Work Text:
The bar's been a local hotspot for months now.
Pulsing like the rest of Undercity, but with a captivating touch of its own.
New and exciting.
It started as an ongoing rumor: that the girls working there didn't only serve drinks, but were also up for throwing on an other kind of show at the drop of a coin or two.
And rumors spread in Zaun.
Quick.
Ridiculously so.
Sevika had had an eye on you since before the rapid grow in customer amount.
Obviously, since she's been wearing out the barstool leather since the hellhole first opened it's doors.
Well, besides pouring drinks.
Anytime orders were slow — she'd find herself taking a break in the excuse of a cigarette; but with her eyes on you, that pretext fell apart every single time.
(That, and the way her cigarettes would burn out into ash after the first hit.)
Sevika noticed stuff.
Your eyes always lacked the lively glint that the other girls seemed to carry effortlessly.
They looked somewhat happy to stand where they did. To get to carry around beers and show something more than just cleavage on days when tips were pouring.
You didn't look all that thrilled.
Makes it sound like Sevika's into your badly hidden misery.
That's not how she'd word it at all, though.
Sad eyes don't turn her on like they tend to do for the other paying people around.
It's what's the reason for it is that intrigues her, against all wills.
Sevika doesn't have the time to ponder over anyone else's lives besides her own, and she knows it damn well.
But somehow, even in the midst of her own common sense — she's found herself standing still behind the bar again; eyes trained on you.
There is no excuse of a break now.
It's taking all the time and place during her working hours, and she knows it.
Just chooses to ignore.
It's even busier tonight.
The air is buzzing.
Lights are flashing.
Around you wafts the smell of alcohol and bad decisions. Both burning.
Music isn't loud, but you can feel it vibrate through the metal pole held inbetween your hands. Cold, almost algid.
You're giving everyone what they want and more in an oddly numbing way.
Anyone with a working pair of eyes should be able to tell that your mind isn't anywhere in the room, despite of the smirk you've got going on your face.
It's a practised look.
Sevika knows.
You swirl and turn the best way you know how: gliding down the pole with your back pressed to it as a pair of chilly, wringled hands stuff a small stack of tens in your underwear. Your most glittery pair; Sevika notes beside her growing disgust.
Someone taps the table.
Sevika pours them a beer from a completely automated nerve.
No thoughts, just actions.
A bill gets passed into her hand.
Another gets shoved into your bra.
You don't seem to enjoy the groping any more than she does enjoys watching it happen.
You give the man a coy smile as a thank you, and shove the bills further into your garments to keep them from falling, and with drooping eyes — you try to count the amount.
Tens. Twenties.
Your head spins as you stand and spin around once more.
Fifty.
Not nearly enough, but you take what you can get.
More girls start to gather.
The man whispers something you can't hear and starts to offer a hand.
The glass in Sevika's hand makes a sound and breaks her angry glare apart.
Her eyes drop away from you — for the first time since she's clocked in today — only to find the side of a tumbler cracked.
A droplet of rum glides down the side of her palm and hits the bar counter.
A rag drops from her hand to the counter.
Sevika huffs and loosens her other hand's grip around the glass; only to shove the untouched, half-finished, and now shard filled drink away.
It slides on the wooden surface and leaves behind a wet trail.
Immediately after, her eyes rise back up in search for you.
But the music has changed.
And the girl dancing on stage is no longer you.
Anger, again, settles low in her gut and pools everywhere around. Her hands tingle, and soon enough — her fists are bundled up again.
Good thing she's no longer holding anything.
Leaning forwards to the other bartender cleaning empty coolers, she growls, "how long are the private sessions again?"
"You interested?"
Sevika's eyes roll. "Sure. Whatever," she mutters back, impatience shining. "How long?"
The bartender gives her a detached shrug. "Depends on the pay," he almost smirks. "Most of the girls can work up to around three hours. Jamie spilled."
Sevika bites the inside of her cheek to not lash out at his continuous jackassery.
Bosses kid. Makes him an asshole by default. Entitled enough to piss around.
Getting fired and losing sight of you for good is not what she needs.
So, after a deep, barely controlled breath — she sighs and continues.
"Say around, fifty bucks?"
"Fifty?" The bartender laughs and sets Sevika's nerves up in flames again.
"Won't take you far. Maybe a test drive. Thirty minutes, tops."
Sevika's eye twitches as she rounds the bar, and makes sure to tip over the glass she broke just momets prior.
"Thanks," is her grumbled, final word.
Before the now apalled dickhead of a coworker can call security on her — she takes sharp right and blends into the crowd.
Thirty minutes, she thinks and scoffs aloud.
You're worth thirty memorable nights.
════════════════════════════
Even if undervaluing of your own worth, you are a girl of precise timing.
Thirty minutes exactly, is the time you were gone for.
By the last second — Sevika sees you stumble out of the backroom, clinging to the arm of the same man that first bought your time.
"Are you really takin' me to a party?" you giggle and smile up at him; stumbling over air in your high heels.
The ones you usually handle without breaking a sweat.
Sevika doesn't hear the man's response.
Doesn't quite even catch yours from the distance she's set at — but something about the entire scene has her breaking into goosebumps.
The man heads towards the expensive end of the bar, waving a hand at someone — no longer interested in what you have to say.
Sevika follows the interraction; how easily entertained and drunken you seem as opposed to how dull you were before.
"Do you promise, though?" you ask the man alongside another tired laugh.
The silence that greets you quickly gets drowned as two or three more men crowd your space and try to shove you onto a barstool.
A glass is shoved under your nose.
The liquid inside glitters — and you stare.
"Drink it up," one of the men urges.
Tipsy, though not entirely stupid, you give him a bored look.
"Not thirsty."
"Didn't ask if you were thirsty."
Another man gives you a push towards the counter. The stool scrapes against the floor.
"Get it done with."
The man looms behind you.
Three others surrond you left and right: and you're starting to see them all double.
It's a doing of stress rather than alcohol.
Fear quickly tangles in your throat and leaves you no choice but to reach out and grab the drink the men are pushing for you to consume.
Your hand trembles.
You try to conceal it with a nervous laugh.
Someone shoves you to show for it.
Can't have you too happy now.
"Good, now jus-"
A smack downs the man to his knees.
"Get the fuck away," someone taller commands — their voice clipped and short.
Furious in all the ways.
You sit still with the drink still held in your hand, and sober up at the sight of a strong woman standing behind you; scurrying off all the men in one go.
They stumble out the entrance in a meddled group.
Only after they've left does the adrenaline delay and crash all over you — limbs shaking, breaths staggered.
"You okay?" the woman asks and takes a seat beside you — her tone ten times more patient than it was just seconds ago.
"I- fuck," you manage to spit out — fingers trembling as you set down the glass: and watch how icecubes melt into the muddy drink.
"That was some real scary shit. Don't blame you for gettin' wound up," she rumbles; seemingly unbothered by her bleeding knuckles as she rests them on the bar.
That, however, is the first thing your overworked brain picks up.
"... your hand's bleeding."
Her eyes don't tear away from you.
"I know. Shit's not the first time," she attempts to humor you out of your shocked state, waving her right hand a little.
And to her relief — it works.
Your laugh comes out airy and shaky, but undeniably genuine.
"Knight in shining armor, huh?" you stutter and swallow. "Makes me a huge cliché."
"Makes you bold."
It's your time to stare at her.
"Being saved?" you question.
"Fightin' against them," she says. "Trying to, anyway."
You blink, and try to spot something familiar from her face.
A feature that'd distinctly stick out from your endless memories of the customers you've had to serve — but nothing comes up.
"What's your name?" you ask in a more braver voice. The kind that's more you.
She grins a little at that.
Just enough to flash her corner teeth.
"Sevika."
You hum in acknowledgement.
"I'm ____-"
"I know," she answers before you can finish.
Tense silence wills the inches between you even as the club dances on. Sevika then scratches the back of her neck and sits up to create distance inbetween you.
"Shit. Came out pretty creepy, didn't it?" she grumbles through her teeth and tries to offer you a weak smile.
Not as teethy as before.
It's more of a smirk.
Which you follow with one of your own.
"A little, yeah," you admit and clasp together your shaking hands — trying not to let the earlier scare take over you.
"Just-... been workin' here for a long time. Hard not to know who you're watchin'," she explains and orders herself a drink. "or, uh, workin' with."
You nod and eye the beer when it lands.
Sevika gives you a crooked look.
"Want a drink? Promise, this one's not poisoned," she remarks tiredly.
Your lower lip finds it's spot between your teeth — eyes growing downcast. The same look you've carried through all of your shifts.
"Don't got enough money," you mutter.
"Don't care 'bout no money. Do you want a drink? Looks like you could use a few."
You blink and nod carefully — suddenly aware of just how bare you are sitting next to this kind woman.
Sevika notices and makes sure to keep her gaze at chest up level.
"A cocktail. Fresh," she proposes. "I'll get Masie to do it, she's good."
"I guess you'd know," you then whisper. "Thanks."
Maybe it's intended for the drink she's just bought you, or maybe at the generosity she's shown you.
Either way, her version of "you're welcome" is a warm grumble and a curt nod.
You take it and sip your drink.
It really is clear this time.
"Said you've been working here for a long time," you start, and mull over your next words. "How come I haven't seen you, y'know, with... company?"
You cringe visibly and take a bigger gulp from your drink to stiffen the embarrassment.
She chuckles at your reaction and answers, simply, "doesn't interest me."
Your eyes widen.
"Really?"
Another curt nod.
"No offense, but... at a place like this I'd just imagine-" your eyes meet her amused ones.
Your thoughts trail off.
"For me to be havin' sex all 'round?"
You laugh and give her a playful shrug. "Eh, sort of? I'm sure you know."
"I know. I just ain't interested," she repeats. "Just need the routine. Honest."
Something about her unrelenting courteousy has you leaning forward to hear more.
"Know I could get it," she continues, swirling the beer in her glass. "Would rather just wait and stare. Take the long run."
She glances at you.
Not too cocky or prideful. Just sincere.
"Me?" you point at your chest (literally 🍒), and laugh even louder than before.
"What's funny about that?" she perks up: almost seriously offended.
You scoff and giggle at her expression — head falling forward at the act. A feather falls from your hairdo and floats onto the edge of your drink.
"Just,"
You blow at it gently.
"Find it funny. You could have it easy. Find anyone else with ten times less the hardwork and struggle," you shrug; as if calling yourself difficult, even through obvious metaphors, comes naturally.
"Don't want easy," she gruffly insists into her drink and downs it in one go.
"We don't always get what we want," you sigh, and continue to toy with the feather in your drink — completely slouched over the bar.
So unlike the composed shows you put on.
"That mean somethin'?"
"Everything means something," you blurt and give a tired laugh — eyes falling shut as you run a hand over your face; smudging the already ruined makeup there.
Sevika watches.
She takes in every expression and each breath — counting them and keeping score of the ones she already recognizes.
"I have to get back to work. Mallen 's gonna kill me," you whisper dully and spin around to get back on your feet.
There's a slight slur to your voice.
A distant touch to your steps.
"Work?" Sevika scoffs and manages to grab you — calloused skin wrapping around your wrist.
"It's well past two?"
"My shifts not over until six," you whisper and attempt to tug away your arm — mask of pretence falling over your face again.
The same numb smile she's been watching all this time.
"Thanks for the help. I owe you a drink back, now," you force and turn away.
Sevika feels her chest tighten.
She tries to ignore it, yet somehow, that only ends up feeding the ache.
"What if I pay you?"
Her question glues you in place; ringing through the polluted air without an issue.
"What?" you turn and crook an eyebrow.
More like yourself again.
Just as tired — just not as fake.
"I'll pay you to be with me."
Your eyebrow crooks more and Sevika quickly realizes how her words sound aloud.
"Not like that, just... being. I'll pay."
You sigh — eyes fluttering shut.
"The hour limit is three. I've still got five left and I don't want you wasting money on–"
"I've got money. And I ain't wastin' it," Sevika insists — now stood tall infront of you, hands by her sides: fingers curling in anticipation.
The metal one creaks.
Sevika's glad that's all you can hear.
Her heart is racing. Loud.
"It's over six hundred," you whisper — ashamed as shake your head, yet attempting to convince her to walk away while she still has the full right to do so.
Sevika swallows.
"Great. 600€. I've got it."
You look up, eyes shimmering.
Stormy greys look back down at you.
Your face scrunches up in confusion. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough," she huffs with your name on her lips.
You glance at the stage — already occupied with more than enough dancers to keep people busy.
Serves are scattered around the room, and none of them look like they need another.
Then,
"Fine," you mutter and flash a smile, already strudding towards the space reserved for longer visits.
VIPs, they say.
"Where r you goin'?" Sevika grumbles through a pleased grin of her own.
"For six-fucking-hundred, we're not just gonna let this space go to waste," you smile; almost excited to hop towards the security guard and point him at Sevika.
"She's the one stupid enough to pay."
"I think this is a great investment."
Sevika glares at the man due an involuntary reflex as she hands him the bills, and then follows you behind.
The door creaks shut.
Music is quieter.
Almost intimate.
Not as deafening.
"I've never actually been here," you note as you take the room in, poking at the pool table's eightball.
"Ever?"
"Never ever."
"So you've never played pool?"
You straighten up and make a face.
"Nope."
Another feather falls from your hair as you spin to inspect the table furthermore.
Sevika takes in your demenaor.
The obvious exhaustion that's clung to you for ages, yet you remain standing strong.
Entertaining her even in the privacy of walls.
"Well, time we change that."
You nod and round the table, poking at all the billiard balls scattered around.
"Hey, aye-" she scolds you, tutting as she guides you to stand at a distance. You giggle and let her drag you — feeling utterly powerless against her strong bicep.
"Is this a new rule?"
"Yes. Players must stand a few feet away from the game."
"You're standing right there," you chuckle and gesture at her feet.
"Well, I'm a pro," she smirks in a way that flashes her canines, (again) — metal hand already chalking up her cue stick.
"What qualifies that?" you feign a naìve curiosity and eye how she sorts the balls in their place — already leaning to make her first hit.
"Years of experience, darlin'."
It's perfectly aligned; and you watch in quiet awe as she makes the first move like she knows exactly what she's doing.
She likely does.
A knowing hum then comes from her.
"You got the even ones," she guides as she calls you over with a crook of her fingers. "Know what that means?"
"Uuuh, maybe?" you titter nervously, her heat prickling behind you. "Can you teach?"
"Mhm. Teachin' right now," she comments over your shoulder, before giving you a well calculated tip on how to hold yourself right.
"Don't lean there too much. Messes with the balance. Turn your hand left. No, not so much. Good, good."
The playfullness slowly seeps away from the air around you — and at last, you find yourself playing the pool all by yourself: against Sevika, instead of with her help.
Some guidance doesn't count.
It's no longer all laughs and smiles, but a more focused energy overtakes you.
The urge to beat her.
"You shy of questions?" Sevika eventually breaks the silence. Rubs the back of her neck a little.
"M-mm," you shake your head. "Shoot."
Sevika takes a deep breath, carefully trying to pick what to say and what to leave unanswered in the dark.
So she thinks. Really thinks.
"I know you paid for five hours, but I don't plan to spend them all waiting for you to speak your mind," you say.
Sevika huffs.
"Was gonna ask about the job, but, suppose most do."
"They don't," you cut in.
Sevika pauses, turning toward you.
"No one?"
"Who would ever want to know?" you laugh, but she can hear the crack beneath it. "Besides, there's not much to tell. It's just what I do. Like you serving drinks. Not much more to it."
A scoff puts a stop to your diffident tone immediately.
"I find that hard to believe."
You blink.
Sevika blinks back.
Patient yet again.
And suddenly — all those years worth of emotions, hopes and dreams you've held back crumble all at once.
The first tear goes unnoticed by both of you.
Then a handful more stream down your cheeks.
"Eh- sorry," you chuckle and look away; working furiously overtime to get yourself back together.
"No shame in feelin' things."
Your voice breaks around another laugh — this one more aimed at her than you.
Sevika sees the irony in giving pep-talk about emotions. Really, it's impossibly hard not to.
Shes the embodiment of "suppressed."
"You don't have to stay here and watch me be a mess," you hiccup. "Y- shit. You've done more than enough paying for a misery-session like this."
You gesture around at the room.
An unused, empty bed.
Untouched glasses.
Unopened bottles of wine.
Something meant for an endless interlude of pleasure being dead in so many ways is almost amusing.
Sevika's not laughing.
"I told you I didn't care about those things."
"Yeah, and you were good at lying when you did," you wipe at your face, eyes grown dull again.
"Hey."
"You probably thought we'd eventually-"
"Hey."
A cold, metally hand grabs your wobbling chin, forcing your gaze up to her fierce one.
"I didn't come into this expecting anything more than company from you," she states firmly, other thumb collecting the tears from your cheeks. "You have so much more to give than just an endless offering of sex."
You give a watery blink, lips trembling.
"You hear?" she murmurs, grip on your chin loosening. "You're not bound to this place."
You blink again — slower this time, as you melt into the warmth of her hand on your cheek.
"Will you pay to make sure of that, too?" you giggle with a snotty nose.
Sevika fights her own chuckle in attempt to keep some semblance of seriousness in the conversation.
It doesn't really work.
"Maybe," she sighs. "Would that make you believe it?"
The overhead light flickers.
You sniffle wetly, and nudge Sevika's knee with your own.
Seems like the safest option touch-wise.
"I work better under payment," you deadpan, the joke not as funny to Sevika as it is to you.
Still, through her exaggerated sigh, you catch the glimpse of a toothy smile.
"Sort your mouth, girl."
You wipe your face with the back of your hand, smile growing and tears slowing.
"Pay for that too? Kiss it straight?"
You make a smootching face up at her — lips pursed together like those awaiting for a kiss.
Sevika rolls her eyes and gently shoves your face away.
You giggle through her hand and bite the tips of her fingers.
A surprised yelp leaves Sevika.
You giggle, "sorry. Force of nature."
"Well force it down. I can't be paying you for everythin'." She mutters. "Got bills to pay."
"How many bills, exactly?" you question. "Maybe I can-"
"Okay. Fun moment's over."
"No, no, listen," you drag her across the room, voice hushed. "Let's ditch this place before they demand for the last payment. Save something for those bills of yours."
Sevika, for once, is too diverted to mask the actual enjoyment on her face.
"Smart thinkin'."
"I know."
You laugh at last: grabbing the wine bottle on your way out.
"You really don't get a staff discount?"
"Nope," Sevika huffs as she helps you stuff it into her jacket.
Maybe you really weren't build for this place, but rather for being a ravious cleptomanic.
More than just a paid partner in bed.
Someone alive, who's ready to risk things to make a change.
To grab her hand and break company policy. In multiple components.
That's a woman of her kind.
The kind she knew you were all along.