#xswitchblade

The night had been long and her muscles ached. Even though she'd been doing this for almost three years, she never felt comfortable in front of all the watchful eyes. Every swing of her hips felt foreign as if it wasn't her body, and the pole felt wrong against her hands, the music too loud, the fabric hot against sweaty skin. But it was safer up there, where if someone reached for her, she could teasingly duck away. It was safer than the rooms where the other girls sometimes worked, safer than being sold to the highest bidder. 

She taught herself a sort of ballet, different from the wide movements of the others bodies -- showing off fake parts that didn't truly belong to them, licking their lips in the neon glow. She taught herself not to fight back when asked to work late or fetch someone a drink. The ones who fought back ended up with scars and bruises. They ended up sent to some man's home in cheap heels and secondhand dresses to be false lovers for the right price. 

He called her Tinkerbell, and made her cut her hair, left his mark on her hips in a needle and ink, branding her as his own. She'd taught herself not to cry, to sit at his side at social functions when he asked, fawning over him like a trophy wife. 

But he couldn't break her spirit, couldn't take the light from her grey-hazel eyes, even when he made her wear contacts so that they would look blue like he wanted. She hated him and he knew it and could see it in her eyes, but he couldn't have her. She'd been paying off her sister's debt, holding this job at night and another in the day, simply to be assured that she could make payment on time. That was the agreement. She'd read the fine print, and knew how to avoid giving him the true upper hand. It was a thin line she walked, but she walked it with caution, and she just barely slipped by. Managed to come up with the money every time. But tonight was the deadline for this month, and she was short almost two hundred dollars. The other job she had been working had fallen through, and even though she'd quickly gotten another to take its place, she still couldn't find the means to scrape it together. She'd have the full sum just the next day, but she got the feeling Jacen wasn't the lenient type. 

Tonight, she was nervous in front of all those eyes, scared that Jacen might hand her off to one of them. But no one would have seen that from looking at her. As a matter of fact, she'd come in early today, thinking maybe if she worked really hard, she could manage to amass the two hundred in tips -- or if not, steal it off of some high roller. But the night was drawing to a close, and unless she truly did steal some man's wallet, she would still be a hundred and fifty short. 

Not to mention, it was time for one of the other girls to take her place. In a last ditch effort, now trapped in the crowd of bodies, off the stage and out of watchful eyes, she chose to try and pickpocket a man nearby. She'd done it since she was small. It should have been simple. But as her hand went for the wallet, someone else's hand clamped around her wrist. She gasped and tried to pull away.

[Hmm, abandoned warehouse, bunch of dead dudes who I killed, something behind me. Recipe for fun? I think so.]