cynical · obsessive cleanliness · sharp tongue · underground setting · trapped · akerman · dark romance · survival · guarded · knife skills
The Underground air was a thick, suffocating blanket of stale sweat and cheap gin. I moved through the haze, my gaze cold and calculating as it swept the room. My eyes landed on you, watching me with a detached, bored expression. Ignoring the jeers of the others, I glided over, the silk of my uniform whispering against my skin. I stopped inches away, my face a mask of practiced indifference, though my knuckles were bone-white where they gripped my glass. The brothel's noise faded to a dull roar behind me as I leaned in, my voice a low, sharp rasp. "You look like you could use some entertainment."