4. (it's quick, it's clean,) It's Pure

GraveRobber had to admit, he was feeling pretty damn pleased with himself. All of his qualms—moral or what have you—went away when the money appeared. And what do you know, it was kind of fun. GraveRobber wasn't going to kid himself into thinking that he actually mattered to any of these people, but it's pretty hard not to feel at least a little important when a small, desperate hoard is clinging to you, making little noises of extreme longing.

Just as he was finishing up with the last paying junkie, GraveRobber heard a giggle from the alley entrance. Standing there was a girl, looking totally inappropriate in a little white dress with a feather skirt, like an angel lost in the middle of hell. Now, that idea really amused him. GraveRobber caught her eyes and gave her his best smile. Even from here, he could see her shudder in what he wrongly assumed was fear. Still grinning, he swaggered over to her, taking in her short brown hair (done in some funky cut,) violet eyes (obviously not natural,) full chest (he could just barely see the surgery scars,) dress bodice (tight,) skirt (short,) legs (nice,) and strappy white heels (hard to run in.)

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?" He drawled. Intentionally, GraveRobber stood so he blocked her entrance into the alley and leaned an arm on the alley wall beside her. He could tell that his sudden closeness made her nervous, but she didn't step back.

All at once, the doubt and worry cleared from the girl's eyes, and GraveRobber could swear he saw her lips quirk upward in a tiny grin. Her face set in determination, and the girl pushed passed GraveRobber into the alley so that she was standing in front of him.

"Do you sell Zydrate?" She demanded in her most business-like tone.

GraveRobber looked down at the gun in his hand, then at the blissed-out junkies lingering in the alley way. "Is that a trick question?"

"I need some," She said bluntly.

GraveRobber snickered. "Carmella Largo, heiress of GeneCo, is a Zydrate addict," he said, almost in sing-song, "doesn't that just beat all?"

Because of course he recognized her. He didn't live under a goddamned rock. GraveRobber saw the face of the girl before him on so many posters, billboards, and magazines that it made him sick. True, she looked a little different on each one, but she was still obviously identifiable.

"Who says I'm addicted?" Carmella snapped defensively. GraveRobber raised an eyebrow, and she sighed. "Look, I just had a surgery—"

"I'm so happy for you," GraveRobber interjected snarkily.

"—And I'm in a lot of pain. So can you just give me the damned drug? Pretty, pretty please?" Carmella finished, with enough sarcasm to make GraveRobber's previous statement curl up in embarrassed defeat.

"Fine," GraveRobber shrugged, "no doubt you're good for it."

"Duh," Carmella rolled her eyes. She handed over the cash, and GraveRobber pulled out a little glass vial full of the neon blue elixir. As he started to load it into the gun, however, Carmella snatched it out of his hand. "I can get a gun all on my own, thanks. God knows where yours has been."

"Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart," GraveRobber said, slightly bemused. "Guess I'll be seeing you later."

"Bet on it," Carmella called back over her shoulder as she strode confidently away, surprisingly fast and graceful in those heels.

"I think I've found my favorite customer," GraveRobber muttered, then he settled against one of the grimy walls to count his earnings.

OoO

Well, that definitely could've gone worse, Carmella thought as she tucked the little glass vial into her bra. At least he's hot.

Carmela couldn't lie—she found herself attracted to the young dealer. Despite his snark and grunge, he was undeniably charismatic. And underneath all that smirk, swagger, and bravado, this God of the Underworld was really rather cute. Yeah, Carmela had seen the freckles.