Israel Alderdice (izzy_alderdice) wrote in v_nocturne_rpg, @ 2009-08-03 01:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | berdette daugney, izzy alderdice |
Sometimes, Life is Like a Broadway Musical
Overall, tonight couldn't have been that bad. At least, he'd gotten paid adequately for that that bloody party, the one he hadn't known he'd be dragged to or passed around at. Unfortunately, this was the week that it would be most of what he was sending home. Bad things came in threes, as the saying went. Dead bodies, completely broke, and Tuesday.
Tuesday might have been a good day, or at least, he'd planned it to be. He'd put all his hopes in Tuesday, so inevitably he wouldn't get anything in return. In fact, he'd go down to the workhouse, expecting to get a job and move away from this miserable little part of his life. Maybe the pay would be more, maybe it would be less, maybe the work would be hard, but dammit all it would have been respectable and that was the best he could hope for. From what Cullen had said, he'd be working with decent people, like Cullen himself. But, if he had known the man in the bar, he'd known one of the tradesmen in the workhouse even better.
So he'd run away. And now he was back here, in this damned alley in this damned posh neighborhood in this damned city. Absolutely starved, of course, but he couldn't exactly use any of the money he'd gotten on food, it wasn't half what he'd gotten last week. Maybe he'd been mugged. Somehow. She'd be mad at him, but it wouldn't be half as bad as if she found out the real reason.
On the bright side of things, he'd managed not to kill anyone tonight. In fact, as he stood up, completely normal albeit a little dizzy, he wondered if he could find his way back here more often. He'd scarcely heard a footstep back here. In fact, barring some hidden depravity, this neighborhood was incredibly quiet. Dusting himself off, he wandered through the alleyways. There really was no one out here, so far as he could hear. All the pubs had closed hours ago, and everyone was either safe in their beds or dead.
As he walked, he realized that he could smell something quite like a dinner party. Or the remnants of one, as he practically tripped over it. This was the stuff the servants had decided they didn't need to eat, but damn if it didn't ever look good to someone who hadn't eaten in a not too insubstantial amount of time. It was the kind of thing beggars did, but come to think of it, that was exactly what he was right now. Besides, a good portion of what he saw as he looked through the bags and bins barely looked as though it had been touched. What an awful waste! He picked through and grabbed a few things, scarfing them down and stuffing whatever looked like it would survive the journey home into his pockets. He probably looked a sight, but he couldn't have felt luckier.
This, of course, was a terrible idea.
The party had been a quiet affair of intimate friends. The gentlemen in the casual setting had quickly dove into political affairs at the dinner table, and thus the food was barely touched when each gender retired to their designated room. The men headed to the smoking room, and the ladies the sewing. While masculine voices talked passionately about the separation of Church and State, Berdette demonstrated her musical skill by playing a light piano piece for her two female guests. When the last couple finally left, the other part of Berdette finally emerged. Such dull parties took a toll on her, and she as always tempted to liven things up in a way that would be bad for her reputation.
It was when she was idly reading in her room that a powerful knock came to her door. She was now dressed in a thin, white, sleeping gown but it would not matter to those calling this late into the night. Berdette called out, "Come in" and in walked her two, well, bodyguards. Both of them were burly men, their muscles having muscles. A lady of her station couldn't be unprotected in these dark times, could she? As they were of color, the risk of scandal was low. To most of her circle they were simply irrelevant. The smarter of the two said "M'am, there is someone rifling around in the garbage bins. Would you like us to take care of him?" He had only a trace of an accent left due to heavy schooling in the English language. It was a trait desired by employers, after all. She considered his question for a moment, trying to decide how she was feeling. Hm. A definite feeling of curiosity.
"Bring him in to me. We will just have to decide if he has anything worthwhile, mm?" The smile she was wearing was quite nasty, but her servants had learned to control their reaction to it by now. No matter how disgusted or horrified they were with how their mistress acted in private, she was generally unabusive and always paid well. Two traits desired by employees. As the men shut the door and headed downstairs, Berdette turned towards her extensive wardrobe. For this meeting, she selected a brightly colored dressing gown that was utterly vain and decadent. As she stood in front of a mirror, she primped her honey-blond curls and gave her reflection a devilish smile. One must always look their best.
Usually in this situation, he would have been close to leaving. At least, that was how (he expected) the police reports always put it. 'Oh no, officer, I was just mindin' me own business, just about to leave when they came outta nowhere...' Only, Izzy would have stayed there a for a little while longer, since he suspected there were still some scraps left that he could fish out, and they hadn't come out of nowhere. In fact, he noticed footsteps first, froze, had the feeling from the sound of the footsteps that they probably meant bad things for him.
What to do? The answer was completely obvious, and it involved a particularly vicious right hook to the nearest man's jaw that sent him sprawling. He didn't give the other man time to react as he punched him in the stomach, and then knocking him in the head a little lighter than he probably should have. While the second man was down, he went back over to the first, who happened to be getting his footing, and knocked him back down to the cobblestones, and pinned him down as he hissed, "What do you want from me?" his voice betraying his fear. The man moaned a little, or was as articulate as possible for someone with a shattered jaw, and tried to get up, finding it a lot harder than it should have been with someone this small. Izzy, when he realized this, knocked the man around a bit uselessly.
The second man had regained his footing and was now behind Izzy, probably about to take him out but that would have first required that he be in one place for a specific amount of time which, when he spun off the first man and quickly got onto his feet, was clearly not going to be the case. Izzy managed to get a few rather nasty punches in and knocked the man to the ground. It was only when he tried to run away that he realized that he'd severely miscalculated one thing. Now, for everything he could do, there was one thing Izzy could not deny. He was a definitely could have done with a little extra on his frame. This came in handy for the first man, who managed to get him practically by his hair and send him flying backwards into the cobblestones. In a second, everything went black.
To say Berdette was dismayed would be an understatement. When the two battered and bleeding brutes came in, she was quite aggravated that the slip of a man they were carrying had managed to put them in such a state. The victim himself was also bleeding and the other two should expect festering wounds should he be permanently damaged. She gestured for them to drop the unconscious man on the couch (covered with a ratty blanket to prevent stains). Berdette gave them both a scalding glare before she spoke, "How did he manage this, mm? I hired you for your muscles and your willingness to kill, not to be punching bags. You will be healed tommorow, but for tonight you will sleep with all of your wounds and sores as a reminder of your failure." Both of them turned red with shame and anger but left without a word when she dismissed them.
Taking in his dirty condition and the fact he had been digging around in her trashbins, Berdette slipped on some gloves in case she should have to touch him. She pulled a chair up to the couch and retrieved the book she had been reading, the Lesser Key of Solomon. A knife waited in her lap should the man become violent when he awoke.
He woke up on something soft, not knowing what time or day it was or indeed how long he'd been out. What he did know, however, was that there was a blinding pain in his head, indeed, when he first came to, he wasn't sure if he was blind or not. Considering how hard he'd hit the ground, he half-expected it, in fuzzy way. But no, when his eyes fluttered up, a lot of lights and colors swam in front of him before arranging themselves into some semblance of order. He stared at what was before him with half-lidded eyes, not being able to stand much more, and tried to comprehend it. He was in a very fancy sitting room, and there was a woman in front of him reading a book. She had a knife on her lap. Her dress was like something you'd expect to see fanning its tail feathers in a zoo. He wasn't sure whether to be comforted or afraid. Perhaps she'd saved him or perhaps this was the start of something much worse than what had happened outside.
Though he settled on being afraid, he quickly discovered that he wasn't tied up. That was a good sign, at least. He sat up slowly. A murky thought floated to the surface of his mind; despite his condition, it would probably be wise to be polite to her. He sat up as quickly as his body would allow him to. Apparently the two men had done quite a number on him after he'd gotten knocked out, since pretty much everything hurt. "G'...Good evening, madam," he said, bowing his head a little bit. He felt a sudden pang in his head, and felt the back of his skull, feeling something warm and sticky. Lovely.
The book she was reading was quite interesting as it described the seventy-two demons Solomon evoked. Apparently he confined them in a brass vessel and hmm, made them work for him. As the man stuttered out his greeting she turned the book over on her lap and made a note to persue it later. Being polite certainly earned him points, and Berdette's face widened with a genuine smile, "Good evening to you as well. You were digging around in my trash, in case you have forgotten." She gently probed the back of his head and frowned when her fingertips came back with blood. "Terribly sorry about the way my men treated you. They are not so bright you see, and a little over-zealous in the 'roughing up' department."
Berdette stood and walked over to a nearby table, placing her knife and book atop it. Also sitting on it was a bottle of whiskey and an intricately created shot glass, the front of it being the snarling face of a gargoyle. The room itself was decorated in deep colors and the furniture was obviously expensive, but it was not one you would want to entertain strangers in. The art on the walls was disturbing, depicting grotesque monsters drooling over young woman and strange rituals.
She brought him the glass and settled back into her chair, crossing her ankles out of habit. "What would be your name?"
It seemed that, the more he looked at the room, the weirder it became. It looked posh, and then his eyes found the intricate and horrific designs all over everything and frankly terrifying works of art, and the more he looked the more uncomfortable he became. He wasn't certain what to compare it to, since he'd never had much time for casual reading and would have never equated it with something out of a horror novel, and that made it all the more disconcerting. He drew his hand back from his head and, not knowing where he could put it that wouldn't stain anything, put it in his lap palm-up.
"I haven't, madam," Izzy replied, his gaze somewhere in the vicinity of where Berdette's shoes would have been, "I'm sorry I...I didn't realize what would happen." So they were her servants? Absolutely delightful. This would end well. Looking up at her, Izzy continued, sounding a bit pathetic, "They just came at me, I thought they were going to mug me," he tried to be careful about his words, "I'm sorry if I hurt them, and I'm afraid if I did any real damage I've got nothing to pay you back with that would near equal the cost." He wasn't entirely sure how thin a line he was treading, and her expression was nothing to go by. He guessed that she was a witch, which wouldn't help his situation at all.
He watched as she got him a glass of what looked and smelled, for all the world, to be whiskey, but he wasn't about to trust that. He held the glass but didn't drink from it. "Izzy, madam," he replied. No point in asking her for hers, he expected.
In a dismissive gesture perfected by only the elite, Berdette waved away all of his concerns about her servant's welfare. "Nonsense. They should of known from past experiences to keep you relatively intact. You are a little more damaged than I would of preferred, but still alive, hm?" She tilted her head and rested her chin on her fist, watching him. It made her look utterly girlish, something she probably did not realize. "I do not plan on hurting you yet, Izzy, so be good company and do not withhold any answers. What are you?" Leaning back, she tilted her head to indicate their surroundings. "As you can see, I am not of the usual, boring, drab stock you so often find in today's society. But you seriously wounded two men more than twice your size, no offense, and my curiosity has been piqued."
Pursing her lips in annoyance, Berdette took the shot glass from him and downed it in a single gulp. She stood up once more and refilled it, calling over her shoulder, "It's not poison, pet. If I wanted you dead, I had ten minutes of you being unconcious to do so."
Shaking his head, Izzy quickly replied, "Oh, no, I'm fine, really. I've had worse done to me." This may or may not have been the truth, but so far as he knew he had no broken bones and despite a few deep bruises, scrapes, and as he was now discovering a bloody nose, and he was quite certain he could get over it. Or at least, not impose on the fact that this woman wasn't killing him right now.
There was really no reason why he shouldn't tell her. Barring what he could do to her physically (and judging by her demeanor and their surroundings, it wouldn't have gone unnoticed), he was more or less completely at her mercy. His head was still swimming a bit from the concussion, but he wasn't stupid enough to believe he could get out of here alive or at least unnoticed. Indeed, her servants probably knew him and judging by the way she looked she'd have the whole of Scotland Yard on his case. Not to mention the fact that, if she was indeed a witch, she could have probably cursed him or done something horrible. In fact, she could probably read his mind. 'Still more damaged than I would have preferred' was still wheedling its way through his head, and he wondered For what?
No sense just sitting here like a idiot. "I'm a dhampir," he admitted, simply. If she were normal, this would be the point where she told him to sit tight while she went and got someone from Bromley to take care of him. He took a small sip of whiskey, but he didn't have the stomach for it right now.
"Ooh, now is not that the most charming thing?" Berdette nearly clasped her hands in excitement when he revealed himself. A product of a human and a vampire... unusually strong, as she witnessed, have a slightly distasteful bloodlust, and a certain knack for hunting the undead themselves. Most marvelous. "What is your job, at the moment? I will be clear with you, Izzy, you will be leaving her pleased with yourself, or in literal pieces." She held her hand up as if she was going to stop him from leaving, "No, do not try to run. If you make it to the door, you will find a hallway that leads only to a brick wall. Instead, consider this an opportunity to better yourself." A smile returned to her face as she paced the room, continuing to explain to him her proposition, "I will hire you to take care of the birds I have at my shop. You will be properly dressed, cleaned, and probably schooled a little bit on your grammar. In truth you will dispose of unsightly waste for me, as you probably go unnoticed in the middle of the night, yes? In return I can help you persue your own dreams, whatever they may be."
Berdette cupped the side of his face in an attempt at a comforting touch, her expression warm and friendly. She continued to speak, though her voice was much softer, "Loyalty is greatly rewarded."
"I just do odd jobs, anything to get money," he replied, almost truthfully, mainly because though he was now incredibly afraid, he didn't want to tell her what he actually did. Somehow, he didn't think she'd take it well. He'd never heard his race described as 'charming' but still, and he'd never seen anyone excited about it, but she seemed quite happy, didn't she? So happy she was threatening him with death and...a job? Like, a real one doing something that was semi-respectable? And helping him 'pursue his dreams' which he suspected involved money? And something else that didn't sound all that difficult? Well, she didn't seem like the most moral person in the world but who cared about that? And anyway, how many moral people were there in London?
His mouth hung open for a while before he realized it and closed it, but his eyes remained wide with shock. A slow smile made its way across his face as he processed all of this and what it all meant. Bollocks to the workhouse, he was going to be doing something he had no clue how to do, but dammit, he was going to do it well! He grinned when she cupped his cheek and replied "Yes, ma'am! I will! Thank you!" That was honestly all he could have coherently said right now.
Dropping her hand, Berdette stepped back and nodded, obviously pleased with his agreement. She was only a little disappointed that he did not refuse, as she was sure she could of used parts of a dhampir for SOMETHING. Ah well, better to have a living, breathing body to do your dirty work for you. "You have made the correct choice. When we are not alone, you must refer to be as mistress or ma'am. Any of those suitable titles. My name is Berdette, and you will be working at The Aviary."
Sitting back down her expression turned serious as did her tone, "You must tell me the complete truth about your life and what you have done and who knows you. You seem agreeable enough, and I'm sure neither of us will be comprimised if we both work together. I can't have any loose ends, such as a jealous lover or a sick mother. Some aspects of your life you will simply have to give to me. You will be free to retain and start friendships, but if you decide on anything romantic I must be made aware. Your quarters will be with the rest of my employees." She paused to both catch her breath and allow Izzy to have a reaction.
Oh good, he'd clearly done something right. Izzy's smile refused to remove itself from his face, and frankly, he couldn't think of any reason for it to do so. "Yes, Ms. Berdette!" he replied, a great deal more chipper than anyone in a room like this at this particular hour should have been. He'd never heard of The Aviary, but assumed that it involved birds and was a front for something more sinister. It was also offering him a way out of the awful circumstances he'd been in up until now, so he wasn't going to complain just yet. Or maybe ever, if it wasn't anything too sinister.
After processing all this, Izzy nodded slowly before replying, "To tell the truth, Ms. Berdette, I can't wait to be rid of the life I've lived up until now," he still wasn't sure if he should tell her exactly what he did, "I've no lovers, particularly not of the jealous kind," he wasn't sure how true this was, "My mother is perfectly healthy, if poor and dealing with my late step-father's debts. I send almost everything I earn back to her to help her. I can't tell you how grateful I am, Ms. Berdette, and," he leaned forward, a little more confident than he should have been, "If you need any vampires, dead, staked, or caught alive as they can be, that was what I was trained in and what I hope to do. It's a rare person who believes in them here."
"Vampires, mm? I further a guess then you are no fan of your father's." She mulled this around in her head, considering what she could use from a vampire. "There are several ingredients that come from a vampire. Perhaps when I need them, I will let you know." Berdette tilted her head in curiosity, eying him, "Is that what you wish to be, a vampire hunter? Nasty creatures are they not? Bloodlust is most unbecoming. I assume you have one, but I wonder how it works. You could probably sate that with a harvest. My work is quite disturbing, Izzy, and your true job is disposing of corpses and things of that nature. Things I wouldn't want the neighbors to see in my garbage."
She walked over to the door and placed her hand on the knob, looking back. "Come along then, we have to get you cleaned up." A dhamphir, most excellent indeed. He would be of great use to her, a precious commodity. Berdette knew she must treat him well, never have too tight a leash, but always remain the one in control. She was taking a risk exposing all of this to a stranger, but his excitement at the job seemed genuine. The threat of being in pieces didn't hurt, either.
"No, madam," said Izzy, "At best, I think it's a mercy kill." He winced a little when she referred to his father, as he knew she was referring to the vampire, and no matter how long he lived with that fact it would never cease to disgust him. But he smiled and nodded when she talked of using vampire parts of ingredients, even if that sounded quite disgusting. But then, no one ever said jobs dealing with the darker forces in the world were clean and pretty. "It is. It's what I was meant to become, I feel, or at least, no matter what I do with my life, I doubt I could avoid it. And it is, Ms. Berdette, especially when there is none but the innocent to sate it on." That sounded good. Proper, classy, even. His smile grew as he said, "I could, in fact, I think that's the best way all told. But for now I can control it to a degree." He wondered if he was saying too much.
He tried very hard not to jump up when she told him to come with her, but it was difficult not to. This might have been the start of something better, or at least something that wasn't prostitution, giving himself to the basest urges of society for a few shillings a night. It wasn't hanging around smoky bar-rooms and trying to ignore what everyone looked like, what he looked like. It was disposing corpses and taking care of birds, but it was a step up in the world. It was a quicker and more respectable way to get a better life for his mother and siblings, a way for him to get out of London and do what he really wanted to do. It was ugly, but it could have been a whole lot uglier. He followed Berdette, not entirely sure what 'cleaned up' meant.
The hall they entered was harsh and barren, made only of cement and brick. There were no frilly decorations, just a gas lamp on low hanging from the ceiling. A few doors were on the wall opposite of them, but they were nothing of note. Berdette opened one of them and lead him through a twisting and turning tunnel just as austere as the hallway they had left. It was a good ten minutes before she opened yet another door and they entered a spotless sitting room, just as high-class as the previous one but decorated in pastels and watercolor paintings. Behind them was not an entryway, but a bookcase full of highly fashionable literature.
From there Berdette took him down another hall, opened another door and led him through a kitchen until finally, they arrived at their destination. A plain sewing room with several shelves of linens and fabric on one side. She went to the shelves and shuffled around a bit, coming up with a large nightshirt for him to wear. "Tomorrow we will have you measured and fitted for clothing, but this will do to sleep in. You will have three outfits, two for daily wear, and one should a formal occasion arise. Usually I would have the head maid put you through all of this, but it is the dead of night." Berdette wrinkled her nose in slight distaste, "We will also get you a bath tomorrow as well."
It was sometime around when he lost sight of the door that Izzy began to bit nervous. There were nothing but halls and doors, and absolutely no way of distinguishing them. For all he knew, this would have been the point where the story turned around and he was lead into some torture chamber or prison cell. She was right, he'd have never been able to get out of here if he tried. He didn't even know where the sitting room went, maybe there were a other tunnels that went everywhere else, and if he didn't take the right door, he'd never get back outside. And he'd never take the right door. He hugged himself as if he were cold, saying nothing but letting his paranoid suspicions take hold of him more and more every minute.
By the time they reached the sewing room, he was ashen with his own fears, but he tried to get over it. Maybe this wasn't a trap. Maybe this was the real thing. After all, up until this point he'd believed Berdette and outside of the fact that most of him was still in pain and his hair was still matted with blood (though it was probably starting to scab over already) nothing too terrible had happened to him. In fact, that was clearly a late entry for the understatement of the century. He nodded and made noises of assent as she spoke, the color slowly returning to his face as he reassured himself. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and then bowed his head again before saying, "And thank you very much. I am very much in your debt."
"As long as you do not gossip or slander me Izzy, you will be able to pay the debt just fine." She smiled at him, but it wasn't particularly warm. It might of been a veiled threat, but one not planned to happen. Berdette made efforts to treat all of her servants well by keeping them healthy, dressed in nice clothes, and able to afford a luxury once in awhile. From a doorway in the room came the soft sounds of snoring and people shuffling in their sleep. Glancing at it was her only indication of it to him. The quarters of the male servants were sparse but clean, with everyone having a wooden trunk for belongings. The womens quarters were identical, but they were behind a locked door on the other side of the room. The lock was on the inside.
Berdette stripped off her gloves and held them in her hand, idly tapping them against her palm. "Is there anything else that I should know? Excuse my insistence, but it is very important that you not hide the truth from me. It is one of the few things that will make me... upset."
Alright, so no complaining about her to other people. From everything that had happened tonight, Izzy assumed he wouldn't be doing much of that. Clothes, a place to sleep, a job, a decent chance at getting somewhere in life - was there anything he could have complained about? She clearly had some shady business, but so did he and every other person in the world. Any concerns that he might have had could wait, because right now he couldn't think of anything bad that could have come from this if it were indeed real. And from everything he'd seen so far, it was. This was like some strange dream, only as far as he could see it was reality.
Izzy took a deep breath, looked at Berdette, and started, "I...I did some," he began to turn red all the way to his ears, "Unholy things so that I might have something to send home," he assumed she knew what he meant or could at least guess, "But I want to put it all behind me. If you don't mind me saying, I don't think it matters anymore."
She chuckled at his phrasing, but was polite enough to hide it behind her hand. So he was a whore. A low one, if he had been scavaging for food. Ah, the poor do what they must to survive. He was poor no more thanks to her. Those who know of Berdette's true nature call her malevolent and wicked, but she does have her moments of charity. Izzy was lucky, then, otherwise he would of ended up belly up in the Thames. As she said, she didn't like any loose ends. A mother, hm? Hopefully she wasn't too invasive in her son's life, otherwise she might succumb to any of the illness' that plagued the destitute. "Very well that you want to put it all behind you. I can't have you working three jobs, can I?" The rheotorical question was an attempt at a joke on her part. Genuine humor did not naturally come to her, though she had perfected the art of faking it. "I assume all of those you serviced were low on the food chain, as to not ruin your attempts at bettering yourself. Of course, you would not be the first charity case of a gentlewoman."
He nodded and, sensing it was probably a joke despite her tone, laughed nervously. Inwardly he was incredibly relieved that she hadn't just kicked him out or killed him right then and there. She hadn't taken the knife with her, had she? To answer her actual question, he replied, "Most of them were, yeah. If they weren't, I'd imagine they wouldn't say anything about it, seeing as how they'd have it worse than I ever could if they admitted to seeing me." He looked down, a little ashamed that he'd sounded almost happy about that. Then he realized something and quickly added, "And loads more than a lady such as yourself would get for it. Course, you could just say you didn't know..." And then he was getting a bit ahead of himself.
Berdette gave him another dismissive hand-wave for that last sentiment. "It is cataloged and thrust away, pet, like textbooks of dreadfully boring history nobody is inclined to read. For now I am your fairy godmother, one who expects you to be at her shop not too long after dawn. Ask for the head maid, Natalie, and she will give you directions after you have been dressed and cleaned." Her expression turned indulgent when she told him, "I believe they will be waking in a few hours. You should probably change and go to sleep. There is an empty bed at the end of the room."
A genuine smile broke out onto Izzy's face, try as he might to maintain some semblance of professionalism. He relaxed a little for the first time, though maybe he shouldn't have - he hardly knew. It was over now, the whole nightmare of a few months could be locked away and forgotten. It might have been a strange arrangement with a woman he wasn't entirely certain he trusted, but that could be dealt with later. For tonight, he could go to sleep knowing that, if nothing else, things were going to start to shift into a semi-normality - the best he could hope for.
Bowing again, he said, "Yes, ma'am, thank you kindly!" Part of him kind of wanted to kiss her, but that would have been terribly improper. It was time to start thinking in terms of proper now, and, odd though it may have seemed, he was perfectly fine with that, even happy. "Good night, Ms. Berdette," he said, stepping into the room.
"Good night. I expect you to be charming, polite, and efficient even as you clean bird feces. The ladies in my shop would have not have it any other way." That said, Berdette turned away from and walked out of the sewing room, disappearing into the labyrinth of an estate that was her home. Perhaps his skills as a whore would come in handy. No doubt the bored haute monde of London would love to dally with a handsome serving man they had ample opportunity to see and flirt with. Izzy did have a nice derrière.