cigarette smoke and cash // Pheonix & Alicia

cigarette smoke and cash // Pheonix & Alicia Apr 29, 2019 20:28:35 GMT -5

Post by Arrows on Apr 29, 2019 20:28:35 GMT -5

I don't get it, the whole foot fetish thing.

Look, I get that everybody has their own style, it's totally fine. But feet? I mean we spend all day walking on them, they sweat in socks about as much as our armpits, and the select few people even have fungus between their toes. Now that doesn't quite scream sexy to me. But hey, I'm not one to complain. If they have cash in their pockets they can appreciate my feet all they want. On the other hand though, no matter how much they dish out, I will not do anything with their feet other than a three second massage. Apparently this jackass doesn't understand that.

I'll give him credit, the shirtless guy in front of me is attractive. Vines of blonde wrap around the curves of sharp cheeks and replicas of verdant summer meadows hold the place of his eyes. Even his clear skin shimmers brown from an ardent agreement with the sun. I was giving this guy the lowest of my prices before he had to go and get it tripled by asking about how long my toes are. It could also be the atmosphere, not the most inviting of spaces.

Inside he's done a nice job of cleaning up. A few candles flicker in a dashing dance of romantic low lighting, while an ajar window invites in the faintest tickle of the night's breath. Aside from that though, I can't imagine it being much worse. The walls are practically cracking under the bass of music blasting from the unstable building's basement, at least twice in the ten minutes since my arrivals drunken friends have fumbled in and out of the door, and top it all off, mixing with the night's light breeze is the scent of cigarette smoke. And oh how I could go for a smoke right now. In fact, I think I will.

Sliding away from my customer's side, I slip quickly back into my long sleeve maroon shirt. He stumbles for a second before I pull his money from my pocket and remove a single bill from its stack.

"For the ten minutes."

I toss the remainder into his lap before pocketing the single and making for the doorway. I hear a thud as he trips on the buckle of his belt and a sinister smirk spurs across my lips. Poor guy, I shut the door behind me.

Outside atop the broken sidewalk panels of my childhood, embers ignite from the end of my newest toxic temptation. Smoke spins in a familiar gravity around my head as ashes fall like comets by my feet. Here amid the backwaters and squalored streets where eyes watch from ruined shadows, I am at my most comfortable. Once a boy of the streets sewn into life with a single set of clothing, always a survivor on the streets. I just have a few more things of my own now then I did as a boy, like an apartment and a bed waiting for me.

Finishing the final fragments of the treat of my lunges' fascination, I turn towards home. Only several steps down the sidewalk, an unknown hand latches to my wrist. The smell of bile and over-turned stomach singes the end of my nose. Two eyes, foggy from drink, stare tainted with disgusting desire. I hate these situations more than any other. Freeing my hand with a sudden shake, I turn towards the older men with venom lacing my lips.

"Don't touch me."

He shares a laugh as rotten as his core.

"But how about..."

He hasn't the chance to finish forming his sentence, before my fist flies across his face. A single swipe is all it takes to send him off his teetering edge and into sleep. It takes me a moment before spying the person only feet away who has probably witnessed the entire encounter. My lips roll up into another shameless smirk with an accompanying shoulder raise. I light up a fresh cigarette before producing another one in her direction.

"Care for a smoke?"

cigarette smoke and cash // Pheonix & Alicia Jun 6, 2019 21:43:16 GMT -5

Post by Stare on Jun 6, 2019 21:43:16 GMT -5

[googlefont="Sanchez:400"]

Word on the street was that Alicia Klare was becoming a prude.

Still had a nasty bite, of course, and she still managed to worm her way into all kinds of places she shouldn’t have been in. But suddenly she wasn’t so willing to kiss and tell, or kiss and anything, for that matter. The infamous low-cut tops and tightly hugging skirts that had loosened many men’s tongues weren’t making nearly as many appearances as they used to. It wasn’t that she was losing her touch. No, she’d squashed the rumor down almost as quickly as it had begun to rise with a few quick, near fatal hits to some very important figures’ reputations. Something had changed, though.

Alicia, for one, was perfectly content to let them wonder. Her love life was no one else’s damn business, and she hated the idea of any of Nine’s crooks or scoundrels getting their grimey hands on the information that she was completely and blissfully happy. There was only one scoundrel allowed anywhere close to her heart, and he was currently on the other side of the bar doing what he did best with that wicked smile that made her knees slightly weak.

The whispers, however, occasionally grew a bit suffocating. Alicia lived on the words others murmured behind each others’ backs, but she’d never before been interesting enough to be the subject of those half-hidden conversations. Now, with a reputation built on destroying those of others and a semi-secret life lived happily in Benedict’s arms, she could feel the gossip in the room like something crawling just beneath her skin. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she stood and began to make her way toward the door for some fresh air, being careful not to look over at Benedict. Later she would wrap her arms around him and make damn sure he knew how much he meant to her, but for now she wouldn’t give these strangers the satisfaction of seeing her affection.

Stepping into the night, Alicia lifted her head slightly and closed her eyes, embracing the cool contrast to the bar’s overly warm interior. She and Benedict thrived in environments like the one behind her, but every now and again it was nice to take a break from it.

Except for, of course, when she couldn’t.

Alicia used to live for street skirmishes - they provided the absolute best kind of gossip - but ever since she’d gotten herself slugged on a job she found she’d lost her taste for them. Besides, she dealt in bigger and darker secrets now. Still, she couldn’t help but eye the young man with undisguised interest. The cigarette that he produces makes her think of Benedict, and she’s slightly startled when he offers one to her.

“No, thank you.” She’s polite, just like her parents taught her. No need to make any more enemies than she already has, but she’s not sure what kind of strings come attached to his offer. “I have a…” Boyfriend. But the word felt strange, insufficient. “...situation.” After an awkward pause she jutted her chin in the direction of the fallen man. “Speaking of, what’s your situation with him?”