A/N: Just a little something I whipped up in an attempt at getting back into the flow of things.
Also, this was not beta'd since my beta has been in the hospital, and since English isn't my first language any and all mistakes are my own. In fact, I wrote this for her to cheer her up since she hates the place. I just hope it did the trick!
I also took some creative liberties as far CR's significant other is concerned, as well as Beca's looks because, really, I just want to personally be and/or be with someone like this Beca.
Read on, enjoy, and tell me what you though in a review!
Disclaimer: Everything related to Pitch Perfect belongs to Kay Cannon and the Pitch Perfect crew, while "Muse" belongs to OCAD, "Just the Way You Are" belongs to Bruno Mars, "Just a Dream" belongs to Nelly, and the combination of the two belongs to the Pitch Perfect people.
She expected raunchy and cliché, with awful music and sleazy men lying about with blank eyes and disgusting smiles painted on their faces.
Instead, it's dark and surprisingly classy. The music is soft and the atmosphere is calm in this black and white setting. She's delighted to note that there are no cheap neon lights anywhere in sight.
She doesn't see any scantily clad women walking around in trashy, floss-like string disguised as underwear. In fact, the few ladies she does see walking around are dressed in sexy outfits, yes, but nothing demeaning; the woman she (checks out, admittedly in a shameless way) sees pass her with an empty tray is wearing a tight fitting white shirt and a pair of snug black shorts. So what if the shorts are too short and the shirt's got more open buttons than what you'd see in a regular office? But hey, she looks really comfortable.
(She also notes that the ladies seem to be wearing a teasingly seductive corset-type thing under their white shirts and the idea makes her shiver.)
She decides that if her circumstances are going to force her to be a stripper, then she's okay with it as long as it's here.
She's brought out of her moment of inspecting the club by a silent and lightly frowning Asian woman in the club's uniform who directs her to the bar where she assumes she's meant to wait until it's time for her to meet someone named Aubrey Posen.
She doesn't really pay much attention as she shifts onto a bar stool, picking at her nails absently in her nervous state before she lets the music calm her down a little, singing quietly along with Bruno Mars' "Just the Way You Are" when a voice behind her surprises her.
"What's your poison, Red?"
She jumps, startled, and squeaks embarrassingly as she registers the person who spoke up – the bartender. She's vaguely aware that the tune of "Just a Dream" has weaved its way into the Bruno Mars song and she's intrigued. She's making a mental note to ask about the music when she's ensnared by the deepest, steeliest navy blue eyes she's ever seen, framed by heavy eyeliner and swimming with amusement that really makes them pop.
A glint of something metallic tears her eyes up and her attention is drawn, like a moth to a flame, to a sharp if small rod of shiny metal piercing through the creamy pale skin above and under a perfectly shaped eyebrow, which is currently quirked up at her in expectation. Her brain catches up and her eyes seem to come out of their tunnel vision state that had her focused on this person's eyes – this woman, she notes – and she's startled again because this woman is gorgeous…
She's not sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn't a petite but stunning woman with soft-looking brown waves pulled into a tight and high ponytail. Her eyes do that thing again where they roam of their own free accord and she notes several more piercings in the woman's ears, most notably a menacing earspike rammed through her left ear's cartilage. Her mouth is left unattractively slack as her eyes travel down an angular jawline and along the contours of the pale skin of the brunette's throat and neck, and dropping down into the open cleavage of the woman's sleeveless black button up before her brain short circuits and she realizes she's being a pervert. Her eyes snap up to look at a seemingly safer body part as she starts looking up along the bartender's arms. And that's how she notices a bunch of tattoos peppered here and there – a grasshopper, headphones, and a line of text is all she makes out for the time being – her eyes stopping at the hints of ink she sees peeking out from under the shirt at the brunette's shoulder. She finds that she's really internally frustrated because what little she can see of the tattoo doesn't give her even the tiniest bit of a clue of what it might be.
She also realizes that she's ridiculously attracted to this woman right now and the only exchange they've had so far is the brunette asking her about poison.
(No, she's not counting the creepy staring while her jaw hangs wide open thing she's doing.)
It doesn't help her case any that those intense, penetrating eyes keep trapping her in their sight and paralyzing her brain.
She blushes inexplicably as her eyes finally make it back to the woman's face and she catches sight of the amused smirk teasingly tilting one side of the bartender's lips up. That pierced eyebrow climbs even higher and her mouth goes dry.
So she licks her lips slowly, and suppresses her shiver as she notes the bartender's dark eyes follow the progression of her tongue, catching on every pause and obediently falling back in line to watch the rest of the motion. She counts the bartender's smirk faltering as a win for her.
Then the woman is looking her straight in the eyes and she's got the vocabulary and motor skills of a dead slug.
She idly thinks to herself that there's nothing straight about this entire situation.
Her lack of verbal responses has the bartender trying again, this time wondering if she even speaks English.
"No English?"
Nothing.
"Yes English?"
More unattractive blank staring.
"Just tell me where you are with English…"
She finally snaps out of it, letting the brunette know – in a shaky, broken teenage-boy-going-through-puberty voice, embarrassingly enough – that she's here to meet with someone about a job and that it's probably unprofessional to be interviewed with alcohol on her breath.
"Ah. You're here to see Aubrey."
There's that damn smirk and raised eyebrow again. And she was just getting her body to function again.
She watches the brunette turn to the rows of booze behind her and look for something, her heart unhealthily skipping at least five beats as she sees a feather dissolving into birds tattooed right behind the woman's ear because can this woman get any hotter…
She's brought back to the here and now – which she's not sure is a good thing anyway – by the woman turning back around with two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila that looks like it could knock out an elephant if taken lightly.
"Here, you'll need this."
She watches the bartender's hands as she pours the two shots and replaces the bottle on the bar top within reach. She makes note of the fact that the woman's fingers are really long, and that they're probably really fun and good in be-
She quickly downs the shot, the burn in her throat no match for the one she feels everywhere else in her body. The bartender is laughing as she lifts the other shot to her own lips, knocking it back without faltering.
She's thankful that the woman on the other side of the bar has the good sense to pour them seconds because the brunette's laugh is still banging and rattling around in her mind and its low, silky seductiveness is doing nothing to quell the heat burning like wildfire just under the seams of her skin.
She hopes that the tequila will fix that as she downs the second shot.
It doesn't help, but the bartender is pouring them a third so she's hoping that third time's the charm.
She's delighted to note that at least she's loosened up enough to clink their glasses together, and she returns the brunette's flirty smirk with a small smile of her own.
"So what's a pretty girl like you doing in a strip club?"
She decides to play it cool, even if the idea that this ethereal badass angel finds her pretty is doing ridiculous things to her insides.
"You've got plenty of pretty girls walking around."
"Touché. I just meant that you don't strike me as the pretty girl that ends up working in a strip club. More like a dancer. Well, the non-exotic kind anyway."
She's shocked because this woman's got her figured out just by looking at her.
Whenever she meets someone, they always assume she's an art student for reasons she's never understood. Then she tells them about her background and being from a family of high-profile doctors and they naturally shift their assumptions into her being a doctor too. But this woman, a complete stranger, saw right through her and she can't help it but a feeling of… something… swells in her chest and it breaks through the haze and fog of pure lust that had gathered like a storm inside her.
She wants to get to know this woman.
So she sighs and she tells her that,
"Yeah, I am actually. I moved out here to open my own dance studio, but my family doesn't support it, like, at all – they're all doctors and wanted me to be one too – so I'm short on money. Like, I've got none of it. Not even enough to get my own place, so I'm just crashing on an acquaintance's couch until I can afford to get my own place."
She notes the bartender's slight frown before she's drawn back to the woman's lips as they move, the way they form words mesmerizing her.
"An acquaintance? Like, they're not family or even a friend? Wow, that's rough. I hope you get this job- actually I'm pretty confident that you will, and then once you've settled into the family, you can move in with one of us."
She can't help it, her eyebrows lift a little in question as she asks her next question.
"The family? Is this like a mafia strip club or something? Because I'm not looking for that."
The brunette is laughing lightly again as she wipes the bar top with a rag, seemingly just wanting to keep her hands busy. She's noted so far that the bartender's hands seem to always be doing something, otherwise they come off as restless and antsy.
"It's really cheesy, but we are like a family here. It's no regular strip club here; Aubrey started it because she wanted to prove something to her dad – who's a total ass, by the way – and it's just become her baby ever since. She's very protective of everyone here; she runs background checks on the new employees to make sure she's not letting in anyone that could harm the girls – which is why you have to actually interview to be a stripper here – she takes everyone's comments and complaints super seriously too, and tries to make sure we're all comfortable here at all times. She'll never make you do anything you don't like either, so if you're hired and feel like you can't perform just yet, she's more than okay with letting you be part of the waiting staff until you feel you're ready to perform, if you ever feel up to it."
She's looking at the bartender suspiciously, she knows, but what the woman just described sounds too good to be true, there has to be a catch. So she glances back down at their empty shot glasses before looking up at the chuckling brunette across from her.
"Alright, so I tend to tease Bree a lot. Honestly though, she's a really great person and an awesome boss. She's the reason everyone in this building wants to be here. She just happens to be… intense… sometimes. Mostly from the stress of the job and dealing with creeps at all hours of the day and night. Last time she interviewed a guy to be our bouncer, she freaked him out so bad the dude pulled a disappearing act. Literally, he vanished in a cloud of smoke. Later we found out he was really into magic and stuff. It all worked out though, and Benji is now one of our sweetest most caring friends. So yeah, I find it goes a lot easier and better for all the new employees if they've had a shot or two in them before they meet her – that's why Lilly sent you here first."
Her head follows the bartender's nod as she spots the woman that sent her to the bar cleaning a table a few feet away from them. She's barely looked back at the brunette when she's nodding again towards another woman at the other end of the bar; an African-American woman with a clipboard that seems to be counting something under the bar top.
"That's Cynthia-Rose, or just CR. She's a recovering gambler who used to spend a crapton of time here – particularly when she had a bad night at the tables – and she met her, now, wife here. Ruby – CR's wife – used to be one of our performers when they met. She's stopped performing now because they decided to start a family, and Ruby was finally ready to settle down and be a stay-at-home mom. It was actually pretty sweet – not that I would ever admit to describing it as such – because CR was hopelessly in love with Ruby but she never got up the courage to ask her out. Instead she'd just come around and mope until one day Bree and I agreed that I could use an extra hand back here and offered her a job, hoping that would help. Which it did because once they got to know each other better, CR wasted no more time and asked Ruby out and, well, the rest is history as they say."
She smiles as she looks at CR again, her ears still tuned into what the brunette was saying.
"Ruby still visits on weekends, or fills in for CR when she can't make it. That's the kind of environment that Aubrey has created for her staff; we're not her employees, we're her friends and her family."
She's about to say something when a bouncing flurry of brunette motion barrels into the bar, only barely deterred by the barrier as she leans over the top and pulls the woman into a tight hug which looks to be actually physically paining the bartender slightly.
Pulling back, the bartender smiles softly and speaks to the girl, who only looks to be 17 or 18.
"Hey, Em. You know the rules, you can't be out front, so off you go to Bree's- no, head into my office today since Bree's got an interview soon."
The girl looks ready to protest when the bartender's features harden a little.
"No, Emily. You know how Stacie feels about you hanging out here. At least the wait isn't long today; Stacie's going up soon and then you're both free to go afterwards. But for now, you need to head to the back. Go do inventory or something to keep busy. And no going backstage, you'll only distract Stacie and it'll take her that much longer to be done with work."
She watches the young woman, shoulders dropped in defeat, give a small pathetic nod and head somewhere behind a closed door marked Staff Only. She doesn't have to do much aside from turn back to the bartender and look like she wants to ask when the woman across from her volunteers the information.
"That's Emily. She's Stacie's little sister- well, technically, paternal half-sister. She's been staying with Stacie for a few years now ever since she lost her parents in a house fire. She's currently a senior in high school. She tends to come hang out here often and wait for her sister on the days when Stacie's going to get off work early."
She wants to know who Stacie is when she's interrupted by the beginning tunes of OCAD's "Muse" and she starts looking around and towards the stage and dance pole (it's still a strip club, and it needs its props even if it is turning out to be a pretty cool place). The bartender's amused voice draws her attention back to face her, but not before she sees a tall, leggy, busty, and extremely attractive brunette step out to a wave of holler and approval from the crowd of clients she hadn't noticed had gathered.
"And that, is Stacie herself."
She watches the woman in question strut and sway and swagger around in a tight pencil skirt, and a silky button up that she kept teasingly undoing and redoing. She catches a lewd wink thrown their way – causing her to blush a little – before she turns back to the bartender, noting the smirk on the woman's face as she raises another shot towards Stacie on the stage before downing it.
She clears her throat, drawing her- the bartender's attention back to her as she asks whether Stacie does this because she needs the money to support herself and Emily.
"Not at all. Stacie graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Physics, and a Master's degree in something else equally nerdy that I can't pronounce. She was even top of her class and the valedictorian too. No, Stacie works here because she wants to be here, enjoys doing this. She calls it an indefinite sabbatical that will only end whenever she decides she's ready to start working for her PhD."
Her jaw slackens a little and they both turn to silently watch this apparent genius wow the crowd for a while. She has to admit that Stacie has quite the talent, and is a great dancer – exotic or otherwise.
She turns back around when she feels the brunette bartender tap her shoulder and point towards two women making the rounds and serving the drinks that CR has been mixing this entire time. She hadn't even noticed that the brunette had seemingly dropped everything and was focused solely on her.
This knowledge was like someone pouring gasoline onto her lust fire. She was starting to feel feverish.
"The blonde's Jessica, and the brunette's Ashley. They both came in here separately looking for jobs to support themselves with. When they met, they both hit it off right away and have been inseparable ever since. Sometimes, it takes the rest of us a moment to remember which is which. They're currently trying to convince Bree that it's time we branch out. I think they're softening her up too."
She nods thoughtfully, watching the pair interact a little more before she turns back to the bar and helps herself to another shot, not meeting the bartender's entertained eyes.
Something loud and accented draws her eyes back to the front, and she sees a little Latin looking woman gesturing wildly to draw the bartenders' attention, so CR excuses herself and walks over to see what the commotion is about.
"That's Flo. She's from Cuba. I actually came across Flo one night when she tried to sell me- eh, herself. I took her home that night," she smirks as she watches the bartender blush a little and stumble over her words, "not for that. I spent the night talking to her and generally trying to help her. I helped her sort out her shady paperwork too, before getting her a bunch of jobs that would never work out before finally she stormed into the place during lunch and demanded Aubrey hire her. So we did, and things have been great ever since."
Another loud crash makes the bartender frown as she mutters something about a Fat Amy. But CR goes backstage with Flo to investigate, and she spots a tall guy with dark brown hair follow them.
"That's Jesse; he's the other bouncer and Benji's best friend. He, Aubrey, and I are the original owners of this place, before our closest girls became partners too. They're all probably going to check on Fat Amy who's possibly snuck in yet another exotic wild animal which has most likely gotten loose by now. Last time, it was a six foot snake. She called him Steve, after the late Steve Irwin. It didn't seem to matter that the snake was a female either."
She looks around, a little frantic and lifts her legs off the ground, ignoring the bartender's amused chuckle. She absently asks why the snake would be named Steve Irwin. She's casually told that Fat Amy ("You call her Fat Amy?" A shrug, "That's how she introduced herself, so 'twig bitches' like us don't do it behind her back") is Australian.
She nods, looking around at the group of oddballs she hopes to work with soon because she's actually started liking them and would like to get to know them better.
"What about Lilly?"
"Uh, nobody really knows why Lilly's here. Actually, none of us have ever even heard Lilly talk. But she does sick beat boxing so we know she at least has vocal chords. Lilly likes to wait tables mostly and we're all okay with that. She's got that mysterious and kinda scary thing going on too, so nobody bothers her. I've never had to intervene on her behalf before."
She frowns at this and turns back to face the bartender.
"Why would you need to intervene? You've got bouncers and stuff, right? Don't they deal with the problems?"
"They do, but I don't like it when someone bothers my friends. I'm fiercely protective of all the girls, and I've got the kind of temper that usually comes with a mean left hook."
Her eyebrows lift up, challenging and disbelieving when CR comes back at the tail end of that conversation, interrupting.
"Yo, Stepladder, time to show Red here why you've got a criminal record; Bumper's back."
She doesn't know what she's more curious about: who this Bumper guy is, why CR called the bartender 'Stepladder', or what the deal with this criminal record is when the brunette's face flashes and darkens dangerously before she stalks off and… drops roughly a foot down before heading towards the backstage. She turns her confusion on CR, who informs her that the bar is elevated on a platform because the brunette is so short.
Before she knows it, she's cracking up and laughing because how can someone so tiny be badass enough to have grown men scared of her and her apparent "mean left hook." CR doesn't bother commenting, instead she waits then points towards the backstage door the petite brunette walked through just as that Jesse guy comes out, dragging another impish looking guy behind him.
Her laughter dies down when she notices the guy – she's assuming is Bumper – cradling his face, blood oozing out from between his fingers where his nose should be as his eyes screw shut in pain.
The little brunette bartender heads back towards them, shaking out her left hand as she mutters darkly under her breath and wordlessly accepts an ice pack from CR, who cheerfully goes back to serving drinks, like nothing happened.
"Sorry about that. Bumper is Amy's boyfriend, and they're currently not getting along. Amy's asked that we make sure he stays out, but he always somehow weasels his way back in. That's the third time this week we've had to throw his ass out."
She nods, impressed by the level of care and protection she's seen so far.
She also watches in intrigue as CR whispers something to the brunette, the woman rolling her eyes and lifting the ice pack that's hiding a busted knuckle or two to show her fellow bartender. With a stern look from CR, the brunette excuses herself with a huff before she heads to wash and wrap her hand up, returning with another dazzlingly flirty smirk in place.
She smirks back a little and braves the next question.
"What about you, what's your name and story? Or should I just call you Stepladder?"
She's rewarded with another eye roll and a delightful smirk.
"I'm Beca. My story's nothing special. I grew up with Bree and Jesse, and we moved out here together, before we came up with the idea of starting this place – Jesse and I just wanted to spite Bree's dad so we pushed for it to be a strip club – and I'm actually saving up to start my own record label. That track that was playing when you got here, the Bruno Mars and Nelly mix? One of mine. Most of the music we play here is mine, actually, unless the girls have something specific in mind – like when Stacie's got some business suit fantasy she wants to fulfill or whatever, but that doesn't happen too often, thank God."
She's not sure what prompts her sudden wave of bravery (probably the four shots of tequila she's downed so far) but she finds herself making a move on Beca.
"And what about the uniform? Do you have a corset under there too?"
Beca laughs, low and downright sinful before letting her default smirk take its place on her face again.
"Slow down there, Red. I don't even know your name."
The answer is instantaneous.
"Chloe. I'm Chloe."
"Well, Chloe, I'm intrigued to see how this works out, so I think I'm going to make an executive decision and hire you. You'll start on Monday."
Chloe, for her part, looks relieved and beams as Beca pours her fifth shot of tequila, "on the house, to celebrate the new job."
"And as for whether or not the corset uniform applies to me… why don't you go to dinner with me on Friday and find out for yourself?"