YuRi Shipper: Alright, alright. I know this is going to be an awkward hello – but here it is. Hiya fanfiction. I'm back. Had a busy summer, a busy September, and now I'm back. Hopefully I'll be writing more often, especially since I think I've cleared a little time just for it in my schedule… and, well, hopefully I've improved. I keep trying to think up ways to do that, y'know.
My other fics have chapters halfway done/waiting to be posted. So it won't be long until you hear from them. Primrose and Love and Treason'll be the first two to get their updates, followed by Make It Go Away (hopefully).
This is really just something I wrote on a whim. Where it's going, I have no clue. Actually, I do. But, hey, why spoil any surprise I have left to offer? At any rate, I do pray you'll enjoy this one. It's chapters should be lengthy and contain far more detail than my previous pieces. If I get a review or two, I'll probably keep going.
One more comment before heading into the disclaimer, here – I'd like to say to all of you who have ever enjoyed my fics… thanks. Your reviews are awesome. It's good to know there are people reading whatever I jot down, some days. It's a real boost, and I just love knowing you're all out there. I hope that by writing so much yuri some of you will be inspired to write your own. I'd love to be able to return the favour and review your things.
And now, without further ado… the fic. And such.
Disclaimer: YuRi Shipper owns nothing, really. Nothing at all. In fact, she's poor. Moving on now…
Warnings: This story deals with sexuality. If you're uncomfortable with the thought of male or female homosexuality, I suggest you go no further. This story also contains violence, language, mention of the use of drugs and alcohol and is not meant for younger readers. Go forwards at your own risk. And please – don't say I never warned you.
Prologue : Je me Souviens
The Red Light
By: YuRi Shipper
'If I could fall into the sky A Thousand Miles (Vanessa Carlton)
Do you think time
Would pass us by?'
Helena's P.O.V.
I've got to say that I've seen worse places, known far less pleasing situations one could find themselves in – and yet, those who frequent The Red Light never seem to be entirely happy. I suppose that happens when you stoop so low as to allow yourself to become a nightly visitor, or even one of the staff of such a place, crawling with prostitutes and reeking of a longing for company I'm not sure anyone in the world could satiate.
Still, it's never discouraged us too much. Or, if it did, we've never let it show. Then again, I've learned that my partners are rather excellent at hiding emotions, for the most part. There are roughly ten of us who work here full-time, you know. Just ten – four males and six females, all of us with some other reason for working at such a place. The general public is attracted by neon signs promising a little show, something to tease them in a delighting way. To this extent, I suppose it's fair to state that we do our jobs well, as I'm most certain there's never been a customer who left with a frown. Not unless they entered with one too deep to be corrected by any manner of services we could offer, their depression weighing down on them so much that they need a pretty face or two and quite a few drinks before life even seems to exist at all. Believe me when I tell you that those people, the ones that seem to be so down-hearted that it would appear they are naught but empty shells representing human life at its worst… well, let's just say they're growing in numbers as the time passes.
This isn't to say I haven't seen my fair share of perfectly happy women and men enter the shady establishment. Of course, they'll find themselves dead inside one day as well – it happens to everyone, I suppose. Two years ago, I would not have found myself saying that, but even I must admit that the atmosphere of such a place wears on you after time passes. Taking up a career here is a last resort in many a case – I know five other young ladies who had so much more planned than this. I can tell you of four young men who would have loved to have become something, anything really. Anything than just another casualty of society. If you'd let me, if I had the time, I could tell you the backgrounds of each and every sweet face, tell you the sorrow that hides behind red lipstick and a twenty dollar bill or two. It might shock you – might repulse you. I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest. Feel what you will about us, I doubt we'll care. Society had branded us outcasts even before this club strolled into our lives like a little piece of Heaven and Hell molded together so perfectly you couldn't tell the difference most days. Go ahead and tell us we're wrong – see if any one of us even bothers to watch your lips form the words. We're all dead inside – and it's only a matter of time before the death of our very spirits drives us mad, causes us to hang ourselves from cords, or turn to pretty knives and their sharp edges for comfort. Judge us. Go ahead and do it. Your words hurt no more than a slap across the face, your thoughts could wound us no more than a crack of a whip. And the looks you might give, well, we've grown as accustomed to those as we have the razor.
Are you willing to believe me yet, to maybe just hear me out? Perhaps you are, perhaps not. I can tell you that this isn't for the faint of heart. If you feel queasy, you may leave at any moment. No one is forcing you to stay. Not that man in the corner who looks perfectly content, all the while knowing he's cheating on a wife who is probably worried sick because she can't find her significant other, nor the polite young lady who seems to have received all the proper upbringing. Nobody in this club is making you listen. And we never will – simply because we can't. Our story was probably never meant to be heard anyway, not when it comes to what we do. It would ruin our employers, it would send us to our graves… but if the grave means being free of the chains of life and the pain and suffering wrought by our own mistakes then please do hurry when writing my epitaph, good sir or madam. I'd much rather be six feet under than in a little place called 'The Red Light'. And, if you'll just listen to our story, you'll find out why…
My name is Helena. Helena Douglas, if you're going back to a time when I actually had a last name, something to associate with a family. As of the moment, I am twenty-one years of age, though I'm sure I sound so much older when talking about these issues, or when attempting to seduce a possible mark for the night. It's all in the experience, really. In this world, however, age never seems to exist – it's all the experience. And what experiences they were – though my tale is one best left for a little later.
The time is currently seven o'clock. Night, if you will. The club isn't quite open yet, though I know it will be in a matter of hours. That's all it ever is to us, a matter of hours. Getting our sleep during the day, doing whatever filthy deed we must by night. I've heard one or two of the other girls praying before, praying that their god would give them someone compassionate for the night. The screams that came later on still haunt my dreams.
The younger girls – four of them in total – get far more unwanted business than myself and Christie, save the one girl named Ayane. The way it is around here… well, the tougher you appear, or the more dominant you can be, and the less you'll be hassled. Unfortunately, it does seem like the other three are having a bit of a hard time, though Lei Fang seems to be faring a bit better than when she first arrived here about two months back.
Two months… two months and she's already broken. See what The Red Light can do to people, how it can affect you? Of course you don't – I haven't even scratched the surface yet. No, by the time I'm done spinning my tale, I suppose you'll be crying. Sobbing on the ground for your god, or your mother. Maybe you'll just be disgusted, as we talked about earlier. It still won't matter. Beginning, middle, end… my story will still be with you.
I'm sorry, did I say my story? I should have said our story. It's much more fitting, considering.
There's no bell to indicate the coming and going of people in this place – and it wouldn't matter if there was, anyway. The music is generally too loud for that, or the cheering or men… women… whoever. With the type of bar we are, you never know. But today, today we have a tell-tale. A sign, letting us know if our darling employers might be about to step through the door. The rain. Odd as it is, we all find it quite the relief, rain. When the door opens, the patter grows louder, no longer a simple tapping rhythm above our heads, but something much more animated. And though we can't see it, we know it's there. Rain is almost like a promise in that way. A promise that there is something out there, something that we can touch, something we could embrace and not fear losing. And those things are rare nowadays. I know I'm not the only one who thinks this way, either. I've seen Christie stare at the droplets with a softer expression than usual, or watched as Hitomi almost broke down in tears for it. I've even seen the way Hayate will sigh and reach out longingly, only to touch the tinted glass of the door. It's an odd sort of relationship, the one we all have with the rain. It's the kind that can't quite be explained through words. Not adequately, anyway.
The Red Light wouldn't have business for another hour anyway. We weren't quite open, and it wasn't as though anyone had a reason to come pounding on the doors and begging for early entrance to the local gay club.
Oh, I do believe I've neglected to mention that, haven't I? Allow me to elaborate, before you go about judging us again. The Red Light – gay club though it is – is a much more professional establishment than you might believe. Half of it remains for the women, the other half for the men. And, dare I say, we have booming business. We're the social outcasts, homosexuals by the dozen, the ones you might not even bother telling your children about because you find us… repulsive, was it? Wrong? Yes, I do believe those were the words I've heard used to describe us. The majority of the staff here don't even have a home, or people to call family anymore because their own parents used such words against them. Disowned them in a heartbeat when they found that their darling little girl liked other ladies, or that their handsome young son preferred the company of men.
Being out of the closet isn't ever easy. Especially not when you have a family. I was one of the luckier ones – my parents were dead by the time I was going on eighteen, and I never got to tell them I wasn't entirely like the other girls my age. Unlike Lei Fang, I never had my parents tell me I was a disgrace, that I had dishonoured my entire family. Unlike Hitomi, I wasn't kicked out. In fact, out of all of us here, I might just be the only one who could have avoided this life – and yet I didn't. A part of me wishes I had… and yet, another part knows that it is here that I belong. It's not for the money, the lifestyle, nor the sex, but rather my co-workers that I stay. They keep me here – they who cannot leave, not even if the place were to burn to the ground. Because The Red Light will always stay with them, just as it will always be a part of me. The Red Light may not be who we are – but it most certainly takes a little part of our souls for itself.
Omniscient P.O.V.
"Hey Helena, what on Earth are you writing?" came the masculine voice, forcing the Frenchwoman to drop her pen and tuck the papers neatly within the red handbag by her side, sending a small smile in the direction of the handsome young speaker.
"It was nothing, Ryu. Nothing at all," she lied, knowing full-well it was something. Still, the long-haired male was never one to push, shrugging it off. She'd tell them all in good time if she ever wanted to, he knew that. And he was one to respect the privacy of others. Running his fingers thought brown bangs, merely for the benefit of jade eyes, he shook his head, sighing. There was so very little to say that night. It happened every so often. Some nights, they were all buzzing, talking about whatever came to mind. Tonight? Complete and utter silence. Probably because it was a rain night, or at least that was his first guess. Ryu Hayabusa had noticed the sudden silence those nights brought on almost as well as Helena had, though he didn't read into it. He simply knew that they all enjoyed the rain's presence. Perhaps talking would have taken that away, given them a moment where they couldn't have heard the precious patter above. Who knew, really? These people confused him. Every single person who worked at that club confused him, even his best friend of several years, Hayate. But hey, nothing could be done about confusion, especially not in the case of the slightly not-so-bright Japanese man.
"What's with the silence, yo?" Ah, but when it came to not-so-bright people, Zack took the cake. And the icing. And the baby's candy, too. Whoever it was that handed out brains like candy had given him the short end of the stick – but what he lacked in intelligence, the American made up for in zest. He had his little ways of getting people to feel a bit better – a valued quality at The Red Light.
Still, even he could not lighten the mood of a rain night. A frown replaced the smile that had graced his features before as he shuffled off, mumbling something about work that needed to be done. Oh, he was a good enough guy, well-muscled, handsome and such… but really now, interrupting a rain night? He should have known better.
Helena, as of the moment, was one of the three females in the room – meaning the girls were missing half of their work force as of the moment. Lei Fang, Christie and herself had all come just slightly early from their small rooms on the fourth floor whilst Hitomi, Kasumi and Ayane were nowhere to be found. Probably still sleeping off last night – the last the Frenchwoman had heard, those three had chosen to shop that day. Meaning they'd left earlier on… and gotten a taste of the rain, even if they were far from enjoying the company of one another. Jealousy was the main thing she felt, thinking of this, how lucky those three were for having the time to go out.
Her envy melted away, however, upon seeing the dragging forms of Hitomi and Kasumi, Ayane in better condition than both of them put together. Apparently their nights had been rough enough without spending the day shopping… poor dears. While the blonde pitied them, however, she knew that they would have to spruce themselves up just a little bit. After all, there was only…
"Forty-five minutes," came the cold voice from beside her, startling Helena to no end, earning a rather amused little smirk from her new pal, whom had seated herself at one of the tables about the stage before them. When there was no work to be done, the male's half of the room was to be invaded by one and all – this included Christie. Cold, far more dead on the inside than any customer could ever have hoped to be and a more anti-social than everyone else in the club put together on a bad day, it was rare enough for her to speak to someone without them having a bundle of cash they were willing to make hers.
A shrug was given in response to the blonde's mouth opening just slightly, eyes of the sea wide. "You looked like you were pondering the time," Christie offered before standing and wheeling about, those pale features dead once more as she made her way back to the two-sided bar that split the enormous room in half, creating two adequately sized sections. Male and female, as has been mentioned before.
The soft patter of rain grew louder, and those within the club grew still, anticipating Donovan, or one of his lapdogs. Their dear, dear employer was due soon enough, to tell them who would be working what that night…
"Why is it always so grim in here?"
Brad Wong – the drunkard who frequented their little club. "You son of a bitch, you gave me a heart attack! Get your ass over here!" came the not too far off cry of Zack, and pretty soon he was laughing and joking around with the Chinese man. Brad always came early – and he always relieved the tension. Always.
The people began to talk once more, Hitomi and Kasumi chatting about something, whilst Helena and Lei Fang spoke in hushed tones with one another, Hayate and Ryu laughing at something or other. Only Jann Lee, Christie and Ayane seemed to truly wish to remain alone for this little meeting, none of them feeling any particular urge to be a part the others' conversations.
Thirty-two minutes left on the clock, and Donovan still hadn't arrived. It called for a celebration – or so Brad said, quickly pleading with Jann to fetch him a bottle of whisky, grinning sheepishly and insisting he could pay for it. Really he could.
And then it happened – the door swung open, and a loud boom was heard, the thunder so cliché it made some people want to hurl, and others jump in their seats. But the scrawny young man that hobbled into the club was not Donovan – no, just one of the aforementioned lapdogs, holding a pair of lists, glasses sitting upon the bridge of his hooked nose as he stared with contempt at the workers before him, making a 'tsk tsk' sound with his tongue before leaving both sheets of paper on a table. "Get ready – all of you." Wow. What a brief cameo he made – 'cause he was totally gone after saying that, only bothering to shoot them one last look of disdain.
And now is when our real story must begin. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to a night at The Red Light…
YuRi Shipper: Short and sweet, as with most of my stories… and I'm afraid I have to cut it off there. Any more and I would have been forced to write a miniature novel in just the prologue. Five or more pages should be fine for now anyway.
If you liked the story, drop a review. If you hated the story, leave a nice little flame explaining where I could improve and such. And, if you merely hate the homosexuality and content of the fic… why the hell did you read this?
Until next time, my friends.