<a class="username" data-user-id="112" data-username="@Kitara Dietrich" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/112/">@Kitara Dietrich</a><br/><br/>Fabletown was lively tonight. Half of the population was out celebrating the New Year, which only meant trouble for Charming. More Fables making themselves known in New York always pulled the authorities out of hiding. It was also raining heavily and there were signs of thunder brewing. Bad omens if he ever saw them.<br/><br/>"Charmin'." A gravely voice greeted him. Charming stirred from his daydream and looked who it was. The Huntsman, balding and a little softer around the belly since Charming had last seen him.<br/><br/>"Hunty. Here to see Red?" Charming already knew the answer as he knocked three times on the door to the Puddin' & Pie. The door swung open and a girl greeted the Huntsman. She was covered up in a fur cloak for door-work, but underneath that pretense...<i>Well</i>. The Huntsman was in for a ride. The New Years had brought out the best (and worst) in the girls. Most of them were desperate this time of year, and not just financially.<br/><br/>Charming waved the Huntsman in carelessly. "Enjoy yourself. And watch that temper." Charming winked his way knowingly. Old Hunty was a regular and didn't need ID'ing. His axe spoke for itself. And so did his breath. The man was an alcoholic if he ever saw one.<br/><br/>Charming lit up another cigarette. The girl at the door had stopped to eye him over. He felt her staring. They always stared. Wondering what could have been, he figured. But they were all friends here. Good friends at that. After all, in Fabletown, you only had each other; it was both a blessing and a curse.<br/><br/>"Long night hon?" The girl asked and placed a well-manicured hand on his. Her kohl-lined eyes found his searchingly. The slight affection from the way she held him drew him to her, but he knew better than that. Work was work. You don't shit where you sleep. Not in Fabletown, where there were no guranteees.<br/><br/>"Long night." He agreed, "But that's not what's bothering me."<br/><br/>She raised her eyebrows, hinting at him to go on.<br/><br/>"It's standing out here with you on the door that's driving me up the wall."<br/><br/>She scoffed and hit him hard with her small purse, huffing her amusement. "Well then I will re-move myself from His Grace's most noble company." She stretched out the syllables of her words mockingly and eyed him as she slammed the door in his face.<br/><br/>Charming chuckled and shook his head. When he turned back to face the street, he found he was being stared down by a couple of kids. Urchins. It took him a while to differentiate them from the shit and the dirt that clung to their ragged clothes.<br/><br/>"Not in the Woodlands anymore, are you<i>Mister</i>?" The boy's German accent rang in his ears.<br/><br/>"<i>Ja</i>, I bet you cannot spare anything for us tonight either!" Gretel chided.<br/><br/>A bitter taste entered Charming's mouth. Being reminded of his position by two fairy-tale brats without a sense of humour was not on his agenda for tonight. "I gave you money yesterday. And what did you do with it?"<br/><br/>Hansel's face screwed up defensively. He began to argue, but Charming cut him off.<br/><br/>"You bought<i>sweets</i>. Like you always do." Charming said with comical exasperation. He held up both hands, weighing them like scales. "Shower." He lifted one hand. "Sweets." He dropped the other. "You two need to get your priorities straight and then maybe, maybe I'll start being sympathetic!"<br/><span style="font-size: 16px"><br/>
Gretel chucked her clog at him. It bounced off the Puddin' &amp; Pie's bar sign. She shouted across the way, "You are an <i>arse</i>hole, Mister Charming!" And then stomped away, now uneven in her footing.<br/>
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Hansel hesitated to leave and looked at Charming mildly. Charming gave in and sighed loudly. This was an utter joke. He collected Gretel's clog and lobbed it back at Hansel, who caught it against his stomach with an, "Oof!" He scowled at Charming and then went after his sister.<br/>
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Charming took a moment to shrug off the incident. "I need a drink," He said to himself and considered taking his break. Leaning against the door, he heard the loud vibrations of sordid, bassy music. He imagined what was going on inside: the girls, mostly. The first few nights working for Georgie had been hard. There was the adjustment period, for a start: he'd been in the pocket of the government or the past decade. The transition to a greasy club wasn't easy. His professional reputation sank faster than the Pequod. And then there was the women. He'd had a hard-on the first week of working here. He wasn't ashamed to admit he'd gone home after the first shift and masturbated furiously to the images he'd stored from that night. And if he was being honest with himself, every time he opened that door, it felt like the first time.<br/>
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If Georgie stocked mundies, regular women, with regular lives, Charming wouldn't have been so drawn to the Puddin' and its inhabitants. But somehow that seedy fuck had managed to blackmail half of Fabletown's Princesses to work underneath his greasy heel. It felt like the harshest irony, that he should be here - the man dreamed up to rescue them from vice and villainy - keeping them in line.<br/>
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Charming stretched wearily. He was tired from training. He boxed on the side. It was the only way he could cash in on his talents. The mundies didn't exactly joust these days. It had taken his tole on him already. The bridge of his nose had been bent a little crooked and he sported a fading black eye. Luckily, his jaw was like an anvil, and it could take more punches than he had ever dreamed of taking. After all, there were no more maidens to rescue. They had all signed themselves over to the devil for liquor and a hot meal. There were no more punches <i>to</i> take, other than the ones that kept him feeling something.<br/>
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He did need a drink. He'd been thinking too long and too hard. Hansel and Gretel had done that. Charming checked the alleyway was dead and turned to enter the Puddin' &amp; Pie. Unlocking the door, he headed on in.<br/>
</span><br/>Neon lights struck his vision and the bar lit up before his eyes. Everywhere there was movement. Laughter. Drinks. Sodomy. Flesh. Latex and fetish-wear. Charming had to take a moment to adjust. He felt a familiar warmth fill his chest and he settled into it, before reminding himself he was here to work.<br/><br/>The club was made up of a main room and several private booths, which were hidden behind curtains and rope dividers. The stage boasted three separate poles, which allowed a trio of girls to work the floor at once. Georgie was often found at the bar. He was hands on like that, he liked to know where his girls were, who was in his club and what drinks were being poured. The bar led to the basement, where the liquor was stored. Meanwhile the backstage connected to both Georgie's office and the locker room, where the girls had individual mirrors, storage cabinets and clothing rails to prepare to go on stage. It was a tight operation, watched over by sluggish cronies of Georgie, all of them unnecessarily handsy with the girls.<br/><br/>"Oi!<i>Prince Pretentious. </i>If you're supposed to be on your break then take a slash and get on with it! I'm counting down the seconds,<i>mate.</i>" Georgie shouted from across the bar. He was wearing his usual bowler hat and waistcoat combination, whilst his tattoos had faded over the years. Sadly the same couldn't be said for his Cockney accent and sarcastic wit.<br/><br/>Charming parred him off with a wave of his hand and went to the other end of the bar so he could be served by someone else. He bought a drink and took a seat on a stool to roll a cigarette. The punters ignored him and he ignored them. Charming took this opportunity to look around and take in the sights, wondering who was working tonight.