A/N: As always, warning for toxic relationships, heavy content, intimate violence, drug use, infidelity, mental trauma, etc. This fic is titled after the song Lady by Regina Spektor and I think it sets the tone fairly well. Rating will raise to M.
Sirens blared and he stepped to the right, cutting down an unfamiliar alleyway, two fingers tapping the edge of his mask just to be sure it was in place. He couldn't think of a reason they were meant for him at this moment, but one could never be too sure. He had barely skirted around the law too many times and he knew better than to get too cocky about it.
It was luck, perhaps the only thing he had luck in, and he knew it was in limited supply.
A door opened and two people stepped into the alleyway, heading in the opposite direction, neither of them seeming to notice him. He slid his hand into the door before it could close and gave a glance over his shoulder before he slipped inside.
It wasn't until the door closed behind him with a heavy click that he realized he may have made a mistake. He definitely wasn't supposed to be… well, wherever it was that he was. He hadn't the slightest idea. He had expected some sort of apartment building where he could slip through and out a different exit, but it definitely wasn't an apartment.
He frowned, lifting the lid on one of the many crates piled haphazardly around the little cement room so that he could peek inside. Liquor. Bottles and bottles of liquor. He had certainly found worse things.
The problem was, he couldn't think of a bar that he had been nearby. Erik prided himself on his sense of direction. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually been lost. It was one of the advantages he had; he knew the city as intimately as he knew the back of his own hand.
Or, he thought he had.
Curiosity found him pulling his dark hood up, hoping he could somehow manage to blend well enough as he made his way down the bright grey cement hallway, hanging close to the right wall. He could hear voices but they were far away and muffled, distanced enough that he wasn't immediately concerned with them. He took the first right he came to and the voices seemed to be getting more distant as he made his way, trailing two fingers along the pitted concrete wall.
It was when he began to hear the strains of music that he felt his sanity at least slightly restored. He couldn't think of any bar on that particular block because it wasn't actually a bar; it was an old-style jazz club. It came to life every Friday, Saturday and Sunday evening, laying dark and dormant for the remainder of the week. It was easy enough to miss, just a small thing that pulled a crowd of a couple hundred on the nights that it was open. Busy enough, sure, but if one didn't frequent the street it would pass their notice entirely. He knew exactly where he was and the thought comforted him. He could picture the single neon sign that stood near the front door, simple and plain, four buzzing red letters that simply read "jazz". Even those that may have actually been seeking it would easily miss it.
He had never been inside of the small establishment, but it was warm, the sirens were outside and not inside, and he thought there was no time like the present. He slipped through a wooden door, careful not to swing it completely open, and was relieved to find that the room beyond it was dim, the walls a dark oaky wood. It wouldn't be terribly difficult to blend, so long as he stuck to the outskirts and didn't draw attention to himself.
Erik did exactly that, keeping his hood low and doing his best to push through the small crowd of people filling the room without actually touching anyone, until he finally made it to the small and completely unoccupied table in the back corner that he had spotted.
The murmur of chatter around the room didn't approach him and he set his eyes curiously on the girl that appeared to be setting up on the small stage. She was a slight thing, maybe just over five feet, slender and pale. She was all curls and frills, her red dress maybe a few shades too dark for her pale complexion and golden-yellow curls, but when she turned he was near ready to take his assessment back.
He leaned against the table. She was a pretty thing to look at, at least, even if he did end up finding disappointment in the music. She looked to be in her mid twenties, youthful but not quite childish. The dark wine-colored lipstick she wore didn't seem incredibly out of place, and the frown she wore almost seemed like it was etched permanently in its place. Even from across the room, it was near impossible to not notice the sadness that seemed to live in her.
There was no introduction, no announcement of a name or piece. The music began suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, and he watched as she finally opened her mouth.
She was sad and nothing about her or her performance did anything to combat his initial assessment. Her voice had more depth than he had first anticipated but it was the mournful aura that seemed to surround her that truly compelled his rapt attention. There was something familiar there.
He stared at her, fully enraptured. He had only meant to linger through a song, maybe two, but it was at least four before he remembered himself and thought to glance around.
One of the many luxuries that Erik couldn't afford was lingering. He no longer had the excuse of sirens; they had long since passed. It was a regretful sort of thing. If there had ever been a time to linger, that was certainly it.
He pulled his hood just a little lower, allowing himself another moment or two to gaze at her, her pretty dress and shining halo of golden curls, before he slipped wordlessly away from the still rudely chattering crowd.
The lobby of the little club was far more welcoming than the store rooms had been and as he glanced around, to his dismay, he found that there still wasn't the slightest hint as to the girl's identity. With a frown that he was fairly sure matched her own, he slipped back out onto the chilly street, sidestepping a drunken man puffing on a cigarette and loudly shouting at a woman walking the opposite direction across the street.
With a sigh, he allowed his feet to carry him East, huddling under the sweatshirt that hardly managed to cut the chill.