A/N: To anyone who was following this story, I am so sorry for the long delay. With summer came sever writers block. I have no excuse. Though I know this is short, it did get me past that fun little spot that I couldn't seem to write, and I hope to actually finish this one day. As always, I own no one here. Though in my perfect universe.but we won't go there. Ok, on with the story.

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The next hour or so was spent draining the bottle, and along the way Nini's nerves seemed to loosen, along with her tongue. Before long, stories were swapped and raucous laughter filled their small corner of the bar. After a particularly rousing story involving a sailor and a piercing gone horribly wrong she was reduced to a fit of giggles that simply would not subside. Reaching for her glass in an attempt to drown them out, her blouse shifted, revealing a shock to the mans appraising eyes. He otherwise unmarred flesh was interrupted by a raised round patch of red just below what was usually on display. Forcing an easy smile, he carefully probed, "Looks as though he isn't the only one with battle scars, now is he," motioning to the spot on her chest.

"What are you prattling on about?" she said thoughtlessly. When she finally traced his stare back to the offending mark, an exaggerated sigh escaped her, complete with eyes rolled back in mock frustration. "Ah, that. You know, I'd almost forgotten it was there, been so long since it happened." Her voice had taken on a dreamy, wistful tone, and for a moment it seemed that she had forgotten anyone else was around. The crash of an empty bottle nearby, however, snapped her eyes back on his. As a drunken laugh bubbled up from within her, she went on. "Actually, I'm surprised you didn't notice the other night, or at least that morning. But I suppose you were horribly drunk so I shall forgive you." Trying to keep a pompous gleam in her eyes as she said this proved too hard, and so she settle for another sip of absinth. Meanwhile, the man had played along, giving a repentant nod at the end of her scolding, but his eyes never left her and his drink stood untouched.

Yet as the silence around them swelled to an uncomfortable pitch, he seemed to have come to a decision and leaned forward, as if to share a magnificent secret. Beckoning for closer, he whispered so only they two could hear, "So, what is your story?" A grin spread across her face at the prospect of sharing her tale, all cynicism or trepidation muddled by the traitorous drink in her hand.

"Well, you might call this," she began, fingering the spot gently with her free hand, "my initiation to the underworld, courtesy of me pop. He weren't a drunkard, which is a shame, cause I probably could have handled that. No, he was a gambling man if there ever was one. He'd bet on just about anything; cockfights, dogfights; he favored the ones with a bit o' blood, said it was a bonus. Anyway, this didn't leave much time for him to be working, so of course it was me who got a job, soon as I was able. I started when I was about 9, for the butcher; he said he could use someone to run deliveries, but really I think he just felt sorry for me. Whatever the reason, he kept me on for a good many years, doing odd jobs, whatever he had no time for. Now, it must have been a good 7 or 8 years after I stared that Doux Celui came along."

At this point she paused to let out a slow breath. Across from her, the man leaned back in his chair, fingering his drink absently. Throughout her story he had paid rapt attention, and could have sworn that he saw tears in her eyes near the end, but when he looked up there was nothing to suggest they had ever existed. She was staring hazily off in to space, having completely lost her train of thought.

"Doux Celui," he let the name roll over his tongue. It had struck a chord within him, like something from a distant memory, but he couldn't quite recall what that was. Eager for the story to continue, he gently touched her hand, urging her on. "What happened?"

"Mmm, I remember it as if it were yesterday," she murmured, a bittersweet grin etched across her face. "She was the last of my deliveries that day. A real nice order it was, too. At the time, all I was thinking about was the kind of tip someone with that kind of money might be good for. Well, I get to the door and a lady answers, wearing one of the finest frocks I had ever laid my eyes on. She seemed awful worried, and after I'm all paid up and ready to leave, she gives me a real appraising look, then asks how I'd feel about a bit o' extra money. Course, it sounded just fine by me. All she said was that I'd have to entertain a few gents for the evening. I was quite the naïve one then, wasn't I?" She shook her head despondently. "Suffice to say, it wasn't a hostess job she was offering. As for this," she said, pointing to the now covered mark, "well, let's just say that it doesn't take long to learn that there is no backing out. Once you're in, 'no' loses all meaning, if it had any before."