Author's note: I'd like to thank CharlotteAshmore for inspiring me to write and FaerieTales4ever for helping me do so. I'm only on Season 1 of OUAT, plus this is AU, so, you know... I wasn't gonna publish any of this until it was finished, but it's been burning a hole in my brain for a while, so I thought I'd soothe my aching head by sharing the first chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to OUAT, though I'd like to own Robert Carlyle's hair, for cloning purposes. Yes, I'm that kind of creepy
CHAPTER 1
He couldn't be sure what possessed him to go up to her. There were always attractive women in the club. He wasn't blind. Even her friend, the lanky brunette, with the red streaks in her hair was plenty gorgeous. But not quite like her.
Maybe it was the way she hadn't ignored him.
He sat in his booth, overlooking the bar, enjoying the music. Blues had always suited him. It was slow, with sadness and suffering built into it, with a bit of cheek, to keep you on your toes. Jazz was too jittery and unpredictable, rock was just too loud. Here, people came for the music. As he twirled the glass of scotch, leaning comfortably on the black leather seat, he glanced over to the bar. He would always people-watch, out of habit and out of necessity, his line of work not exactly making him many friends.
This time there were no enemies at the gates. But there she was. Smiling, leaning at the bar, asking for a drink.
You didn't see many young women at blues clubs these days. Maybe she had come in on the wrong night. The club did cover other genres as well. Her tall friend seemed out of place, looking bored and annoyed. She, on the other hand, the one he watched, seemed perfectly comfortable, a bright yellow sun dress gracing her form. She was light in the otherwise dark, smoky room. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, long chestnut hair falling down her back, to her waist, where her dress flared out. There was a petticoat underneath, he could see and he found himself wondering about the sound the crinkling material would make if he pushed it up her legs.
He smiled at this, shaking his head in amusement. He sipped at his scotch, keeping his gaze locked on the sloshing liquid for a moment before turning toward her again,..
This time she raised her head and looked back. She smiled brightly. At him. Well, that was new. He held her gaze, more out of habit. Usually, people would lose a staring contest with him. It was a form of intimidation, that. He dared her to look away. Prove you're like everybody else, he thought. Or prove you're not, a secret voice inside him wished. He gave her a crooked smile and lifted his glass, inclining his head in a silent toast. To your pretty petticoats, darlin'.
She returned the gesture, taking a sip of her own drink.
This little exchange finally drew the attention of her friend. She followed her gaze to him, then back then, seeming shocked, back to him. Poking her friend in the shoulder, the tall one seemed to be upset, pointing rudely at him while appearing to yell at her friend.
Normally, he would have stayed out of it. What should he care about two strange girls arguing? It was their business. He was here to relax. Nonetheless, he found himself reaching for his cane and making his way toward the bar. He kept his eyes on her, her features calm as she listened to her friend's tirade. Above the music, the words reached him.
"And anyway, he's short", the tall girl protested, sounding exasperated.
"I don't care."
"And he's old!"
"Still don't care."
The handle of his cane landed between the girls, making them both turn. Pulling back and with a smile, he added:
"You forgot 'crippled', dearie".
The tall one opened her mouth to protest, but there was really nothing she could say. The words out of her mouth hadn't been intended for his ears and now there was no point in denying what she had said. She looked as though she was about to stomp her foot in frustration. Quite amusing, he thought, chuckling softly. Not amusing enough to distract him from his original purpose, though. His eyes raked up the girl in the yellow dress, from her small feet, up her calves, to those infernal petticoats and up, to her bare shoulders and finally, her genuine, warm smile. He had to wonder what was wrong with her. How could she smile like that at him. Him, the town's bogeyman.
He turned to her, nodding a hello. The question was for the tall girl, but he spoke to her, not wanting to waste any more time on the redhead.
"Would you mind giving me a moment alone with your friend?"
There was a nod from her, immediately silencing the onslaught of protest that was undoubtedly about to hit. For the first time that evening, under the music and chatter of the club, he heard the yellow dress girl speak.
"Ruby, it's fine. I'll be okay. You can go."
Another inward chuckle. He would have loved to have seen the tall girl's, Ruby's, face. But his attention was otherwise engaged and he didn't wish to break eye contact with this interesting little creature. Hearing Ruby stomp off, he remained where he was, a couple of feet away from her, so she could hear him and he wouldn't encroach on her personal space. There could be time to encroach later.
"I don't mind," she spoke finally, a little blush creeping up her face. He may have imagined it, in the dimly lit club, but he thought it would suit her nonetheless.
"You don't mind what, love?" he asked.
Inclining her head toward the floor, she spoke:
"I don't mind your cane. I think it's quite lovely, from what I could see. Was that a dragon on the handle?"
He nodded, coming closer, leaning on the bar where her friend was. Taking the weight off his cane, he lifted it for her to inspect. Her eyes focused on it, mouth opening slightly, as her fingers came up to touch the gold dragon decorating the handle. As she ran her fingertips over it softly, he felt his jaw muscles tighten. A girl with her hands on his long... hard... stick... He couldn't help but see the connection. Her fingers trailed down from the dragon, along the lacquered wood, to the place he was gripping it, trailing his knuckles lightly and then away.
She seemed to come out of a fog, refocusing on him, wetting her lips.
"It's quite beautiful," she noted, sounding a little breathless.
"Yes, quite beautiful, indeed," he nodded, glancing along her, from head to toe, making it entirely clear that he was not talking about the cane. Without a second thought, he pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and offered it to her.
"It might be somewhat old-fashioned, but I would like to call you some time. May I have your number?"
Part of him expected it not to take it. It was, after all, a bad idea to get involved with a loan shark, if you could help it at all. Not that he thought of himself that way, he was an entrepreneur, providing his services to those in need, at a price. But other people saw him as a cold and vicious predator and he wouldn't have been surprised if her friend's words would have finally caught up with her, knocking some sense into those pretty chestnut curls. On the other hand, he was far too self-serving to try to dissuade her from providing her details and getting entangled with him.
After some fiddling, she gave the phone back. He didn't check if she had written anything down. A man has his pride, after all. Just as she was handing it back, her fingers finding another reason to brush against his, her friend came back to drag her away. Something about a sick granny. He didn't care. He enjoyed her whisper of a touch, the second time that evening. She looked at him apologetically, while being escorted away. Then she seemed to remember something, planted her feet to the surprise of her aggressive friend and called out to him.
"Hey, Scottish!"
He couldn't help a smile at that. Really, dearie, Scottish is what you will go with? But then he remembered he hadn't introduced himself. He usually didn't need to. People came to him and knew who he was beforehand. There was never a need for politeness at those times.
"Yes?", he asked, his face flickering to her friend, who looked horrified that somebody would ever assume such a familiar tone with him, seeming to expect him to turn her little friend into a snail and crush her.
"Will you call?"
There was a small, insecure smile on her face. She really wanted him to call. How strange...
"Of course, dearie."
He watched her go with her friend, looking over her shoulder to see if he was still there. Her petticoat swished around her legs as she bounced happily. He smiled to himself. It will be fun finding out what's underneath.
Sidenote: Reviewing my author's notes from my first fic, I realized I was studying the same damn thing I'm studying now and not being any more successful with it :)That's what the fic name is about: the stuff I'm supposed to be studying.
