are you going, Tanja?"

"Away, Bella. I'm going away. Don't tell Mama, alright? Be a good girl."

"Come back soon!"

She hadn't really understood what it meant to 'go away'. She had the wry thought that didn't it just figure, she was dreaming about someone who hadn't been around for years- and that realization, that she was dreaming, snapped her out of the dream and back into the waking world.

~~~

She came to with a start, a low moan trickling from her throat as she lifted her hands to rub at her eyes- or tried to. Her left came easily enough, but there was something holding down her right, and that was enough to make her eyes fly open, a scared sound escaping her. Contrary to what many might imagine, her first thought wasn't, 'Where am I' or What happened'. Her first truly coherent thought was simply 'Ow'. Her next was 'Fuck'. That didn't wuite atisfy her, however, so she said it aloud.

"Fuck."

Feeling slightly better after that, she turned her head to take stock of her surroundings, because she sure as hell wasn't at home. It was dusty, but not stuffy, an open window made sure of that. There were boxes all around, like someone had never gotten around to unpacking. She couldn't see much, and so she tried to roll over- and cried out at the pressure on her shoulder, falling back to the bed.

Dazed, she stared at the ceiling, and laid her left arm across her stomach, brows furrowing as she remembered just why her arm was in such pain. "... I shot someone," she recalled slowly. "I think." She rolled that idea over in her head, found it not too disturbing, and moved on. "I passed out." She didn't like that idea so much, but no changing it. For now...

"Oi, anyone out there?"

[XD Nah, I understood it. And ya, that's alright. I'm basing this on the assumption that Laszlo is either a) out of sight or b) out of the room at this point. And you did it fine- I imagine that's how she'd react to the pain, what with her super-low pain tolerance. XD]

"Malone. Where are you?"

"Home. Somethin' important came up."

There was a pause; Laszlo rubbed at his eyes, waiting for the stream of curses, the sermon about duty and deserting a job. But to his surprise, the Boss continued as if he hadn't even responded.

"Right. Well, show's over. Delaney's turned over the property to us-- put up a helluva fight, I heard. Seems someone plugged ol' One-Eye Wes... got 'im two times, clean as a bird... after that, Delaney's boys ran for the hills."

"That's... good t'hear." He was going to pass out, right then and there, from exhaustion. If Boss was going to chew him out, it might as well be now. "So what's punishment gonna be?"

The phone was silent. Despite his half-conscious state, Laszlo couldn't help but grow curious. Why was Boss holding back this time, when he'd issued Laszlo punishments for dodging far lesser jobs?

"You know... One-Eye was Delaney's best man. He's not gonna let us forget what happened. Whoever shot the bastard's gonna be hunted like a dog the rest of his life... and if caught, treated far worse than one."

"....I know." He'd known it from the instant he bolted, her body in his grasp. And he'd made up his mind.

There was another long pause, in which Laszlo fought back waves of sleep. When the Boss spoke again, there was something... strange, almost strained, in his voice. "Malone. Did you do it?"

"....Yeah. Someone pick up my gun?"

"Lyin' right by the body. Malone... you know what this means... do ya?"

"Boss." Laszlo sat up, feeling touched in spite of himself at the man's rare concern. "You got the goods last night. You got the place now, too. You should be celebratin'. Let me shoulder my own load. Isn't that what you always tell us?"

Another silence. The voice that finally spoke was quiet, and gruff. "......You're a good man, Malone. I dunno what I'd do if you got yourself offed. Swing by tomorrow and pick up your gun."

"Right, Boss."

The phone clicked, and he put it down, rubbing his temples. Life had just gotten ten times more complicated since yesterday. Getting to his feet with a groan, he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, then got a glass of water from the kitchen. When he returned to the bedroom, she was sitting up, her eyes wide and unreadable in the darkness.

Two times now he had escaped the clutches of Hell. He could see it in the bruise on her cheek, the stiff wood and bandages around her arm. He knew what he should say to her. But, facing her like this, words entirely failed him. Instead Laszlo sat down heavily on a chair by the bed, handing her the water glass. He wasn't sure if she could take the medicine one-handed, but he'd ask.

He leaned forwards tiredly, forearms draped across his knees. "....How're you doing?"


(( XD Glad to hear. ))

When he entered the room, she stayed silent, studying him. She wasn't surprised, or rather, not that much. It seemed life was having fun throwing them together. She took the water with her good hand, without comment, bringing it to her lips and sipping. Her hand shook a little, and she lowered the glass, pressing the bottom against her cloth-covered leg to keep it from spilling.

"... Not bad." She was quiet for another moment, watching his tired face, thinking of and rejecting a million small comments. Her head drooped forwards slightly as she thought, eyes distant. Finally, she settled on something that she wanted to know enough to risk awkward conversation for. She inhaled slowly, raising her head and looking at him blandly, putting the thought into words and then asking, very eloquently, "... Did I at least hit the sunuvabitch?"

[Short post is shoooort! D= *shoots self*]

His mouth quirked at the question. If only he could be as fearlessly blunt as she.

"Oh, you hit 'im, alright. Sent him to the dark realms, while you were at it." He ran a hand through mussed hair, gaze fixed on the glass in her lap. Explaining himself had always been difficult, but this situation trumped all. Finally, he spoke, choosing the words carefully.

"I do... believe I owe you. Not just for last night and today. I did a selfish thing, havin' you plug One-Eye for my sake... his boss is on the hunt. You're safe so long as you never speak word of this to anyone-- they think it was me."

He met her gaze, a tiny, rueful smile on his lips. "Least, that's what I told 'em. Let's hope it stays that way."

It was impossible, in the darkness, to discern what she was thinking. That was good; it lent him confidence. Taking a breath, he plunged on. "I... we... look. If there's anythin' you need... anythin' at all... I'm in your debt. Ain't nothing can't be done-- I've done it all in my profession."

His head was hurting something fierce. He knew he probably looked as ragged as a dead man, but the time was past for appearances. Rubbing his rough jaw, Laszlo propped his chin up, regarding her sleepily.

"If you need to think on it, the bed's yours for the night."


(( No prob! Convo posts seem to wind up this way. ))

"... Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say to that- in fact, she was rather stunned. For a moment she felt like curling up into a ball and crying- killedhimkilledhimkilledhim- but she shook it off, brows furrowing. "Good. Fucker deserved it." She lifted the glass to her lips against, drinking slowly as she listened to him speak, almost choking on her water when he said 'One-Eye', only to realize that it probably wasn't just a creative nickname, but what they actually called him. Finally, she set the glass down against, watching him carefully for a few minutes.

"... And if I hadn't killed him? I mean, he was, wha', their leader or somethin', righ'? Or second in command. Whatever. He's a mean sunuvabitch, an' if he stayed alive an' got hold of Paula, or one 'f the girls? Like hell was I gonna let tha' happen. Ya don' owe me, ya paid me back by getting my ass out of there." She braced the glass against her leg, running her hand back through her hair. "I'm not gonna ask ya to do anythin' for me," she said, sighing. "Especially not anythin' that would make you hafta say something like that."

She closed her eyes briefly, yawning. When she cracked her eyes open again, she shook her head at him. "I don' think I can manage to get home tonigh', so I'll take you up on the offer for the bed. You go get some sleep, you look about as shitty as I feel right now." She yawned once more, eyelids dangerously close to sliding shut once

His eyes widened slightly in bemusement. Even after all she had done, she had nary a thing to ask of him? It was something he couldn't understand, in his cutthroat world of favors and reciprocity. She hadn't even complained about what happened, about her injury... only expressed concern for her friends. He wondered if any of his own crew gave a damn about each other.

"You're sure close to your coworkers," he began thoughtfully, though she looked on the verge of sleep. "If it's any comfort... when I talked to Boss, he didn't mention any injuries on your folk. 'Cept one woman-- big gal. Some bruises, but nothin' major."

Her eyes had closed; Laszlo got to his feet, his gaze trained on her bandaged arm. He didn't know if she could still hear him, but he spoke anyway, his voice an amused murmur.

"...Keep your grip tighter, next time 'round. Other'n that... not bad, for that big a gun. Cleanest two shots I seen in awhile."

He headed to the door, stifling a wide yawn. What a day.......

It was all he could do to wash briefly, then sink down on the sofa outside. It was a bit dusty, but it'd do; drawing his shirt over his head, he tossed it nearby, then flopped wearily onto his side. He lay there for a minute, feeling a weird urge to laugh bubble up within him.

A stripper and a con sharin' an apartment. Who'dve thought it. He didn't even know her name. Maybe it was for the best, though... if he were to keep her out of suspicion for the shooting. Flopping onto his other side to face the backrest, he waited for sleep to come.

She barely heard his words through the haze that had suddenly descended upon her, and her lips twitched only slightly at his last statement. Heh... Good for somethin' other than sin after all... And then she was asleep.

It was not the light, restless sleep that allowed her to dream, but rather a thick, suffocating blackness, stealing over her consciousness and tugging her away from reality for all-too-brief a moment in time. Instead of flashbacks to her childhood, she saw laid out clearly how lucky she was, what could have happened, who could have been hurt and how.

When she came awake, what seemed like moments later, she was trembling, eyes instantly flitting around the room. Disoriented, she sat up, only to be brought back to herself with a sharp pain at her shoulder. She turned her head to look at her arm, not recognizing it for a moment, then relaxed. A nightmare, that's all it had been. A glance at the window told her that she had been asleep for a while, so she carefully got out of the bed, her normal grace offset by her immobilized right arm.

That was going to be a pain.

She padded out of the room quietly, cursing every tiny squeak that the floor boards made, and made her way in a fairly straightforward path to a living room, where her unlikely rescuer- ha!- lay on the couch, seemingly asleep. She smiled, and left him to sleep, exploring the rooms quietly. She ended her little tour quickly enough, though, ashamed that she was peeking through someone else's house.

Without looking too hard, she couldn't find her shoes, so she slipped out the door barefoot, heading down the stairs silently and letting herself out onto the street. AT least she recognized the area they were in. With one last glance towards the house- Thanks, Mystery Man- she walked away down the street.