Secluded from the noise and jubilance of the main casino, The River King's theatre lounge had a unique atmosphere of its own. The far end of the spacious lounge was dominated by a large, semicircular stage edged with soft blue lights and glinting gold trim, twinkling together in the dark and the gloom. A packed seating arrangement of two-person tables fanned out from the edge of the stage, each one flickering with a small glass candle. Sitting alone at one of these tables was Lawrence, a heavyset Mafioso in red. A neat roll of twenty-dollar bills was stashed in the pocket of his black pants, but at the moment he couldn't care less. With his elbows on the table, head propped up on his hands, and a vacant look in his eyes, Lawrence was utterly entranced. If his mind were capable of such creativity, he'd make poetic terms to describe Eliza's intoxicating beauty as she serenaded the audience. He could've sworn that at moments she was looking straight at him, slipping him a sly wink now and then from her sky-blue eyes as her lacquered chords flawlessly struck every note.
The overweight mobster was still in this vacuous state when Ms. Fortune found him. Rather than just try to drag him away, the cat burglar hung back outside of the seating area, trying to plan her next move. She noted with some concern that Riccardo was nowhere to be seen.
'That creep probably likes younger women, anyways.' Nadia thought. Dismissing such thoughts from her mind with a shudder, she proceeded.
The feline felon nonchalantly pulled up a chair at Lawrence's table, sitting directly across from him to block his line of sight to the night's entertainment. The cat burglar found it fascinating how the mobster's face cycled from indignation and anger, to the spark of recognition and then settled on fear. She gave a mirthless grin, displaying her razor-sharp canines. Nadia couldn't find it in herself to pity the clammy brute. She looked at him, and all she could think of was Minette – alone, scared. Wherever she was, her suffering had been enabled by his actions. Now that she was this close, it took a sizeable amount of self-control for Nadia to refrain from grabbing Lawrence by the collar of his ugly red shirt and bashing his even uglier head against the table until he told her what she needed to know.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" she purred, fingernails tracing shapes on the table.
"Uh, l-look, maybe- m-maybe I can explain-"
Two men – one in a bright yellow zoot suit, and the other in a black tuxedo - observed these proceedings from a distance. Hunched, solemn like a pair of remarkably well-dressed vultures. They had been keeping their eyes and Lawrence for some time, and were more than a little concerned by Nadia's intrusion. One leaned over and tapped the shoulder of his partner.
"Would you get a load of this, Frankie?" the tuxedo-clad one said, motioning with a small gesture, "We know this girl?"
"I wish." replied the one named Francesco, "Dunno 'bout you, but I'd remember a set of curves like those." He idly rolled a luxury vanilla-scented cigarette around in a gloved hand, tapping his forefinger against the gold-leafed filter to dislodge loose ashes, "She don't look too pleased, does she? I'm guessing Lawrence tried out one of his world-class pickup lines again."
His partner broke into a giggle, "Oh brother. Remember last year?"
"When he tried to sweet-talk that circus star?" He leisurely took another drag from the luxury cigarette, lifting his chin to blow a smoke ring into the air, "I remember. His face looked like a damn eggplant from all the bruises – I say he got what was coming to him, even thinking words like those let alone sayin' 'em. I swear, if my Mother heard me disrespect a woman like that, she'd have thrown me across a knee and tanned my hide."
"Sounds like one hell of a woman," the partner cackled, patting Francesco on the back. "your mother I mean - the circus star, too - but mostly your mother."
"You better believe it, Carlo." Francesco boasted, puffing his chest and lifting his chin, "That woman brought me up right: she made sure I knew what it meant to be a proper man; a proper Medici – and most importantly, taught me to treat a lady with respect."
"Not like this scumbag?" Carlo glanced at Lawrence's pudgy figure again.
"Damn straight." Francesco took a deep drag from on his cigarette, making the embers crawl further up the tube, "Respect is everything. If you can't show respect for your fellow man, then you don't deserve to be respected. If nobody respects you, y'know what that makes you?"
"Dog food." Carlo concluded with a grin. This was their usual ritual – especially in a business where expensive suits and the veneer of civil manners so frequently clashed with the bitter act of murder, it was important to justify one's actions out loud – to pretend that they were still men with moral standards while steeling their nerves for the bloodshed to come, "But Frankie - suppose this dame's here on the same business as us, eh? Eliza finds some weird types to work for her. I mean, this cat could be a cugine for all we know."
"It's possible." Francesco agreed, exhaling another plume of scented smoke, "Anyway, I'm about ready to do somethin' bloody. What about you?"
Carlo leaned back and stuffed his hand in his pocket, fishing around until his fingers wrapped around the leather grip of his handgun.
"I'm getting tired of listening to this crappy music anyways, let's go stick this pig and maybe we can go find a club with some real talent."
Carlo rose from his seat and meandered off across the seating area, his dark clothing blending in with the gloomy lighting. Francesco took a final drag on his cigarette before crushing it into an ashtray, rising to follow in the same nonchalant fashion.
The method to an effective message job was to be quick, precise, and violent. The hammer and anvil tactic was old, but effective: one of the gangsters would approach directly to draw the target's attention, and then the other would strike from behind. Francesco straightened out the lapels of his bright, contrasting banana-yellow zoot suit and drew a flick-knife from his pocket twirling it in his fingers to let the polished blade glint in the dark blue neon light.
"You're out of options, Lawrence." Nadia continued, "Either you smarten up, or..." the cat burglar's gaze snapped upwards, to a loudly-dressed man strutting towards them with a wide, slimy grin plastered onto his face. The thief's shoulders tensed up, and she slowly rose from the table, readying to face the Mafioso.
Carlo surged forward from the dark, clubbing the girl over with head with the handgun and knocking her down for the count. He pulled back the pistol's slide, enjoying the click of the well-maintained spring. He saw Lawrence desperately try to free his bulk from the seat.
"Smile for the birdie, fatso!"
A survivor of many street brawls and, of course, virtually immortal, Ms. Fortune was decidedly more resilient than an average five-foot-eight, one-hundred-twenty-seven-pound woman. The tuxedoed assassin was certainly surprised when Nadia chose not to stay down, but instead kicked him in the groin. Hard. His aim was thrown off as his hand clenched around the trigger and the pistol misfired.
The gunshot rang like a cathedral bell, shattering the mellow tunes of Eliza's singing. Panic seized the other guests, and the seating area was thrown into a frenzied mass of shouting and screaming. Francesco roared a profanity and charged, determined to finish this job one way or another. Nadia's reflexes were faster as she pounced at him, shredding wide holes in his offensive suit.
Eliza observed these events from the stage with a seething anger. Lawrence was a secondary concern to her - right now, the mafia would pay horribly for interrupting her performance. As she dropped down from the stage, a pair of hulking feral bodyguards appeared at her sides: Horace the falcon and Albus the jackal. The diva proceeded across the floor with an officious air, with her guards smashing tables aside and swatting away any of the bewildered guests that were unlucky enough to cross their path.
The mobster in the zoot suit was clearly outmatched, staggering back under the storm of claws and teeth. Willful and headstrong, he still fought, missing a cross-cut, roaring in outrage as he felt the cat's claws rake along his ribs. He threw away any regard for his own safety as he pushed forward and, by a fluke, shoved the manic storm of claws away for a fleeting moment. He straightened what was left of his tattered suit. Francesco felt a finger tapping his shoulder, and turned around to see Horace towering over him, cracking the knuckles of his massive hands.
"Oh, f-"
Horace launched him across the room with a vicious uppercut, the mobster's body twirling through the air before landing with a crash somewhere in the dark.
Ms. Fortune smirked as she relaxed, dusting herself off.
"Now that was a pun-ch." she giggled, "I a-purr-eciate it."
Neither of the giant ferals responded, and Nadia slowly realized she was not among friends as the burly guards moved to encircle her. Eliza came to a stop in front of her, hips cocked, and a sly smile showing white teeth against her dark features.
"Tell me, what reason does a vicious little cobra like you have to tangle yourself in the Medicis' business?" Eliza mused.
"Who, me?" Nadia asked in a coy tone, "Lady, if I look like a snake to you, I think you need your eyes checked." She looked around.
"Oh I see quite a bit," Eliza intoned, "Such as the fact that your quarry seems to have escaped while you were busy toying with that poor Medici." Eliza gave a low chuckle as Nadia glanced about, realizing that Lawrence was nowhere to be seen.
"Or better yet, tell me what enchantment you have running in your blood. It's scent is... exquisite."
Nadia's ears flattened and her brow furrowed. Horace allowed himself a small smirk at the feline's confused expression, and Albus' shoulders shifted with an ominous chuckle. Eliza went on, "Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you've cheated death more than once. Who sent you? Is another necromancer from the Chess Kingdom out to pay me a visit? It's been too long since I've had a real rival out here."
"I guess the cat's out of the bag." Nadia hissed under her breath. In a move she had practiced hundreds of times, she twirled her limbs in their scars and sockets, contorting her overcoat and shredding it away to reveal her less constricting—and considerably less concealing-outfit underneath.
Horace and Albus stepped forward, but halted as Ms. Fortune swiped at the air in front of them, an audible hiss escaping the cat's bared fangs. Her pupils flattened into sharp slits.
"Fine - I'll play your game! You want a piece of me?!" She snarled, "Come and get it!"
The double-meaning was not lost on Eliza, and to Nadia's surprise the elegant-looking singer coiled herself into what seemed to be a combat stance. Through an unspoken word the large bodyguards backed away, giving their mistress room to work.
Nadia and Eliza paced in circles around each other, Ms. Fortune darted back and forth, keeping light on her feet, and Eliza strutted in an unconcerned fashion, a peevish grin on her face. She wanted the cat to make the first move.
After circling for a moment more, Nadia straightened up, giving a cocky grin.
"Seeya!" she called flippantly, bolting in the opposite direction. Horace and Albus were too far away to do anything to stop her, and they were left blinking at the double doors that she exited from, springs still creaking in their hinges. They both swiveled their heads towards Eliza.
"Well? Do you need an invitation?" she said, "Albus, track her - we'll be along shortly." Eliza turned, grinning wickedly as Francesco stirred from where he had fallen, the hapless mobster groaning in pain. Albus lumbered off while Horace gripped Francesco, roughly pinning the Medici's arms behind his back and forcing him into a kneeling position before his mistress.
"May I offer you an apéritif, madam?" Horace suggested.
"Please." Eliza murmured. Francesco's nose had been shattered, and blood was running down his face. The mobster snorted in through his nose and spat a wad of phlegm and blood at Eliza, his spittle falling short by a few inches. Horace promptly clubbed Francesco over the head.
"Do that again, and I'll have no other choice than to break both your arms." The falcon solemnly informed him.
"Vaffanculo, stronzo!" Francesco snarled, defiant and quarrelsome to the end. He glared at Eliza, "You've written your own death sentence, schifosa! You're done in this town, you hear me? You're through! You're maggot bait! Lorenzo's gonna have you hunted down and butchered like—!"
Eliza casually struck him with a clean backhand, the impact echoing around the theatre. She grabbed his neck, beneath the jaw, forcing him to look up at her. She turned his head left and right, casually inspecting his exposed jugular veins.
"That would imply he cared about you. Believe me, if you knew what was coming next, you'd be begging me to kill you now – to spare you from witnessing the end of your little dynasty." She reached down and dipped her pinkie finger in the wad of bloody spit that Francesco had failed to hit her with. She squinted at it a few seconds, giving herself time to sample it through skin contact—a decision she regretted immediately. Her calm, aloof expression twisted into that of raw revulsion and disgust: Although it had been tempting to get her first draught of Medici blood, Francesco's habit of chainsmoking had added a repulsive taint to his lifeblood – in just a tiny sample, Eliza had gotten a nauseating sense of the septic cocktail of formaldehyde, ammonia, nicotine, and other chemical toxins that had leached into Francesco's bloodstream through his lungs over the years. The taste was, put succinctly, unclean.
"Nevermind on the drink, Horace. I think I've lost my appetite." The singer dropped to her knees, until she was at eye level with Francesco, "For now, I'll leave you be. In the meantime, go back to your uncle, and tell him I am no longer his senet piece. I'll be seeing you all soon."
Her bodyguard smartly gave Francesco another knock over the head, letting his unconscious form slump to the floor.
"Come, Horace. We've got a prize to hunt."
Cugine: "Cousin." A term for people striving for recognition in the mafia. 'Cugini' have a reputation for being aggressive and unpredictable, and generally it is not an affectionate term.
26/08/18 Edit: Finally corrected Albus and Horace's dialogue. Originally, I had written dialogue for them before they had been given canon personalities in the Skullgirls game, and my depiction of them was hilariously out-of-character.