Katharsis

by 0mniessence

Brittany, a naive city-wandering derelict, abandons home in search of life-altering excitement for her existence, and although in philosophical principle that seemed like a great idea, as she's left starving and unshowered in the streets, a stray toilet paper ad with bits of dried poop publicizing a strip club might just be the purpose she seeks. What curious individuals await her?

2. Chapter 2

The crowd cheered and whistled in alacrity, the atmosphere of the club inspissating with anticipation.

They're all super excited, Brittany thought to herself, becoming quite giddy herself due to the contagious enthusiasm traveling amongst the bodies packed about the stage.

Suddenly she heard a voice belt out from the lead silhouette behind the silk curtains that veiled the forward part of the back of the stage.

" Where's all mah soul sistas? "

The audience cried out in exuberance.

"Lemme hear ya'll flow, sistas! "

A woman with dark chocolate skin came strutting out from behind the thin curtains with much spunk, while the rest of the silhouettes remained immobile with a statue-like grace in their low pedestals.

Immediately, Brittany heard someone frantically yell out a "SPAAAAAAARKZ!" in his excitement.

He could have spared my eardrums, Brittany thought, a bit disoriented. New Yorkers are kind of rude…

" Hey sista, go sista, soul sista, flow sista "

From their still rigid positions, Brittany would not have guessed that the mellifluous vocals were emanating from the statuesque women concealed by the curtain.

" Hey sista, go sista, soul sista, flow sista "

The still silhouette at the far right of the line of shadows daintily stepped off her pedestal and charismatically spread apart the draperies in order to reveal her presence.

" He met Marmalade down in old Katharsis! "

Brittany was immediately startled to hear her the girl's illustrious voice belt out the first string of lyrics to the opening song, for her grandiose pitch was quite a contrast to her low stature and lithe form.

" Strutting her stuff on the street "

Brittany briefly turned her attention to her accompanying fellow audience members to see what their reactions to the first girl's appearance was, and she was a bit embarrassed to see them regard her with normalcy but nevertheless awe-struck contemplation.

Another person shouted "SPHENEEEEEEEE!" at her right, and she was once again temporarily deaf.

It was quite obvious she was a noob.

" She said, 'Hello, hey, Joe, you wanna give it a go?' OH! Uh-huh! "

The young noob, however, stopped feeling too self-conscious after she noticed that another blonde in the room was just as shocked to hear such a powerful frequency be generated from the short girl's vocal chords.

Oh, it's that girl from before! Brittany thought after miniature Brittanys in her brain briefly ran through her facial memory files. Hmm, it's a small world.

Sphene and Sparkz came together to sing the chorus, with the remaining silhouettes singing the back up.

" Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya dada (Hey hey hey)

Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya here (here)

Mocha Chocalata ya ya (oh yea)

Creole lady Marmalade "

Brittany felt herself being squeezed in the crowd as they rocked in place along with the song.

The silhouettes sang the reprise along with the two currently at the front of the stage.

" Voulez-vous coucher avce moi, ce soir?

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? "

Brittany peeked at the blonde girl that was standing buried in the crowd a couple of feet away from her, and after she spotted her, followed her gaze to the stage. She was intensely watching the performance, her eyes completely captivated. Brittany knew her eyes were locked on a specific target onstage, but she couldn't decipher what it was that her line of vision was tracking.

" He sat in her boudoir while she freshened up "

The silhouette at the far left of the line stepped off her pedestal and with a coy, almost demure look, walked through the curtains and into the spotlight.

" Boy drank all that Magnolia wine "

Brittany took note of how pretty and fit she was. She did not exude as much sensuality as the first two singers, but she had her own charm to deliver as she flipped her hair and flashed an adorable smile to the swooning audience.

" On her black satin sheets is where he started to freak "

" Yeah! "

Brittany loved her voice. It was honey-sweet and the way she conveyed her tunes was angelic.

"KIKIIIIIIII!" another guy shouted with fervor, right behind her.

Why do I get the screamers? Brittany thought miserably, sure that her ears were probably bleeding by now.

" Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya dada (Hey hey hey)

Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya here (here)

Mocha Chocalata ya ya (oh yea)

Creole lady Marmalade "

Kiki joined Sphene and Sparkz for the reprise, and the silhouettes that remained at the back moved sensually and lifted their index fingers and swayed them in a beckoning motion toward the audience.

" Voulez-vous coucher avce moi, ce soir?

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? "

The left silhouette of the pair, another dark-skinned woman with a whole lot of attitude, jumped off her pedestal and advanced to the front of the stage with confidence.

" Yea yea uh

He come through with the money in the garter belts

I let him know we bout that cake straight up the gate uh "

Brittany shook her head in tune to the beat. She had always been a fan of rap, even she looked like a pathetic black-rapper wannabe white chick (which she kind of was) every time she attempted the feat.

" We independent women, some mistake us for whores "

The four singers now on stage let out a dramatic sigh at the line, relaying the pretense of misunderstood women to the crowd.

" I'm sayin', why spend mine when I can spend yours

Disagree? Well that's you and I'm sorry

Imma keep playing these cats out like Atari "

Sphene sashayed to the right wing of the stage and rubbed her forefingers and thumb together in the universal indication of 'money.'

" Wearing high heel shoes, getting love from the dudes

Four bad ass chicks from the Katharsis "

They all took a challenging pose together and rose their eyebrows suggestively.

" Hey sistas, soul sistas, betta get that dough sistas "

The rap started up again.

" We drink wine with diamonds in the glass

by the case the meaning of expensive taste "

Brittany heard someone yell out an overzealous "TRIXYYYYYYYY!" at the girl that was rapping on stage.

And, as her luck would have it, the person was right in front of her so this only served to further impair her hearing.

She was becoming quite accustomed to her incredibly appalling share of fortune.

Hmm, what are the odds, all the screamers surrounding me in a square formation, Brittany mused to herself, and then proceeded to deviate her attention from the performance to thoughts of exactly what the probability would be for an individual to encounter and be entrapped by boisterous beings in a sweaty geometric cluster.

Brittany had always been quite the introspective person, in the sense that she was someone whose thoughts could keep her entertained for several weeks and could find it in her mind to amuse herself with creative stories about sweet and innocent things such as unicorns, hairpins, llamas, nose flutes, and chinchillas or even more tragic storylines involving Lord Tubbington's tobacco addiction, the demise of a shriveled-up cockroach in her drying machine, and the crushing separation anxiety incurred at the loss of her childhood sock puppet while showing it the sights from the car window and having it slip off her hand to be smacked into the paved road by the force of the momentum and repeatedly run over by cars in the freeway.

She was also capable of holding sophisticated internal exchanges with herself on a number of topics ranging from personal opinions on U.S. foreign policy and intervention concerning the Canadians, on the effects of current solar flares affecting the earth's climate and the simple solution of moving to another galaxy, and the rare sightings of India's Parastratiosphecomyia stratiosphecomyioides flying about the air.

" if you wanna Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya

Mocha Chocalate-a what?

Creole Lady Marmalade

One more time C'mon now "

Brittany broke from her thoughts and became a little anxious about having missed some of the performance. She saw the crowd was still just as excited as ever, but she didn't like that she had so easily phased out. It was kind of mean not to watch the number the singers had so strenuously rehearsed for this night.

" Marmalaaaaaaaaaade..."

Brittany observed the surrounding throng become a bit restless, their excitement proliferating and inundating the already spirited mood of the large room with an even more remarkable quantity of expectative energy.

" Lady Marmalaaaaaaaade..."

All eager eyes kept a watchful view of the abiding silhouette still gloriously mounted on her pedestal and reconditely veiled by the silk draperies.

" Marmalaaaaaaaade... "

The four ladies at the front of the stage harmonized and continued to heighten the tension that was building up at the core of the audience members.

Then, finally, the vocal synthesis reached its climax and a distinguished, husky voice sounded its entrance to the show.

" Hey… hey…. Heeeeeeeeeeeeey! "

The final girl to step off her pedestal did not even have to bother draping aside the curtains, for the silky shades removed themselves as she fearlessly swaggered through, suavely swishing her obsidian tresses as they dashingly cascaded over her shoulders and broke into ripples of wavy curls that perpetuated their undulating whirls in the likeness of multiple hypnotic spirals.

Well, Brittany was quite hypnotized all right.

Look at them spin, Brittany distractedly thought to herself, finding it curious that she was attempting to focus more on different features of the resplendent girl rather than the girl herself. It's not nice to stare, so…

" Touch of her skin feeling silky smooth "

The girl made a show to suggestively graze her delicate fingers over her tanned, olive skin, touching her upper body, lightly coming into contact with her breasts, and then finishing by outlining her curvature and teasingly tapping her hips before driving her hands away.

The few girls in the crowd squealed and, disturbingly enough, the guys did too.

" SAPPHIREEEEEEE!"

"SAPHIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

" Color of cafe au lait…. All right! "

The desperately erratic cries and calls intermittently burst from various spots in the blurred audience. Brittany was kind of sort of maybe but not really officially ear-dead at this point, but she surprised even herself at realizing that she did not give a baboon's flaming ass, because the almost stuffy silence through which she beheld the spectacle only served to lend the latest girl an even more surreal stroke to her presence.

" Made the savage beast inside roar until he cried "

Brittany gazed at the girl's full lips as her mouth curved in accordance to the composition's lyrics and her tongue rolled out the various vowels, consonants, and syllables that forged the melodic sentences that were driving the masses mad.

" More…. More…. Moooooooooore! "

The crowd cheered and shrieked in gaiety when, suddenly, five compartments at the bottom of the stage slid open and out slowly ascended five poles, a pair of brass, one of stainless steel, one of chrome, and one of titanium gold.

" Now he's back home doing nine to five, " Sphene sang, redirecting the crowd's enamored attention to her as she walked to her brass pole, sliding her back seductively down it.

" Sleepin' the grey flannel life, " Sparkz, Kiki, and Trixy chirped, taking the chrome, stainless steel, and titanium gold ones respectively.

" But when he turns off to sleep memories creep, " Sapphire's voice once again rang out, enrapturing the audience with her alluring twists about the pole.

Brittany was unable to remove Sapphire from her line of sight for the remainder of the song. Although quite lewd and indecent, the enchanting brunette's expertly fluid movements against the pole really attracted Brittany's admiration. The blonde's favorite pastime was dancing, but pole dancing was something she had never attempted before, for obvious reasons (the pole shipped by Amazon wouldn't fit in her mailbox so there was no sense in ordering it, duh).

" More…. More… Moooooooooooooore, " all five of them cried in harmony, riding up their poles lasciviously.

" Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya dada (Hey hey hey)

Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya here (here)

Mocha Chocalata ya ya (oh yea)

Creole lady Marmalade "

Brittany ceased her shameless leering—err—respectful appreciation when she felt the unmistakable sensation of someone eyeballing her. She turned her head to the right to try and find the source of her tingling perception, but she was only met with the figure of the other blonde girl that she had bumped into earlier, still staring unrelenting at that unidentified target on stage. She scratched her head curiously and then panned her vision to the left, where she was met with vehemently insightful mocha orbs unswervingly holding her own surprised gaze.

" Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir (ce soir)

Voulez vous coucher avec moi (all my sistas yea) "

Brittany inwardly panicked.

It was that girl with the highlights.

She couldn't escape this staring contest now, as she had no excuse to get out of it. She had already lost once, and she did not want to experience the devastating feelings of crushing defeat at the hands of a stranger again (let's not even begin to recount her one-sided ping-pong tournament with a hotel receptionist back in Ohio).

" Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir (ce soir)

Voulez vous coucher avec moi (C'Mon! uh) "

The girl eyeing her from across the room, however, did not appear to be challenging her. She just simply stared. Brittany did not know how to inwardly feel and outwardly react. Should she be happy that someone was apparently hitting on her? Is this what people dub the so-called "eye-sex"? Gasp! Was she no longer a visual virgin? Noooooooo! Now she would have to visit the optometrist, and the last time she did they almost blinded her with those evil flashlight thingies.

I was saving myself for the Disney-styled, portable orchestra-backed, frame-by-frame, romantic first meeting I would have with my life's one true love, Brittany despaired. I will never be able to eye-ravish them now without feeling like I cheated.

" Sphene "

"Oh Leaaaaaaaa-aaaa-aaaa-aaaa Oh! "

The girl with highlights furrowed her brow in perplexity as she sensed the discomfort and internal turmoil that the blonde from across the room was going through. She deliberated the potential cause, and after popping some thinking gum into her mouth, she finally arrived at the only possible logical explanation:

She's claustrophobic, she thought lamentably, shaking her head. Being squished between all those sweaty bodies… Who wouldn't feel freaked out?

These sympathetic thoughts ran through her head as she absent-mindedly fondled the muscles of a guy that was too distracted with the performance to notice the sexual harassment being inflicted upon him.

" Sparkz "

" Ladyyyyyy Marmalaaaaaade! "

She considerately desisted her disturbing staring and returned her line of vision to the stage. Maybe less eyes on the blonde would help her calm down.

Brittany side-eyed the girl with the highlights, now chewing gum. She was no longer looking at her with the obviously unbridled flames of passionately carnal desire and lust reflecting in her hazy, mocha eyes.

She was actually hardly paying attention to her at all now.

The young blonde sighed in relief. Sometimes, she was too hot for her own good. Ah, the loaded luggage that beauty carries. But, alas, she must learn to accept herself for who she is.

" Kiki "

" Hey! Hey! Uh uh uh uh uh uh UH! "

Brittany returned her attention to the stage, noticing that at some point during the song, dry ice had been released from the edges of the stage and was collecting by the platform's floor, imparting the dancing performers with a tantalizingly exotic ambience as they moved and enveloped themselves in the teasingly concealing smoke.

" Sapphire "

" Oh, oh, oh, oh oh ooooooooh… baby… "

Brittany gently smiled and found herself once again drawn to the caramel-skinned enchantress, whose effervescent Amber gems easily surveyed the frantically adulating masses beneath her nimble, high-heeled feet. The blonde could understand why these girls were such a hit. They were wonderful dancers, spectacular singers, incredible performers, and agonizingly, you-might-kill-yourself-over-them gorgeous heartthrobs.

The crowd sang, " Katharsis! "

" Trixy! " all four singers harmonized, pointing at their lead.

" Misdemeanor here… " Trixy sang with attitude, encroaching on the crowd.

" Creole Lady Marmalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaade …. Yeeees-AH! "

They finished the ensemble number with personalized, improvised poses against each other. The crowd cheered and cried out "Encore! Encore!" and "I love youuu!" and "Ah! My heart! So many feels!" and "Geico: fifteen minutes can save you fifteen percent or more on car insurance!"

They immediately threw the advertising scumbag out.

And his bullhorn, too.

The tanned beauty stepped out of the group and to the jutting component of the stage.

"Hey, sexy beasts"—the audience howled and whistled, and Sapphire chuckled at their vivacity—"thank you so much for coming tonight"—she winked suggestively, and the members of the crowd foamed at the mouth—"I hope you enjoyed the performance from all the way down there"—the group of girls that stood behind Sapphire smirked and let out light giggles—"So, I know my voice is all kinds of stimulating, but it's time my girls and I step off stage"—the crowd groaned—"and offer other kinds of services"—the crowd went wild—"You guys have to stick around or you'll miss out on all the fun we got going down up here all through the night. You know the drill, just get out there and get your kink on with our exotic cage and private dancers, including yours truly"—she took a curtsy and showed off part of her cleavage; the crowd steamed—"get off on watching live striptease on this very stage"—she tapped the stage with the tip of her high-heeled shoes—"Take part in arousing role-playing games and live out your mostexciting fantasies—"

Sphene cut in, "Rooms, performers, props, and scenario script request forms are now available for drop-off and pick-up at the nearest suggestion box."

"We have a suggestion box?" the white girl, Kiki, discreetly questioned.

Sparkz shrugged.

"People get creative," Trixy supplied, shrugging as well.

Sapphire flashed the audience a quick smile and then turned to Sphene.

"Rachel," she hissed with distaste. "We're supposed to be turning them on, not away."

"But I emphasized suggestion!" Rachel whispered defensively.

"That doesn't make it sexy!" Sapphire reproached, trying to get the concept through Rachel's thick head.

"I don't care what you have to say, Santana, it was information pertinent to our audience," Rachel finished resolutely.

"My Gawd, Lower. The. Mic, I don't even know why you need one with that parrot's voice box shoved inside your trachea," Santana cried exasperatedly in a hushed tone. "I have enough disturbingly obsessive fans with my alias, I don't need any more stalkers piling up on me if they know my name!"

"Fine, I apologize, I was careless," she replied in a much lower tone. "But it was your fault for getting me so worked up!"

"Eugh, Rachel, I don't ever want you to direct those words at me again," Santana said with a grimace. "Actually, at anyone ever again. Lord knows you're the subject of enough people's sexual nightmares."

"Umm, guys, just reminding your shapely asses that we're still onstage," Trixy said, discreetly elbowing Santana.

Santana's eyes widened a little, she uttered a quick "Right" to Mercedes, and then turned back to the crowd under the confident and flirtatious guise of Sapphire.

"Sorry to leave you hanging, studs, I'm not usually one for denial," coyly apologized Santana with a smirk.

Mercedes rolled her eyes.

"So, picking up where we left off, be sure to ravish clean your plates of our fine, mouth-watering cuisine, served by horny, lonely servers in need of some inviting company"—faint wolf whistles were heard from the back—"Sweat and grind to wild, upbeat music generated by our DJ's talented fingers—"

"You'd know it, babe!" Puck hollered from his booth, throwing her a flirtatious salute and wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Brittany was outwardly perturbed.

Santana was inwardly disgusted.

Unfortunately, although she very much wanted to, the Latina could not call Puck out on his inexistent sexual prowess and humiliate him in front of a sex-crazed, rabies-like mouth-foaming audience. It would be bad publicity for the club, she would be fired before she could even finish her insult (yah, they were that long), and she would probably end up living in an abandoned Home Depot-retrieved foreign exports box with excrement drawings and leaves for decoration, frivoling her days away in Zenith's central park as she basked in her own filth.

What kind of loser ends up like that? Santana thought humorously.

Brittany suddenly felt curiously insulted.

I suddenly feel curiously insulted, Brittany thought, but quickly dismissed the fleeting prick of negative emotions with a shrug.

"I could gush on and on about all the exciting services we have to offer here at Katharsis, but I'm sure you guys all will find it more pleasurable to freely explore this wanton wilderness and make your own naughty discoveries," Santana purred at the deliriously aroused crowd.

"If y'all's sexy booties are inexperienced, we've got plenty of well-versed lady candy ready to show you a good time," Mercedes added with seductive poise.

"And if you're all into the two-for-one package, just be sure to ask for me, Sprinkle Sparkz, because I am one feisty femme that is damn target-point sure to dump a rocking bomb on your world, atomic weapons ain't got nothing on this thang!" Sparkz intoned with a deep voice-drop at the end of the statement.

Ah, Unique, Kiki thought with folded arms and a playful upward roll of her eyes. How am I going to top that?

Unique winked in a way that said, "You got this, Marley!"

"Hi," Marley softly spoke, demurely cheerful. "I'm the new girl. My name is Kiki"—Santana sighed a judgmental breath, subtly shaking her head—"b-but you guys can call metonight"—Marley quickly side-glanced Santana to seek approval, and she felt relieved when she saw her senior's lips quirk upwards—"Oh, don't look surprised, babies, I've seen the way your eyes roamed all over my body like…like airport security wands"—Unique's eyebrows dipped in confusion—"If you think you have the drill to tap this like our nation does natural resources, seek me out in the club, and who knows, you might just find me dripping with oil"—Rachel looked horrified—"And if you're good, I might just let you hike my skirt up like gas prices"—Santana cringed—"but you'll only hit coal if you've been bad"—Mercedes looked pained—"So let me be your sexy… terrorist, 'cause I'm sure to make your night explosive."

Jaws dropped.

Marley flashed an innocuous grin, proud of herself for coming up with such erotic phrases on the spot.

The audience looked confused.

That was hot, Brittany thought, biting her thumb.

Santana awkwardly took the microphone from Marley's hand, shook her head to disperse her uncomfortable thoughts, and then faced the audience once again with her feisty guise.

"Well, you know what to do, scoot, stare at some boobs, and catch up with us later, you tools," she said smoothly, confidently smirking and shooting the crowd a provocative look.

The five on stage simultaneously blew their audience a kiss, and the crowd once again swooned like a slinky and bounced back to whistle and cheer all mad-cow disease crazy.

Brittany left before they trampled over her as they began to disperse. She really didn't want to be squished like play dough and be marked with footprints all over her body.

It's not as funny as in the cartoons.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Brittany tried to look for the college kids that she had arrived with, but in the tight crowd she could hardly make anything out, and she was being squished like a stress doll—she was half-expecting her eyes and tongue to pop out with every push, and funny fart or dying chipmunk noises to escape from every anatomical cavity in her body as people pressed—grinded! ?—into her while she made her way through in search of a sexual harassment-free safety zone.

She spotted a bar.

That was… perfect. The worst that could happen is that she could get wasted, start a bar fight, get kicked out (with a footprint stamped on her butt and everything), violently puke her intestines and appendix out in the streets of Zenith, and pass out somewhere by a waste water disk, accidentally falling into the sewers and drowning in and decomposing along with accompanying human feces.

She took a moment to weigh the options…

Appendices are useless anyways, she figured, shrugging.

She skipped over to the bar.

She sat on one of the dark green, cushiony stool, and was immediately content to feel that it was one of those spinning stools. The bar table was incredibly long, smooth, and elegant-looking. Brittany thought she counted about 20 to 25 other stools besides hers. There were about ten other individuals drinking and chattering and moping away all throughout the table, most of them alone, or on the phone, or attempting to make conversation with the person next to them (that is, if they had one, as they were immensely dispersed).

Brittany sat the end of the row, near the curvature of the table. She was deliberating going over to sit with one of the people at the bar, since they looked so lonely, but then one of the scantily dressed girls in the bar draped herself over one of the guys and he did not look as lonely anymore.

Brittany noticed a mixing set right by where she sat. There were some fancy alcoholic bottles by where she sat and she positively brightened up when she saw that there were varieties of different colors. She grabbed one of the longest glasses she could find, and briefly noted it almost looked like a graduated cylinder, but with more of a cone-shaped opening. It was just… really skinny. Anyhow, she did not dwell on that for too long.

She grabbed a ruby-colored drink and poured it into the glass. She then looked through the remaining bottles for the most attractive color.

Not that all of you aren't attractive, Brittany immediately thought to herself as she addressed all the bottles with her panning gaze. She knew they had telepathic abilities, so they would understand her. But I can't live in polygamy.

She glanced around the vast lounge room, and ultimately chose blue—the color of the mood.

She carefully poured it right on top of the ruby-colored liquid and inwardly squealed when the blue settled on top of the previous color.

She glanced around for the next addition to her colorful tower. There was one drink that appeared to be the color of oatmeal, but without the lumpiness. Brittany decided against it; it reminded her of kindergarten when she ate too many potato chips everyday and one day her stomach protested and slung everything out her throat without telling her, like workers on strike. Brittany resented her stomach after that; it could have at least given her a warning. Since then, she tried to respect her stomach and eat healthier.

Pass, the blonde thought to herself, and moved the drink to the back of the line-up she'd arranged.

That must have hurt its feelings. But it had to be done.

Next was a pale, creamy green color. Brittany grimaced slightly. She hated being judgmental, but she really didn't want something that resembled an expired Nickelodeon slime batch as part of her layered tower. It was still a very nice color! It was just not the one right for this ensemble.

"Sorry, buddy, I'm going to have to let you go," Brittany regrettably informed. "But you can go find yourself a pretty, light red drink and you two can mingle and make cute, little brown babies!"

"That doesn't sound racist at all," a voice piped up from behind the bar table.

Brittany's head snapped up. The sudden presence of another human being had startled her.

How long has he been standing there for? Brittany thought apprehensively. Great, now he thinks I'm a meanie like Simon Cowell. I'm not even Australian…

"Hey," he greeted with a genuinely friendly smile.

"Hallow," Brittany muttered out.

"Are you Brittish?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

How does he know my name! ? Wait, no… how does he know an obviously mispronounced version of my name! ?

"Brittany," Brittany corrected in a hushed voice. She did not like correcting people that much. It felt like she was reprimanding them or nagging at them even if they were evidently in the wrong. She wasn't very good at arguing.

"Aaaaah, so you're from Britain?" the guy repeated, nodding his head in acknowledgement.

"NO!" Brittany said loudly before she could even stop herself.

The bartender's eyes widened and she immediately slapped a hand to her mouth, slowly lowering it to say something else.

"I-I'm sawrry, it's just… you misunderstood… and I fhought you weah… and I din't mean… I beg yuh pahdon from the bottom of my teacup!" Brittany apologized.

The young man laughed heartily. "No, no, that's alright. I meant it as in, are you English?"

"I speak it," Brittany said, shrugging.

"Me too!" the other guy said excitedly. "We have tons in common!"

"That's wicked"—Brittany halted mid-sentence in thought—"mate!"

"So, wha'cha doing?" the blond guy asked, nodding toward the glass Brittany was holding. "Trying to blow up this place? You had all that kame hame ha aura going on before I butt in."

Brittany looked alarmed. "Wot? No! I-I'm nat heah to blow up thah place, I'm no terrorist, I sweah!" The young blonde discreetly leaned in to the friendly guy and cautiously whispered, "But I phink that garl that wus on stage earliah might be."

The blond guy's eyes stretched out comically. Instantly, his gaze darkened.

"I knew she had infiltrated our establishment! She was too sketchy an individual for me to just let it go. She was nice. Too nice"—Brittany listened attentively, nodding her head to encourage him to continue—"One time, I forgot to flush the toilet after I left the bathroom, so I went back in, but my business was already gone. When I walked out of the restroom, I noticed her sitting close by, and when her eyes shifted, she smiled and waved at me. It was then that I knew. I just KNEW that it had to be her. She was the only one that could have possibly done it in that small scope of time, and all the evidence was against her: she was near, she pretended to be occupied, and sheconveniently met my eyes as soon as I left! It was a good thing recognized the signs… Who would go through all the trouble of going to the boy's room and flushing my toilet if they didn't want to get on my good side? Why would they want to get on my good side? Do I have a good side?—"

"Left profile," Brittany interjected.

"Thanks, I think so too, most of my Bieber hair is on the left, so I look bald in the right. Nice eye."

Brittany shrugged coolly. "No prob."

"Anyhow, it was not only that, but she's always super quiet, and hanging out with our boss, and laughing at all our jokes, and following us everywhere, and making us sweet snacks, and looking innocent and doe-eyed and why doesn't anyone else notice her suspicious behavior? I tell you, she's probably a spy sent from Caesura to come and ruin us from the inside out. No one believes me, though…"

"Seizure?"

The boy laughed good-naturedly. "I thought it was insurance when I first heard it."

Brittany shrugged.

"Oh, sorry, you're not from here, you probably don't know who they are," the blond said with an apologetic smile. "They're our competition. They're relatively new. They've only been open for 6 months now, but they've managed to snatch over a quarter of our following."

"That's not nice," Brittany opinioned with a frown. "They shouldn't take your quarters."

The blond raised his eyebrows.

"Err… My wahrd, wot pricks!" Brittany immediately amended.

He still looked a bit thrown off, but continued nonetheless.

"We've existed for about 50 years, remodeled in the past 15 years, opened for business in the past 10 years, but have just recently become popular in the past 6 years," the bartended explained, grabbing one of the bottles Brittany pushed to the back of her line-up and cleaning it over with a cloth. "The staff is usually switched around every year. Age is a very important factor here. If you get too old for your job, you're out. Unless you're a cougar."

Brittany's eyes sparkled. "You have animals heah?"

The blond guy stopped wiping the bottle and considered the question. "You could say that, they are pretty wild." He shuddered uncomfortably.

"I might check them out latah then!" Brittany gushed with an excited smile.

"… Sure, if you're into that," the bartender said with an adorably confused expression, putting the bottle in its rightful slot in the cabinet. His gaze once again darkened when he returned to Brittany.

Brittany noticed the shift in mood so she also tried to darken her expression. She tried positioning her gold bangs over her eyes to make herself look shadier.

"But we've deviated from the subject," the guy began, palms on the bar table and making direct eye contact with the blonde. "Despite all the clear as cereal signs thatsomething's about to boil over, no one listens to me! They think that they're the rabid paranoid rantings of a good-looking but mentally disturbed bartender with nothing else to do but spread conspiracy theories. But I know better that's not true—except for the good-looking part. If I have to be the naked guy standing at a busy intersection holding a cardboard sign that reads, "SHE'S OUT TO GET US… AND OUR MOTHERS!" then I'll gladly do it! It's always the people that stand out from the masses that get far in life!"

"Weah you the unwonted leftover at dodgeball, too?" Brittany chirped.

The bartender smiled in the spirit of camaraderie. "Yea! But I always proved myself by winning every time!"

"I ohlways came out on top, too!" Brittany raved animatedly.

Neither of them realized nobody ever actually aimed at them. Neither of them ever would.

"Bah you know," Brittany started, once again adopting her sketchy persona. "She as good us admitted it today onstage. She said, and I quote, 'So let me be your sexy… terrorist, 'cause I'm sure to make your night explosive'! At the time I fhought it was pretty hot… b-but now…"

The blond guy's eyebrows peaked. "What? What is it?"

Brittany sighed and looked away dramatically. "I phink… she might be planning an attack tonight."

The dude was taken aback, almost slamming into his meticulously arranged cabinet. Phew.

"Please," he pleaded, taking Brittany's hand. "Tell me you recorded the evidence."

Brittany squeezed her eyes shut painfully, removed her hand, and slowly shook her head.

"Dammit all to demolished diarrhea!"

"Bloody hobknocking bollocks!"

"Whoa, there, calm down," the guy said, laughing.

"Sawrry," Brittany muttered, embarrassed. "Is the situation that bad?"

"Well, we have no proof to warn the others, and they're all such tight-butts, they won't believe me even if I have a witness," he sighed, placing a fist on his forehead.

"It's worse than I fhought," Brittany communicated uneasily. "What should we do?"

"What all the greats throughout history have done when in the face of adversity," he explained with a grave expression. "We get shots."

Brittany's eyes bulged out. B-but I don't wanna get shot! I have so much to live for… like… like…

"Just make it quick, please," Brittany whispered miserably, closing her eyes in resignation.

The bartended nodded.

Ah, well, she'd had a good run. She'd had fun throughout the scant years of her existence. She did all the major things she'd wanted to accomplish in her youth: placing a whoopee cushion under her Spanish teacher's chair just to hear her say 'Ay, Caramba!' after thinking she accidentally dealt one; locking two Latin students in the janitor's closet with a romantic candlelight dinner in order to incite them to breed so she can take their babies and start up a new Latin-speaking colony somewhere in the outskirts of Alaska, so that the Latin students wouldn't feel left out when all the other language students went to visit other countries where the language was actually still alive (of course, she never got to achieve her goal, as the students reported her and she got in-school detention for a week. Sigh. No one gets it. No one gets it…); she painted one of the last telephone booths in her district blue like Doctor Who's after sneaking out through her window, and accidentally slide-falling off the sub-roof before smacking with a loud "crack!" into the cemented sidewalk, so that she could go back in time to salvage her kiwano-flavored cookies from getting burnt, setting off the fire alarm in her house, and almost inundating the house with water from the sprinklers, but although she didn't manage to travel into the past, she managed to travel into the future, for when she woke up, it was tomorrow morning.

Yes, she had no regrets.

She was at peace with herself.

Who am I kidding? Let's bolt! Brittany thought to herself in a panic as she scrambled off her stool and got ready to take off like Speedy Gonzales.

"So, strawberry or pineapple?"

She froze. Bullets have flavors?

"Pineapple," she relented, closing her eyes and moving back onto her stool. She couldn't get away now. She would get shot from behind and she really didn't want the murder investigators to come and find her in an awkward position. She had dignity and the like, you know?

"Strong or light?"

"Whichevah gets the job done fastah," she replied shakily, with her eyes still closed and her head hung low.

"Large or small?"

They come in sizes, too?

"SMALL. Small, please," she hushed out nervously. At the least this way she could avoid facial disfiguration. She wanted an open-casket funeral, and she really didn't want a gaping hole in her body. It was largely unattractive, even for a corpse, and she wanted the attendees to be thinking, as they looked at her, "Dayum, I should have tapped that while it was still twitching!"

"Alright, you ready?" the bartender's voice piped up, sounding closer to her than it was before. "Get a load of this."

Brittany almost fainted.

"Say hello to my little friend"—Brittany gulped and squeezed her eyes even tighter. This was it—"Sam's Super Special Small-Glass, Lightly-Spiked, Extra-Foamy Piña Colada L'Extravaganza! ! !"

Brittany stiffened, but then her body relaxed in confusion. She opened her eyes.

"So, have I blown you away yet?" he asked, sliding the drink over to her firmly rigid fist.

"Not in the way I'd expected," Brittany voiced with a trembling pitch, still feeling the residual effects of her fearfully panicked state.

Brittany inwardly chuckled. What a misunderstanding. These kind of things always happened to her. Just like there's an award for 'perfect school attendance,' she should herself get an award for 'perfect record of nailing every potentially misinterpretable situation ever presented to her. Like a boss.'

"Phank you so much, um…" Brittany grinned shyly at him.

"Oh. OH! That's right, I just completely chatted up a stranger without introducing myself!" The bartended said in embarrassed realization. "Sorry. How do you do? Sam. i. am. and you're?"

"Brittany, bitch," the young blonde finished, taking a sip from her drink.

The two smiled at each other knowingly. It was there, in a skimpy strip club, amongst the stench of sweaty, horny bodies, in the depressing presence of inebriated and weeping individuals down the row of stools, surrounded by erotic music pumping from the building's speakers, staring at each other in the eye-dilating dim lighting of the bar, that they both knew… they just KNEW… the seeds to the tulips of a beautiful friendship were being tenderly planted in the soils of amity, waiting for the right moment to spring forth into a majestic blossom of—

"I need to pee," Brittany deadpanned. "I-I mean, I've got to tinkle. Where's your nearest watah closet?"

"… the watah-what?"

Brittany racked her brain for another word. "Can you show me to yuh loo?"

Sam tentatively pointed to his crotch.

Brittany choked on her imaginary tea.

"Th-that's quite alright," Brittany sputtered out, still playing up the British accent and looking away. "I-I phink I'll go look for it myself."

She flashed one last smile at Sam and walked off.

Oh, wait…

She turned back around and yelled, "Cheerio!"

"Froot loops!"

Sam smiled dorkily and returned to his post. He looked at the mess of drinks that Brittany had left behind during her mixing experimentations.

She'll come back and pay for all this ... right?

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Rachel hurriedly stepped off stage and began to swiftly make her way to the dressing room area at the back of the building, still riding on the rush of adrenaline that performing in front of adulating crowds always gave her. Her legs quivered in excitement, her smile stretched to cover a peculiarly large area of her face, and her unblinking eyes shone with enthusiasm. She couldn't wait to get back out there. Another performance wouldn't start until the next two hours, so she would have to busy herself with other things, but in the meanwhile, she might as well take the opportunity to further enhance her beauty with the commoner's tools for facial art—make-up.

She finally arrived at her dressing room and, after gingerly checking her immediate vicinity, carefully closed the door and pompously strode over to her vanity, flinging a provocative look at herself as soon as she made contact with her mirror twin.

She struck a few suggestive poses in front of the reflective glass, puckering her lips up and shooting flirty winks.

She once again leaned over the vanity and stared at herself right in the eyes, smiling wickedly.

"Rachel, you sinfully sexy vixen, you looked so hot out there!"

"Said No One Ever."

Rachel jumped, smacking her forehead into the mirror, and instantly turned around with a wide-eyed expression

"S-SANTANA!" she yelped, trying her hardest to sound reprimanding but coming off as more humiliated. "H-HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?"

"Long enough to see what you would look like if you were a blowfish," Santana chuckled out, puckering her lips at the brunette mockingly.

Rachel's lips thinned. "Are you calling me fat?"

Santana shook her head nonchalantly. "No, Berry, that's just your lips. There's something cringe-worthy about every part of your body but I try not to focus on them and instead stare at the spots which I find the least revolting, like your schnoz, which practically takes up over half your face so I hardly even realize it's a nose, making looking at you more bearable."

Rachel stomped her high-heeled shoe on the ground. "What is your problem with me, Santana? Why do you insist on tearing me down every time you so much as look at me? I don't remember ever doing anything of ill will against you! I mean, by Barbra, I hardly ever get a word in with you since you're always insulting every particle of my being!"

"Hardly get a word in? Hardly? Berry, every time you open your trap it's like you're delivering the State of the Union address, don't you know the torture your constant yapping puts our ears through?" Santana countered aggressively.

"What? I do not!" Rachel vehemently denied, her mouth gaping in astonishment. "I mean, I suppose I could be a bit verbose when it comes to expressing—"

"A bit?" Santana muttered incredulously, rolling her eyes.

"See! See what you do!" Rachel accused, jumping up and down in a tantrum. "You always interject! You never let me finish!"

"And that is bad because…?" Santana motioned her head upwards, signaling for the short diva to continue.

"Because I might have something quite meaningful to communicate! Has that ever crossed your mind?" Rachel finished confidently.

"Meaningful? Ah, alright, m'kay. Imma let you finish, then, what exactly were you going to say to me that was so meaningful?" Santana prompted with a daring raise of her eyebrow.

"I was going to say…"

"Mhmm…"

"That…"

"Mhmm…"

"Your nails are cheap!"

"WHAT! ? My nails are not chipped. I just bought them yesterday!"

"AHA! So they're fake! Fakeee! Fakeee! Just like your breaaaasts!"

"SHUT UP, Berry! I'm about to go apeshit on your trolling ass!"

Rachel stuck out her tongue.

Santana reddened with fury.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on, what's going down up in here?" Mercedes questioned, bursting through the door. "I wanna watch!"

Santana folded her arms and incredulously quirked her eyebrow in a "Really?" kind of gesture.

"What's wrong? I heard yelling. I wanna watch!" Puck followed just as hastily, looking back and forth between the girls.

Rachel shrieked.

"Noah! What are you doing in my dressing room?" she demanded, concealing herself by reflex even though she wasn't exposed.

"I'll get the whacking broom," muttered Santana with a blasé attitude, walking off to a corner of the room in search of the item.

"Is everyone alright? I think I heard the sound of a dying hyena," Unique uttered worriedly as he stepped into the room.

"Nah, it was just Rachel," Mercedes replied casually.

"Oh, thank goodness," breathed Marley, trailing after Unique. She brought the phone she was holding in her hand up to her chin and reassured, "It's alright now, no need for Animal Control Services," promptly hanging up on 911.

"Babe, I know you come in here to have sexy time, so of course I would install listening devices in your room!" Puck explained, wiggling his eyebrows in what he thought was a rapturously irresistible manner. "I've always waited for the right moment to walk in on you doing the deed."

"NOAH!" she berated in a high-pitched voice, flushed to her ears. "I-I do admit that I come here to allot myself….a…a brief self-pepping period, but most certainly not in the way you imply!"

"You called yourself a sexy vixen," Santana commented, leaning against the wall. "Most of the time I try to refrain myself from imagining exactly how the cogs in your bizarre brain turn, God knows the last thing I want is to start seeing things your way, but I think in your world that's, like, foreplay or something."

"For the last time, everyone, there was nothing of that nature occurring in this room!" Rachel insisted, raging like an oompa loompa .

"Oh, yeah, sure, we get it," Santana said, reaching into her cleavage and pulling out a tiny beetle-looking things from her tits. "Now would you repeat to the mic?"

"How do you—? Why do you—?" Rachel sputtered, stupefied. "NOAH!"

"Heeeey, you found my INSpECT Bugger XXX! I was wondering what happened to it!" Puck remarked heartily. "That shit cost me a month's rent. But to see the boobs you gotta equip the goods."

"Yeah, well, be thankful I didn't feel like getting cockroach bodily slime on my heels, I almost squashed that creeper," Santana deadpanned. "You too, Berry, I debugged your dressing room. You should, like, worship me or something akin to that from now on."

"NOAH, I DEMAND THAT YOU REMOVE ALL OFFENDING MONITORING MATERIAL FROM MY DRESSING ROOM AT THIS INSTANT!" Rachel screeched.

"Guys, why are we all fighting like this! ?" Marley questioned, stepping into the room, shyly glancing around. "Can't we…. Can't we all just get along?"

Everyone stared at her as if she was wearing a tutu toga.

And stilettos.

"Gurl, it's downright scary obvious what a newbie you are," Unique piped up, throwing his head in a rotational motion and snapping his fingers to emphasize his point. "Here, let me take you to the hallway, where I'll enlighten you in the selfish and corruptive ways of this trade. C'mon."

The two girls(?) walked out together and their voices faded as they distanced themselves from the room

"Fine, fine, I'll start taking them down," Puck relented, raising his well-toned arms in surrender.

"And don't do that anymore, please," Rachel firmly requested, arms folded.

"Listen, y'all got issues, and frankly, I don't wanna be getting involved in all your trifling hooey, nohow," Mercedes expression, arms akimbo. "But we're the seniors member in this hoe joint!"—she halted for a moment, pensive—"Hmm, never thought I would ever say that without cringing. I became a shameless floozy sooner than I'd anticipated. Huh."

Puck motioned his head in a circular motion, urging her to keep going and get it over with.

"My point is: we all gotta pull together and—!"

"Ugh, don't even, you're starting to sound like that white chick with the tutu toga," whined Santana, disgruntled.

"Satan, if you'd just let me finish what I was sa—"

"See! See what I mean! Even Mercedes can tell you're always interrupting everyone mid-sentence!"

Santana raised her eyebrow.

"Ehem," Mercedes cleared her throat.

"What?" Rachel inquired, turning to her. "Oh... OH. Right. I apologize. Continue!"

Santana slickly shot the sheepish brunette a falsely saccharine grin.

Rachel internally seethed.

Puck picked at his nose real quick while no one was watching.

"So, as I was saying, we have got to be the their mentors! Not just us, but everyone that has had some significant experience in this business. They're young, unsure… they ain't got a clue what they're doing, how to play it safe," Mercedes resumed, making eye contact with each of them, as if that would more vigorously hammer her point home. "We all know what this world is like; we can't guarantee them anything. The best we can do is train them to understand the do's and don't's of this kind of activity, so they can confront whatever comes their way."

"Whoa," Puck voiced. "Deep. And not in a sexual way, this time."

"Mercedes, that was… an endearingly beautiful, eloquently delivered impromptu monologue," Rachel praised, inexplicably moved. "I have to say that I concur with your every claim, reason, and conviction. I hope we may all come into a cohesive union and aid our current and future juniors in exercising caution and preventive measures when engaging in any type of… work-related obligation."

"Mm-huh, okay, twitter update!" Santana announced with faux-enthusiasm. " WheezyinthePants: none of us have a clue what we're doing here, how do you expect us to guide anyone if we can't even look after ourselves? #howulikethatphilosophy."

A peeved Mercedes sighed, shaking her head in defeat.

"Y'all be hopeless," the exasperated girl uttered, heading for the door. "Imma just diva exit now, 'cause some of us got work to do. I best see your well-dressed hineys out there before I start belting out some private tunes for the guests."

Mercedes left before anyone had time to respond.

"What's got her thong up in a knot?" Santana commented offhandedly, wrinkling her brow in mock unease. "Well, whatever, while we're on the subject, I gotta talk to you about tonight's performance, Berry."

"How is a flimsy undergarment meant for the concealment of female private parts at all relevant to tonight's performance?" Rachel questioned, perplexed at Santana's obviously desultory statement.

"It isn't," Santana plainly replied, shrugging. "I just needed a transitioning phrase to get past this boring subject and discuss things that are worth my time. The original reason I even deigned to step into your room was so that I could tell you to stop advertising during the post-show chats. It completely kills the mood and it's a total turn-off."

"In the sexual and business sense," Puck added, nodding sagely.

"But that is the moment at which we have the entire public's attention! It must be then!" Rachel argued with wild hand gestures.

"Yeah, and potentially the moment where we lose our entire following, and with Caesura being the cowardly ostridge pecking away at our roots in this city, we can't afford to lose any more lowly swine."

"Precious customers," coughed out Puck.

"Them, too," Santana added.

"Santana, you don't think I'm trying to counter their insidious ways? I'm just as unwilling to allow them to slip the rug from beneath our feet. However, I do believe we do not have to be that concerned, as Katharsis has had a protracted run in this city, despite its occasional—well, sporadic—run-ins with the law."

"I dunno, babe," Puck interjected, leaning back against the wall. "I've checked the place out and they seem like pretty tough competition."

"You went behind our backs! ?" Rachel shouted, indignant.

"Well, I couldn't go behind your fronts!" Puck defended. "That's, like, a grammatical impossibility or something geeky like that!"

"Forget mechanics, just spit it out, what did you see?" Santana prodded, drawing closer to him.

"It wasn't really much, honest," Puck divulged, shrugging, his muscles flexing as he did. "I think its biggest appeal is that it's new, it's an underground club, and it's got a casino."

"Underground? No wonder I never could find the place," Santana muttered to herself. "Ugh, now I gotta buy a new GPS…"

"I told you it was senseless smashing," Rachel chided, wagging her finger at the Latina.

Puck pretended to look into his iPhone and type something. " InSpiteofHeight MexicanOrDominicanQuestionMark R.I.P Satan's GPS #RoadRage."

"Why, the nerve!" Rachel spat, insulted. "I don't even HAVE a twitter!"

"Sure, you don't, bubblemufffin28," Santana drawled out slyly.

Rachel gasped in shock. "How did you—! ?"

"Log out of your account before you start screeching something somewhat akin to music while you shower," Santana replied casually. "Those mirrors can only stand so much."

"Ha ha ha ha, bubblemuffin28?" Puck cracked up. "Oh, Gawd, this is too much. I thought you'd come up with something relating to 'star,' but muffins? Wooow."

At this precise moment of amusement for the PuckTana party, and humiliation for the Rachel party, Kurt stuck his comely head into the room.

"Hey, Santana, you got a client asking for you," he informed her.

The jovial ambience immediately plummeted, as the laughter (and seething, in Rachel's part) died down. The Hispanic beauty gracefully rose to her high-heeled feet from the velvet dressing chair, smoothing out the unsightly wrinkles her apparel had collected during her stay in the Jewish diva's room.

"Time to serve the patrons, huh?" Puck commented lamely, his voice uncharacteristically feeble.

"It's how you stay alive," flippantly responded Santana, spraying herself with a delicate amount of Rachel's perfume.

Rachel opted not to territorially call out the Latina on the impertinent use of her perfume without permission. She instead cleared her throat and strutted towards her dresser, standing alongside Santana. "Well, it's about time I stepped out and graced the customers with my presence, anyway."

"I would find a scathing retort to your statement, Berry," Santana said, finding it in herself to smirk. "But I actually have someone waiting on me so I don't have the time to."

As they gazed into each other's eyes through the mirror, they seemed to reach a mutual understanding, a type of acknowledgement, though of what, either was unsure.

Puck headed for Rachel's couch as he said, "Well, I got to go, too. My harem awaits at the DJ booth."

He pulled out a minuscule, ebony apparatus from one of the golden-colored string knots hanging from the Chinese couch pillows.

"MY PILLOW, TOO, NOAH?"

Kurt and Santana laughed. Puck wiggled his eyebrows.

"SERIOUSLY! ?"

~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Hmm. Now… how exactly did life's random sequence of events lead her here?

Brittany found herself sitting on a plush velvet cushiony seat in an enclosed but comfortably large room, taking in her surroundings with her exploring vision as she reservedly remained seated at the spot a bunny girl had pointed her to after she had inquired as to the whereabouts of the restroom in the establishment.

She knew that bathrooms had toilets, and this room did not have a toilet; therefore, it was not a bathroom.

What was it then?

She vaguely recalls a layout similar to the one she currently finds herself in during a hangout scene in one of the anime shows she used to watch as a kid. If she wasn't mistaken, dancing zebras, drumming beavers, Exorcist head-turning owls, and singing parrots should soon be making their entrance into the room to rock out a karaoke session with her. But Brittany wasn't a kid anymore, so she knew that those things didn't happen.

Not until the clock struck midnight and the crescent moon shone directly above said establishment.

There also had to be a microphone, because what would be the point of all the trouble if no one would get to sing?

No, scratch that, you could sing, but what would be the point in singing if no one could hear you?

Wait, no, backspace, you could sing, and people might not hear you, but it was a relatively small room so maybe your voice could echo off the walls and in the end theywould hear you, but then what would be the point in a microphone if people could hear you anyway?

Why is this so complicated? The befuddled blonde wondered, furrowing her brow in grave consternation.

The abrupt sound of a creaking door derailed her train of thought as it crossed a folding bridge, had it tip on the brink of drain-or-retain, and ultimately had it crushed by the mechanic curling of the bridge, completely annihilating the, frankly, pathetically useless deliberation.

Brittany opened her tightly closed eyes (previously so adjusted to enhance concentration), and raised her line of vision to come into the awareness that the individual striding into the fancy room was none other than the milk coffee-skinned girl who won her admiration with her epic pole-dancing skills, who kept her from fulfilling her self-imposed promise that she would treat all God's creatures equally (she wasn't even that religious) and watch the other performing girls only to have her attention hogged by the girl's heed-hoarding moves, and most importantly, the girl who caused her to lose a penny to a sneaky audience swindler due to her unjustly distracting on-stage presence (she would have otherwise so felt that hand slide into her pocket). As if she wasn't poor enough!

Either way, she couldn't allow her misfortunes to spoil her mood, especially in front of this pretty girl, with the moves, and the hair flip, and the sultry voice—

"Hi!" she hastily greeted before she once again become enveloped in her world. "I'm Brittany." She stood from the cushiony seat and walked towards the latte-skinned girl.

The girl's eyes imperceptibly widened in surprise, a bit startled at the other occupant's chirpy voice. She rolled her eyes downward to see the other occupant's hand stuck out, awaiting to connect with her own in an amicable, first-meeting handshake.

"Hey," she breathed in return, almost unsurely. She immediately caught the feeble low of her tone and just as quickly returned to a more self-assured volume. "I would tell you mine, but since you called me here, I suppose you're already familiar with it… with me."

She confidently sent a smirk Brittany's way.

Brittany nodded enthusiastically. She was slightly confused as to what the girl meant by "calling her here," but just decided not to over think it (she was prone to doing that).

"Yeah, you're Sapphire!" Brittany said with an energetic smile. "You're the pretty girl that performed with the other pretty dancers a while ago. It was totally awesome, by the way. I was blown out of my seat! Well, I wasn't really sitting, though. I was standing with the rest of the crowd because then I wouldn't have been able to see anything over people's heads. So maybe the expression is… you blew me off my feet? But my feet are still here… and it's pretty hard to reconnect with your feet because you'd need to undergo surgical procedures and…"

Sapphire momentarily stared at Brittany with a blank expression.

It had been a while since she was presented with a female client. Yes, the women liked to talk, but this one excessively so. Was she nervous or something?

She stopped following the logic behind the blonde's string of sentences and instead looked at the document filed into the folder she had picked up from the back of the private room's door before coming in. This was a work proceeding. The client would rent a room, be given a sheet to fill out where he/she would jot down all of his/her preferences for the private courtesy, along with the names of the service girl(s) of his/her fancy and the quantity of people that would accompany him/her, enter the room at the appointed time, and wait for the service girl(s) to show up for the private performance.

At that point, the business would meet its part of the transaction by informing the girls of their respective clients, and they would go see about them at the agreed time. This is where Sapphire came in. Not Santana. She had chosen long ago to remain detached from her working persona. Santana would stand outside the room, slide out the form that the client inside had earlier filled out, and read through what they wanted her to do, to see if she needed to bring any… supplementary materials.

She groaned as she read over the 'Adams' file. Was this Brittany Adams? Santana found it almost strange that the girl gave away her name in person while she refrained from giving it on file. Before she could think the action any more vacuous, however, she reasoned that in a way it made sense. The workers were required to maintain customer confidentiality, so even if Brittany revealed her first name, and only her last name on file, if authorities ever came looking for her (yes, most of the establishment's frequenters were sketchy individuals in the first place), then the service girl could not reveal the client's name. The only available record would be on file, and that would only contain a last name

These patrons, despite the disturbing haze of lust that constantly clouded their thinking, were quite the clever individuals when it came to matters that could precipitate their potential arrest.

The police looked for all traces left behind by criminals, particularly the mafia. Even at this dissolute joint. They usually came here to talk plans, so it could not be overlooked.

This girl, though… could she be one of them? Or was she merely the regular lecherously depraved degenerate that needed to get her day's fill, but was just too bored of getting involved with herself?

"… And it was sooooo bad! I could never tell the cabbage and the lettuce apart! Or the zucchini and cucumber! My mom never sent me to do the grocery shopping because of those! And it really hurt my feelings…"

Santana's eye twitched.

Yeah, definitely not.

How did they—well, she—even arrive at the subject of vegetables? Wasn't she talking about surgically reconnecting feet or something? Wow, Santana had been gone for a while. Or was it the other way around?

Santana shook her head to dissolve any more sidetracking thoughts and once again directed her attention to the Adams file.

Hmm, Santana mentally voiced with intrigue. Despite this girl's outward appearance, she has quite the kinks.

She discreetly glanced at the digital clock situated at the most uninteresting top corner of the room and realized that she had about half an hour to finish the list of activities Brittany had outlined before her appointment.

The private session was supposed to last an hour.

Have we really been talking that much? Santana contemplated in astonishment. Well, has she really been talking that much?

If Brittany was not going to take the initiative, which in these scenarios usually involved dirty talking (not grocery talking), then it would have to be Santana. She was used to it, taking control, and so what had to happen next really just came naturally to her.

She left Brittany chatting with herself for a moment, before she could even notice her gone, and slipped a CD into the stereo system at the left of the room. The file said that the client wished for her to dance to tribal music.

That was kind of… wild? Santana internally remarked, as she pressed the start button.

The song began booming out of the speakers and enveloped the room in a feral ambience, drowning out Brittany's words and effectively shutting her up. Mainly because the blonde was temporarily startled silent by the sudden blast of the savage tune.

Brittany tapped her feet on the floor and snapped her fingers, enjoying the tameless beats.

She stared at Santana vibrantly, and Santana regarded her with a disapproving look.

Okay, so, does she not understand that she's supposed to sit her ass down and watch me dance for her? A splenetic Santana impatiently questioned.

The rules were that the clients were not supposed to touch the service girls during private sessions, just watch, or maybe clap if the urge to move was overwhelming. But no fondling, ass slapping, and definitely NO masturbating. There had to be boundaries.

Well, it should be fine if I touch her, right? Santana reasoned, going over the rules in her mind.

She really needed to get that golden-haired bimbo in a seat; otherwise she won't have the space to do her job.

Santana strode forward irritably and roughly pushed the blonde onto a seat. She was confident that she would land safely, because the entire room was bordered with connected cushiony seats. This is in case the client wants to bring along friends.

From what I've read on her file, she's probably digging this, Santana thought dismissively, justifying the brusque treatment.

She hadn't counted on Brittany losing her balance and dragging her down with her, though.

The blonde's quick reflexes, however, held Santana by the shoulders and prevented their heads from colliding. That would have sucked.

"Owie," Brittany whimpered, having smashed her butt on the seat. Normally, it wouldn't have hurt, the seat being cushioned and all, but the momentum of the force amplified the usually painless contact.

"Ugh, what were you—! ?" Santana quickly stopped herself before she could start lashing out her escalating fury on the girl. The bitch was her client, so she needed to be civil. Either that or smack her and lose her job. And she wasn't worth it, for sure.

She inhaled shakily, trying to calm herself down before proceeding with the session.

"Why did you push me?" Brittany inquired with a pout. "That wasn't very nice…"

"Oh, I don't know, how about you tell me first why you yanked me down with you!" Yup, she couldn't hold the Snix down.

"I'm sorry," Brittany apologized sheepishly. "I just lost my balance, it was total reflex reaching out to the closest thing I could hold on to!"

"How about the wall, Blondie?" Santana replied, her tone rife with snide.

Civility be dammed, Santana thought crossly. I'll just blame it all later on speaking over the loud music.

"I'm not Matrix like that!" countered Brittany, frowning. She tried to think of something else to say, but the pressing of her fingers on tender, squishy skin was distracting her. "Ngh, why is your skin so soft? It makes it really hard to think of something mean to say to you back!"

"Puta, did you just call my skin soft! ? Say that to my face—huh?"

Santana stared at the girl below her, perplexed.

"I am saying it to your face!" Brittany defended, quirking her eyebrows. "Your skin is so smooth, and shiny, and… it's not fair! Where do you get your products?"

Santana still stared at Brittany as if she were looking at the slimy guts of a cockroach whose remains inadvertently stuck to her shoe.

"Answer me or I'll"—she tried to think of a threat—"pull your Head & Shoulders commercial-like hair!"

Santana looked more taken aback.

"Ugh, you know the cosmetics department at Macy's?" Santana ventured.

"The one with the lipsticks and stuff?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Yea."

"Well, uh, there's this section of the glass table showing moisturizing creams, and there are some free samples by the corner of the table."

Brittany nodded attentively.

"I just sort of lift and flee," Santana finished, shrugging.

"How do you 'lift' if it's free in the first place?" Brittany queried, confused.

Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Psh, please, as if I would take second-hand crap. And those miniature giveaway samples are a joke. If I'm gonna get something, it better be worth rubbing up on all this." She bumped her chest. "Ouch, I hit my boob!"

"Happens to me, too," sympathized Brittany.

"Cream-pilfering?" questioned Santana.

Brittany shook her head.

"Boob-banging," she elaborated.

"Wanky," joked Santana.

The couple quietly laughed, and it was when their hearty motions seemed muted that they realized the music was still playing.

"Can we turn that off?" Brittany asked. "The song's okay, and I like pretty much all music, but I'm kinda tired of this one."

Santana once again looked confused. "But, you asked for it on your request sheet."

Multi-personality disorder much?

"Request sheet?" Brittany detached her hands from Santana's shoulders and slowly lifted herself up on her elbows. The Latina got the hint from the motion and moved to get up as well. "I didn't request anything? But then again, maybe I did, and I just don't remember. It happens to me a lot, actually. There was this one time—"

"Ooookay, Imma have you stop right there," Santana said, effectively halting the other girl. "I don't want you going off on another random tangent."

"Was I supposed to?" Brittany questioned, puzzled.

"Well, you're not obligated to, but it's common practice," Santana replied, shrugging.

"Um, okay then, how about I request something right now?" Brittany suggested, lifting up her palms. "I don't want to break tradition. I wouldn't like having my family cursed for seven generations."

Santana concealed her amused grin. "I don't think we have that sort of penalty here."

"Better to be safe than sorry," gravely replied Brittany.

The Latina smiled at the girl's mock seriousness. Or, wait, was she for real?

"So, a request, huh?" Brittany repeated, fingers grazing her chin. "Hmm, how many do I get?"

"As many as you'd like," Santana responded, grinning devilishly. She quickly glanced at the clock. "Well, as many as you can fit into fifteen minutes, actually."

"What? There's a time limit to my wishes?" Brittany inquired, alarmed.

"'Afraid so," Santana said playfully, shrugging.

Brittany sat down in her dismay, troubled. "I don't know if I'll have time to think of and fulfill all my wishes! Agh, the pressure!"

"Fourteen," casually communicated Santana.

"You're evil," mumbled Brittany, sending Santana a childish glare.

"That's what happens when you make a deal with Satan," Santana replied cockily.

Her heart suddenly thumped in such a way that it echoed throughout her body.

That was the closest she had come to ever revealing her name to a client.

It's not that she actually liked the nickname, but it seemed a fitting retort for the situation.

She could feel imperceptible beads of sweat begin to escape her pores, betraying her cool demeanor.

Brittany's eyes widened. "Don't say that! You're no devil!"

It was Santana's turn to be surprised.

"I mean, I can't assert that," Brittany amended carefully. "I don't know you that well. I mean, by gamut, tonight was the first time I ever even saw you! B-but you don't come off as a bad person! You're really pretty! Not that pretty people aren't always mean on the inside. Not that at first I didn't think you were. But I think differently now! You're really awesome. Inside and out! And I'm probably rambling now. My thoughts are kind of scattered. I can't express myself well verbally but I just want you to know that I really like you and you shouldn't call yourself that!"

"It was…" Santana's voice trailed off as she processed and registered everything that Brittany had said. She felt a soft tug seal a minuscule hollow within her. She quickly cleared her throat, straightened her posture, and returned to Sapphire's persona. "It was just a passing comment. You really didn't need to freak on me. Now be quiet and think of what you want. I don't have all night."

Brittany jumped, a bit stunned, but she rapidly recovered and continued her musings. Twelve minutes left.

Ah, just forget it, I'll go with whatever comes to mind! Brittany thought.

"Okay, first, I want a unicorn, with a majestic silver mane, sparkling golden horseshoes—oh, and magnetic, too, so it can hover like those Japanese magnetic trains!—a resounding neigh, a fanning ponytail, and an ivory overall figure!" Brittany started enthusiastically, enumerating all the features she wanted on her unicorn. "Also, it has to have a really strong horn. Like, metal alloys strong!"

Okay, random chemistry reference, Santana thought.

"A combination of steel, copper, magnesium, platinum, aluminum, and whatever is physically possible to mix! I want to help the world by drilling into the earth and finding more oil and maybe even discovering unknown natural resources so that we don't hurt our planet anymore!"

Unexpected environmentalist? Santana thought to herself.

"And also, the horn has to be able to create food by zapping it into existence! Whoever is riding the unicorn just has to think about what they want to eat and—poof—it'll appear, all Houdini-like! That way, I can fly high-speed to Africa and China, and other places where people are hungry and feed them by having them ride my unicorn. They can eat and have fun at the same time!"

Such a humanitarian, Santana wiped at invisible tears. Almost makes me want to be a better person. Almost.

"But it doesn't even end there! I want it to—"

"Aaaalright, stop right there, again," Santana said, pushing her palm forward. "I can't grant you those requests. I'm a service girl, not a genie."

"Silly, you don't have to be a genius to make this happen," Brittany replied easily. "Well, maybe we could read some 'for Dummies' books, become learned Harvard scholars, and then genetically engineer a new species of animal! We'll just combine the egg of a dove and the sperm of a horse, rewriting the DNA blueprint providing for a horn, so that the ending result will be a new mutated—!"

"WHOA, OKAY! I think we've gone far enough speculating the breaking of the laws of nature, so how about we just focus on an easier request?"

"But, what's so bad about my other idea?" Brittany questioned, grumbling childishly.

"Okay, um, how do I put this…?" Santana mused, gazing at the ceiling, as if it would just drop on her and smack her with an explanation. "Alright, how would you feel if a donkey made love to a rabbit?"

"…"

"…"

"Love is love," Brittany replied sagely.

Santana made a buzzer sound.

"NO, IT'S NOT RIGHT!" Santana corrected. "You can't even picture that without cringing! And I've seen several cringe-worthy sights at this place, so trust me when I say that is SO WRONG."

"I can visualize it," Brittany quietly responded, shrugging. "Want me to help you? You just imagine them by a haystack, the rabbit at the front while the donkey's at the back—"

"NOT. RIGHT."

"You're the one who put the image into our heads," Brittany mumbled.

Seeing how adamant Santana was being about this hypothetical situation, the blonde decided to let it go.

"But, a unicorn is the biggest thing I want, so if I can't have that, what else could I ask for?" Brittany inquired dejectedly.

"Anything that we could do in the confines of this room," staunchly established Santana, arms folded.

Okay, she'll get the hint now, Santana thought to herself. Any normal human being's head can only be filled with one type of activity when that sentence is uttered.

Brittany furrowed her eyes in critical concentration, and her features quickly loosened as she came to realization.

"Okay," she said lowly. "I know what I want."

Santana steeled herself, once again recurring to Sapphire's guise.

Her eyes glinted sensually, as she urged Brittany to continue. "And what would that be?"

"I want…"

"Mm-hmm."

"…you…"

"Go on…"

"…to give me…"

"Mmm…"

"Pole-dancing lessons."

"Uh-huh… HUH!?" Well, that wasn't in the job description. "Wait, come again?"

"Me. You. Pole-dancing lessons. Right now," cheerfully said Brittany, bouncing with excitement. "You were soooo good up onstage! You see, I'm a dancer. Or, well, used to be. Or, wait, does the act of dancing just automatically make me a dancer? Or do I need to work as one? Anyway, you were so pro on that pole. I've always wanted to try pole dancing, but for obvious reasons, my parents never allowed me to learn it. They didn't even let me buy a pole. So I trained by a school bus stop pole. They eventually had the sign removed and the children were sent to a different waiting area. I still wonder why…"

Santana chuckled demurely. She wasn't used to doing so in these rooms. Not honestly, anyway.

"I feel for those kids," Santana managed to get out. "That must have been scarring"

"What about me?" Brittany demanded, stomping the floor. "I'm the one whose pole got removed. That was the only place I had to practice!"

Santana full-out laughed now, palming her mouth to muffle the sounds. "Oh my Gawd, stop, ha ha ha!"

"Why are you covering yourself up?" Brittany questioned. "You look even prettier when you're smiling. That's a total cliché saying, but it's true!"

Santana felt self-conscious now, so she calmed her laughter and just smiled at the blonde, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable."

"So… is that a yes, then?" Brittany asked eagerly. "Do I get my lessons?"

Santana was on the verge of agreeing to the request when she glanced at the clock and her expression subtly deflated.

Brittany was not usually very much in touch with other people's facially expressed emotions, but she had lived long enough to know that the change in features Santana just underwent was not a good sign.

"Oh, no, I don't like that look," Brittany lamented.

Santana sighed, feeling bad for her client. "The answer will have to be 'no,' Miss Adams."

Brittany's ears perked up. She glanced up at Santana, confused.

Santana mistook her confusion for not understanding the reason she was being turned down.

"Look," she said, directing her finger at the clock. "We have two minutes left. We won't even have time to descend the pole."

"Descend?"

"Do you see the compartment up at the ceiling?" Santana said, turning her index finger upwards. "We can open it and down comes a pole. It even has a place of landing, at another compartment hidden by the carpet."

"Hmm, pretty hi-tech," Brittany commented.

"It's how we stay on top," Santana replied proudly. "Perverted engineers make things happen."

"Word," said the blonde. "So… what do we do for the next one minute?"

"Why, Miss Adams, are you suggesting a quickie?" Santana playfully said. There was nothing wrong with flirting with the clients. It was part of the job. She really did not judge, whether boy or girl, when it came to her work (if she served both, she'd earn twice the money) but when it came to serious relationships… well, there was only one way to go, and that was the right way.

Not that she ever bothered to think about that.

She was not one for relationships. Having to take another person into consideration whenever making a decision only slowed one down. Santana was independent. She did not rely on anyone, and no one relied on her. It was best to go through life without the burden of another human being weighing on you. Besides, people in relationships were mostly lonely losers, incapable of making it for themselves unless they have company.

It's a sorry fact of the human condition.

Santana, though, was not like the rest.

She could become successful all on her own, not asking anyone favors, and not owing anyone anything.

She made acquaintances, colleagues, and lovers, never teammates, friends, or beloveds.

"There's that name again," Brittany said, confused. "Why do you call me 'Miss Adams'? Have we been role-playing this whole time and I didn't know it? Oh my gamut, is this another tradition? OH, NO, I'VE DOOMED MY NEXT SEVEN GENERATIONS!"

Santana quirked her brow in perplexity. She grabbed Brittany's shoulder and pulled her up, as the girl had crouched down on the carpeted floor and began to apologize through blubbers to Brittany 2.0, 3.0, 4.0, 5.0, to be continued.

"Isn't that your name?" Santana questioned, handing the blonde her file. "It says it on the form you filled out. Unless wrote down a fake name, which is perfectly fine, because a lot of people do it. You know, most don't want to be affiliated with a place like this, especially people in high positions. Are you, like, the princess of Timbuktu or something?"

"No," Brittany replied in monotone. "I'm the queen." She grinned.

They both chuckled.

"But, really, my name's not 'Miss Adams,'" she quickly corrected, doing air quotes. "It's Brittany S. Pierce."

….

….

….

Santana chuckled. "Okay, it was funny the first time, now what is it really?"

Brittany was taken aback. "B-but I'm really Brittany S. Pierce!"

Santana took a subtle step back. Crap, I bumped into one of the crazies. I KNEW she wasn't normal!

"I swear, it is!" Brittany insisted.

"I-I'm sure it is!" Santana conformed complacently.

"You're looking at me weird," Brittany cried. "You don't believe me!"

"Well, do you really expect me to believe you're the hotshot superstar that went through a mental breakdown, shaved her head, snogged Madonna, flashed her va-jay-jay to the paparazzi, and almost dropped her kid while carrying him !?"

"What! ? No, not that one!" Brittany immediately defended.

"There's more of you! ?" Santana shouted, alarmed.

At this precise moment, the phone located next to the entrance of the private room rang and Santana quickly walked to answer it.

"Kurt, get me out of here, I think I might be locked with a deranged mental patient," Santana hastily whispered into the phone. "Have you seen any notices from the Zenith newspapers about psychos freshly escaped from the asylum? I might just have one—"

"Santana, if you'd just let me talk, first you'd realize I'm not Kurt, but Artie on the other line," Artie clarified.

"Does it matter? Just tell me where my next job's at and Get. Me. Out," she voiced urgently.

"Oh, I'd be glad to, seeing how you haven't been doing your job for the past hour, anyway," he revealed with poorly hidden irritation.

"Hey, what's with the reproaching tone? Only I'm allowed to get moody on your asses," Santana snapped.

"Well, I'm allowed to get mad, too, after I've had to fend off for myself and try to calm the raging beast that is Mr. Adams out here at the front desk!" he hissed, very aware of Mr. Adams' imposing presence still near him. "You were supposed to have been servicing him this past hour! And I've tried countless times to get in touch with you but you wouldn't pick up the damn phone!"

The loud music.

Oh.

Sheesh, he hardly cusses, Santana inwardly thought. This is bad.

Santana doesn't even remember a so-called Mr. Adams, but if he's asking for her, she must have pleased him well during their last session, whenever that was. She tries not to even recall what her clients look like, because she honestly doesn't care, but there are times when she is forced to, as remembering familiar faces earns her more money (clients love it when you recognize them, and pretend to have been lonely when they were absent). Pfft, as if.

"Wait, so, if Mr Adams is out there, then…" she distanced her mouth from the phone and fully made eye contact with the blonde she had spent the past hour with. "Who are you?"

Brittany sighed. "I told you already, I'm Brittany S. Pierce."

Santana sent her a skeptical, "Really? Just drop it" type of look before coming back to the phone.

"Okay, what do you want me to do now, then?" she questioned angrily. "I can't turn back time."

"Sorry, Santana, but you're gonna have to give up an hour of your break to service him," Artie broke it to her.

"Ugh," Santana sighed in exasperation. "This couldn't possibly get any worse."

"For free," Artie added.

"WHAT? WORK FOR FREE? AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!" Santana practically screamed into the phone.

"Well, if you had shown up to escort Mr. Adams into the private room, we probably wouldn't have to be refunding him from your salary right now!" Artie scolded.

"What? They're supposed to be waiting in the room for us already! You can't blame me for not coming to get him!" the fiery Latina argued.

"Well, as soon as you didn't see him in the room, it should have followed that you needed to retrieve him," Artie continued.

Santana's eyes widened.

"But…" she one again turned to Brittany, who was staring at her with a puzzled expression. She knew that the Latina had encountered some sort of problem, but hearing snippets of the conversation without context, it was really difficult to decode the trouble in the situation. "There was someone in the room."

Realization slapped her in the face like her mama when she cursed in church.

Ah, GawdDammit, Santana cursed in her head, annoyed. Don't tell me I got a stupid freeloader? I heard of this happening to other chicks, but to think it could ever happen to me? Ugh, nice going, Santana, just fucking great… I gotta start checking ID's before starting anything, now. That's so not sexy.

"Santana?" Artie called from the other line. "You there, still?"

"Yea, yea, I get it, I kind of don't have a choice in this, anyway," Santana grumbled, mumbling some indistinct Spanish curses.

She hung up.

She menacingly began a slow walk towards Brittany, glaring bombs at the nervous girl.

"Um, so, what happened?" she timidly asked.

"Get out," Santana said at a threateningly low volume.

"…What?" Brittany mumbled out timorously.

"I SAID SEE YOUR ASS OUT OF THIS CLAUSTROPHOBICALLY DWARFISH ROOM BEFORE I GO ALL LIMA HEIGHTS ON EVERY DAMNED CREVICE OF YOUR FINE BODY UNTIL YOU WON'T EVER HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT YOUR SEVEN GENERATIONS BECAUSE YOU WON'T GET TO HAVE THEM, CAPICHE? ! ? ! ? !"

Brittany didn't even have time to explain the situation, how she came about stumbling into the room, because Santana was already pushing her out the door, without even so much as looking at her.

She turned around one last time to try and explicate the occurrence but she was got a door promptly slammed in her face.

Sapphire sure was mad, Brittany sadly thought to herself, nursing the tip of her nose. And here I thought I'd made a friend…

Brittany began the lonely trudge back to her Home Depot box at the central park of Zenith. She didn't feel like exploring the club anymore. She wasn't even sure whether or not she was thankful those college kids brought her here in the first place, if this kind of treatment was all she ultimately received.

Meanwhile, at the other side of the door…

Santana did remember the momentary fun times she spent with Brittany (if that was really her name), but she treated it just like any other one of her casual flings, except that this one did not involve anything sexual, just… talking. It was weird. She hadn't done that in a while. Not with anyone outside of her circle of workmates.

But the negative emotions roiled within her, and she bitterly seethed at the thought of having lost both her time and money on a sneaky freeloader. Screw the good times, if she could have been doing something more productive, more conducive to her goals, she would have blown that pretty blonde off the very minute she saw her.

Pretty…?

What. The. Hell.

She needed to stop this bizarre train of thought. Who knew where it might be headed?

She decided that, rather than wait for her patron, she should just do what Artie had earlier suggested and escort him into the private room.

As Brittany finally located the exit of Katharsis, an enormously large building indeed, she spotted Sapphire emerging from one of the hallways (the ones lined with private rooms), and for a hopeful minute allowed herself to think that the Latina felt bad and had come out looking for her in order to apologize.

What are friendships without some fights to put one to the test, right?

She was about to make her way over, to make it easier on the other girl, when she saw her brilliantly shoot a smile at someone else.

Who?

Her eyes searched around and found the target of such engaging smile.

A man wearing a suit, who was politely taking off his hat and extending out his arm in order to allow Sapphire to take it and lead him into the lengthy hallways, probably to the room the she and the Latina had been occupying earlier.

Brittany wasn't very good at reading emotion, but she had lived long enough to know that a smile directed at someone meant you were glad to see him or her.

She hadn't smiled at her like that throughout the whole period they spent together.

If Sapphire hadn't smiled at her like that, then she probably hadn't enjoyed her company at all. There were a few laughs. But who's to say she hadn't faked it?

It was hard for the blonde dancer to understand their exchange. Any exchange she had with people, really. She could be friendly, nice, funny, and kind. But she could never comprehend others' intentions.

Brittany had an uncanny… disability, as some might say.

She couldn't understand others' emotions, unless she touched them.

---

Sorry for the long wait. So what do you think? My writing skills are a bit rusty, but I'll get better. That's one of the reasons I began this story, after all!