Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own anything to do with SOA, it's production, cast or creation. Only Grainne, and (as far as I am aware) Pink women are my creation. However, Pink Women is based off the bar in Coyote ugly – something else that I own no part of. I do not own any of the songs mentioned – if I did I wouldn't be worrying about where next weeks rent is coming from or looking for a job because lets face it, I'd be loaded and would never have to lift a finger again

A/N: What does a girl have to do to get some reviews around here? I am thankful that people are putting this on their alert lists, however I would love you to review it as well even if you just tell me you think it's a joke and poorly written. I may put the rating up to M in the next few chapters, but it all depends on the reaction I get to this chapter. Also I'll be deciding who to

I'd not bothered going to the club that night and had hardly been in Charming over the last week – I'd been in nearby Lodi. Managed to get myself two part time jobs. Tuesday to Friday during the day I worked at one of these uptown restaurants. All very clean and legit in it's dealings, everyone was perfectly turned out, manners were impeccable – dull in a word, but the pay was almost unparalleled by anywhere else in the city. There were just a few bars and clubs that paid far better than this restaurant. Friday to Sunday I spent my nights dancing around on the top of a bar, serving drinks and dealing freebase and helped certain idiots with their speedballing on the side. Some of the girls I worked with offered favours on the side, but I didn't go in for that sort of thing. So, with my income sorted I'd been able to use the savings to both pay off my repair fees and buy a house...not to mention redecorate and renovate the whole place. It'd been a tip when I had brought it, but not any more – the epitome of clean, modern living. The only thing that could be considered out of place was the bike sat on the driveway, but in Charming it didn't seem anything less than average.

As for clothing tonight – well, I'd abandoned the leathers but it was no less distracting and Kips was going to be tempted to play the over-protective cousin again. PRPS Blue denim hotpants. Five pockets; three on the front and two at the back. Belt loops. Intentional raw edging. Christopher Kane black and beige corset top with velvet trims and mesh panels. High waist with a flared panel that sits over the hips. At the moment I was wearing Spada Slipstream Boots, but I did have a pair of Chloé Black bow and crystal shoes in my bag. Margiela fingerless gloves. Of the four items you could see, the value ran into the thousands. Yes, I have expensive taste and an even more expensive lifestyle – everything of worth in this world cost and if I were to expand on my experience I needed the means to do so. However, as Oscar Wilde wrote; experience was of no ethical value. It was merely the name men gave to their mistakes. It seemed strange that I would need money to make mistakes. Honestly, it made me consider again yet another Wilde quote; nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing. Of course, the 1945 version of The picture of Dorian Gray was by far preferable to the newer version, but the book was the original and the original was always the best. Why was I thinking about such a trivial concept when I was overdue to this club I'd been asked to go to over a week ago? Sometimes I confused myself. My thoughts had a habit of becoming disjointed and going off on a tangent whenever I was nervous; the source of my anxiety often got pushed to the back of my mind and petty things pre-occupied my mind.

Killing the engine that had been running underneath me over the last few minutes, I waited for calm to descend again. There were moments where I considered going back to cars – just so I had a few moments silence to recollect my thoughts. I'd either have Chopin or Black Sabbath playing simply to calm my nerves. Though why was I nervous? I knew a handful of people already, it wasn't like I was walking into a room of total strangers. Still, nerves were something I had to fight on a daily basis – I had no real reason and my paranoia was unfounded. I needed to get over it, but it would take time, I admit, I have trust issues and they wouldn't go away, but I was brought up to be suspicious of everyone and everything. Pulling the helmet off, I toyed with my hair in an attempt to tame it – I usually kept my hair in braids for the simple reason that it had a habit of getting very messy, very easily – it wasn't curly, but it wasn't straight either. Right now, it was flying out of control and my line of sight was repeatedly obscured by raven strands fighting to remain in the crosswind that I'd got caught in. Changing the boots to shoes, I took a moment to chain the bike – I knew these people had respect for a bike and were unlikely to take it, but I wasn't willing to risk it. The question remained – what the hell was I meant to do with my bag and helmet?

"Romana?"

Turning around, I spotted one of the security guards I worked with. I had my suspicions about him, but it seemed he had a weakness for the club. He was pretty enough; part Mexican, inherited the black hair and dark eyes, tanned far darker than most people. I saw him as a brother, and he felt the same. That is, I was a sister and little more. Besides, he wasn't inclined to women...well, not entirely he did have his moments but mostly kept to same sex.

"Hey sweetheart...what you doin' around here?"

"Gemma told me to come a week ago...never got round to it, what with work and all"

"Beaver, you work too hard...need somewhere to stash the helmet and boots?"

"Know anywhere?"

"Try my car...just come and ask me for the keys when you want to leave, I may pass out in the back seat. Lookin' good by the way. If you ain't careful you might just be taken for one of the usual girls that hang around here and I know you ain't like that"

"I got friends on my side"

He smiled as I cast my stuff into the back of his car. I'd mentioned Kip to him a couple of times before but he hadn't made the connection until yesterday. Bar was closed today – raid. Thankfully I'd had nothing to deal that night otherwise I'd probably still be stuck in a prison cell somewhere. A noise somewhere distracted me from keeping out of the way of people – someone calling my new name. I'd got used to it that quickly that I was struggling to remember what I had been before that. Hey, when I got into a role it consumed my entire being which is why I was often left behind and kept out of club business back home. There was a slam of a body against mine – sweat, motor oil and beer. It could only be Kip...Half-sack, whatever it was that they called him here.

"I thought you weren't coming"

"Got caught up. Found myself a job, a house and a new wardrobe"

"I see...all in a week?"

"Of course, pay a little extra and you get things done far quicker"

"Where you working then?"

"A bar, Pink Women...mostly just pull pints"

"You a dancer?"

"Occasionally...what's it to you?"

"Aww, c'mon Celtica...Tig's just tryin' to wind you up"

"I know, now...got anything to drink around here? This is as far as I'm aware meant to be a bar and what bar is without alcohol?"

"She's more fun than you made out Half-sack. To the bar we go then"

There was a shout to this individual known as Tig to play nice but Kip was pretty much out of ear shot by that point. The bar was...nondescript. Nothing I wasn't expecting, but not exactly bare. It was OK – pool table, stripper pole, dartboard, bar area, seating areas, a piano of all things. So maybe the piano was a little out of place, but I had seen far more unusual. Then there was the compulsory wall of honour dedicated to something called SAMCRO – I'd ask about that some other time. Stupid, slutty girls were almost falling all over each other and for some reason they found this appealing. Where was the class in this little town? I knew most bikers were just after an easy lay, but who knows what they'd catch from these whores wandering around the place in next to nothing. OK, so my clothing could be more modest but it wasn't like I was virtually naked and I made up for it the rest of the time.

"So, Celtica – how on earth does a pretty thing like you know Half-sack and what are you doing in a little town like Charming?"

"Met him when training – never got deployed. Old tissue injury started to play up. Hadn't had problem from it for over a year...just the occasional twinge but it killed any hope of me serving. We lost contact when he went off on tour and I was sent back to New York to live with my darling parents. Staying with a cousin when I signed up. Half-Sack was the only one I could turn to when I caught my bastard ex in bed with some cheap bottle blonde slut. She didn't have scars, unlike me. Kip's the only guy who never hurt me or stabbed me in the back. Never ground my heart into the dust. Never abandoned me"

"Half-sacks like that. But he has a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time"

"Yeah, I noticed that – he means well, but not the sharpest of tools in the shed. Part of the reason that I love him so much...like a brother of course. I could never see him as anything else"

"Of course not, pretty thing like you could never be interested in half-sack...it's not like he's a complete man"

"And he's not a slimeball either...thanks for the drink though"

Flicking the mass of dark curls over one shoulder, I left him with his jaw on the floor. I had a feeling that he didn't normally get rejected but I was used to his kind. He'd fuck me and leave me before the sun was up. I'd had enough of that lifestyle. Nope – with a sway in my stride, head held high and aware of the covert second looks thrown my way, I couldn't be more content. I was on top of the world and that showed. Hell, I couldn't even stop the little smirk playing over my lips as I found my security guard friend and, none to surprisingly, a couple of the girls I worked with at the club. The only natural blonde and redhead in the room – probably the only females with a natural colour, other than myself. The rest were all a nasty mess of frazzled colours and split-ends. Made me want to take a pair of scissors to their sorry excuse for a mop of hair. Sipping at the drink I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose in distaste – I did not normally drink beer, but I guess it would do. I could always get a few shots later or flirt my way to getting wasted. Fuck knows when I was leaving, maybe in the morning, but for now I needed to kick back and relax. To forget everything that had been going on lately. The whole psychotic step-mother thing had me paranoid, not to mention that I was still watching my back – they'd probably travel back through Charming and take advantage of Kip. Use him in one way or another to get a place to crash – poor guy didn't know how to say no to family. His one weakness...well, not his one but still. Definitely his biggest weakness, still, couldn't help but love him. It was just his nature – family would hate his hippy-like Vegan diet but I thought of it as endearing. I could never do it, I was almost a vegetarian – but it was just Chicken and Fish that I was trying to stop eating. However, it was difficult; I'd virtually been raised on it and it was just a habit...besides, I thought of those particular things as ugly and I had no need of anything less than beautiful in my world. I know it makes me sound shallow, but there are many faces of beauty. Such as the shallow, physical beauty, the deeper, spiritual beauty that lay in every part of all things, the individualistic beauty of human personality and behaviour, the arts, the beauty of stimulated senses; food, drink, sex, touch, scent, taste, sounds. Fish and chickens were dull, lacking in spirit and personality and physically ugly, only the senses found their beauty. Even then it was only the sense of taste that found their true beauty. Maybe it was my upbringing. After all, such as we are made of, such we be. Shakespeare came to mind at the most peculiar of moments.

"Hey Beaver...didn't know you knew the Sons"

"Oh yeah, me and Kip...Half-sack trained together. He got sent to Iraq and I got sent home"

"Feel like introducing me to him?"

"Red...didn't know you went in for the prospects"

"He's kinda cute, in a young way"

"That's so sweet, I get where you're coming from...I think it may be that he's so much younger than them though"

"I hope you like tofu – virtually lives on the stuff"

"He's a vegetarian? That's so adorable"

"Vegan actually – stricter than a vegetarian; stuff like eggs and milk are a big no go. No meat and no by-products"

"That sucks...not as adorable as vegetarians, almost creepy"

"I don't care...know which way he swings?"

"He's very much a straight man...sorry about love"

"No worries – I'll content myself elsewhere"

There was a general rumble of laughter from our little group as the song switched from Bleed it out by Linkin Park to Fake it by Seether. There was an excited squeal from one of the two girls and our little group knew what was coming – we'd been told to keep up the practice. New routines needed to be gauged before thrown into the club...since there was a bar here (not with our usual trappings, but a bar nonetheless), it seemed like a fun option. Pushing our drinks into the hands of our security friend and getting dragged over unwillingly, I was pulled up onto the surface. I knew I had to be flushed red – they had more Dutch courage in them than I did which wasn't good, normally I'd had at least three shots before getting up on the bar. I felt so exposed and almost naked in what I was wearing – oh how I wanted to get down, but I knew I wouldn't be allowed down any time soon...well, at least until the end of the song. If I didn't join it then they'd force me to grab the pole off it's current stripper (who wasn't really holding the crowd's attention all that well). I could feel eyes shifting on to us and all I wanted was to disappear – for the earth to swallow me. My embarrassment would be obvious by now – sweeping down my neck and setting fire to my collarbone made all the more clear by the untanned skin of my neck and shoulders. What choice did I have? Besides, it was simple enough – kept for the end of the evening when the last of the patrons were on their last round before going home. Honestly though, it was fairly tame compared to the Hollywood Whore routine – none of the suggestive girl-on-girl movement...although, that was always fun. Yes, I have a very wicked streak when I want...maybe I was as delusional and unstable as my step-mother made out. I hadn't considered it, but it seemed to becoming more and more probable.

We did our best without poles, using each other instead. Tig or whatever he was called was still sat at the bar – I did love teasing the player. Winding down to his level, I paused to look him in the eyes; as distant and cold as I expected. No sign of warmth or real affection there. Dead inside and his body was heading that way as well. Only a primal drive remained. A lust for a woman's body – he didn't care whose, just a willing body for an easy lay. There was no passion in him, no passion for any love, just a man driven by a survival instinct. The warmth of legs behind me and arms on my shoulders, sliding down my sides to hips, gripping and pulling them up with the owner of the hands. Rising with the unspoken command of the routine, I left Tig with little more than a press of lips and wink. He tasted of nicotine and alcohol. Leaning into the girl behind me and turning my head to capture them in a second kiss, I closed my eyes – I didn't need to know who I was doing this with. I didn't want to know. It would ruin our professional relationship and haunt me. The less my eye knew what my hand was doing the better.

Looking out over the bar, having stepped away from my partners grasp, I spotted the person who had originally invited me here. Gemma. Miss Queen of the Bikers. She had one of those smiles playing over her face – the sort that made you want to slap her stupid, just to wipe it off her smug face. I knew what she was thinking – I was turning into one of those cheap whores that hung around hoping to get laid. I wasn't like that; never had been, never would be, I was better than that. The music died and without permission, I slipped off the bar and stalked out – had I made such a fool of myself? There was nothing strictly wrong with what I did, it was an income, I wasn't hurting anyone or doing anything illegal (most of the time), I was just dancing, I was never touched or degraded...oh, why was I even trying to justify this to myself? I hated the dancing, the costumes, the grins I got in the restaurant from the bars more upmarket customers. It made me feel cheap and dirty...but I couldn't stop dancing. It was all I had. Well, not all...but it certainly helped. But I needed to act like I loved it – my pride wouldn't allow anything less.

"You OK?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, just wasn't expecting to get dragged up on a bar tonight"

"You didn't look too happy with them...got a light? Think I gave mine to Jax and never got it back"

"Sure...spliff?"

"Yeah...I know, awful and I shouldn't but this is a party, y'know?"

"Yeah...the cost of this is a toke by the way"

Waving the zippo in front of him with a genuine smile for once playing over my face, he simply shrugged his shoulders and lit the white stick-shaped object in his mouth. Blowing the smoke out of his mouth he handed over both the lighter and lit spliff, taking a hit from it I handed it back, savouring the effect and taste for a moment before releasing the smoke and inhaling the pungent smell hanging in the air.

"I never got your name the other day"

"Romana, or Celtica...Juice isn't it?"

"Yeah...guess you have a better memory than me"

"Sorry for taking up your office space. I guess it's the computers in the corner?"

"Yeah, but why talk about work? Feel like getting a drink with me?"

"Sure...but no beer. I'll drink it but I can't stand it"

"Fair enough, if you will"

Offering out his arm, I couldn't help but smile even more – he seemed a little less with it than the others, but he was sweet which made up for it. Taking it, he guided me back into the room and grabbed a cocktail of liquors for me and a beer for himself. Sitting down at the bar, we pretty much talked for that evening, slowly getting more and more drunk lapsing into some dumb-ass conversation about colours and if we'd got it right in the names we'd given them. I was so going to regret drinking so much come morning...but it wasn't that big a deal, it wasn't like anyone was going to be in any state to work come tomorrow.