AN: First of all, I want to thank those that reviewed the first chapter for the positive feedback – it really urged me into continuing this, and as this is my first attempt at an AU of any kind, the love was very heartening for this fretting writer's soul. You know who you are, awesome people! Secondly, I have officially discovered the joy of 1920s slang and may have gone a bit overboard, but I've added a list of terms at the bottom for those that aren't self-explanatory. Happy reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.
Chapter II
If asked, Levy McGarden could not have found an answer to how she had ended up in her current predicament.
Of course, it hadn't been by complete accident. Makarov had been an old friend of the family, after all, and upon her father's...disappearance...he had offered her a roof over her head. And she had said yes without much thought on the matter – who wouldn't, to one of the most respected men in the city, and the owner of one of the biggest companies in Fiore?
That he should turn out to be connected to one of the most notorious speakeasies in Magnolia had been nothing short of a complete shock.
"M-master Makarov! W-what...?" she heard herself asking, voice an unnaturally high pitch and eyes shifting rapidly to the sides and to the open doorway where muffled music was floating out into the night, along with the sound of people and laughter. The old man's grin widened at her abject confusion, and he seemed to find it endearing.
"You didn't think the company was all I had, did you, my girl?" he asked, eyes crinkling in a smile, as though genuinely amused at her surprise. "This is, how shall I put it...my 'hobby', if you will," he said with a wink. Levy blinked.
"Oh. So...you frequent speakeasies?" she asked, hoping he wasn't going to say what she feared he was. Many of her father's former business partners visited speakeasies behind each others backs and without the knowledge of their wives. But visiting illegal bars was one thing...
"Frequent, my dear?" he guffawed, throwing his head back before flashing her a proud grin. "Why, I'm the owner!"
...
She assumed she must look something like a fish out of water, standing before the man she'd only ever seen in professional situations – luncheons with her father and such, and the occasional birthday. In her memories he was such a proper, kind old man. Quiet and wise – like the grandfather she'd never had the privilege of knowing. She'd never pegged him for a man who'd even consider visiting an illegal bar, let alone run one.
"Oye, woman – you going to stand there all night?" the gruff voice of her...escort, if his behaviour towards her even warranted that title...broke her out of her reverie, and she blinked, eyes shooting up to meet glaring red ones and an expression that was anything but pleasant. She huffed, a little embarrassed at being caught gaping in such an undignified fashion.
"I was caught off guard, as someone neglected to share a certain piece of information on the way over here," she quipped, flattening her gloved hands against her skirt to brush off imaginary dust, the action punctuating her clipped tone, before taking a step towards the smiling man in the open doorway. The one carrying her suitcase snorted, and her gaze snapped back in time to see him smirk in that infuriating way of his.
"Like you'd have come along if you knew? 'Sides, you wouldn't stop yappin' long enough for me to say anything," he retorted, eyes intense behind furrowed brows. Levy only raised her chin in defiance, fuming silently as she kept her gaze firmly on his. It wasn't at all proper, talking back to a man in such a manner, but to her defence, he'd done nothing to warrant anything but open hostility and the occasional cheek.
"I see you two are getting along nicely," the voice from the doorway said, amusement colouring it's warm tone, and both heads snapped towards the older man.
"Master Makarov–"
"Please, my girl – no need for titles here," he assured with a wink, and she felt her cheeks colour, feeling suddenly and thoroughly out of her depth. Makarov stepped aside to let them in, and she hesitated a split second before taking the first step, wondering what was awaiting her inside. She'd never been to a speakeasy in her life – her father would have thrown a fit at the mere mention – and now she was under the protection of the owner of not just a speakeasy, but the most infamous of them all? Even she – in all her sheltered glory – had heard about Fairy Tail, although why it had such an absurd name was beyond just about everyone. But she'd heard numerous stories, whispered by the daughters of her father's investors. Stories of their rowdy clientèle and their escapades. Whether it was all make-believe or fact, she didn't know. But supposedly, it was the most sought-after gin mill in Magnolia – both for its liquor and for its entertainment. But speakeasies were illegal for a reason – hadn't she always reminded herself of that? People who frequented such places...the outcasts of society...
What had she gotten herself into?
"S'not getting any warmer out here – move yer ass, would ya?" came the growled remark from behind her, and she'd barely had time to become appalled before a well-placed fist had the boorish man clutching his nose in pain.
"The fuck, old man?" he griped through the hand covering his face, and Levy had to bite down on her lip to hide her smile. Makarov – for all his short stature – seemed to tower over the both of them.
"That is no way to address a lady, Gajeel – have I taught you nothing?"
The man – Gajeel, she reminded herself – growled. "I swear, old man, one day–"
"Yes, yes, you'll pay me back," Makarov waved him off lazily. "When you can successfully predict my attacks, that is. For now, you'll watch your mouth around the young lady, no?"
Levy smiled. "It's quite alright, Mast– Mr. Makarov," she assured him with a smile, shooting a sidelong glance at the brute beside her. "I can handle his tongue."
A vicious smirk tugged at his lips at her remark, just too late for her to realize the implications of her words, and she felt her cheeks flare with colour. "I doubt that," came the low rumble as he wiped the blood from his nose, and suddenly she felt quite ready to escape inside, whatever awaited her.
Anything to get away from those eyes.
"Gajeel – please take Levy's case to her room. Second floor, next to Erza's," Makarov announced, breaking the tension as he offered his arm. "If you would come inside," he said, his smile warm and disarming, and she was reminded that although some of it might have all been an act, he was still the Makarov she remembered. A soft smile tugging at her lips, she took the offered arm and followed him inside the old building. From behind her, the ruffian grumbled something unintelligible as he hoisted her suitcase over his shoulder, before following suit. Passing through a winding sort of hallway and heading towards a red door at its end, she heard the heavy lock of the entrance slam shut behind them, and figured there was really nowhere else to go but forward.
But it didn't need to be so bad, did it? After all, what little she knew about illegal bars were based solely upon rumours, and she'd never actually been to one herself. For all she knew, it didn't need to be the picture she had in her mind – a picture of debauchery and wild-looking men and women participating in immoral activities. Perhaps it was a nice place.
In the end, though, no comforting thought had managed to prepare her for what awaited her beyond the door.
'Rowdy' was a gross understatement to the complete and utter chaos that greeted her upon her entrance. An explosion of colour and sound assaulted her senses, and it was like she'd stepped through a door to another world, and not just a room in some strange building.
It was...it was...
"Hey, old man! New shipment came in today – let's celebrate!"
"Get off the floor, you damn cement mixer! You're embarrassing me!"
"Mira! Play us another one!"
It was amazing.
"I'm glad you think so, my girl," the man beside her said with a grin, and she noticed – to her embarrassment – that she'd voiced her thoughts out loud. Makarov's eyes crinkled with warmth, and he was about to open his mouth to speak when the arrival of someone on his elbow had him stopping.
"Boss," a melodious voice greeted, and looking up at the interruption, Levy felt her breath hitch in her throat, eyes widening as she took in the pale haired beauty before her, elegantly dressed in the provocative fashion she herself hadn't yet dared even consider trying on (her biggest act of rebellion had been to bob her hair, and even that had felt like an overly liberal action at the time).
"Mirajane Strauss!" she almost exhaled in awe.
The beauty smiled warmly. "Oh? You know my name?" she asked, her lilted voice as pretty as Levy remembered it being. She nodded dumbly, almost dazedly, before a smile broke out on her face, and she shook her head to clear it.
"I heard you sing, once. Before...well, you know," she murmured, averting her gaze. It had been accidental – she'd simply entered the establishment to escape from the rain, but there she'd been – the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen, and with the most beautiful voice. To say she'd been enthralled was an understatement.
Then the ban had been enforced, and the name 'Mirajane' had vanished from the whispers of high society.
"She is indeed a talented artist – perhaps you will perform for us later?" Makarov asked. Mirajane smiled at the compliment, and in the presence of such...elegance, there really was no better word for it – Levy suddenly felt very conscious of her unruly state of dress and hair.
She didn't have time to dwell on the thought, however, as she suddenly found herself pushed forward and into the throng of people.
"Try to socialise a bit while I have a chat with Mira, Levy dear," Makarov said with a wink, before turning to walk off with the songstress. Mira waved a graceful good-bye, to which Levy could only wave back lamely.
And then she was alone.
Looking around nervously, she suddenly felt very lonely, despite the room being packed with people. She'd never been one for socialising, anyway, having preferred the solitude of her father's library to the parties of which the other girls had been so fond. And if those had been difficult – with all their proper behaviour and strict norms – she had no idea how to handle the sudden lack thereof. And if she'd ever entertained ideas of her rebellious haircut, any such thoughts seemed ridiculous compared to the women around her, openly smoking and drinking along with the men, dressed in silks and pearls and skirts so short Levy felt like an old maid in comparison. Looking down at her floor-length frock in all its practical glory, she found herself feeling oddly...inadequate.
"You lost, sweetheart?" came the husky voice from behind her, and she turned to see another face she'd never thought she'd find in such a place.
"C-Cana Clive?"
At the sound of her name, the woman frowned. "Oye, that's Alberona around these parts–" she stopped, blinking, before recognition broke out of her face, along with an enormous grin. "I'll be damned – Levy McGarden!" she hollered, throwing her arms around the smaller woman.
"How've you been, doll?" she asked, before shifting her eyes to the sides quickly and murmuring, "I heard about the...well, you know. How you holdin' up?"
Levy could only gape as she found herself staring down the provocatively dressed form of a woman she'd never seen in anything but modest skirts and blouses. "Wh–" she stopped herself, before shaking her head. "What are you doing here?"
Cana grinned. "Surprised? Well, I guess you would be," she said with a shrug. "I own this joint. Well, not in its entirety, of course, but I'm in charge of the hooch, so that makes it a little mine," she said with a wink. Levy shook her head – mind processing a mile a minute.
"Wait a minute – you're a bootlegger?"
A snort from behind drew their attention, and Levy jumped as Gajeel stepped up beside them, hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his teeth. "That would be the bootlegger," he said, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. Cana grinned.
"Seems you've gotten yourself quite the little bearcat, Redfox – what, smuggling not exciting enough for ya?" she asked, to which Levy felt her face heat up in mortification. At her expression, Cana laughed, and not the polite quirk of the lips Levy was used to, but rambunctious laughter brash enough to rival the men around them.
"Oh, don't look at me like that, doll! I'm only teasing," she said. "Oye, Redfox – butt me, would ya?"
The man glared, grumbling as he pulled out a cigarette and tossing it to Cana who caught it expertly, and Levy found herself unable to look away.
Cana was a flapper. The demure and proper daughter of the Clive family was a flapper.
"Cana...does your father know about...well, this?" she asked, to which the brunette burst out laughing again – the sound deep and throaty. Wiping the corners of her eyes, she blew out a mournful of smoke from the corner of her mouth, raising her brows suggestively at the smaller woman.
"Honey, Pa's one of the main investors of the boss' company – what do you think?" she asked with another wink, grinning wickedly, and Levy felt like her entire world was spinning out of control. Not only Makarov, but Gildarts Clive as well? Was there anyone that ran a decent business in this town?
"Oye, Redfox!" the shout called for their companion's attention, and with a sharp look at Levy, as though saying 'don't go anywhere', he stalked off into the crowd. She felt her anger spike at the patronizing gesture, feeling very much like a child under supervision.
"Got yourself quite the fire extinguisher there, eh? Never thought he'd agree to it, but I guess the boss has his ways," Cana said, taking a long drag from her cigarette. Levy glared after the man with a soft huff, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I don't need a watchdog."
Cana raised a brow. "If the boss says you do, you do," she said with a shrug.
"But–"
She held a hand up. "That's the rule 'round these parts – learn them. I don't question the old man's judgement, and you should learn to do the same," she said, a smirk pulling at her lips. "'Sides, you should be thankful – that 'watchdog' is pretty much the safest bet you have of keeping out of trouble. And he's not too hard on the eyes either," she quipped with a wink, which had Levy's cheeks flaring with colour again and sending Cana into a burst of laughter that had the eyes of more than one man turning their way appreciatively. Levy turned her own eyes away, wishing the ground would swallow her up, but the brunette didn't seem to mind the attention.
"No, in all seriousness, doll, if the big cheese says you're not safe, then I'd take his word for it," Cana said, expression suddenly serious as she pointed the butt of her cigarette at the smaller woman.
Levy frowned, and felt the need to stomp her foot. "But...but why him?" she asked, motioning across the room to where Gajeel stood with his back to them.
Cana smirked. "He may look like a rag-a-muffin, but he's about the toughest ass this gin mill's got," she said with a shrug. "Used to be a torpedo for the mob, you know? You'd be a fool to mess with him, and people know that."
For what felt like the umpteenth time that evening, Levy could only gape. Torpedo?
For the mob?!
Allowing her gaze to shift across the room, she took in the tense shoulders, taking notice that despite his distinctly dishevelled attire, there were cords of muscle under the smudged white shirt, and that in contrast to the men around him, he towered a good six feet above the ground. His style of dress was a far cry from the elegant wear of the other men as well, what with his rough boots and the suspenders strapped across his broad shoulders – although they did little good, as his pants hung much too low on his hips to be anything but indecent. His hair was long, too – an oddity in and of itself – and was gathered in a cord low on his neck.
Now that she really looked, he appeared every bit the part of a torpedo, and she could only imagine the little effort needed to snap the necks of his victims...and the smile on his face as he did his boss' dirty work...
"See anythin' you like?" the suggestive voice of her companion broke her out of her reverie, but Levy barely heard her, eyes wide and staring at the man that now had her life in his hands.
"How exactly am I safe with a man like that?" she squeaked. Cana only grinned.
"Well, doll, let's just put it this way," she said, slinging an arm around Levy's shoulders as she motioned towards Gajeel. "There are few people out there more dangerous than Gajeel Redfox." Patting her on the back, the boisterous brunette flashed her another winning smile.
"He's also one of the boss' most trusted men. Keep that in mind when you get the jitters," she said with another wink, and Levy nodded dumbly, as she couldn't for the life of her take her eyes off the man now.
Well, perhaps it wasn't that bad. If Makarov trusted him...and maybe Cana was right, he was easy on the eyes...once you got past the dirt and the fact that his shirt wasn't tucked in.
And as though he could tell he was being watched, a pair of red eyes shifted to meet hers. The smug smile on his face spoke volumes, and suddenly, her fears evaporated like steam upon the air, replaced by the simmering anger from her trek across the city. The nerve of the man! To assume she – she! – would so much as...as show him any kind of interest other than abject repulsion! It was ridiculous! Thoroughly, wholly–
"You alright there, Levy? You're looking a little flushed."
"It's all the bee's knees," she ground out, jaw tight and gloved hands clenched tightly at her sides. Turning sharply on her heel, she addressed the brunette, "You said you were in charge of the alcohol? Well, I want a drink," she declared.
Cana raised a brow, cigarette poised between her fingers as an amused expression settled on her face. "A drink, eh?" Her eyes swept up and down her form in one fluid motion, one brow quirking upwards. "You sure you're up for that, doll? I ain't ever seen you drink anything stronger than tea."
Levy resisted the urge to huff. "Just give me something," she said, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. Cana only smiled as she walked off, hips swaying in a way that had the men around them stopping in their tracks, and leaving Levy by herself again, seething quietly.
No. Levy McGarden could definitely not answer how she had ended up where she was, in a crowd of strange and dangerous people, in an illegal bar in the shadiest part of Magnolia. And suddenly, she didn't feel angry at all, but very, very tired. Sighing heavily, she looked around for somewhere to take a seat when a shadow fell across her form. Looking up, she met mocking red eyes with a stare of her own. "What do you want?" she snapped.
Gajeel snorted. "The hell's eating you now? Place not agreeing with your posh ass?"
The insult struck something within her, but she pushed the feeling back. "It's just a lot to take in at once, but I wouldn't expect you to understand," she muttered.
Gajeel rolled his eyes. "Ya think this is a lot to take in? This is nothin' on a busy night," he retorted, and Levy didn't know whether to be curious or completely dejected. She felt like she'd run a great stretch – like all the energy had been sapped from her system and left her hollow and vulnerable.
And the man hovering a good two feet above her wasn't helping in the least.
"Do you have to do that?" she asked, some of her fatigue seeping into her voice despite her efforts of appearing unaffected.
"Do what?"
She sighed. "That. Standing there, hovering. I know you don't want to babysit me, so you're free to run along and...do whatever it is you do around here for fun," she said, waving him off as she attempted to locate a chair.
He snorted as though she'd said something particularly funny. "Pipe down that attitude, Shorty. I already have a boss, and he said to keep you out of trouble, so quit your complaining."
She glared. "I can take care of myself."
"Yeah? Like you could lift that suitcase?"
"..."
He grinned, and she felt like slapping him, or storming off. "You...you..." she seethed, pointing a trembling finger at him, but for all the languages she spoke, she couldn't for the life of her find a fitting insult. "Oooh! You're a piece of work!"
"You're not the cat's pyjamas either, midget."
"Rag-a-muffin!"
"But maybe the flapper was right – you're a bit of a bearcat," he said with a gleaming grin.
Levy opened her mouth, but snapped it shut, and was about to turn around when Cana made her reappearance, a drink in her hand.
"Sorry for the hold-up – Mira usually handles the bar, but she seems to have gone off somewhere," she said, handing the glass to Levy, who didn't hesitate in downing the whole thing in one go, which probably hadn't been the best idea, as she felt like throwing it all back up a second later. Resisting the urge to cough violently, she handed the glass back, never taking her eyes off Gajeel.
"The ladies' room," she all but choked out, ignoring the fact that she felt like coughing up a lung. Cana pointed wordlessly to the back of the establishment, a dubious look on her face, but Levy turned on her heel sharply, pushing through the throng of people and heading towards the door on the far end of the room without preamble. Her throat burned like fire and tears pressed at the backs of her eyes, but she pushed on, shouldering her way through the crowd despite her small size, before finally reaching the door and escaping inside.
The mirror that greeted her upon her entrance was the last drop, and suddenly, tears were running unheeded down her flushed face. Her hair was a mess, and there were smudges on her face and her dress from their trip through the alleyways. She looked nothing like herself – nothing like the good, proper young woman her father had been so proud of. She...she looked like she belonged in the Alleys. Like a girl out of one of her favourite novels – poor as a church rat and begging on corners for money.
And if having to move out of her home hadn't been enough of a reminder that she didn't belong in her old world anymore, this was like a slap to the face.
Leaning her back against the wall, she slid to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and noticing with a small whine that her new stockings were ripped and torn. The fingers of her gloves – which were smudged with dirt and grime – were soaked with her attempts at stopping the never-ending flow of tears, and she sniffed pathetically. Honestly, what was wrong with her? She never lost her temper like she did around...around that man. She'd been raised better than that. She'd been raised to take just about anything with her chin held high and her shoulders squared, but there was something about him that had her forgetting almost twenty years of etiquette and manners. And the worst out of everything that had happened since he'd picked her up – everything from the speakeasy to Makarov and Cana turning out to be someone entirely different that the people she'd thought she knew – was that she couldn't make herself hate it. Returning his banter felt...liberating, in a way she had never before experienced. Here was a man who didn't treat her like a delicate little thing to be put on a pedestal and admired. He didn't compliment her on everything. Hell, he didn't compliment her on anything at all, and he treated her like...like he'd treat a man. Or a living, personal insult to his very existence.
And she liked it. And she hated it. And she hated him, for being such an ass, judging her every move, her every comment, just because she came from wealth? Who did he think he was?
Wiping roughly at her eyes, Levy willed herself to calm down. Her pulse was racing a mile a minute, and there was a strange buzz at the back of her mind. The alcohol, no doubt. She'd never had a sip in her life – what had she been thinking, downing that glass like it was water? She hadn't even known what it was!
"This place is driving me insane," she muttered into her hands, rubbing her temples to soothe the headache she could feel coming on. Exhaustion was pulling her down, but she willed in back, refusing to fall asleep on the floor of a bathroom in a shady place run by people who lied about who they really were. And then there was Gajeel Redfox. Her new personal bodyguard. She groaned at the thought, resting her aching head against her knees.
A sharp rap on the door had her nearly jumping out of her skin, and she yelped as the door was pushed open roughly, revealing none other than the source of her inner turmoil, who didn't seem to mind that he was bursting into a private area.
"Oye."
She sniffed, turning her narrowed eyes on his looming form in the doorway. "Ladies' room tell you anything?" she snapped, surprised as the comment came almost like a reflex.
He rolled his eyes. "I told ya I'd keep an eye on you," he reminded her. "That means ya can't just run off wherever ya bloody feel like it."
"Oh, so I can't even go by myself now?" she snapped, cheeks colouring at her audacity of even mentioning something like that in front of a man such as him. His resulting grin was nothing short of wicked.
"Should teach your posh ass a thing or two," he growled, before his grin vanished abruptly. "Boss says you can get some sleep if you want. I'll show you where."
She fumed at his casual change of topics and attitude – so cold, while she sat fuming! – but inhaled deeply through her nose, schooling her expression into one of neutral calm. "I can find the way on my own, thank you."
He snorted. "On your first time in this place? Fat chance, Shorty. I'm taking ya, end of discussion. Now do yer business so I can get some damn rest," he snapped, shouldering his way back out the door.
She crossed her arms over her chest in defiance, but resisted the urge to kick her feet and throw a fit like a child. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she rose to her feet, brushing herself off quickly and taking one long look at her disastrous reflection before following suit, chin held high.
There was no way she was going to let that man get the better of her. She would show him. She would adapt to this place, and she'd prove she wasn't just another helpless heiress out of her depth.
She was Levy McGarden, and she wasn't about to let some brazen hoodlum seemingly raised by a pack of wolves get the upper hand. Because she'd been raised in high society, and if Gajeel Redfox assumed her an ignorant waif then he would be surprised, because although not used to the squalor and general brashness of Magnolia's underworld, she had grown up in a world full of lies and deceit. Glamoured into seeming the bee's knees for the ones lucky enough to find themselves born into it, the upper class was not unlike the gangsters ruling the Alleys.
The only difference was that they had nicer suits.
Exiting the ladies' room, Levy strode towards her appointed bodyguard, conscious of the stares she was attracting, tear-streaked face on full display for the entirety of Fairy Tail's clientèle. He was waiting for her at the foot of a staircase located the the other end of the room from the toilets, arms crossed over his chest and a glare etched sharp on his face, his entire posture screaming a challenge for anyone to dare approach him.
"You done weepin' yer eyes out?" came the gruff question upon her arrival, mockery dripping from his words. Levy sniffed indignantly as she stopped before the man she had become dependent on without quite being asked what she thought about it – or even it she'd wanted it.
But what the boss says, goes, and she would just have to deal with it.
"My room?" was all she asked, trying to appear nonchalant. His smirk was befitting of the devil himself, and he snorted.
"Sorry – you're not my type."
Levy inhaled deeply, drawing on all her years of being a woman in a chauvinistic, male-dominated society to let the comment slide without slapping him. "He said the second floor, right? I'll just start walking, then."
He caught her wrist as she passed him, and her eyes snapped to his, brown meeting red in a fierce clash of wills. "Listen up," he growled low in his throat, and for the life of her, she couldn't stop the stab of fear at the look on his face. It settled somewhere behind her ribs, clenching around her heart like a vice, and suddenly she was deathly afraid she had overstepped some kind of line.
"I didn't ask for this," he muttered darkly, motioning to the both of them. "In fact, I'd much rather be anywhere else. Women like you disgust me, and the fact that I have to watch yer arrogant, rich little ass when I could be doing other things – important things – is pissing me off. So here's a piece of advice, Shorty. Stop yer damn yapping, quit the self-righteous attitude, and get the fuck over yourself. This ain't a world for weepy little shits – you can take my word for that."
Then he released her, striding past her brusquely. "Get moving, I ain't got all night," he called back over his shoulder.
She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stop the frustrated tears stinging her eyes as well as keep down the sob that had lodged itself in her throat. Her hand trembled uncontrollably, and as she brushed her fingers against her wrist she winced at the sharp pain that blossomed up the length of her arm. His grip had felt a hairsbreadth away from snapping the bone, and it had taken all her willpower not to cry out.
Pulling the sleeve of her blouse down to cover what would undoubtedly be a very nasty bruise, she sniffed, wiping fiercely at her eyes as she followed his heavy footsteps up the stairs. When she reached the second floor, he was waiting at the end of the corridor, looking impatient, but that was hardly a surprise. She walked past him, eyes averted but stance defiant, reaching for the doorknob in a silent jab at society's norms, although she doubted a man like him even bothered with frivolous traditions like holding doors open for ladies.
Swinging open, the door revealed a comfortably sized bedroom. Simple but nicely furnished, it was the first sign of familiarity and comfort she'd seen all day, and the thought made an unbidden lump form in her throat. Before she could dwell more on the thought, Gajeel's voice cut through the quiet.
"Oh, yeah, the boss said to tell you – you'll be sharin' the room," he said from behind her just as her eyes came to rest on the form of a woman on the other end of the room, standing tall and with an expression of abject surprise that mirrored her own. Her blonde hair was out of its usually elaborate up-do, and she was in a man's shirt and trousers, but Levy would have recognized her anywhere. And suddenly, her anger was forgotten, gone in a flash along with her fears and the chaos that had been her first meeting with her new life. And propriety be damned, because she honestly couldn't care less as she all but threw herself forward and into a pair of familiar arms.
"Lucy!"
AN: And there you have it! I'd love to know your thoughts on the story so far, so feel free to drop a comment. And a short note for the curious: the image Cana presents for the upper class is a lot like her Edolas counterpart, if anyone is wondering why Levy is so surprised.
Next up: Iron Fist Gajeel hasn't been in the ring in a while, and rumour has it he's gotten a little rusty. It's time to visit some old friends.
gin mill: another name for an illegal drinking establishment.
the bee's knees/the cat's pyjamas: an extraordinary person/thing/idea.
hooch: alcohol
flapper: modern young women who bobbed their hair, dressed in short skirts, smoked, drank and drove automobiles.
bearcat: a hot-blooded or fiery girl
fire extinguisher: chaperone