#zigncvak

It wasn’t an address she was familiar with, but then she didn’t exactly know what she was doing.

It was a jumble of legal jargon, dollar signs and names of strangers, but a signature line she knew, lifting the pen to the crisp page and signing beside the X, and then the backside of the check to endorse, sliding both back across the desk.

She was left alone as everything was processed, and after a few more minutes, she was handed her own copy of the receipt and a handshake before send off, Esme politely thanking the man before leaving the office.

Scanning over the document, she assured the job was done before tearing the receipt into pieces, scattering them in the dumpster behind the office, never to be seen. The details were more clear than the contract, thankfully, and Esme briefed herself before the discard, taking in the necessary elements.

Novak, Anfisa re: [address redacted] mortgage Paid in full 05/07/2019 Amt. $77,349 Acct: 0003939490022 Song, Esmerelda

Zig could stay mad. Hell, she could stay mad, but if he was dead set on making money how he had been, she’d at least make it so he didn’t have to. Whether he continued was his choice, as much as it gutted her to accept, but she was in a position to try to change that reality, and regardless of how hurt she was that he’d lied, there was no denying that she cared. And this was how she had been raised to show that emotion, and most, really, so she told herself it was the right thing to do, even if the nagging feeling in her stomach told her otherwise.

Esme It was still a surprise, albeit a pleasant one that Frankie had agreed to this outing, but Esme was satisfied enough not to spend another weekend home alone that she refused to acknowledge what a dumb idea it was in the first place. Truly, neither of them looked the ages inscribed on the ID's Esme had managed to get her hands on, but considering the amount of money the establishment stood to make, she wasn't worried. Deciding on one last layer of eyeliner to age herself, Esme was ready, holding Frankie's ID in front of her face. "When were you born and how do you spell your middle name?" She prompted, holding the fake away from her to make sure the records were memorized.

Frankie: Frankie was incredibly nervous about this idea, but Esme seemed excited. She wasn’t going to be the one to let her best friend down. Plus, maybe they would just be turned away at the door. She responded to the question, “M-A-R-G-A-R-E-T and I was born January 13, 1998.” She said with certainty, even if her stomach was flipping and flopping.

Esme nodded at each correct letter, hissing a happy yesss at the conclusion of the equally correct birthday. "Perfect, we're totally in," she announced, handing the card back to her. Turning to the mirror, she fluffed her tamed curls out and smoothed the hem of her dress, feeling herself. If she had to miss yet another weekend with Zig, Frankie was just as perfect company she'd need, and it wasn't as though she ever thought Zig would go with her somewhere like this. "Ready?"

Frankie: took back the ID and put it into her wallet. She still wasn't sure if this was the right idea, but if Esme was excited, there was no backing down. She was wearing the same outfit from Esme's rave party since she wasn't sure how to dress for a club like this. "I guess, I'm as ready as I'll ever be?"

Esme smiled, pleased by the timing. Nodding, she held out an arm for Frankie to accept, and soon they were en route, in line, and after a nervewrackingly long wait, inside the club. "It worked," she squealed beneath her breath once they were inside, ushering Frankie to a table up front. "A grade twelve from my old school told me about this place. I guess they have some hot new act that everyone is losing it over."

Zig had his gaze fixated on the mirror, checking out his physique to assure that everything was in place. His hands moved to adjust the decorative underwear he had recently bought— tight, sparkly, and barely enough to cover the essentials. Topped off with a fresh new pair of boots, he was quite proud of the look he chose for the night. While he only stumbled into the job by accident, he was glad to have found it now. At first, it was a bit awkward to be performing in such scanty clothing onstage in front of an audience, finding the act a little demeaning, to say the least. Now that he was more comfortable and used to the scene, it became much easier. He had even picked up a few new moves from the other guys at work. "Count! You're on in five!" The emcee called backstage, signaling that it was time for his shift to really start. He took in a deep breath, taking one last look in the mirror before standing at bay next to the stage. Peering out from behind, he took note of the decent sized crowd and hoped for a few good tippers tonight.

Frankie: followed Esme inside and joined her friend at the table. "A grade twelve came here?" She kept her voice hushed, hoping that none of the adults around would be suspect. "I wonder what the new act is like then-- I mean, we can't really compare to the old acts but..." Frankie took a shot glass off of a passing tray, knowing she could pay the tab at the end of the night. Anything to calm her nerves at this point. "What do you think he'll be like?"

Esme "Yeah, like the second she turned eighteen," she snickered, sliding into her seat. "Everyone at that school was too horny for their own good." Impressed by Frankie's initiative, Esme reached back to procure her own drink, setting it in front of herself. Scrolling through her phone, she recited the text she received. "Tall, dimples, abs, an ass that won't quit," she repeated, shrugging to Frankie. "So probably perfect," she surmised, her attention pulled towards the stage as the next act was announced.

Zig waited patiently for his cue, and finally, his introduction came. "Our next act coming to the stage is everyone's favorite newbie. He's young, he's hot, he's Russia's greatest love machine. Give it up for: The Count!" And with that, he strode across the stage and positioned himself in the spotlight, tuning out the crowd and beginning his routine. He practiced for quite some time in the mirror beforehand, and he could only pray that his hard work had paid off. It evidently did as the crowd responded with cheers and holler, flooding the stage with bills of varying value. In between his moves, he'd lean into the crowd for audience interaction, allowing a few to place their payment in the elastic of his bottoms. After the song ended, he almost felt proud of the positive reaction he got from those watching. He leaned down to collect any stray bills, and looked up once last time before exiting the stage— that's when he saw them. Two familiar faces were at the front row seats. No, it wasn't his newfound usuals that frequented his performances, but rather two of the last people he'd ever think to see there. Squinting to make out the familiar figures, his eyes widened as he locked eyes with them. For a moment, Zig was frozen in place, unsure of what to do besides collect the last of his bills and rush off the stage. How the hell was he supposed to explain his way out of this one?

Esme listened diligently, smirking at the eager description. "Russian, already my type," she teased, watching as the man stepped into place. It was amusing how much commotion he caused right off the bat, Esme sure that he must have been a fan favorite for some type based off of the reverie. "Well she was right about the ass..." She mused, craning for a better look before he turned around. It took no time for the blood to run cold, Esme's heart dropping to her feet once the male's identity was revealed, and she scrambled, all but throwing herself across the table to cover Frankie's eyes with her hand, sending the untouched shot glass to the ground, the shatter muffled by the music. "We have to go!" She screamed, her free hand grabbing at Frankie's arm to pull her from her chair, clearly horrified.

Frankie: didn't even get to see who it was past the ass. Her eyes were covered and her shot glass fell with Esme's, but at least she got to down it. "Esme! I have to see the dimples and abs! Please--" but she was already getting pulled away from the scene. "Esme, what was wrong with him? Is everything okay?"

Esme wished she had managed some of the liquid down before careening it to the floor, her heart pounding as they left the venue. "No, everything is absolutely, so ridiculously not okay," she answered, her eyes wide and the panic present in her voice. "We need to leave. Now." She demanded, her hand shaking as she requested the nearest Uber. "We just need to be... somewhere else. Anywhere else. This isn't real."

Zig began to pace around backstage, unsure of what his next move should be. He ran a finger through his damp hair and took another look at his lower region, mortified that both Esme and Frankie saw him like that. "You good? You don't look too hot, man," Another act commented as he passed by the newbie. "Y-yeah, I'm fine," He assured the other, clearly lying about his wellbeing. At the very least, he knew he couldn't leave things as they were, but at the same time, he had no desire to face them either. Nonetheless, he hurriedly threw on a pair of basketball shorts, a signature sleeveless shirt, and a pair of slides before walking out towards the floor. The lighting was a bit dim, but as he searched the venue, he couldn't find them anywhere. His next move was to look outside in hopes that he could catch them by the door. He ran outside, only to spot the two a moment later just as they were about to leave. "Wait, wait up!" He called out, managing to reach out and grab Esme's shoulder before they had a chance to make another move. "Wait," He repeated, breathless over his performance as well as his journey to get to them. "I—I'm sorry I didn't tell you." An apology was a start, he supposed. "I didn't... I couldn't tell you."

Esme It was bad enough, to say the absolute least, that she was witness herself to what had just transpired, but having to explain it away to Frankie was a different circle of hell all together, one she knew she would have to face when she heard the familiar voice calling after her. Her face skewed in anticipation, not even knowing what to say to Zig has he caught up with them. "Don't touch me,” she sighed, shaking the hand off of herself and keeping her back turned to him. " I wouldn't want to make anyone jealous, and obviously there are a lot of girls that would be." The comeback was weak, but she was still far too frazzled for creativity in the moment. "I guess dealing wasn't enough of a thrill."

Zig almost flinched at the harshness of her words, slowly pulling his hand away and worrying for the fate of the trust he had tried so hard to build with her. It was as if all of it came crashing down in a single moment. "You're not... it's not..." But he couldn't find the right words to say no matter how hard he tried. "I'm not doing this for the thrill," Though he would be lying if he said he didn't start enjoying himself a bit, "This job pays better than anything I've tried before. I'm not doing it because it's fun or exciting."

Esme told herself that no matter what, as long as she didn't cry, she'd make it through, but she was slowly losing that battle. "Right, the thrill is just a bonus." Zig was something she'd relied on for comfort as of late, so it was nothing short a struggle to flounder in need of being comforted from him now. "Ignoring how blatantly illegal it is, you lied to my face. Unless one of your costumes is a warehouse worker I guess."

Zig wasn't sure how to fix anything at this point, and feared that no combination of words would be able to reverse the damage that was already done. "I told you what I was doing was illegal, and since when do you even care about stuff like that?" Technically, he was being honest when he said that he'd never be able to work the hours and job he does if he didn't lie about his age, but that small sliver of honesty still didn't remedy the fact that he was hiding the bigger picture of it. "I'm sorry I lied. I didn't want anyone knowing I was doing this, especially you." While stripping wasn't necessarily something to be ashamed about, it wasn't a job that had much merit to it, and if his mother ever found out, she'd surely keel over and die on the spot. He had to keep it hidden for everyone's sake. It wasn't as if he planned on doing it for long, just enough to have a decent savings before trying to find a job he could truly be proud of. "But beyond the lying, all I'm really doing is dancing. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, right?"

Esme "It's completely different," she scoffed, her arms crossing over her chest. "There's a difference between lying for good cause and lying to hide something you realize you shouldn't be doing. Don't make this about me," she shook her head. "I care about being lied to, I don't know how else to word it for you." When things were directed to her, her sorrow shifted to anger. "You're taking your clothes off," she corrected dryly. "So what now, are you going to keep doing it?

Frankie: Frankie had frozen when Zig appeared, completely speechless. Why was he there? Then, as they argued, it started to all clicking together. Zig was one of the strippers. Zig was one of the strippers and Esme was rightfully pissed. She crossed her arms as Zig continued to explain, feeling uncomfortable that she had to be their witness. "It's honestly a pretty big deal that your underage junk is practically on display for a crowd... You know?" She really didn't want either of them directing anger towards her.

Esme cringed when Frankie finally spoke, partially from the guilt of making her their audience, and part from the too sensitive words. At least she wouldn't have to explain their hasty exit, she supposed. Glancing at her phone (and having yet to face Zig), she cursed the estimated arrival time. "Can we just walk?" She sighed, desperate for an out.

Frankie: looked at Esme concerned. Walk? It was a pretty far walk, but if she wanted out, "I mean, yeah." They could take a ride from somewhere else. New pickup point.

Zig ‘s eyes widened at the assertion, shaking his head vigorously. “What? No, I’m not getting naked for anyone. I’m literally just dancing up there... but with less clothes on.” Truthfully, it did cross his mind once or twice to start doing fully nude shows, as he knew they paid far better than what he was receiving now. The other acts were constantly telling how much better the money was doing fully nude shows, but he was almost positive that’d be considered cheating, and there was also the fact that he was underage. “I don’t know... would you not wanna be with me if I did? I’m really sorry I lied to you...”

Esme "Okay, you're taking MOST of your clothes off, my mistake!" She shouted, her hands flying up to emphasize her anger. "You had such a problem with Miles and I being friends over something that happened forever ago - sorry Frankie," she directed quickly before whipping around to finally meet his eyes. "But it's okay for you to get pawed at all night. How would you feel if I was up there?" Wringing her hands together to stay calm, she began to pace the few steps of the sidewalk. "I just - what am I supposed to do?"

Frankie: 's eyes went wide at the mention of her brother. That wasn't something she was ready for, but she could deal with that alone when she got home. "Zig, it is a bit of a double standard-- There are other ways to make money, you know. Ways that don't make your girlfriend upset?" She commented. "Es, if you want to walk, we need to start walking now... Before it gets too late?"

Zig 's own anger began to rise at the mention of Miles. "It's stripping not prostitution! You say 'something' as if you guys were playing card games together or whatever. No, you were fucking him. Repeatedly — sorry Frankie," He mimicked her lead, turning his head to face Frankie briefly before directing his attention back to Esme. It was a topic he wanted to avoid from now on, as it seemed as if he would never be able to get through to Esme on that, and it surely wasn't helping that Frankie had to chime in with her opinion as well. He couldn't blame her, as he was the one who messed up, but with both of them on his case at the same time, it became a bit frustrating to deal with. "I don't know. I never thought about it." The answer was most likely yes, of course he'd be upset if it was Esme up there, but being on the opposite end of the situation, he was beginning to realize that stripping was just like any other job— clock in, do your thing, get paid, and leave. "And she's not my girlfriend," He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing loudly. "I can't tell you what you're supposed to do," He paused for a brief moment, unsure of what Zig himself was meant to do either, "but Frankie's right. It's getting late, and I have to get back in there."

Esme rolled her eyes at the unnecessary distinction. "Lucky me, they only get to look," she droned sarcastically. The blatant statement towards Miles left her with a grimace, his sister mere feet away and certainly in earshot, and as much as she wanted to defend herself, she knew it was best to move on in her presence. "I'm not his girlfriend," she reminded at the same moment as he, though het tone wasn't quite as harsh. She had no reason not to believe he'd be heading back to the stage, but his hurry stung nonetheless. She pulled her clutch up to pop the clasp, fingering through the cash on hand and pulling out the first few. "Here's for the glass," she recited, forcing the first bill into his hands. "Here's for your breathtaking performance," adding another small stack. "Bill me for all of the freebies, I guess," she hissed, turning back to Frankie. "Uber is up the block, we can just meet him there."

Zig watched as the bills were shoved into his hands. He wanted to take care of everything there and now, but the stage called for him once more, and the manager of the club was bound to be on his case anyways for running out without giving notice. “I don’t want your damn money.” He let the money fall from his hands and onto the pavement before turning on his heels to finish off his shift. “I’m sorry.” Another apology — it seemed as if he was constantly apologizing to Esme, and it was growing to be quite tiresome no matter what the reason was. “But I don’t think I can stop. Not now, at least. I wish you guys didn’t have to find out this way but... yeah.” He was at a loss for words at that point, and was already aware that nothing he could say would fix this.