70 Ashan 722
Nightfall
A sequel to this thread.
"You have some balls showing up here," a regular laughed as he walked down the long exit hallway. "Bigger than any man I've ever met." He slicked his dark brown hair back against his head with one hand while the other tucked his unkempt shirt into his pants. As Maxine passed him anyways he shook his head. The Rusalka rolled her eyes in his wake and sighed. Her hand dove into her pocket and clutched the small thing secreted within. Each foot fall echoed with more determination as she continued her path.
"You've gotta be shitting me," the brothel bouncer bellowed, folding his thick, scaly arms. Maxine didn't know many of the employees personally, but the sight of the hulking Ithecal was certainly familiar. He wasn't the type missed. Or forgotten. He turned to look over his shoulder. Whatever look was in his narrowed eyes must've been telling because another guard, dwarfed by the reptile's size, swiftly moved shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway. The Ithecal shook his head firmly. "Not a chance, Maxine."
"I'm not here to cause trouble," the raven-haired trespasser tried to assure him. She raised her empty palms before him.
"You are the trouble."
"Look, I've got the coin to toss like everyone else."
"Your coin isn't worth the headache." The Ithecal's lip twitched, revealing a mess of crooked, yellow teeth. "You have a lot of nerve bringing your face around again. Or a death wish. Either way, you're not welcome. Not to-trial. Not any trial." He uncrossed his giant arms and clenched his claws into fists. "Now you gonna walk yourself out or you want me to make you?"
"She's still that mad, huh?"
"Walk."
"Alright!" Max waved the behemoth off when he took a menacing step her way. "Alright, alright, I'm going. Relax."
A long, deep hiss rumbled from between the Ithecal's jaws as Max reluctantly retreated from the entrance of the brothel. It wasn't like she anticipated a warm welcome after the last time she'd visited the haunt. While the woman usually behaved herself well within the establishment, her fight with Sabrina behind closed doors had been...a lot. The owner couldn't have appreciated the publicity of it or the damaged property. They were more likely chapped over the fact hands had been put on their most profitable dancer. The gripes of the business mattered little.
As her boots pressed firmly into the stone hallway, putting distance between herself and the brothel entrance, Max fought the urge to glance one last time over her shoulder at the hulking reptile. Her fingers flexed within the veil of her pockets. She raised her chin toward the ceiling and exhaled a long, tight breath. A couple more bodies passed her eagerly to start their sinful night. The shadows of the looping scarves of fabric hanging above her swayed gently.
I could do it.
She closed her eyes and adjusted her jaw.
Turn around. Walk right back up there. If I want to get inside, they won't keep me out. It wouldn't be hard. Who are they to deny me?
Max opened her eyes, shook her head, and rounded the corner. Once out of the Ithecal's view, she pressed her back against the cold, stone wall. She tapped the back of her skull against the unforgiving surface and murmured a handful of curses. The easy, familiar answer to her problem was a hard one not to execute. Another scene wasn't likely to serve her end. Not a violent one, that was almost certain. The hand in her pocket played with the item she'd brought with her thoughtfully.
There was one main entrance. That was the easy, obvious way in the brothel. There was another secret entrance or two, but she couldn't remember the exact round-about path. She also doubted they were equally unguarded or unlocked. Long ago she might've been able to intimidate or act her way past the resolute Ithecal's post. Famula, once again, ensured that was no longer in her wheel house. She sighed and let her mind drift off. Acting with intention, planning, and intelligence was for the birds. Oh how she longed to return to emotional impulsiveness.
"You sons of bitches!" a furious yowl erupted from down the hallway of the brothel about a half hour into Maxine's silent contemplation. "It wasn't even me! Did you not see that bastard?! Are you kidding me?!" Max peered around the corner to find a scuffle ensuing between the angry, slurring patron and the guards. The drunkard scoffed as another shove pushed him closer to the hallway. "Another man spit in my face and I'm the one that gets tossed? This is a crock of shit!" Another shove and he spun. "Keep your scaly hands off me!"
The Rusalka watched curiously as the drunkard staggered her way. His thousand yard stare was fixed on the darkness ahead of him, but she could tell his mind was still toe-to-toe with the bouncers. The intensity of the energy coming off him was palpable. So was the stench of whatever swill he housed earlier in the evening.
"That whore," the stranger grunted as the Ithecal let out another hiss from the doorway. "Sweet nothings all night last night, then she's crawling over every louse with a coin in his hand. All these fucking women are the same!" Max leaned back against the wall as he moved closer to the corner. His ramblings continued. "And those bouncers. Hah! Blind. How could they not have seen what really happened. I'm the victim here. Me! And they dare to put hands on me? Throw me out? They haven't seen the last of me. Cucks." He emerged from the hallway and rounded the corner, failing to so much as notice the woman pressed quietly against the wall.
Before he got too far the man stopped. Froze, actually. His hands dipped in his left pocket and fished around. He paused. Then he furiously dug into his right pocket. Next thing Max knew, the stranger turned into a frenzy of self-patting.
"Where the fuck is my money?" he grouched. His hands slapped at his chest and stomach in vain. "I know I had it here. It was in my damned pocket. Stupid coin with my damned key! It must be here. It has to be."
It was. In fact, it was hanging out of his back pocket, teetering behind him with ever step he took. It was a wonder he couldn't feel how preciously the sack slouched. Maxine didn't mind. It was the easiest swipe she'd ever make. Her hand had jammed the coin purse, as nearly empty as it was, into her pocket and plastered herself back against the wall just a few moments before his pause. His drunkenness and lack of awareness was his mistake...but her opportunity.
"The whore has it," Maxine found the lie falling from her lips as smooth as velvet, divine with the compulsion afforded by Audnev. "In her room. On that dresser."
"What?" the drunkard turned on his heels, jumping a bit at the realization a stranger had been so close to him without him knowing. "The dresser?"
"Yes."
"The dresser..." the blindly led fool slurred. "Yes...you're right!"
Murmurs of conspiracy, theft, and the inability to trust prostitutes sputtered from the man's lips. Max peeled herself off the wall to follow the man's return to the brothel at a distance. Even without her Audrae given ability, she imagined the drunkard would've come to a similar conclusion on his own. She credited herself only with expediting the process, and like a shadow, minded attention drawn to herself as the drunkard started his antics again with the bouncers.
"Oh, no." The Ithecal waved his hand at the approaching man. "Not you again. Turn it back around. Go home while you still can." The Ithecal was rolling his eyes when the shockingly adept sucker punch rocked into the bottom of his chin.
No way!
The Ithecal reeled backward, tripping over his partner watching the floor behind him. Both spilled onto the floor with the drunkard towering over them, shouting his accusations about the establishment. Max's jaw was open in guffaw. It took her a precious moment to remember to capitalize on the opportunity she'd created.
As the enraged (and rather shocked) Ithecal scampered to his giant feet with his smaller partner to address the pawn, Maxine quietly and quickly slipped by into the dimly lit brothel with haste. She meandered through the crowd with her hood up. It was her intention to get as far from the altercation she'd started as possible and nestle into a seat deep into the crowd. The disruption allowed her her chance. She found a nice seat to plant herself in just a few rows back from the stage.
Predictably, while she kept her head low, the drunkard was pummeled and dragged out. She made a point to remain still and behave as naturally as she could like everyone else until the tension started to die. She was inconspicuous within reason at least. Before long she gave in and found an Ambrosia joint slipping between her lips. She lit it and took a long drag on the vice, feeling the cloud in her mind starting to vanish with the intellectual energy afforded by the drug. She let the breath she was holding out along with a plume of smoke.
Maxine wasn’t the brightest. She knew that. She wasn’t so pompous as to believe this little ploy didn’t have a shelf life with a very short expiration. Employees here knew her. As much as she tried to blend in as to not disrupt Sabrina’s image of mystery and unattainability, some of the savvy regulars must’ve caught on when the two consistently vanished behind closed doors together after a show.
Let’s see how long I can ride this out…
So she sat there in the crowd, settling deep into her seat as comfortably as an intruder waiting for the other shoe to drop could. Smoke lazily twisted from the joint in her mouth toward the sky.
And still her hand fiddled with the thing in her pocket she’d brought along with her.
Falling Out III
