Who: Regan and Zeke with various NPC’s What: A regular evening Where: The Red Rat When: Tonight Warnings: Mentions of drugs, prostitution, various illegal activities, and potentially swearing? Maybe even a bar fight if we get lucky.
If the criminal underworld had been a stage, the sun’s disappearance was the cue to let the curtains drop. Some might have thought of it as glamorous, noir, and thrilling. For most, it was merely reality. Dirty and normal – and like all jobs, tiring.
Regan entered through the back door at the Red Rat, dodging a bouncer carting garbage out. With her trench coat wrapped tightly about her, she managed to only brush him – tossing an apologetic smile his way. “Sorry, Mike, didn’t see you. Didn’t mean anything by it-” He shook his head, waving her in. “Spider’s looking for you. Skeddadle, will ya?”
She didn’t need much more of a warning then that. Being late was a concern linked with her moving out of the Red Rat. She ducked into the back hallway, shutting the door behind her. Weaving her way past familiar painted faces, corseted and skimpy, they called out what Mike had. “You’re late, Regan-” and “How’s the commute, love?” and “You know what they say about the late bird…” Regan merely tossed back a laugh, dashing up the stairs to her old room. Pausing at the top balcony, she leaned over. “Things are just fine. I had a friend-” A collective ‘ooh’ echoed the girls and Regan raised a hand. “Really, a friend. I do have them. Distract Spider? If you don’t already owe me, I’ve got your backs next time.”
It was generally how things worked after all – one big, less than happy bunch of sisters, teasing one moment and saving from ‘Dad’ the next. Regan slipped off into her room, dropped the coat a moment later. Three minutes was her record for getting ready and hopefully Spider would leave it at that. She didn’t hear much rowdiness from the bar below her feet which meant either the clients weren’t here yet or someone was distracting them. The former seemed more likely – even if when she glanced out her small window – the mood had already made its appearance.
She shoved her discarded clothing under her bed, lowered her brassier a tad and then headed off down the stairs. Heels weren’t made for walking, but she had enough experience otherwise to take care of that. One last twist of her hair – pinned to the base of her neck tightly enough to not be in her face, but loose enough to come undone in a customer’s claws. She went through the swinging doors in the corner – steps faltering slightly as she realized the room was full. Wrong assumption, a poor one. She recovered a moment later, heading to the bar where an unsavory face was. “They really like that new act, don’t they?” she mused, grabbing a notepad.
Spider was only in his thirties, but he had that look of being much older than he was. He cocked a brow at her, taking a cloth to rub down the countertop. “We’re quiet for once, what do you think?” Regan shrugged, grabbing a note pad and pencil before he grasped her wrist. He sent a fixed look at her that she knew better than to avoid. “You’re late, Regan.”
She attempted to shrug again. “Got caught upstairs. Hook came undone. You want to help fix it up later?” Her smile was careless, but the offer didn’t mean anything. Spider didn’t touch his girls – not really. If she had any choice in the matter, she would rip her wrist from his. It felt like it burned from the contact. She liked Spider most days, even if he didn’t approve of her moving out. Tight wad. She jiggled her wrist. “I’ll be here early tomorrow. Let it slide?” He released her and she spun away, heels clicking on the sticky floor.
“I’m keeping an eye on you.”
She tossed a smile back, not reaching her eyes. She’d been happy before she came in – honestly happy about a new place. Now, it was back to the pits and feeling lack luster again. “You better,” she said, before weaving through tables. Most men were watching the improvised pole dance – brooms were nice that way – on the small stage, but few were going to complain about another round of drinks.