Pussycat (katya)

[Verde (DELETED 5840)]

Green, purple, and blue paper littered the black stage; the collection of bills stretched out across the circular area as if the entire stage were contrived of untrodden wilderness. Clear heels had flattened the bills against the stage, so it took Verde a little longer than normal to collect her cash and shuffle off the stage. No one paid her any attention, not with the other show taking place on the second stage. She’d done her part and the audience, however small and inebriated, had paid.

“Hey, hey,” her boss called, gliding across the darkened room to catch up to her. “You did good, kid. You did good,” he repeated, grinning.

Verde rolled her eyes and tightened her hold on her cash. The bills were clutched tightly in each hand, hidden in two messy stacks. She knew what was coming and she’d had more than enough of the speech. She was late. She teetered too much on her heels. She drank while on the clock. Cindy had seen her taking vitamins in the bathroom, and yet Verde didn’t seem like such a health nut.

“Look, let’s take this to my office, sugar.” The grin left his face, replaced by a hard look she’d never seen before.

“Marcus, I said I was sorry. I’ll never be late again, okay? Now I’ve got places to be,” she trailed off, already turning toward the backstage area.

She felt his hand wrap around her upper arm, his grip just tight enough to stop her from walking away. Her heart started beating faster and faster; she closed her eyes to try and keep the gathering tears from showing, but they trickled down her cheeks in hot little streams. Any mascara she had on began to mix with her tears, creating black lines all across her caramel skin.

“I warned you about that ****, baby girl. I know you’re still using, Mimi,” he lowered his voice when he used her nickname, but she bristled all the same.

Pulling away from him, she looked around at the patrons and then took a step closer to him. She was shorter, much shorter, but she felt tall. She had to face men like Marcus all the time. Either they tried helping her or they tried hurting her.

“That’s none of your ******* business. You warned me? I do what I want on my free time. What? What, huh? You want to fire me?” She poked him right in the chest, practically on top of him with how close she had moved. “You’re not my father. And you damn sure ain’t my man.”

Marcus reeled back, his face grave. Silently, he held out his right hand. The action answered her question, so she raised her left hand and threw the bills at his face. The money smacked him in the face and fluttered to the ground. When she walked away, she tried to block out the thumping bass of the club’s music.

“Don’t you ever come back here, *****!” Marcus yelled, his voice loud and clear despite the music.

Verde grabbed her bag and her keys from behind the bar area and brushed right past the owner. She flipped him her middle finger and he overturned one of the club’s smaller tables, sending salt and pepper shakers to the floor. Verde was still crying, but her sadness had been tinged with anger.

“Coke head!”

Verde slammed the door behind her and held her free hand up to the doorman. He’d been about to scold her for her behavior, but she didn’t want to hear it, not from a pudgy man masquerading as security. She stuffed the bills into her bag and marched down the street, half-frozen from the cold and the wind. People gave her weird looks for walking around in short shorts and a button-up white shirt, but she’d left her clothes behind. She wasn’t about to spend one more second in that seedy place.

She was fine. She didn’t need some jerk calling her out on her hobbies. She wasn’t some back-alley addict. She was classy! She could have stopped plenty of times; she chose to keep using. She had one last option, one she had scoffed at on many an occasion. The Kit Kat. It was supposed to be a nice place, but those were rumors. Still, she had nothing left to lose, unless she counted her bag of belongings and her life.

“Hey,” she called out to a young man. “You never seen a lady before? Where’s the Kit Kat? And don’t give me that **** about you don’t know where it is. We both know you do.” She snapped at the man and he stuttered out a response, something about it being down the street.

Thanks.

The word was an afterthought, but she meant it and he heard it. Sliding the strap of her bag further up on her shoulder, she changed directions and headed toward Redwood. Her head down, Verde watched her high heels connect with the pavement. It was a short walk and she took quick steps, so she reached her destination in no time at all. When she saw the front of the business, her heart fluttered in her chest.

The Kit Kat looked nice, so much nicer than her last place of employment. There were hardwood floors and plush furniture, not cheap wooden chairs and concrete floors. Standing just inside the doorway of the establishment, she felt naked and all too alone. Who was she supposed to talk to about working at the Kit Kat?

[Yekaterina Ostrovsky]

Tap tap tap.

There it was again, that incessant knocking. What was it, the blonde wondered, about a somewhat-warm body in the office that opened the floodgates for one issue after another? It wasn't as if she didn't check in every single night. As if Lex didn't check in nearly as often. But the nights she stayed to actually work usually saw some unanticipated level of activity. As if everything, the very universe, waited for that very moment to wreak havoc down upon her. One particular order didn't come in on time. A shitty tipper was getting handsy with one of the girls, despite her twice-repeated warnings. Worse, a well-known politician got caught passed out in the VIP room by a member of the press, whom she'd had to silence quickly with a surreptitious bite, lest her club be plastered front and center on the next day's paper. There was such a thing as bad press, no matter how the saying went. And various other little incidents and nonsense throughout the course of the evening. She could tell already who it was, before she sighed, removed her earbuds once again, and settled back in her seat to call "Come in, Jake."

The large male shifted uncomfortably, seemingly knowing even before she pinched the bridge of her nose that he was bordering on one interruption too many, though she was pleased to see he was getting less and less hesitant to bother her with these things, mundane though they may be. And annoying. But it was all part and parcel of a business such as this, she supposed, and so, masking over her general sense of displeasure, she waved the trusted security guard inside. At the very least, it was a distraction from the desire to wallow in the little wave of misery that had threatened to envelope her more than once throughout the long days and nights in the wake of Rafe's death. True death. For ****'s sake. She wasn't even certain visiting him in the Fade was an option, but she would try to find out. Some night, when it wasn't quite so raw.

"Did you or Mr. Nabokov hire a new dancer, Ms. Ostrovsky?" Jake asked quietly, apparently unsure how to ask in any which way if she was doing her job properly. She pursed her lips and let the implications of the question go - for now - in favor of shaking her head. "No. Not to my knowledge, why?"

"There's a young lady waiting at the front door, looking a little lost. I wanted to ask you first before I approached or sent her packing. I know you like to meet with them before their first night and all, but she isn't... dressed for it, and there's no one new on the calendar."

At this, Katya rose to her designer-heel-clad feet as her gaze turned toward the bank of flat-screen security monitors along the wall, and nodded. "I don't know who she is, but I'll take anything to break this night up," she admitted with a small smirk. "Take me to her, please."

Jake nodded, holding the door for her, and together, they made their way to the front of the club, nodding to clients as she passed. As soon as Katya spotted the girl, the tall, slender blonde made her way closer with a neutral, no-nonsense look upon her face. No, the girl was clearly not dressed in much of anything at all, and, if the shoes were anything to go on, had come from one of the other, seedier places, nearby.

"Can I help you?"

[Verde (DELETED 5840)]

Verde thought she saw someone slip out of the room, but the lighting wasn’t the best and her eyes had yet to adjust. Besides, she thought to herself, she was too busy enjoying the ambiance. Imagine if she worked in such a place! She had to work there; no questioning her resolution. She felt the stirring of a deep determination, a feeling she hadn’t felt in quite a while.

Someone was talking, but she didn’t think the person addressed her, not when she was new to the building. She continued looking over the place, lost in her thoughts. Being so short, she truly felt as if she blended into the setting. When her eyes finally settled on the blonde woman, Verde had to check to either side to make sure someone else wasn’t standing around.

“Yeah,” she stated, squaring her shoulders. “My name’s Verde. I’m looking for a job. Don’t pay attention to this,” she spoke and motioned to her clothing, “I didn’t think I’d be here tonight.”

Deep down, she had to wonder if she’d blown the first impression. Then again, she was desperate and she didn’t have the time or money to go home and cry her eyes out over her sudden unemployment. She could have slipped into the bathrooms to change, but she wanted far away from that dump. Marcus. What had she ever seen in that jerk?

Shifting on her feet, she tightened her grip on the strap of her bag. Of course she just had to run into someone important before she had a minute to straighten her hair or collect herself. She probably stunk of cheap perfume and sweat. Quickly, she brushed the back of her knuckles over her cheekbones to try and wipe some of the mascara off her face. She forgot she’d been crying. She blushed at all the worries and avoided making eye contact. She wouldn’t hire some half-naked woman that waltzed in off the street, looking like she’d seen one too many backseats.

“Look, I just lost my job. My boss was all in my business and I don’t take verbal harassment. I can dance. I can be whatever you need here. Classy? You got it. Polite? Done. I’ll open the door, I’ll serve drinks. Anything.”

Verde hated the fact that she sounded so desperate, but she was desperate. She just cut herself off before she launched into a whole list of possible jobs. She preferred dancing. She was good at dancing. But if the woman before her needed another position filled, Verde wasn’t going to be picky. She teetered a little in her heels and quickly regained her balance, entirely too uncomfortable with her word vomit.

[Yekaterina Ostrovsky]

Katya watched the human woman with an appraising eye, even as the rest of her senses slithered out to play. The stripper (because she was, at that point, no more than a stripper, until Katya had anything to do with it) had some sort of drug in her system, that much was obvious to at the least the predator amongst the three gathered in her entryway. Her nose wrinkled with the sharp scent lacing the air along with everything else the woman carried over with her from the seedy place she'd come from. A brow slowly arched as Verde spoke; alright. At least she had balls. She didn't give two shits how she was dressed, even if that little telltale grip on her purse strap was a bit of a giveaway as to her level of awkward. But she kept her cool, her prideful attitude, and even the polished perfectionist that was Katya had to be slightly impressed.

The blonde allowed Jake to stay for a few moments; after all, appearances were everything. And if this woman, or her former boss, decided to pull something... well. It wouldn't do for Katya to be the one to bring them to heel, let alone take them out with an ease that would belie her current stature within Harper Rock's society. And with the hurried way this woman had shown up, the Killer had every reason to believe she'd left her prior place of employment in a huff, likely leaving more than one pissed off person in her wake, which usually might spell trouble for the next hapless employer. Her lips pursed slightly as she considered this, before she abruptly snapped her fingers in her typical no-nonsense manner. If the woman was good at what she did, then it might be worth the potential for trouble, though Katya had a few conditions before she agreed to anything.

"Yekaterina Ostrovsky. Come. I'll show you around. You listen. At the end of our little tour, you decide if this is a place you want to be."

A quick text was sent to Alexei,out of respect more than expectation - they trusted one another implicitly with all things business-related, but she knew he liked to interview new talent himself:

Possible new dancer here at Kit Kat. Very interesting. Come down if you want to meet her, etc.

And with that, she turned, and waited expectantly upon the woman's reply.