Important Warnings, please read.

There will be substance abuse, harsh language, sexual content, allusions to forced sexual contact, violence and other adult themes.

This is an old story that I am editing. If you were in the middle of reading it and I deleted it, you may find the old one posted on AO3 for the time being, under the same penname.

Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima

Noir

Laxus sat at Casino Gomorrah's oaken bar and tipped a shot of whisky into his mouth. The fiery liquid burned all the way down into his stomach and he savoured the feeling. A man tapped his fingers nervously on the bar beside him. Laxus did his best to ignore him but he wasn't making it easy. "Would you stop that?"

"Can't." Tap, tap, tap.

"Fuck me. I'm going to break your fingers," Laxus threatened.

"Finally, the thunder king emotes," the man groused. The bar's lights refracted off his lined face. He was only fifty but thirty years on the Innisfil Police Force had aged Adam Griswold quite a bit.

Laxus rolled his eyes. "Fuck off."

They sat in silence for a minute, then the man opened his mouth and asked the same question he'd asked four times already. "Are you sure you got this?"

"I'm sure," Laxus said.

He acted like Laxus hadn't spoken. "I told Julian that you were good, that you could be trusted, but if you balk on me, everything is going to fall through. He can't think you're a snitch, he'll kill you and then he'll kill me. I've spent a lot of months gaining his trust."

"I'm good."

"I've just been working this shit for years, you get me? I just made some headway and I want to be sure."

Laxus tapped the bar at the bartender. "Another whisky."

Griswold bristled. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "Are you fucking listening? This is some serious shit."

"Yeah. I'm listening. Your boy's selling drugs. The drugs are bad news. Got it," Laxus said in an equally low voice.

Laxus thought Griswold would hit him. He showed great restraint. "No, you don't get it. Let me say it to you slow. Magicfire isn't like other drugs. It's created by taking mages and milking their magic. That magic is then condensed into a pill that allows the user to manipulate whatever kind of magic was used to create it. People that never had any kind of training now have all kinds of magic and no fucking restraint and they're burning the city down. When they're not, they're killing themselves or each other and laughing about it because they're too fucking stoned to realize they're broke. You need to be serious."

Laxus kept his features straight, never one to show his disquiet. "Look, man, I told you I got this. Tell the guy that there'll be someone there to deliver his stupid package tomorrow. He can size me up then and there all on his own. If he thinks I'm a fuckup, nothing you say here is going to make a difference, so just… you know. Chill out."

Griswold lifted his brows in disbelief. "Chill out…"

"Yep." His whisky came. He drank it down in a huge gulp and asked for another. "You're the one that asked me to do this. You don't got a taste for it, that's cool. Just sit back, relax, keep the cash rolling. When this is through, I'm gonna have your boy under wraps, you're going to get your promotion." And he got something to distract himself from thinking about his missing grandfather and his disbanded guild and his ragtag team and their dumb quest to impress him and his thoughts of what the fuck's the point?

Griswold blew out a nervous breath. "Yeah. I think you're too green."

The bartender brought the whisky Laxus asked for and then buggered off again. Laxus looked around the bar. It was late on a Monday evening, the only people there was the girl on stage that sang a light, airy tune, the talent scout that was trying to find a replacement for their last entertainer that up and left, and two women that leaned in close together, trading secrets or kisses.

"You worried about me, Griswold? That's sweet." He knocked back the last of what had been a long line of whiskies. "I told you, this is a job that I can do. You think the guy's dealing illegal drugs laced with magic, I'll get in nice and close and put an end to it."

"You say that but I think you're too clean-cut for this kind of work," Griswold complained. "You'll stick out like a sore thumb."

Laxus flashed him a feral grin. "That's not what you were saying the other night." When he was covered in the blood of a man that tried to get a little too brisk with the girls at the Black Cat, Innisfil's infamous strip club. "I'll fit in." He hoped, but Griswold didn't need to know he was questioning his abilities. He'd have the job pulled out from under him so fast he wouldn't know what hit him.

Griswold looked at him suspiciously. "Tell me, what's in this for you, eh? I know what I get out of it… glory, but you… you're just a mercenary mage I hired to take my place. Why are you so eager? It's not like the pay is great."

Against his better judgement, Laxus flagged down the bartender again. "That's my business."

"You sure you and Julian never met before?"

Laxus realized what the cop was asking. "I'm not one of his."

"Because I'm not too fond of waking up with a slit throat, you know?"

"Really. I'm not one of his."

Griswold was still suspicious but seemed to believe him. Mostly. "And you're not going to tell anyone I hired you for this, right? If the station knows I'm not the one that did the deed…" No promotion. No heroism.

"Keep picking up my tab here and we're good." Something mean pushed Laxus a little further. "A new room would be good, too. One with a view, maybe? I can't really see Scarlet Lake from where I'm at."

"No dice."

"Don't be cheap."

"Not about being cheap, kid," Griswold lied. "Julian owns these casinos. Nothing happens here without his knowing. He's going to ask why a second-rate lackey can afford to stay in Gomorrah, and now you're asking for a luxury suite?"

Laxus shrugged. "Is there something wrong with staying at Gomorrah's hotel?"

Griswold ground his teeth together. "I don't know, where are you getting the money to stay here?"

"Maybe I gamble."

"Did you not just hear that he has his hands in everything? He's going to know that you don't play his tables, Laxus."

Laxus held out his hand. "Give me a few bucks and we'll fix that."

Griswold fumed. "So you can waste it?"

He'd spent plenty of time with Cana, counting cards. "I'm pretty good."

Griswold huffed and went digging in his pockets. He pulled out a few hundred and slapped it into Laxus' hand. "I'm going to regret this."

"You'll get it back, with interest," he promised.

"Yeah, just don't be too good, eh? That raises some flags, too, you know? If you're always winning—the casino doesn't like that."

Laxus shrugged him off. "Yeah, sure."

Griswold stood on uneven legs and shot back the rest of his drink. He too was more than a little drunk. "Try to keep out of trouble until tomorrow. I'll meet you at the Black Cat?"

"Again?" Laxus asked exasperatedly.

"The girls there are pretty slick."

"Yeah," he snorted, "with STI's."

"You were there on your own volition the other day."

Laxus said, "If you remember, I was fighting and not fucking." The Black Cat was notorious for their 'private dances.'

Griswold shrugged. "Not what Audrey was saying."

Yeah.

"Look," Griswold said, "You don't have to buy any special quality time, you know? It just helps me relax before a big job."

Griswold's stress was an issue. If this operation fell apart it was going to be him that poked holes in it. "Is Audrey working tomorrow night?"

Griswold grinned. "Knew you didn't think they were all disease-ridden."

Audrey was alright, as far as the girls went, but he wasn't really in, she just sometimes had interesting information to pass along. She knew quite a few people in a lot of fascinating places, such as the Western continent. Sometimes she had information about a particular person of concern, one Master Makarov that had all but disappeared nearly a year ago. Her information didn't come free, and it was always convoluted. Laxus supposed she could be making things up just to get some coin, but even if she were… he'd still pay, just for the illusion that the old man was safe.

Griswold clapped him on the back. "I'll see you tomorrow around eleven?"

"Yeah, sure," he agreed.

Griswold nodded and left. Laxus got his drink. As he drank it, he turned to watch the girl on stage. She had long dark hair and a familiar looking smile, but he couldn't quite place her. She had a nice sort of figure, too; he considered waiting for her to get off stage to see if he couldn't swindle an exciting night out of her. Then his eyes fell to the two women who had been kissing. Now they fondled each other almost desperately, stopping only when one of the girls caught him staring.

"You got a problem or something?"

He grinned, a lot drunk. "Not at all."

"Like what you see, then?" asked the other.

"Sy, what are you doing?"

"Come on, Angel, look at him, we could have some fun, don't you think?" Sy stood and walked over on tall, tall heels. She had dark skin, the long line of her leg peeping out of a high-slitted dress. "Do you have a room here?"

Laxus looked up into her smoky eyes. "And if I said yes?"

She smiled. "I'd say let's go to it."

The women in Gomorrah were different, more eager for intemperance. "Huh, and your friend?" He looked around her body. The other woman—Angel—stood. She was light where Sy was dark, her hair burnt gold, tumbling in a wave around her shoulders.

"If I'm in, she's in," Sy said with a wink.

Laxus shrugged. Why not, he wondered and swallowed what was left of his drink. He dropped a few bills Griswold had given him to the bar and waved to the bartender, then stood and looped his arm around the girl's waist.

Angel came over as Sy had promised and tucked herself into Laxus' other side. "I don't usually do boys."

"And I don't usually do girls like you," he replied indifferently.

Instead of being insulted or turned off she grinned, her mouth pulling wide to reveal a row of straight teeth. He stooped and kissed her, tasting chalky lipstick and alcohol. Sy purred from his side and rubbed his chest. He went for her next, unsure of which he liked more or if they were both equally unremarkable.

Griswold doesn't think I can fit in, he thought dispassionately. He'd be a chameleon. Julian York had eyes everywhere so he'd do his part flawlessly. He didn't mind this kind of playacting.

"I think you have the job, Mirajane," Logan Wright said from one of the small tables. "In fact, you're so good I'm going to pass your name off to a colleague of mine, see if I can't get you a few extra gigs at one of our other casino's. You ever hear of Casino Noir?"

Mira shook her head. "No, Sir."

He grinned, "It's invite only. Real prestigious place."

"Oh," Mira said. "That's really nice of you."

"Here." Logan pulled a key from his pocket. "You can stay in Gomorrah; I'll cover the cost for the night. That key is for a room on the seventh floor. Six-forty-three. You need any help bringing your stuff up?"

She looked over at the bag leaning against the stage. She only had clothes tucked inside. "No, that's alright." She accepted the key and watched a man stumble out of the bar with a lady on either arm. She rolled her eyes and looked away, not paying them much mind—not that she could see much, anyway, not with the stage lights blasting in her eyes.

"You sure you want to wear that wig for performances? You have pretty hair."

She touched the brunette wig gently and shrugged out a lie. "I was told you guys like brunettes here." Recognition was more of the issue. She wanted to not be hailed as the She-Devil for just a moment. In this far away part of Fiore, that seemed possible.

"Sometimes, depends on the girls. If my colleague agrees to meet you, you're going to want to come all natural, you know what I mean? He likes to know what he's getting into."

Yeah, she knew. "I'm here to sing."

"And to look pretty, but hey, if you don't want the gig—"

"No," she interjected. "I want it." She could use the money. "If he wants to meet me I won't wear it, that's fine."

"Sure thing, doll. I'll see you tomorrow night, eh? Eight, we'll say?"

Mira nodded, feeling nervous. "Sounds good."

Casino Gomorrah was lavish, it's hotel five stars, looking out over a place called Scarlet Lake, a body of water that gleamed crimson in the night. It was full of bioluminescent planktons that glowed a violent red under the moonlight, but the locals had their own tales of how it got that way.

Innisfil used to be an immoral town, they said (though, in truth, debauchery was still its main currency) and to cleanse it, a priest had struck down its sinners and purified their blood in Scarlet Lake. In the folklore, the lake wasn't able to dilute all that sin so it became forever tainted with the blood. Mira didn't believe it for a second—Innisfil just loved to glorify its sinners.

Giggling from down the hall had her staring questioningly at a door. Number six-thirty-nine—three down from her six-forty-three.

"I'll just be a second," said a man's voice. There was a wet kissing noise that had Mira blushing furiously and hurrying to her room.

Sinners indeed.

Six-thirty-nine popped open before she could even get the key in the lock. Someone naked from the waist up slipped out—a man. He walked down the hall towards her with purpose, steps eating up the ground. He had a bucket in his hand for ice, a champagne bottle rattling around in its metal prison.

Mira looked up despite herself and met his eye.

And did a double take.

"Laxus," His name slipped from her lips, sounding as surprised as she felt. "What are you doing here?"

He ground to a halt and squinted at her. "What?"

"Laxus," she pulled at her wig, the hair underneath unkempt and full of static.

His eyes fell on her snowy tresses and his face blanched. "Sorry," he muttered. "Don't know who you're talking about."

"Are you messing with me?" But he looked serious.

"Excuse me," he tried to move past her.

Mira grabbed his arm. "Laxus, it's me, Mirajane," she insisted. "It hasn't been that long, we grew up together in Fairy Tail—I swear if you tell me you don't remember—"

The door opened and a dark-skinned woman wearing a yellow bra and a matching thong popped her head of short black hair out. "Laxus, sweetie, did you get that ice we talked about? Angel is getting anxious."

Laxus smiled tightly at her. "Just a sec."

The girl's eyes fell on Mira, her red mouth tugged into a saucy smile. "Are you trying to get another to come join us?"

"Join…?" Mira looked at the woman in her lingerie and felt her cheeks heat. Oh. "I don't think—"

"Just asked for directions," Laxus told the other woman. "She's not coming over."

"Shame," the woman said. Pale hands slipped up her front as a second woman peeked out of the room and grabbed a healthy handful of her breasts, making her purr. "We'll be here if you change your mind." She eased back into the room. The door closed.

Laxus' face fell into a severe scowl. "Let go of me." He all but tore his arm out of Mira's grasp and disappeared down the hall, bare shoulders swinging in the false light.

Mira watched him go, confused and slightly miffed until she couldn't see him any longer. Then she decided that she couldn't stay in the hallway all night. She opened her door to a room that was white and red and black. White floors, red bedsheets, furniture stained so dark it ate the light. It was nice. Nicer than anything she'd ever been in before.

She checked the washroom and saw a giant Jacuzzi tub and an equally large stand-up shower with nozzles for days. They seemed to come out of everywhere. Mira scrunched up her nose, trying to figure out how exactly to turn it on. It didn't look easy. Who knew self-care could be so complex?

She came back out of the washroom just in time to hear Laxus stumbling down the hall again. She nearly tore open the door to demand why he treated her like that, but then she heard the soft tinkering laughter of the two other women and knew she didn't want to interrupt, not really.

She threw her bag down on the floor and tried to push him from her mind. Maybe they'd run into each other again tomorrow and she'd figure out what he was doing. But until then… it was getting late.

Laxus' heart pounded as Angel kissed her way down his body, mind mostly elsewhere. Mira wasn't supposed to be in Innisfil—no one he knew was. This kind of thing could jeopardize his mission. What if Mira let it slip to someone that they knew each other? That he had, at one point, been a legitimate mage working for a legitimate guild? He hadn't even met Julian yet but he knew just from what Griswold said, Julian would have him killed, and maybe Mira too, just by association.

Tomorrow. Deal with it tomorrow. Just act like nothing's wrong. These girls could be working for Julian for all you know. He hadn't even stepped foot in the lion's den yet and already he was surrounded by predators.

Angel fumbled with his pants and Sy helped her. He closed his eyes and tried to push Mira from his mind.

Tomorrow.