a/n: I'm alive and this is a terribly short chapter, I'm sorry. And yes i will continue the fics I have left behind for some time. (i blame school)
so this is based off the movie Burlesque. Except Soul/Maka style. Minor changes to fit their characters. Tell me whatcha think?
heads will roll
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It's a night like yesterday; with the perfect amount of busy, the kind of busy he's able to sneak past through in clandestine nonchalance to light himself a smoke and lean against the back counter to watch Tsubaki lip-sync to Marilyn in nothing but sheer. Not that he'd plan to watch her particular show. He just really needed a stoge. And well, she was Star's girl, anyways. His best bud had his eyes on her since the very beginning.
He inhales a bit more before crushing it into an ashtray somewhere off to his right. Boss would kill him if she caught him smoking on the job again. He runs calloused fingers through his light hair and pulls out a Jack from the cabinet for the throng of women propped on the barstools along the marble counter, practically begging for the whiskey. Easy now, girls, he'd say. And if Black Star had been working that night, they would've bet which of the women could last the longest before throwing themselves at a random man in a suit and a slick tie, the ones that had business cards and a cabaret that would take them to a penthouse for a one-nighter.
Not that Soul objectified women. For fuck's sake, many of his best friends were burlesque dancers at this pub, anyways. It was just entertaining to see the amount of girls who didn't make it through to be an entertainer at Deathly Burlesque, drink themselves up until they got laid. It's happened – quite frequently, too. He'd been working there long enough.
He checks his watch sometime after, waiting for his shift to end. Unfortunately, he'd be the one to close up that night, and it'd only been a little after eight when he'd be leaving at three a.m. Cool, he thinks with ennui reflected in his eyes. He loosens his red tie and unbuttons the top of his collared white shirt, idly while shrugging against the bar.
It isn't until he notices a blonde head in a short distance ahead of him – distinct because of the way her hair had been tied up – when he's distracted. "Hey, Pigtails!"
She pivots on her heels, lime-like eyes wandering until she meets his gaze, mocking and electric. Her pace as she walks over to him exposes her skepticism and as soon as she's right in front of him (the counter between their stomachs) he fiddles with an end of her lock of hair.
"You know, there's an elementary school on the other side of town if you're lost," he mentions with a crooked smile and joking eyes.
"If I was in elementary school, I'd have probably smacked you with a book right about now," she says, her voice light, melodic even. "Tell me," she begins, roaming her eyes on his chest to find his name imprinted in gold on the black vest he'd been wearing. "—Soul, what's a girl gotta do to get up on that stage?"
"Well first off, you needa pass the age requirements, Pigtails…" he continues to tease, starting to like the way she flushes even under these dim lights. Before she could retaliate, he moves his thumb and forefinger to one of her ponytails and pulls the elastic off, mimicking his movements with her second hair tie. "You can't go to my boss with your hair like that, Blondie."
She looks at him with gentle eyes, combing through her tresses with her hands before leaning against the edge of the counter to reach for his tie. Her pale, slender fingers rake past his shoulders in order to reach a part of it, pulling it forward and adjusting it so it's even looser. He watches her movements, questioningly.
"What're you doing?"
"If you're gonna try that tired, sexy-kind of look guys do after a wedding or something with their hair messy and their tie loose, you gotta do it right," the smirk on her pretty pink lips grow identical to his as she runs her own hand (so, so small in comparison to his) along his head to edge up spikes of white.
Full of surprises, he thinks in a slight awe. He doesn't realize his mouth's transition to a more genuine smile.
"What?" Fuck. She caught his slip.
"It suits you. You should wear your hair down more often," he murmurs, yet doesn't wait for her reaction, pointing to a door beside the stage behind her, past the tables and the fiasco of men and women in a drunken hazard. "Go through there and look for a 'Liz'. Tell her that I sent you."
She's thoughtful when she thanks him, and he watches as her brows rise when he asks for her name. "Maka Albarn."
And then she's off, pretty blonde out of sight, through the door leading off to backstage in hopes for a job at such an unexpected place for such a pristine girl, leaving him with only a name and wonder.
tbc.