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Bright red palace lanterns dangle from the ceiling, coating the hideout in an ominous crimson glow. Gruff chatters echo around her, mixed with the common vulgarities of their speech. Ornate, oriental patterns splayed across the floor, the palette simultaneously burnt and aflame. Pure curiosity is all that led Aida here into the depths of Tieqiu territory. There was not a single sight of a Yurodivy henchman’s ornate scarf, nor the tropical tees of a Tingtanger, not even another Mariachi like her besides the two that kept by her side. And even then, both were restraining their apprehension, burying their hands within the fabric of their ponchos. Even the subjefe was trembling a little, his golden eyes locked on the dim wooden floor. But, in honesty, it was to be expected of Sinclair, given how new he was despite his synergy with the ensemble.
Yet in their center, Aida seemed confident, leaning her leg over her thigh, maraca in one hand and a shot of clear liquor in the other, for her eyes were fixed on one thing—the Tieqiu’s new boss.
Ryōshū—she’d remembered that name from stray talk regarding her arrival. She’d remembered that face, that body too. She might have been one of the leanest of her crew, sure, but she was exceptional—a spitting image of the crew’s cruelty. Despite her better judgment, Aida slammed down her drink, flicking back her messy brown hair, and rose to her feet.
“You two stand by, m’kay? Just in case things get ugly. Probably won’t happen, but you never know.” Aida chirped, already taking strides towards the Laoban herself. Sinclair stammered while the other Mariachi huffed and obliged, as Aida approached and got a good look at the visceral sight before her. There the Tieqiu boss was, a cigarette pressed between her lips. She held a piece of scrap metal in her bloodstained palms, demonstrating it to her loyal crew members.
Mauve, fleshy entrails were wrapped cleanly around the metal like origami, sparking gasps of intrigue from the masses of muscle around her. It was a disgusting, oddly artistic sight. But she shook her head, clearing her throat. Gawking at this mess wasn’t what she was here for.
“Ay, I was looking forward to meeting the new boss. A pleasure to meet you, cariña. I’m Aida. Say, you’re a much better sight than that hunk of junk,” Aida purred, tipping the edge of her sombrero upwards, her emerald eyes glimmering against the crimson glow. The table went silent for a second, followed by a mixture of snickers and suspicious glares. Ryōshū happened to do the former, leaning back in her dingy wooden chair, presenting her humble craftwork to Aida.
“I’d say he looks better than ever as this R.K.G.K, don’t you think?” Ryōshū smirked, causing a couple of confused yet entertained chuckles around the table from those who didn’t catch her acronym as the men shifted their gazes to the interloper. Ryōshū’s gaze suddenly darkened, shifting at the drop of a hat into a snarl. “Cut the shit. What are you really here for?”
Aida kept her stance relaxed, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she took in Ryōshū’s smirk. The tension in the room was palpable, each breath from the assembled crew members feeling like a gust of wind about to turn into a storm. But Aida had walked into plenty of storms before; this one would be no different. “I came here to meet a certain woman with quite the guts to take charge of such a rowdy crew. I wanted to see for myself if the stories match reality.” She smirked, closing one eye, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Wanna dance?”
Ryōshū’s eyebrow perked upward in intrigue, taking a drag of her cigarette and flicking it out from the grasp of her sharp molars. Aida couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of the wicked grin that lined her face, a redness painting across her caramel-tinted cheeks. Somehow, a faint tinge of envy crept through her body at a thin piece of paper. “You’ve got guts too, kid.” She cleanly spun her rusty, blood-caked butcher’s knife back into her pocket, rising from her seat and tightly grasping Aida’s hand in hers. “A dance it is.”
Aida giggled in excitement, their fingers now intertwined as the Jefe finally got her best look at the unexpected newcomer on the casino’s scene that she couldn’t help but fawn over as they strutted rhythmically to the hideout’s center. Ryōshū was mature, brusque, and surly; her hair was uniquely styled in tune with the crew. Her dark hair flowed down cleanly in a lengthy ponytail, along with two twisted braids draping at both sides, clipped together by scarlet ribbons. Her muscles were on full display, with ornate tattoos of fish and their waves flowing across her biceps as they swayed in sync. Tight straps of bloody bandages bound her waist and chest firmly, while below was the token set of beige, baggy slacks, and sandals.
As they moved together, Aida could feel the raw strength in Ryōshū’s grip, the callouses on her hands telling stories of countless battles won. The room seemed to fade away, the murmurs of the Tieqiu crew becoming a distant hum as the two women circled each other, their movements a dangerous dance of allure.
Ryōshū’s eyes never left Aida’s, the intensity of her gaze piercing through the dim light. “You’re not afraid to play with fire, are you?” she asked, her voice low and almost teasing. Beneath her voice was a razor-sharp edge, matched by the unyielding tip of her blade tucked behind her back. Aida chuckled, her heart racing in sync with the rhythm of their steps, her hips swaying sensually alongside her.
“These flames are worth the burn,” she replied, her voice equally playful but carrying a weight of truth. She was drawn to this woman more than she’d care to admit, her heart pounding intensely against her dark undershirt. Aida was a woman who thought she liked control. What fun was it when things didn’t go your way, after all? But this feeling that her playful comments only fueled the raging fire approaching her shook her so pleasantly.
All of a sudden, Aida was shoved backward onto one leg, letting out a soft, surprised yelp, her puffy jacket flowing upwards, and her maraca releasing an echoed shuffle. As she leaned back, Ryōshū’s grip caught her fall easily. One sturdy hand wrapped around her back, her crimson nails digging gingerly into the side of her coat, while the other held her thigh, taking a firm step forward to lean over. The two were eye to eye, breath to breath in this dynamic pose, yet even still, she had that cigarette gripped between her teeth. Aida’s breath heaved as they stopped, her smirk widening, pupils dilating in desire.
“I’ll hold you to it when I W.T.S.O.” the Laoban snarled, a vile snicker emitting as they continued, yet Ryōshū seemed to now move with intent as if their tango’s pace slowly shifted away from the dance floor. Aida chuckled apprehensively, instinctively terrified yet immensely entertained. That was the worst part about this terror—that she absolutely did not want to run away. Rhythmically, the two continued to tread across the ornate plywood, darkness slowly casting over Ryoshu’s face as they paced across discarded chips and cards scattered away from the center. The crewmembers watched as Aida and Ryōshū disappeared down a warm hallway into a side room. The vicious crew couldn’t help but gossip and laugh in excitement, some partially envious. Which woman they envied varied from man to man, but the sentiment was clear, even to the meek Mariachi, who hid his flustered face within his sombrero. Aida wouldn’t be coming out the same.
Aida lets out a strained moan as the passionate kiss consumes her. Her pride melts away under the intense heat between them, their bodies entwined and wanting. The ‘wizardess of the tongue’, as the Tieqiu called their boss, didn’t restrain at all from using it. She tasted across her moist, shivering lips, repeatedly taking stabs into her throat. The moment she pulled back, mid-breath, Aida was shoved down onto her knees, beads of sweat sinking across her face.
“O-Oh, by the Wings, what are you—?” Aida murmured before her chin was suddenly grasped by the woman above her, the dim lighting of the backroom barely revealing Ryōshū’s relaxed yet entertained face. Her grip was surprisingly tender, yet when she shivered instinctively, it grew tight, forcing her lips open.
“Stay still,” she commanded, as Aida’s breath was taken. Ryōshū took a steady drag of her cigarette, a finger wrapped around the paper as the tobacco ignited, glowing with a small vermillion heat, all the while keeping her thumb locked and Aida’s mouth ajar. Aida had never felt this thrill before, this unyielding desire and weakness. This is what it was like to be at mercy—to be at the same mercy her ensemble pointed at its foes.
“Open wide, boss.” Ryōshū harshly purred, the trail of smoke tracing its way across the cigarette’s end, before pressing the edge of it down onto the tip of Aida’s tongue. The Mariachi couldn’t help but whimper, the moistness of her tongue and her quivering breaths snuffing out the flames, yet the burning sensation still ached, her very own tongue used as an ashtray.
“More…” Aida pleaded, swallowing down the remnants of carbon before immediately regretting her decision, coughing harshly as black fumes escaped her croaking voice. “P-please, cariña.” Ryōshū smiled impishly, her carmine eyes glimmering with stirred passion at her eagerness to continue.
With all this degradation, despite what Ryōshū expected, Aida’s lips didn’t stop curling. That smirk was not wiped off—not the slightest bit.
Because in what universe would she deny this thrill?