06-08-2015, 06:16 PM
It was the sirens that woke Belle up. In this part of Coruscant, they were as regular as clockwork. Belle found she rarely needed her alarm anymore.
Stirring, Belle curled up a little tighter under her synthweave covers. Her apartment – little more than a single room with an adjoining closet-sized bath – was dimly illuminated by pale green light that filtered in through horizontal slats above her bed. The flickering lights of passing emergency vehicles colored the opposite wall. Belle reached out, fumbling for the timepiece on her bedside table. Finding it, she rotated it around. 8:17pm.
Yawning, she pushed the covers down and sat up. She stretched, her back arching like a cat, reaching one hand high into the air. The bed was far from fancy, but at just that moment, it felt like a warm cocoon. Reluctantly, she pulled her legs out, swung them over, and stood up.
The paint on the walls was chipped and cracked, spiderwebbing across the room. The carpet was marked with the legacy of the previous tenants: stains, here and there the burn mark of a cigarra, and something she really hoped was not the remains of a puddle of blood. Clad in a loose-fitting shirt and panties, Belle slouched to the screen controls. The slats opened wide, and she squinted as more of the neon green light from the club sign across the street came flooding in. The night was just getting started – only a few people were lined up in front of the Midnight Rose.
Belle keyed the slats back to their default position and yawned again as she made her way to the refresher, dumping her clothes along the way. The sonistream shower was low-tech by Coruscant standards, but for her it was a little slice of heaven, and she luxuriated in the steamy spray for far longer than was necessary for simple cleanliness. Stepping out, she wrapped herself in a towel, dried and brushed her long hair, and sat on the toilet cover to run a laser shaver across her legs and arms. It was nearly nine by the time she left the refresher.
Like most things from the club, the outfit was in poor taste. Belle couldn't be sure, but she suspected it had at least partially been modeled on the outfits of the flight hostesses up on Tier 1. Instead of the dignified air those projected, however, this was clearly designed with another purpose. The skirt ended uncomfortably close to her ass, and the top buttons of her shirt weren't just not supposed to be done up, but had been removed entirely. Over the latter came the green jacket, hem ending a few inches above the waist, a crimson rose embroidered onto the left breast. Belle worked on the nylons that ended halfway up her thigh, slipped her feet into the heeled boots, and inspected herself in the mirror. She felt gross. In other words, it was almost perfect.
The finishing touch was the hat. The stewardess cap went on, and the plastic rose that sprang from the top drooped to one side.
Sighing, Belle double checked to make sure she still had her entrance pass and left. Her heels clacked, echoing as she made her way down the stairs. There was an elevator, but after the machinery decided groaning the previous week, she'd decided to get in a little more exercise. Reaching the bottom, she made her way across the lanes of traffic. The glowing sign towered above her as she approached, the single red flower in the middle of the 'o' in ROSE burning bright. As gaudy as it was, it was hardly the only one – rows of similar signs illuminated the darkness, stretching in either direction in a rainbow of vibrant colors.
The bouncer that night was a Krogan. The red reptilian eyes followed her she walked by, shadowed under the giant headplate of the bipedal turtle-like humanoid. “Hi, Rex,” she said. The krogran grunted, which was more than most other people got. She figured he must have developed a soft spot for her after she screamed the first time she saw him. The krogan had had a good laugh, then.
Moving past the front door, she wrapped around into the small alleyway between the Rose and the next door motel. Down a short flight of steps, she knocked at a durasteel door. The two cameras high on either side of the portal whirred, focusing on her. There was a moment's pause, then a buzzer and a solid click as the lock released. Belle pushed the door open and stepped inside.
She wasn't sure she would ever get used to the smell. Even backstage the club reeked, flavored cigarra smoke, alcohol and sweat combining into a sickly melange. The red carpeted hallway beyond the door branched off into several open rooms. Wide mirrors perched above counter tops, all in a row, waiting for the girls to apply their makeup. Some of the seats were occupied, and she felt a few eyes flicker in her direction as she passed. She took some solace in that, no matter how ridiculous her costume was, at least she never had to do what they did.
The last door on the left was closed, leading into the waiting area behind the stage. She passed it, going to the end of the corridor. A door with a gold rose for a handle waited. She knocked.
“Come.”
The rectangular office was warmly lit, the reliefs on its wood-paneled walls outlined in light and shadow. The carpet continued, though now absent of any hint of a defect, and the pale green ceiling arched like the roof of a cathedral. A dark wood desk stood at the far end, facing two excruciatingly plush armchairs.
The man behind the desk reclined back. Even in that position, his head came even with her's. His floral patterned shirt was open, only the last few buttons done, exposing a wide cut of his bronze, muscled chest. His suit jacket, custom tailored (she knew because he had gone out of his way to point it out), hung comfortably across his broad shoulders. He had short, thick, pale wheat hair, and a sharp nose. His jade right eye peered at her, the left shrouded behind the dark glass of an eyepiece. It was supposed to be some sort of media/computer interface, but to her it looked like someone had got halfway through making a pair of sunglasses and just said 'fuck it.'
His name – at least the name he gave to everyone – was Jack. And as usual, he was smiling.
“Ah, it's you,” he said. “But ... you're a little early, aren't you?”
She held his gaze for a few moments, then he shrugged. “Well, I suppose that's no problem.” Jack gestured to one of the seats. Belle accepted the offer. The fabric seemed to enfold her, adjusting to her weight until it felt like she was sitting on a cloud. “I'm not going to discourage punctuality in my employees, after all.”
Jack opened a drawer in his deck and reached down to rummage through the contents. Belle's gaze to the walls on either side. The reliefs depicted a man that looked suspiciously like Jack standing atop a writhing mountain of people – mostly women – who were reaching up towards him.
“Ah,” he said, pulling out a stack of papers. “Here we go.” He put up his other hand as she started to rise. “Hey now, why the rush?” He grinned. “Take it easy.”
Belle paused, her hands on the arms of the chair, then sagged back. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.
Jack set the stack on the desk. “What is it, darling?”
“Why use these?” she pointed to the invitations, each one a free admittance to the club. The smile on Jack's face faded. “I mean, I'm not saying I know more or anything,” she added. “But isn't there a more... I don't know... a more 'high tech' way of doing things?”
The green eye fixed on her, staring. Then, abruptly, the smile was back. “You're right, there are easier ways to do it.” He gestured to the air, as if swatting away an annoying insect. “Spam in someone's mail server. Ads on the dataverse. You could even leave them smacked straight in front of their doorsteps. But they lack two things!” He held up his index and middle fingers. “One, immediacy. You have to break through their comfort zone. When a Rose Girl hands them an invitation, it's not some anonymous machine shoving it at them. It's not faceless. It's personal.” He curled his middle finger in. “And two, temptation.”
That green eye trailed down her outfit. “When they see a Rose Girl, they think: maybe I'll meet that girl there. Maybe all I have to do is go. It's free, after all, and maybe, just maybe, I'll get to see more. You understand?”
Belle nodded.
Jack chuckled. “Good girl. It's a Second eat Second verse out there. We have to stick together, right?” He picked up the stack of invitations again, holding them up for her. Belle pushed herself out of the chair and walked around the desk to retrieve them.
As soon as she did, she felt the unwelcome weight of Jack's hand against her back. “Go get me lots of customers, ya?”
He cackled as she pulled away and left the room, shutting the door quickly behind her. She was aware of a pain in her palm, and she belatedly realized her hand had curled into a tight fist. Her fingers loosened and she shook her hand, examining the angry red marks where her nails had been. No blood, at least.
As she walked back towards the alley door, a girl stepped out of the dressing room on her right. Taller than Belle by about a foot, she had bright, almost white blonde hair, cut short and off the neck, locks sweeping down to cover one half of her face. If the sweat and the fact that she was only wearing a g-string was anything to go by, she – Lily – had just got off stage.
“Oh!” The woman blinked, then smiled. “Hi, Belle.” Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. “Just starting?”
Belle nodded, trying to remain neutral. Lily must have seen something in her face, though, because her purple eyes flicked over Belle's shoulder to the door to Jack's office. “Did something happen?”
Belle explained what happened. “That sleazeball,” Lily shook her head. “Why didn't you hit him?”
“Are you joking?” Belle balked. “I barely make enough omnilium to live where I am.”
“Girl, if you keep thinking like that... Well,” Lily trailed off. She folded her arms under her chest. Belle suspected implants, but was too polite to ask. “Someday, you'll end up on that stage right next to me. Understand?”
“I-... that... I guess I do.”
Lily smiled, leaning over. “You know, I thought there was something special about you. When you attacked those guys harassing me? I thought: I've never seen someone so brave and so stupid.” She reached out as if to touch Belle's hair then, apparently, thought better of it. She stood back up. “You better get started. You know how Jack gets, sometimes.”
Belle nodded, waved goodbye, and headed out to do her rounds. “Not that stupid,” she grumbled as the door closed behind her. The sagging rose on her hat bobbed as she mounted the stairs and headed out onto the neon-lit streets.
Stirring, Belle curled up a little tighter under her synthweave covers. Her apartment – little more than a single room with an adjoining closet-sized bath – was dimly illuminated by pale green light that filtered in through horizontal slats above her bed. The flickering lights of passing emergency vehicles colored the opposite wall. Belle reached out, fumbling for the timepiece on her bedside table. Finding it, she rotated it around. 8:17pm.
Yawning, she pushed the covers down and sat up. She stretched, her back arching like a cat, reaching one hand high into the air. The bed was far from fancy, but at just that moment, it felt like a warm cocoon. Reluctantly, she pulled her legs out, swung them over, and stood up.
The paint on the walls was chipped and cracked, spiderwebbing across the room. The carpet was marked with the legacy of the previous tenants: stains, here and there the burn mark of a cigarra, and something she really hoped was not the remains of a puddle of blood. Clad in a loose-fitting shirt and panties, Belle slouched to the screen controls. The slats opened wide, and she squinted as more of the neon green light from the club sign across the street came flooding in. The night was just getting started – only a few people were lined up in front of the Midnight Rose.
Belle keyed the slats back to their default position and yawned again as she made her way to the refresher, dumping her clothes along the way. The sonistream shower was low-tech by Coruscant standards, but for her it was a little slice of heaven, and she luxuriated in the steamy spray for far longer than was necessary for simple cleanliness. Stepping out, she wrapped herself in a towel, dried and brushed her long hair, and sat on the toilet cover to run a laser shaver across her legs and arms. It was nearly nine by the time she left the refresher.
Like most things from the club, the outfit was in poor taste. Belle couldn't be sure, but she suspected it had at least partially been modeled on the outfits of the flight hostesses up on Tier 1. Instead of the dignified air those projected, however, this was clearly designed with another purpose. The skirt ended uncomfortably close to her ass, and the top buttons of her shirt weren't just not supposed to be done up, but had been removed entirely. Over the latter came the green jacket, hem ending a few inches above the waist, a crimson rose embroidered onto the left breast. Belle worked on the nylons that ended halfway up her thigh, slipped her feet into the heeled boots, and inspected herself in the mirror. She felt gross. In other words, it was almost perfect.
The finishing touch was the hat. The stewardess cap went on, and the plastic rose that sprang from the top drooped to one side.
Sighing, Belle double checked to make sure she still had her entrance pass and left. Her heels clacked, echoing as she made her way down the stairs. There was an elevator, but after the machinery decided groaning the previous week, she'd decided to get in a little more exercise. Reaching the bottom, she made her way across the lanes of traffic. The glowing sign towered above her as she approached, the single red flower in the middle of the 'o' in ROSE burning bright. As gaudy as it was, it was hardly the only one – rows of similar signs illuminated the darkness, stretching in either direction in a rainbow of vibrant colors.
The bouncer that night was a Krogan. The red reptilian eyes followed her she walked by, shadowed under the giant headplate of the bipedal turtle-like humanoid. “Hi, Rex,” she said. The krogran grunted, which was more than most other people got. She figured he must have developed a soft spot for her after she screamed the first time she saw him. The krogan had had a good laugh, then.
Moving past the front door, she wrapped around into the small alleyway between the Rose and the next door motel. Down a short flight of steps, she knocked at a durasteel door. The two cameras high on either side of the portal whirred, focusing on her. There was a moment's pause, then a buzzer and a solid click as the lock released. Belle pushed the door open and stepped inside.
She wasn't sure she would ever get used to the smell. Even backstage the club reeked, flavored cigarra smoke, alcohol and sweat combining into a sickly melange. The red carpeted hallway beyond the door branched off into several open rooms. Wide mirrors perched above counter tops, all in a row, waiting for the girls to apply their makeup. Some of the seats were occupied, and she felt a few eyes flicker in her direction as she passed. She took some solace in that, no matter how ridiculous her costume was, at least she never had to do what they did.
The last door on the left was closed, leading into the waiting area behind the stage. She passed it, going to the end of the corridor. A door with a gold rose for a handle waited. She knocked.
“Come.”
The rectangular office was warmly lit, the reliefs on its wood-paneled walls outlined in light and shadow. The carpet continued, though now absent of any hint of a defect, and the pale green ceiling arched like the roof of a cathedral. A dark wood desk stood at the far end, facing two excruciatingly plush armchairs.
The man behind the desk reclined back. Even in that position, his head came even with her's. His floral patterned shirt was open, only the last few buttons done, exposing a wide cut of his bronze, muscled chest. His suit jacket, custom tailored (she knew because he had gone out of his way to point it out), hung comfortably across his broad shoulders. He had short, thick, pale wheat hair, and a sharp nose. His jade right eye peered at her, the left shrouded behind the dark glass of an eyepiece. It was supposed to be some sort of media/computer interface, but to her it looked like someone had got halfway through making a pair of sunglasses and just said 'fuck it.'
His name – at least the name he gave to everyone – was Jack. And as usual, he was smiling.
“Ah, it's you,” he said. “But ... you're a little early, aren't you?”
She held his gaze for a few moments, then he shrugged. “Well, I suppose that's no problem.” Jack gestured to one of the seats. Belle accepted the offer. The fabric seemed to enfold her, adjusting to her weight until it felt like she was sitting on a cloud. “I'm not going to discourage punctuality in my employees, after all.”
Jack opened a drawer in his deck and reached down to rummage through the contents. Belle's gaze to the walls on either side. The reliefs depicted a man that looked suspiciously like Jack standing atop a writhing mountain of people – mostly women – who were reaching up towards him.
“Ah,” he said, pulling out a stack of papers. “Here we go.” He put up his other hand as she started to rise. “Hey now, why the rush?” He grinned. “Take it easy.”
Belle paused, her hands on the arms of the chair, then sagged back. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.
Jack set the stack on the desk. “What is it, darling?”
“Why use these?” she pointed to the invitations, each one a free admittance to the club. The smile on Jack's face faded. “I mean, I'm not saying I know more or anything,” she added. “But isn't there a more... I don't know... a more 'high tech' way of doing things?”
The green eye fixed on her, staring. Then, abruptly, the smile was back. “You're right, there are easier ways to do it.” He gestured to the air, as if swatting away an annoying insect. “Spam in someone's mail server. Ads on the dataverse. You could even leave them smacked straight in front of their doorsteps. But they lack two things!” He held up his index and middle fingers. “One, immediacy. You have to break through their comfort zone. When a Rose Girl hands them an invitation, it's not some anonymous machine shoving it at them. It's not faceless. It's personal.” He curled his middle finger in. “And two, temptation.”
That green eye trailed down her outfit. “When they see a Rose Girl, they think: maybe I'll meet that girl there. Maybe all I have to do is go. It's free, after all, and maybe, just maybe, I'll get to see more. You understand?”
Belle nodded.
Jack chuckled. “Good girl. It's a Second eat Second verse out there. We have to stick together, right?” He picked up the stack of invitations again, holding them up for her. Belle pushed herself out of the chair and walked around the desk to retrieve them.
As soon as she did, she felt the unwelcome weight of Jack's hand against her back. “Go get me lots of customers, ya?”
He cackled as she pulled away and left the room, shutting the door quickly behind her. She was aware of a pain in her palm, and she belatedly realized her hand had curled into a tight fist. Her fingers loosened and she shook her hand, examining the angry red marks where her nails had been. No blood, at least.
As she walked back towards the alley door, a girl stepped out of the dressing room on her right. Taller than Belle by about a foot, she had bright, almost white blonde hair, cut short and off the neck, locks sweeping down to cover one half of her face. If the sweat and the fact that she was only wearing a g-string was anything to go by, she – Lily – had just got off stage.
“Oh!” The woman blinked, then smiled. “Hi, Belle.” Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. “Just starting?”
Belle nodded, trying to remain neutral. Lily must have seen something in her face, though, because her purple eyes flicked over Belle's shoulder to the door to Jack's office. “Did something happen?”
Belle explained what happened. “That sleazeball,” Lily shook her head. “Why didn't you hit him?”
“Are you joking?” Belle balked. “I barely make enough omnilium to live where I am.”
“Girl, if you keep thinking like that... Well,” Lily trailed off. She folded her arms under her chest. Belle suspected implants, but was too polite to ask. “Someday, you'll end up on that stage right next to me. Understand?”
“I-... that... I guess I do.”
Lily smiled, leaning over. “You know, I thought there was something special about you. When you attacked those guys harassing me? I thought: I've never seen someone so brave and so stupid.” She reached out as if to touch Belle's hair then, apparently, thought better of it. She stood back up. “You better get started. You know how Jack gets, sometimes.”
Belle nodded, waved goodbye, and headed out to do her rounds. “Not that stupid,” she grumbled as the door closed behind her. The sagging rose on her hat bobbed as she mounted the stairs and headed out onto the neon-lit streets.
Uh oh. Those boys got me all tingly...
![[Image: ezgif-1-a370e630e1.gif]](https://s7.postimg.cc/elmiaogd7/ezgif-1-a370e630e1.gif)
I must calm it.
I must calm it.