The club, upon second look, was an odd mix of decadence and savagery. Every corner seemed gilt-edged, every tablecloth made of beautiful Egyptian cotton, each waiter's satin jacket crisp and starched. However, for every lovely thing, there was a dangerous edge to it. At least one gold edge had seen a gangster's head slammed against it. At least three tablecloths still had specks of blood on them still, and every waiter had a gun tucked away on them somewhere, be it around their calf, under their belt, under their jacket.
He had barely sat down, Poe waving him over and yanking him down into the empty seat beside him accordingly, the table set just off the stage, close to the stage's stairs It was, on all accounts a good view, a fact that the town grocer practically shouted in the mechanic's ear, trying to compensate for the loud buzz around them. "Finn made sure to sit us close—said that Rey specially asked!" In the next moment, a glass was in front of Ben, and he was tossing back a drink, the alcohol tingling his throat, making him cough.
It had been some time since having good alcohol—true, his father had a still in the basement, but his mother had forbidden its use, probably because she knew Han's knack for finding the highest bidder but still cheating them out of their money. In a time where the police could come bursting through the door at any point, be it from the tip-off by a suspicious neighbor, or the insider on the force hadn't been paid off this month, alcohol wasn't anything Ben had the opportunity to imbibe often. Tonight, he'd make an exception, his nerves a few seconds away from being shot to hell, especially as he thought to Snoke's puckered scowl when he had glanced back, ushering Rey from the room, the feel of her skin hot and still stinging his hand now, the burn pleasant and headier than the whiskey.
He had been a tremulous voice, a shaking limb, a stuttered fact, away from being shot where he stood, and it still amazed him that he survived. Across the room, he saw the other suitor take a seat, glare smoldering over other people's heads. Ben had only seen such a look on a snake, years ago when he was younger. The snake—and Snoke—both had a look of concentration, tongue flickering out but eyes never blinking. Not before they struck. Despite this, despite knowing that the mob boss had yet to act, Ben couldn't help but raise his glass, nodding and perhaps smirking even, knowing that the other man looked his way. The old man nodded back curtly, jerking his eyes away and to the stage.
Ben followed suit, noticing the stage lights were low, waiting to be brought up, Finn's voice thrumming in the microphone: "Back from her performance at Club Resistance, it's Miss Light-of-our-Lives herself, the quick-witted, soft-voiced, easy on her feet, our little Rey of Sunshine!"
If Poe had been looking at his friend, disapproving of his goading on of the mob boss, the mechanic didn't know, his eyes glued to the young woman that the spotlight now targeted, her hands waving in a gracefully arch as she swept onto the middle of the stage, sequins catching the light from every angle.
In Ben's dreams, the club had been louder, brassy voices echoing in his ears, the words from a song perhaps, or a rough conversation at the next table over. He expected caterwauling, hoots, and hollers as Rey mounted the stage, her painted lips set in a wide smile, cheekily grinning at the audience, heels hollowly clicking against the wood planks she stood upon, looking out. Now, in this moment that he found himself in, taking in the sights he had only read about, it was quieter, the voices around him dropping to a breathless hum, watching the showgirl nod to the band, glance out at the audience, winking as she went.
When her eyes alighted on Ben, Rey's face instantly softened, and there was a hoot tossed up from the back. "Our girl is blushing! Aw, honey, what's making you blush?" She laughed at the heckler, her cheeks burning just a little hotter. This show would be a bit harder with Ben here. She thought she had realized it, but no, not the full extent, glancing back at him as she approached the microphone, hands wrapping around it delicately, the only thing she could grasp to keep herself from shaking apart.
With him here, she felt almost silly, almost self-conscious. She hadn't felt this way since she had first started—in truth, performing night after night was dizzying and fast. One moment, she would blink and find herself sitting back in her dressing room, feet sore, voice raw. This would be the only routine she would probably remember from her career. She hoped that it would be her last performance ever, as well.
Another glance at Ben, at his wide smile, his content eyes, and she couldn't help but grin, smoothing the black silk that clung to her before nodding again to her band. Okay, I'm ready. The breath she took was deep, her eyes glittering with humor as the pianist began to clink at the keys. Even now, even though she knew every step, every word, every shimmy, and shake, Rey found herself combing through the routine, picking it apart, her breathes almost labored with anxiety as her ears pricked up, sensing her cue.
The intro was cheery and a few bars longer than most unpracticed ears would allow, but she needed every moment for preparation, her stomach fluttering in time with her heart as she forced her gaze up, the lyrics smoothing their way out over her tongue:
Listen to me, honey dear;
Something's wrong with you, I fear.
It's getting harder to please you,
Harder and harder each year…
"She's a little vaudevillian, isn't she?" Poe's voice was loud in Ben's ear, and the man jumped, nearly swatting his companion and shushing him. "More cabaret, actually." Came the cool response, Finn sidling up to the table and plopping himself in the empty chair beside him. The girl's facial expressions were a bit exaggerated, more dramatic and suited to storytelling, but then again, isn't that what the audience wanted?
. With Poe now whispering back and forth with the announcer, Ben could focus again, his gaze sitting heavy on the girl almost studiously. She hadn't started dancing yet, though she was swaying a little bit, foot tapping to keep time, especially as the drums picked up:
I don't want to make you blue,
But you need a talking to…
Like a lot of people I know,
Here's what's wrong with you!
Off to his side, Ben could hear Finn telling Poe more about the song, about how Rey had picked it as a subtle complaint at Snoke, but still something cheery enough to provide a good show for the rest. The song's message almost didn't matter, to be honest, the mechanic's eyes watching how the sequins on the girl shimmered as she shook. Her feet quickened now, arms swinging as she started her Charleston slowly, the whisking step-and-tap rhythm ticking itself across the wood floor pleasantly. As the tempo picked up, so did her feet, Rey's hair bouncing with as her twisting legs kicked up, arms above head, smile infectious.
After you get what you want, you don't want it!
If I gave you the moon, you'd grow tired of it soon…
You're like a baby—
You want what you want when you want it,
But after you are presented
With what you want, you're discontented!
Her spins were quick and tight, her feet always ready to stop her with a confident air that only practiced experience could give a performer. Rey found Ben's eyes again, though she knew they hadn't left her, hadn't drifted in the slightest. She grinned at him, the smile growing wider now as he returned the look, his frame relaxed and yet ready to burst with pride. Her heart seized for a moment, the thought of being someone's pride—especially someone like Ben—leaving her breathless for a moment. Her feet didn't slow, but as she spied the staircase leading down into the audience, so close to him, she almost forgot about the song, inching her way over now.
You're always wishing and wanting for something.
In an instant, Rey was scampering off the stage, shoes tip-tapping on the stairs as she descended. Ben nearly choked on his drink as she brushed against him, slinging her arms around his neck as she sang on.
When you get what you want,
You don't want what you get…
He was looking up at her now, all wonder and awe and confusion, especially now as she dropped herself down onto his lap. Rey felt dizzy, almost as if she had taken a swig too many of her hip flask before the show, but no, she hadn't, she hadn't touched the stuff for days, feeling Ben's fingers dig into her waist, keeping her rooted. She felt feisty, dangerous, glancing away from her sweetheart, her gentle look easing itself into a glare as Snoke stared back, wrath thinly veiled from the three or so tables that separated them. In a moment, she was smiling again, but with an accusatory finger pointed his way:
And though I sit upon your knee,
You'll grow tired of me;
'Cause after you get what you want
You don't want what you wanted at all!
She could practically hear every jaw drop with her pointing finger. She could feel Finn's desperate hand trying to pull her arm down, could hear the band playing on in vain, wishing that she hadn't deviated from the routine, that she was still on stage, tapping and singing away. She shouldn't be relishing in the explosive shout that escaped from Snoke, no longer calm and collected, no longer in control, spittle flying.
For an old man, he moved fast. That was a thought that would repeat itself in her head for the rest of the night. One moment, he was seated, Hux at his elbow, clutching it, trying to keep him down, trying to keep him calm. In the next, he was up, flinging Hux away, the table overturning at his feet, cane clenched in his fist.
Rey was frozen, arms still clasped tightly around Ben, maybe growing tighter as Snoke stalked towards them, shoving waiters and patrons from his wake. There was the crunch of glass, the cracking of food and of bone as he stepped over and on those unfortunates in his way, and there was a shriek that escaped her lips as another one of the chorus girls wailed, her arm limp as she cradled it, mascara smearing with tears. Ben's hands were gentle on hers, his whisper soft in her ear as the mobster stormed on, face red, practically screaming with rage. "I'll come back for you, sweetheart."
Perhaps she fainted, perhaps not—she found herself on the floor, and she was screaming. There was a shadow looming over her, a raised hand, but if the blow was meant for her, it never came, the girl forcing herself out of her recoil, her scream echoing across the marble floor as hands grabbed her harshly, and she kicked as she was yanked up, flailing.
"Ben! Let me go, you brutes! Ben!" It didn't matter that the hands belonged to Poe and Finn, their words streaming past her face as if they were gusts of wind, meaningless puffs, useless and no better than silence. It didn't matter that Ben had told them to go on, to run, to get her to safety. She could see him, almost an arm's length away, his shoulders squared, fists flying, trying to free himself as Hux and some other crony shoved him down onto their table, Snoke sneering down at him.
The blood left Rey's face as the sharp edge of the mob boss's cane handle came down, across Ben's face, the metal slicing all too easy across the man's tender face. She felt the hands on her fall free, Poe screaming as he charged for his friend, Finn still tugging insistently at her hand.
"Finn, go bring the car around, will ya?" The announcer looked at the chorus girl, her face blank but her eyes wild. She stood tall, still despite the audience members running past her, panicked and fleeing.
"Whatever you're about to do, Rey, just be smart, okay?" The words were useless, especially as their gazes jerked away from each other, back to Ben as he howled in pain, Snoke smiling cruelly on, digging the cane deeper against the man's chest, ripping through the jacket, burying into the shirt now. Soon, it'd be skin. A few feet away, Hux struck Poe, again and again, in the face, the stomach, the groin, the grocer unable to defend himself, his hands held behind his head by another gangster.
"Don't worry about me—get the car. I'll be out with the boys as soon as I can be, alright?" The begrudgingly look was heavy, and she knew that Finn would hate her for what she was about to do, watching him push past patrons, barreling through the crowd that struggled to get through the door.
The waitstaff was trying to flee now, men streaming from the kitchen and bar, drinks and entrees forgotten. The gun felt heavy in her hand as she wrenched it from the waiter's waistband as he shoved past her, tripping over her feet anyways in his haste. Despite the weight, there was no hesitation in her chest, just her heart, which thudded like a death knell with every second she could not will her feet to move.
Tonight, her feet would not be sore from dancing, but from running, be it from the law or the First Order. Rey took a breath, snatching an untouched tumbler from a table nearby and tossing back the contents as she strode closer. Before her, Snoke loomed, smirk widening as her sweetheart bled, his breathing labored.
"Hey, Snoke!" The mobster's eyes were quick to alight on her, his head snapping up to peer at her fully. He looked a second away from laughing at her, the mocking barb drawing his lips apart. Rey didn't wait for that. She pointed and shot.