Hello! We are Cat and Bee from RusCanWonderland on Tumblr.
Disclaimers, Notes & Warnings:
We do not own Hetalia or any characters within.
Warnings: prostitution, drug use, drugs, murder, illegal activity
Notes: Q is a drug that is extracted in a rather potent form from the mouths of the dead drug addicts. This process is inspired by Repo! The Genetic Opera and the Zydrate extraction method used by the graverobbers. Other than that, there is no reference to the musical. Q was also a randomly chosen letter in case someone wants to attack the name of the drug.
Beyond the gleam of bright city lights and glittering skyscrapers full of celebrities and wealthy elite lies the part of the city that used to be secret and dark and secluded. The once mysterious and alluring painted lights of the Red District that was once sparse and secretive, now gleamed every hour of the day and night on the outer bands of the city. There were some little villages of Red, pockets of underworld folk creeping on almost every corner where the street lights shone less and the alleys grew darker. The Red District was a desperate, velvety world that stretched its painted fingers anywhere it could reach just to try and get a little extra something.
But those that wander into the charming, sweet smelling streets of Red are welcomed by gentle hands and inviting smiles, eyes and faces perfectly painted with an array of looks and personalities that could suit anyone's needs. The prostitutes that were the entire heartbeat of Red were both male and female, but were chameleons; masters of disguise and expert at lies. Raised since birth to be bedroom actors and pretty little companions to high paying clients, the prostitutes of Red could be anything anyone wanted them to be.
And in that sense; they tended to lose themselves.
Stepping out of squeaky back door that led into the infamous Satine Rouge Club, a prostitute that one would never be able to tell if it were male or female paused, a ghost white hand reaching down to fix the heel strap of a pair of slinky black pumps. The figure glanced each way along the wet alley before crossing into another building, a dormitory of sorts where the smell of perfume and incense was strong. The prostitute hurried up two flights of stairs before pushing into a room decorated in old newspaper clippings and magazine cut outs.
Strawberry gold curls tumbled down a white neck as the figure readjusted in a lit vanity mirror, hands pushing at petite breasts that at closer inspection weren't real and was only part of the costume that in seconds was being pulled off. A knock on the door didn't startle the sole occupant of the room as a red outfit replaced the black.
"Long night, Mattie?"
Head tilting to offer a red little smile, Matthew straightened and moved like silk across his little room to sit in front of his vanity. "Of course, Toris, every night the same~" he hummed, sounding tired but purring every word he said. It was part of his make up, his mask and routine that kept him sane and alive.
Matthew wasn't entirely sure if this is what he called living.
His room mate smiled in that understanding, sickeningly sweet way that Matthew swore would get Toris murdered one day before the brunet moved to bend and peer at his own reflection in the mirror.
"Make sure to eat."
"I can't eat before sex, Toris. The Q will make me nauseous," Matthew hummed as he reapplied mascara that made his blue eyes look even bigger, even wider and dare he say innocent. Matthew didn't know if he was ever innocent but he figured if anyone could pretend to be, it was him.
Toris didn't say much else as he crawled into bed to rest after a day shift as Matthew touched up the rest of his face, his mask before he pulled open a tiny drawer and lifted out a small pill tin. The top was old, a faded picture of the rolling sea chipped and cracked as nimble fingers reached inside and dabbed at the velvety red powder on the inside. The drug was illegal, highly so, but it was the only thing that helped to put Matthew in a different state of mind while worked.
He dabbed the drug on the inside of his bottom lip, the taste cringe worthy but he was used to it. It stained his teeth slightly pink until he took a swig of warm champagne that he had started on earlier in the evening before getting up and heading back across the street.
He smiled and laughed in the ears of patrons; he sat in laps and toyed his fingers down collars and didn't stop hands that crept up his thighs or tugged at the cords holding his outfit together. He was used to their hands, their words, and with the drug infiltrating his mind and nerves, his responses became even more scripted and automatic. Q didn't last long, just long enough for a heated encounter in one of the back rooms before Matthew was swaying to hide limps as he draped himself on the bar, earning a sympathetic smile from the green eyed bartender.
"You okay, luv?"
"I'm fine," Matthew smiled, sweet and passive as ever. "Do you have any spare cherries? The ones for the martinis?"
The bartender smiled, slightly exasperated but not saying so as he bent to pull out a bowl of the ripe, sugared fruits. "Careful, don't eat too fast."
Matthew smiled as he plucked at the red fruit, shoulders slumping as he zoned out for a moment and attempted to ignore the world around him.
A large figure was sitting in a corner beside the bar, a bottle of vodka and a shot glass in hand as he stared out, eyes sweeping over the dancers and prostitutes and all the pretty and slim figures of the night. His eyes were bright violet and his silver hair was slightly unkempt, rarely seeing the treatment of a comb. He wore a thick beige coat, ratty and old, but his shirt and slacks beneath were nice, his black gloves smooth and skin tight against his fingers and palms. It was obvious that he belonged deeper beneath the dirtier section of the city than the Red District, but it was difficult to assess exactly what he did.
His stature was obviously great enough that he could be a gun for hire, but his eyes were sharp with an intelligence that was cunning and cold. His eyes caught sight of Matthew at the bar and he assessed the slender frame with pants and shirt practically tied and painted onto his body.
That one would do.
The man stood and walked over, leaning over and whispering in blonde hair, smelling the wafting scent of Q powder masked only slightly by sweat and perfume. "I need an alibi." He murmured, voice low and thickly accented.
Matthew sat up straighter, his red tinted fingers pulling slowly from between his lips as he tilted his head to peer at the man. He rose an eyebrow, an automatic smirk spreading over his mouth as his eyelids lowered and his neck craned in order to whisper in the stranger's ear.
"And you want me to help you, sweet heart? Are you sure I'm the right,…fit?" he asked, voice purring as he trickled fingertips in fleeting touches down the man's chest before pulling away. His gaze moved over the man, head to toe, and Matthew couldn't say he was disappointed; he wasn't ugly or poorly dressed, so perhaps the man had money.
And that was one thing Matthew needed before he was arrested for lack of paying his taxes and fines; money.
The man nodded. "Yes. Come on." His hand was large and firm, grasping hold of the blonde's arm. "Need anything?" He asked. "If not, you're coming now, so say it now."
"Yes," he immediately murmured, pulling his arm away. Instead, he coiled his hand in the stranger's before pulling him through the crowds and smoke, tossing smiles and little flirtatious kisses at regulars and friends. He tugged the man outside and across the street, telling him to wait against the wall before hurrying upstairs.
"Toris…Jesus, get up," he muttered at his roommate, his fingers flying as he gathered a bag with a couple things of clothes and making sure he grabbed what he had left of his Q. He didn't have much, but he'd attempt to make it last as he tugged what could be considered a jacket on and fixed his hair,…well…attempted to anyway.
The brunet sat up, sleepy and groggy as he peered over at the blonde, waiting for him to explain the sudden urgency. "I'm going with a client. An alibi gig," Matthew hummed, sliding a few more things in the bag before giving the other male a smile.
"Be careful, okay?"
Matthew waved him off, not concerned in the slightest before heading back downstairs and taking a deep breath. He stepped out and tossed the stranger a smile, flirty and sweet. "Sorry…"
The man grunted and nodded, dragging Matthew down the alley and to a car, a compact, silver thing that was conservative and casual, something that blended nicely in with every layer of the city. He shoved the blonde into the car and slammed the door shut before he got in on his side, buckling in and starting the engine. "What's your name? Your real name, not your stage." The older male's tone was calm but strict and demanded a propmt answer. He wasn't someone to dance around a topic. "And tell me those lips are makeup."
The man didn't honestly care, but he didn't want to have to keep a careful eye on his stores.
Matthew smirked as he tilted his head to peer out of the window, a finger coming up to his mouth to run on the red tint he knew was on his lips. "I don't want to lie to you this early on, darling, so no. They aren't makeup," he told him, not proud of it, but not one to be ashamed.
People took Q for reasons and rarely for pleasure, Matthew was just another user in the crowd. "And I'm Matthew…though you can call me whatever you want," he purred softly, head tilting into his palm so he could easily cradle his cheek and peer at the man beside him.
"Matvey, alright." The man flicked his blinker on. He was a careful driver for a reason, not suspiciously careful, but careful enough that police officers rarely looked at him twice. "Age?" He turned into a mall area. "You need clothes to cover that barcode, come on."
The mall was crowded and it was difficult to find a parking space but Ivan managed it, closing the door and opening Matthew's. "Come on."
The older male led Matthew through the mall, finding decent clothes, skinny jeans and nice sweaters and even a pair of false glasses for the blonde, building up an image and talking with Matthew as they went.
"Your name is Matthew Williams, you've been studying literature, but are taking a year off of college before you graduate to relax. You and I have been dating for six months, you've been living with me for three." The older male shoved a pile of clothes at the blonde and ushered him into a changing room. "Try these on." As he leaned against the door he continued to speak, the nearly empty store giving relative privacy. "I'm a pharmacist in a small drug store, you don't know the location, but I usually work from one to nine p.m. and don't get home until around ten. Are you decent in there?" The man turned and called, frowning as he listened to movement.
Matthew rolled his eyes as he listened through the door to the man leaning against it. He seemed to have the story pretty fabricated, pretty full of details and believability, that it led him to believe he had been thinking about it for a while. Either that, or he was just a number in a long list of other alibi's.
He slid into a pair of dark, smoky gray jeans before pulling a creamy sweater over his head. He never really dressed this covered up and it felt strange not to see glimpses and peeks of his own bare skin, but he figured he'd easily get used to it. Whatever the part required, right?
He shifted to peer at himself before reaching for the bag that housed his faux glasses. They made his nose feel a little uncomfortable, but they did seem to finish the appearance off nicely. Innocent, mousy, quiet and sweet as .
Opening the door, Matthew peered at the man, giving him a sweet little smile. He took a step out, doing a little turn before hunching his shoulders and ducking his head like a timid little shrew. In a moment, he sat up a little straighter, more natural and flirtatious as he grinned at him. "Sweet enough for you….?" a little frown spread over his lips a moment before he leaned forward slightly.
Ivan gave a snort and lifted Matthew's chin with his finger. "Stand straight, don't slouch, it's unseemly." The man looked over the blonde, ruffled his curls slightly before giving a nod. "Good, get changed and we'll pay for those."
Rolling his eyes, Matthew bat the man's hand away with a huffy little pout before slipping into the dressing room and taking everything off and redressing. He sighed as he tucked a curl behind his ear and rubbed at his lips. It was strange being away from his usual routine and he hated that it was something he'd have to get used to, for now.
He doubted this would last long. Sighing, he gathered the clothes over his arm before exiting the room, not even waiting for the man to walk with him before he moved back onto the sales floor or the store. They paid for the items and Ivan had Matthew dress in his new clothes in the bathroom before they left, the two getting into his car before driving back towards the Red District.
And then further.
The townhouse was relatively nice as far as houses in Skid Row went. There was a basement, two stories, one bedroom and a bathroom, with a living room and mudroom on the bottom floor. Ivan parked his car in a back garage and led Matthew into the house, tapping on the door to the basement. "This door remains closed at all times. I don't give a shit. If I'm in there, you will not open that door, if I'm not in there you will not open that door, you open that door and I will break your arm, do you understand?" His eyes were firm and cold and threatening more than broken bones as the man looked down at the prostitute.
Matthew was silent for a moment before he smiled at the man, sweet and a little dark. "There's no need for threats, darling~" he cooed, leaning to pat the man's arm as he wandered from him. "Keep your secrets, sweetheart, it's not my job to judge you or to pry." Truth was, Matthew was only slightly intrigued. He figured it had to just be something illegal, something that sparked the need for Matthew to be an alibi here in in the first place.
"Good." Ivan turned and led Matthew through the kitchen. "I won't be here most of the day, so if you don't know how to cook order a pizza or something, I'll leave money for groceries and food, if you buy anything you will put the reciept in the jar where the money is." The man rattled said jar, which had a few bills, a few coins, before resting it back on it's place on the counter. "I'll pay you per week, you should be here only a month or so, depending on how long the police are on my ass." The older male turned to nod at Matthew. "Upstairs are a few things that previous alibis left behind, if you don't like something they left, throw it out, if you do, it's yours."
Matthew plastered a smile on his face as he peered at some of the electronics in the kitchen; all fairly normal but nice. He didn't know how to cook a lot, he never had been taught, but the idea intrigued him. He didn't think that experimenting in a client's house where the potential to set fire to it was a good idea so he figured he'd most likely chicken out and go the pizza route. Or frozen foods. The prostitute hummed a teasing "How generous of you~" as he trailed a finger on the rim of the money jar, his head tilting back to peer at the taller male. "It's funny, sugar, but you still have forgotten to tell me what I am exactly supposed to call you…"
The man raised an eyebrow before he spoke. "Ivan. Ivan Braginski." The man didn't offer his hand but he did offer a small nod and a slight smile. "Make yourself at home, this is a long term contract."
Standing quiet for a moment, Matthew hummed before slowly approaching Ivan, cautious but open. He had learned through experience that especially men were different, sometimes temperamental and each one had the potential to react differently. He had been on their angrier sides before and they were dark places Matthew wished to never revisit if he could help it. He teasingly, but lightly, slid his fingers against the man's arm, his body shifting close enough to feel Ivan's body heat. "You know…if there's anything I can do…anything at all to repay you for being so generous, just just have to let me know, right?"
Ivan's eyebrow arched and he sneered. "I'd be lying if I hadn't thought about it." He hand grasped Matthew's wrist and tugged it away. "But I know better that you people are as scripted as a soap opera." He gave the delicate bone a light squeeze before he released Matthew. "I have to go to the police station, there might be someone hanging out around here while I'm gone. Don't let them in without a warrant and don't burn the house down." The man shoved Matthew away lightly, turning and walking out the back door again. "I'll be back around eight if I can make it."