A/N: I was seriously gonna get an itch if I didn't post this soon. Cha-chaaan. Here it is. My first M rated story! Yay! Bootlegger!AU, mayor swearing, character death, violence, sex, drugs, alcohol, sex...
Disc.: I don't own Soul Eater.
Reviews pay for coffee!
The street lamps were dim, offering near to no light. They only created small islands of yellow light on the wet pavement; they emerged sur-realisticaly from the darkness around her. She stepped on a shattered glass with a loud crunch and winced -her shoes were new and even if she never cared much for what she was wearing, these were somethinng her Mama had sent her- they were really precious to her.
Yes. No time to mourn, she reminded herself. Shoes were okay, and afterall, this was what she got for sneaking out at such an improper hour. She pressed her lips together and then scolded herself for doing so. Now they were ruined. She hoped it wasn't visible.
She could afford close to no mistakes- she had to make her disguise appear acceptable, else she wouldn't get in no matter what she would do.
And this was something she had to do. Because her godfather needed help, and even if he wouldn't admit it to her (or to anyone else at that matter), she knew he needed confirmation. A proof that he could bring to the court, one that couldn't be bribed out, the proof that could win the case.
It had absolutely nothing to do with her desperate need to solve her problem with him. Because, young girls, especially daughters of police chiefs, couldn't do anything on their own that wouldn't involve sitting at home, sewing, or reading books. Especially not going to dangerous parts of cities or interacting with mobsters.
Truth to be told, she was fed up. Fed up with the life that was presented to her, fed up with someone constantly watching after her (so she wouldn't do something like this for instance), fed up, because she was smart enough to go to decent university and get a degree in something society-serving, but no she was a woman…
She was fed up with the world in which one could go and raise his gun, and shoot it in the face of another.
That was exactly why she was making her way down the street, throught the dark and dangerous parts of late-night Chicago. Because she was capable of helping her god father- the last one of righteous officers in The Corrupt City.
Stein was the only one capable of bringing him to the law.
Also she needed proof that she could take things into her own hands, that she was as self-sufficient as she claimed herself to be. Yes, Maka Albarn was a Woman with big W- earning, hard working, brave, inteligent... And murderer wanna be.
Or, perhaps, the one who would bring him to his knees (not necessarily killing him in the process).
The air was fresh, cleaned up with the recent storm, only starting to gain smell from nearby factories. This part of city always reeked- the fume from high chimneys and from trains, that were running even at this time of night with tired laborers, and the everpresent smell of poverty. She walked around the rail station and damned herself for not getting a cab. It would be less energy consuming but more suspicious, a lone girl making her way to the promiscuous side...
Her shoes slapped on the pavement, as she rounded the dirty puddles of water. The street lights grew more frequent and lights got stronger, more and more bright neon signs appearing, aside with more people on the roads and sides of the buildings; the prostitutes, smugglers, dealers, gangsters, beggars, thiefs...
She was in her destination.
Her plan consisted of finding him, making him talk, find something on him-she still didn't know what- and bring him to Stein. Maybe shot him down in some dark alleyway. She smiled at the thought and patted the gun secured on her tight, just to make sure it was still there.
Maka Albarn wanted her revenge.
She felt irrational anger bubble up in her body at the tought of why exactly was she here. She knew that if she spoke now her voice would be strained and jumping tones -she needed to bottle it up and quick.
Only now she realized that the blind want to avenge might have made her plan a bit childish, thoughtless, wild and rushed- she certainly didn't aim for this. The plan couldn't be even set to start because it lacked the first and most important element- Solomon Evans.
She twisted on her stool, right and left, right and left, till her back started to hurt. This was just sad. She ordered a next shot of rum, ignored the fact that it was probably bootlegged, and strained her eyes once again in the crowd. A loud sigh escaped her, as she tapped her foot impatiently against the wooden surface of the bar.
Fuck. She couldn't even find him!
According to her informations-and she had plenty of them at her hand, had been collecting them for past four months – he was supposed to be here nine pm sharp, to bring in his 'delivery', every Saturday night. Was she in the right club? Oh, yeah. There was only one speakeasy named Blind Demon in Chicago and she was, for sure, currently fuming in it. Also, he was supposed to be hard to miss.
Her rum shot was downed quickly by her, burning it's way down to her stomach. The bartender, a boy not older than thirteen years, looked at her with something akin wonder. It was her fourth drink- the kid probably thought it weird for a lady to drink as much without supervision of a man. She threw some cash on the counter, generously tipping the kid and stood up, gathering her coat and purse.
Looked like it was time to go home, think things throught and get fucking ready for the renewed plan... She grumbled under her nose some properly choosen, special words, and started showing her way from the bar and out of the poorly lit room.
The music was a loud jazz, or so she guessed(she was never good with music), this style still pretty new on the scene. On the stage, between three big instruments were playing five black players, accompanied by few scantily clad burlesque dancers.
Her feet constanty caught themselves against her shoes and the uneven wooden floor. The room was crowded, head packed on head. People shoved her, everything started to lean on her, maybe she shouldn't have drinked four shots throught the course of two hours, and she couldn't see properly...
When a large hand, clearly belonging to a man, landed on her back end, acoompanied by loud whooping noise, she just jumped helplessly-she had no idea who her molestor was, didn't caught a sight of him at all.
She was seething internally, partly at herself, for not noticing the pig, partly at the said pig; trying hard to not blow her 'light-woman' cover. She turned around very much planning on bashing the lights out of man who dared to sla...
But everything drained from her. Her anger, her killing intents, the music and commotion around her, everything stopped at the very moment. Even her heart skipped a beat, just to full force come back into the previous rhytm, letting every sensation come back like a boom. Everything rushed to her, overwhelming her for a second.
He...
He was sitting right before her, the creator of her ass-slap. White hair, red eyes, sharp teeth bared in dangerous grin... Just as her informations have told her.
Solomon Evans, going by the ridiculous nick name Soul. The Eater. The clad-in-a-suit-monster, who made himself known for never letting anyone of the hook, and never watering his booze. The very source of her problems, the man she had gone to such leghts to find...
The one who murdered her father.
He was grinning cheekily at her, his hand still outsreched. Her eyes widened as she took in his form, noticed what she couldn't see moments ago when her eyes weren't adjusted to the dark... She suddenly started to panick, as she took all the aspects of this man in. Solomon Evans was a one hell of a man, a Big Six, the high class mobster working right under the Big Al himself. And certainly would be towering more than a foot higher than her, if he was standing. She couldn't do this, she wasn't ready, as she felt only minutes ago…
"Hey there, Doll…" he slurred out, clearly fried beyond belief.
And just as that she felt her rage come back, savagely snatching all her rarional thoughts. She felt it thrum throught her body. He was the one who killed...!
„Soooo, What's up Doll. Wha' is a pretty lil thing like you doing out so late at night?" He made a pause. "Dontchu know a big bad wolf could catch you and eat you?" He accompanied his ridiculous speech with a grin, showing all his razor sharp teeth, clearly showing that he was supposed to be the 'wolf'. A guy sitting with him, another monkey this time blue haired, hollered behind, nearly spilling his glass of Liquid Fire. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes (and raise her vest-pocket colt and goddamnit shot him in his fucking face).
Yes, she had to go with the act, she reminded herself. This was him. Looks like The plan wasn't so bad afterall.
„Only if you get to be the Big Bad Wolf?" She retorted back and added a smirk of her own. Two could play this game...
„Oh?" He paused and took his time in appreciatively staring her over, getting a little crosseyed in the process. Which could heve been cute less she had known just who exactly this man was.
„Oh?" She mocked back. He grinned at her an motioned for her to sit with them. There were three other man beside her target- The blue haired Monkey, young man with sharp golden eyes, and a dark skinny man with glasses. She could clearly see that the goldie had holsters attached under his suit, and his eyes were sharp- he had clearly not downed a drop of alcohol.
She had to be extremely careful.
She smiled and hoped it was the at least a bit sultry. The two steps that divided her from them, were taken quickly, but then she noticed that the only empty chair left was on the opposite end of the table, in the corner, between The goldie and Dark man.
She must have looked helpless because, suddenly, there were two big hands on her waist, pulling her to no one other than 'The Eater' himself. He scooted back his chair a little and then sat her up on his leg. The way he pressed against her, his hands on her body...It made her feel unguarded and appalled. She scooted the farthest she could from him, nearly sitting on his knee, but he wrapped his filthy arm around her waist and started petting her leg. She felt digusted, the odor of booze floating in her personal space, the hand of a man rubbing up and down her dress-clad tight; she could feel his damp breath on the side of her neck, when he opened his mouth and called out an 'Fuck, where is the Bartender?!'. The distaste must have shown on her face because the Goldie, as she mentally dubbed him, narrowed his features, strightened his back and put his hand in his suit, as if to retrieve a gun.
This situation needed salvation; her mind ran at full speed to find one. She settled for the first thing that jumped in her mind- she slightly slapped the white haired male, and called: "Hey keep your hands to yourself, I'm not here for that kind of fun!"
"Whoa, whoa. Sorry bearcat..." Evans holded his hands up in surrender, "chill It. I meant no funny bussiness," but then he put them rigth back on her thight, altought he stopped rubbing it. So much for gentlemen these days...
Goldie relaxed visibly. Yeah, if she played a slut-but-trying-not-to-appear-like-one kind of girl everything should be fine. She took her time looking offended, till Evans sighed and turned her around. "Can I make it up to you?" He mutterd in her ear right when the servitor showed up at their table. It was the same kid that served her; the corners of his mouth still twitched downwards-she would remember his unpleasant face quite some time. She cringed internaly- the kid looked at her apprehensively, but wisely choose not to comment.
She nodded yes to Evans's question, surpressed her distaste and then leaned more on him, succesfuly distracting him. It kind of nulled her previous action of not letting him play with her, but, alas, she needed to act while she still had a chance.
Evans seemed to think for a moment and then he opened his mouth to order beverages for him and his complices."One Hooch for the Lady, Rum for me, and for them..." He motioned with his hand to the other guys. They took their orders- Monkey ordered Mint Julep, Dark man wanted another round of whiskey and Goldie ordered a glass of water, just as she had predicted. The kid slipped into the crowd, encouraged by Evans's 'And make it quick!'.
She tried to protest slightly, saying she had had enough drinking for the night, but he only brushed her off with a wave of his hand and an infuriating smirk. He really started to get on her nerves, and she was with him only, what? Five minutes?
The coversation at the table started and she felt a bit out of it. They were debating, or more like shouting at each other something about the new 'woman' the Monkey had gotten. She leaned even more into Evans's hard chest, to ask him about the theme. She felt him tense underneath her and realized that her hand, that was supportng her weight, was propped dangerously close to his crotch.
"Blake here had bought himself a new gun," he muttered in her ear, after he had cleared his throat, "but that's not somethin' I will talk about with a proper lady."
"Oh?" She felt eight parts cheap and two parts stupid, for having to play some dumb girl, "then I don't want to hear about that. Tell me instead, what should a proper lady do, then?" She dig her fingers into his tight and created a fake smile- seemed like she was getting better and better at playing some Dumb Dora.
His eyes found hers and she felt the muscle she was massaging with her fingers shudder. "Wanna dance?" He groaned in her ear.
It was as if he was playing right with her scenario- just as she needed to get to him alone. She turned her head to the side, her hand inching closer and closer to his area, and breathed out an 'yeah'.
His eyes snapped down, to her hand, and then back to her eyes. "You sure you ain't here for that 'kind of fun', eh?"
She licked her lips, then took between her teeth, to softly chew on it. His hazy eyes were immediately drawn to her ministrations- he gulped audibly at the sight. She stood up and outstretched her hand to him. It took him a moment, but then he reached for her hand, grinning widely. Well, someone thought he would get to be a wolf tonight...
Who knew she could be such a seductress?
The dance-floor was full, but he managed magically to make a place for the two of them. Quintet started, as if on cue, playing a piece just adequate for slow dancing. The duo began to swish to soft melody and it took her by surprise-she was never a good dancer, but his movements were leading her so gracefully...
It didn' feel right, that she enjoyed dancing with a murderer. It came to her mind that she was maybe/possibly/surely fraternizing with the enemy. Which she just wasn't. She refused to think that.
The white haired mobster felt her tensing up, but pulled her closer nonetheless, his hands just high enough to be considered appropiate, but low enough to make her feel pressured. His chest was sturdy under her palms, and burning-she felt on fire as he gazed on her with his burgundy eyes. This wasn't right. She prepared to bolt if needed.
And sure the bomb came. "Cash or check?" He grunted in her ear. She foced out an giggle and hoped it wasn't as cheap as it sounded to her ears. He wanted to kiss her? Right. She would definitely pass.
"Who knew you would be such a lollygagger, mister...?"
His eyes twinkled as he quickly replied to her unfinished statement. "Mister Evans. But you Doll, you can call me Soul." Their movements never faltered, even as he twirled her around, only to catch her and bring her, if it was even possible, closer. "And your name?"
She giggled again, splaying her fingers on his sturdy chest cowered by white dress shirt. "You mister Evans, you can call me Chloe..."
His hands were big, nearly encircling her whole waist, and they slowly, carefully made their way down her waist and to the swell of her hips. She felt small beside him. And she didn't like it a bit. His eyes seemed to have sobered a little; they studied her face, the way she moved, talked, breathed...
She started up an iddle chat feeling uncomfortable under the scrunity of his searching gaze. Maybe she miscalculated, made a wrong step by getting too close to him in person. The gun fastened at her tight under her emerald flapper dress prodded her, reminding her that there was nothing for her to fear. Yes. She would take care of herself, would not hesistate as her father did...
"So mister Evans..."
"Soul."
"Ahhh, yes. Sorry, Soul," her mouth twitched upwards at his pleased expression. Was it because of the way she had said his name?
Wait. What? Why was she thinking like this?
"Tell me, what does a man like you do for a living?" He only responded with a secretive smile, and it took her all she had to not gritt her teeth in frustration. He retorted back; asking her what was such a beautiful girl doing right in the demon's den... She responded with a secretive smile of her own. He snorted, but didn't pry further.
After this their conversation seemed to flow nicely, sometimes halting, sometimes carrying on effortlessly. She only had to adjust his misplaced hands only about three times, not counting it after his third 'incident'. Her small scowl didn't seem to bother him. Not even a little bit.
In fact, he looked like he might have been enjoying her failing attempts at making him keep his hands to himself. Maybe he was doing it just to spite her. She would never know, and honestly didn't wish to know.
They danced away few rounds, until she quibbled away with an excuse of 'being thirsty' and accompanied it with a slight whine for bigger credibility. By the time they made it back to their table, with their respective drinks on top of it, she was just sweaty and nervous- Evans refused to let go of her hand. At least the golden-eyed man was nowhere in sight; one thing less to preocupy her.
This time Evans acted like a gentleman; he pulled her chair and sat down only after her, ordered few more drinks for her, even offered her a ride home (she suspected it had more to do with 'getting to be a wolf' part than with being a gentelman). He stil holded her hand. She continued with her attempts at getting out the description of his job; pretending to be 'really, really curious', but he only brushed her of with a smirk.
It seemed he wasn't capable of anything else in that department; only able to pull some lecherous excuse of a smile.
"If I told you, you wouldn't have the guts to stay with the likes of me." She only pouted for a show. Please, she already knew what was hiding under the pretense of a normal man: a bootlegger, mobster, and a blackblooded killer.
And she was prepared for it, was prepared for him.
When Monkey, or Blake as Evans refered to him, staggered to them two hours later, just missing the empty glasses by hairsbreath when he heavily leaned o the table; the thing he slurred out surprised her and made her want to have bigger ears: "Soul. We hafta hurry, Al's wreking havoc in the..." He caught her staring and lowered his voice (another thing she wasn't aware he was capable off), murmuring something in Evans's ear. She only caught bits and snippets of their conversation, something along 'Bronx sisters', 'Kid got it' and ' 'Death God going down.'
After the last part Evans stood abruptly, the chair clattering down behin him. He stumbled into desk afterwards, the affects of alcohol clearly not weared off fully. He looked at her, and she smiled back; trying to appear as carefree as possible. She knew what was going to come; she only hoped he wasn't going to try and kiss her. That was one thing she wouldn't be able to pull off.
He looked mildly appologetic, and maybe a huge bit angry (he was good at keeping his façade, so she wasn't so sure) when he appologized for his abrupt exit (not that she minded, she was pretty beat up, after the number of drinks he had poured into her).
"I have to go Doll…"
She nodded and stood up too. Her hand was lifted from her side and kissed gently. And just as that she knew that the first step of her Plan was accomplished succesfully.
He gathered his long coat and fixed his black hat. Now he looked exactly like what he was in reality- only give him cigar and a smoking gun to one hand. He stopped shortly and seemed to ponder something for seconds. Then the famous mobster turned around and sent her a wink from under the rim of his hat. His eyes were a deep shade of red, almost seeming to glow in the shadow casted by his hat.
"I will see you again," he not so subtly announced.
And as she watched his retreating back she couldn't help but think: 'You bet.'
A/N: Okay. I really tried. I think I could do better thought. You know that feeling when you get excited about a story and then you reread the nonsense you just sprouted and you are like: What the fuck?
...Anyway. I don't know how long this will be, but I have already planned out the ending, and I have concept of where I want this going. So, yeah.
On with the slang!
The Corrupt City- ya know, as in Chicago;
Bootleg- illegal liquor; bootlegging=rum running; Throught The Prohibition, many gangs obtained large quantities of cash this way.;
Speakeasy- an illicit bar selling bootleg liquor;
Doll- an attractive woman;
Big six - a strong man;
Big Al- as in Al Capone'
Vest-pocket gun- a small, pocket-sized semi-automatic pistol; the gun Maka uses is Colt Model1908 Vest pocket, because I figured that it would be the thing her Father would give her on her birthday;
Hooch- Bootleg liquor;
Mint Julep- cocktail, consisting primarily of bourbon and fresh mint;
Dumb Dora- a stupid female;
Cash or check - a phrase saying: Do you kiss now or later?- I liked this one fair enough; I had to use it :3 ;
Lollygagger- a young man who enjoys making out in the, because, why not? The speak easies were just like that;
That shoul be just about it. Don't worry, the terms like 'Bronx sisters' or 'Death God' will be explained soon enough. Even if I think you may have already figured out the former:)
Also for the record, Jazz was only evolving at that time, especially in the Illegal Bars- Gin Mills and Spakeasies. Those were just about the only places that let 'The Black Players' play in them. Which was really rasistic, but it allowed the formation of the style, so I can't really complain.
As usual R&R.
It pays me for coffee!
