Chapter Text
The night is cold, neon lights are sparking in the distance, and you have too many regrets.
Firstly, your dress. It is short, skimpy, and makes you look absolutely amazing. Usually you'd welcome this effect, delighting in the way people would stare, their eyes catching yours and then darting away meekly. That never failed to give you a rush, lighting up your blood red-hot. You knew you looked good, and had no qualms showing off. However, tonight you are alone in the alleys of Zaun, and the stares directed at you make you feel more like a insect to be crushed.
Secondly, the hour. It’s late. Too late. You had never intended to be walking the streets at this hour, but life gets in the way sometimes and you were unprepared for how different your city looked at such a late hour. Sure, the Lanes were never a great place...between the muggings and junkies, it could never be called a paradise. But at least in the light of day you could see the punch coming your way. In the darkness, with the only light emanating from dubiously opened windows and flickering signs, the city you grew up in seemed all the more sinister.
Finally, you knew you had blood dripping down your face, and nothing to wipe it away with but your hands. Of course, that didn't really clean your face at all, just leaving a red smear under your nose to your lips. As you trudge home, you feel your nose, wincing at the pain even gentle touches from your fingertips elicit. Luckily, it doesn't seem as if anything is broken, and you sigh in relief. Your heeled boots crack against the pavement as you continue to hurry back to your shared apartment.
When this night had started, you never expected it to turn out like this. You had a fun time getting dolled up, putting your hair up into a series of loops, braids, and buns, putting on your favorite dress and boots. Your friends had invited you out to dance, cruise the streets, and maybe make a quick buck or two. See, you wouldn't officially call yourself a prostitute. You don’t sell your services regularly, nor do you actively seek out paying customers. But , if a man in a club is offering to pay you for a night together, are you supposed to say no? You know it isn’t the most ethical way of making some extra cash, but you also acknowledge the hard truth of life.
Earlier, you had been grinding in a club, getting high off of the music and lights, sharing breaths with whoever came up and danced to the beat. Then a man had grabbed your wrist and jangled a bag of coins in your face. Usually, you’d never go for someone so pushy, but some little whisper deep inside of you said to just try him out. You never should have listened to that little voice. He kissed you roughly, and in a gasping breath he suggested leaving for his place. You obliged, and soon were out of the sweaty air of the club and into the chill of the night.
---
Everything went wrong after only a few minutes of walking. The two of you had been walking beside one another, he had his hand on your back, and suddenly pushed you into an alley so cramped you’d never have noticed it otherwise.
“Woah,” you giggled nervously, “are we taking a shortcut, big spender?”
“Shut it,” he spat, pushing you up against the wall, pressing your chest to the cold bricks. The pouch of coins you had tucked into your bra scraped against them and some coins tumbled out.
“Hey, hey, let’s slow down here-”
“Who said you get to talk, whore?” He once again cut you off, grabbing a handful of your hair and slamming your face against the wall.
Ouch, your nose.
Finally accepting that he wasn’t playing a part and realizing that the night wasn’t going to go down how you expected, you sprung to action. Quickly, you brought your elbow back into his chest, and pushed away from the wall with your other arm. He clearly wasn’t expecting resistance, and stumbled backwards. Using any momentum you had, you spun around and reached down to your boot. The man straightened and sneered, rushing you again. Just as his hands made contact with your body, your fingers tightened around the handle and you unsheathe your dagger from where it was hidden in your shoe. His own momentum drove him into the short blade, and he screamed and staggered back from you, falling to his knees. Where your blade had pierced him, his blood was staining his shirt and faint smoke rose from his wound.
He fully collapsed to the ground. Wiping your knife off, you approached him and flipped him over with your foot. His confused eyes met yours, and his mouth flapped mutely.
“Even a whore has her tricks.” You said darkly, before walking away into the darkness.
---
And that was how you ended up here. Doing an untraditional walk of shame back home, with blood staining your lips and a tremor in your legs. Sure, you knew how to fight, and you never left home without multiple ways of defending yourself strapped to various parts of your body, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed violence. You just had to deal with it so often that it wasn’t something that exactly phased you.
Still, you tended to choose your men better. And you mourned the coins lost in that alleyway. You’d have to look at your funds again in the morning, see how that changed your expected earnings from tonight. The night had clearly turned against you, and as you neared the street of your cramped apartment, you knew you were near to breaking down. You had held it together up until now, but being so near to your home weakened some of your barriers.
As tears welled in your eyes, you kept your head lowered and increased your pace. You stumbled over a particularly uneven section of pavement, and felt a tear roll down your chin and splash below you. You make a quick turn to the backstreet where the entrance to your apartment is and are pushed back. You rock backwards, falling from the force of another body colliding with yours.
Oh shit, please, not again.
A hand reaches out and grabs your arm, pulling you up and into a chest. For a second, you are numb, only perceiving a strong smell of cigar smoke. Then, still feeling jumpy from the events earlier in the night, you grab one of your sharpened hairpins from your elaborate hairstyle and quickly hold the point to the man’s throat. Your hair falls into your eyes and you can just barely make out lips opening and then closing into a purse. The hand grasping your arm tightens, and then lets you go.
You stumble backwards, heaving and letting a cry out. The man is frozen in front of you, still standing with an arm slightly extended. You realize how greatly you overreacted to a relatively helpful attempt to prevent you from falling. The pin drops from your hand and you giggle a bit hysterically at how the night just continues to get worse, and try to gather yourself.
A slim hand reaches out and pulls a bit of hair away from your face, but you keep your eyes glued to the ground.
“Jumpy little thing, aren’t you,” a low voice hisses out. You nervously nod and the hand is removed from your space. You hear him lean down and pick something up from the ground. You’re still frozen, and the man walks towards and past you. When the two of you are standing shoulder to shoulder, you facing one way and him the other, he one again speaks, “Next time, check who you’re holding a blade to before you attack.”
You feel him brush past you and you finally look up, catching only dark hair and a red collar before he turns the corner. Fed up with the night’s events, you rush to open the door to your apartment, and hurry to your room.
Swiping papers, canvases, and tubes of paint onto the floor, you collapse on your bed and sob into the sheets. Eventually, you calm down and get ready to sleep. Faintly, you hear voices from one of your roommate’s bedrooms, but don’t have the energy to investigate further. After changing out of your party dress and wiping the blood off of your face, you crawl under the covers and fall asleep.
Right before your dreams take you, you only have a single thought in your head.
Why should I have known who that man was?