In a dimly lit room, four men sat on a plush sofa their eyes eagerly greeting the burlesque dancer as slowly slipped thigh high stockings away, revealing her tones legs. The gave shouts and cheers of encouragement that wasn't needed. Her hands traveled up the sides of her hips. Dark purple polish standing out against her smooth pale skin. Veronica smiled, watching the small party lean forward as she slipped out of a swarovski brassière with grace. In seduction she found power. Her painted lips meet the temple of the younger gentleman who was celebrating his birthday with his friends. She rarely performed with such a small audience having much preferring a large stage, but she didn't get paid for staffing President Putin's dinner party, so she was picking up extra shifts.
"Happy birthday" her voice had a natural rich, slightly husky quality too it that she purposely amplified in appeal with a breathy whisper. Nails dug into her waist as the birthday boy, drunk on whisky, tried to pull her into his lap. "I do not give lap dances." Veronica suddenly remembered why she didn't do these types of performances. "baaaby come on luff….s'hweet girl…is my birthday" "Sir, I do not give lap dances now kindly let go." He didn't, instead splashed the remainder of whisky at her.
"Fuckin' whoree" He spat.
Anger boiled up within her quickly, ruling all her thoughts. She found herself wanting so desperately to unleash her volatile thoughts in a full fury- but he was a customer, a high paying one at that so she regrettably returned back to the main rooms in Annabel's. His group of drunken buddies followed her out, shouting out their dissatisfaction with her. The outbursts interrupting the other performers on main stage. One of the headmistresses gave her a pointed look. Veronica mumbled "Lap dances." The woman sighed as she signaled for the the bouncers to remove the shouting young men. The club would run into these sorts of problems every now and again, despite it being incredibly exclusive, only there was always an occasional celebrity or politician that would step out of line. The dancers were never to be touched and the rule was always firmly enforced.
"Pity. I would've taken a few of them on as my own personal cliental….when will men learn that drunken demanding will never get them anywhere." Her headmistress was well-known for being a dominatrix to high prolific men and women. Often she would take on an occasion member of Annabel's as her client. The dancers all respected her, many hoped to be taken under her wing and trained to become dominatrix's themselves. Veronica had no interest in becoming one, she was happy doing burlesque, but she knew there was much to learn from the enigmatic Irene Alder. "I'll see you tomorrow night. If you don't mind I think i'm going to head off now." "You may. Everything here is taken care of." The headmistress' lips lightly twitched up as she made her way into the private room that the birthday boy hadn't exited.
Veronica fished through her purse looking for her keys. They'd gotten lost once again. She dumped it on the floor in a last attempt to find her key to the apartment. The street lights spilled in from the hallway window, creating a little patch of light as she sorted through the pile of stuff; an extra pair of stockings, pack of gum, water bottle, a hair comb, a small black taser-a safety measure one had to take as a burlesque dancer, her journal and makeup bag. No keys. "Having troubles?" A low pitch voice interrupted her search. From peripheral vision she made out a tall suited man. Veronica felt a spike of adrenaline rush through her veins. Had one of the angry clients from the club followed her to her flat. Slowly she reached out for her taser. "I don't mean to harm you, Miss Follies. I apologize if my presence alarmed you." He spoke slowly as he stepped forward from behind her, revealing himself to be the man she spilt wine on at the dinner party two nights ago. Veronica calmed immediately, trusting her gut feeling that he was being honest. "Ah there they are!" The keys had slipped into through a tear in the lining of her bag.
Veronica sipped at her lemon jasmine brew, her yellow kimono setting of her dark brown hair and green eyes. Mycroft sat across from her in a floral patterned armchair, looking unseemly among her messy flat. "You must have desperately wanted to meet me again for you to come at such an hour" She smiled playfully, looking down at her mug; It was chipped on the top side of the handle. Veronica frowned. She'd never noticed that before. "Yes, there are some pressing matters. I'd like you to"—Mycroft watched as a hairless cat entered the room, jumping up onto Veronicas lap. — "answer some questions, if you could." Mycroft gave her a smile. "Am I in trouble?" She frowned once more but no anxiety was evident in her body language. She was comfortable. "That depends." Veronica sat up straighter, staring at him with such an intensity that demanded resolve of the conversation "What is it you'd like to ask me, Mr. Holmes? I already gave my official statements." She could feel the sticky whisky on her skin that begged to be washed. A sliver of guilt grew when she realized she had unreasonably snapped at him but was quickly vanished as he spoke. "Yes, you did. I'm here to ask you of what you didn't put in the reports like my assistant briefed you on." He paused. "What i'm asking, Miss Follies is why did you spill wine on me" Veronica shifted slightly "It was an accident." "No it wasn't." Mycroft felt exasperation slip past his carefully guarded mind; something that simply just didn't happen unless Sherlock was near. "I didn't poison you" "That's not what I asked!" He raised his voice and immediately cringed at his actions. Looking contritely at her he apologized.
She sat there across from Mycroft for a few moments, quietly thinking. "I did" She finally revealed as a way of apologizing for her own outburst. She looked up at him. "I knew you were sick..I just had this gut feeling, Mr. Holmes." "A gut feeling…?" He stared down at her incredulously. "I knew guests such as yourself wouldn't want a scene of publicly getting ill so I-" He stood, grabbing his umbrella with such grip that his knuckles turned white."I see now that expecting your coöperation was a mistake on my part." He turned away from her "I shall see myself out. However useless it has proved to be, thank you for your time, Miss Follies." he called out as he walked away. Veronica let out a frustrated groan. Today was just not her day.
