Midnight, Stars, and You - A Dieselpunk Love Ballad [Shiva the Cat x GrinningGentleman]

[GrinningGentleman]

Coming home was meant to be a breath of fresh air. Home to the rolling huffs of New York's Steam Engines. The young street Urchin's laughing through the Markets. The roar of coal furnaces.
He remembered spending hours gazing over Lower Bay, fascinated by the puffing Steamboats, cutting the water like butter. Seeing the seagulls flock around busy fishermen, their desperate screeches playing a symphony of hunger, to match that of the underpaid workers. The harbor Factories spewing their black clouds of progress, as workers toiled in sweat and tears.
New York, had never been a good place to live, but it had been home, and it was a hell-of-a-lot better than the frontlines.

Coming home, however, he was greeted by none of what he remembered. All he got was a face full of Diesel-smog, and a burning throat-soar. Things had changed, and sure hadn't gotten any better. The Industrial Era was in full swing, and Diesel Engines were on the rise. Fuels were burning on a minutely clock, lining the pockets of Oil Companies, and poisoning the Longues of the Lower-Class Worker. And no one seemed to care. Everyone just seemed to take it in strides. Accept the pain of progress. The huffing Steam Engine was yesterday. Diesel, was the new groove.
But it wasn't just the Industry, that changed. People did too. High Fashion was on the rise. Grand Theaters popping up everywhere. Make-up covered idols were replacing Gods. If you had money, you had followers. People happy to sell their souls, for a fresh, European meal. And that was just in the safe areas of town. That was never where he belonged, though.

His home, had become a Den of Vipers. Gangs ruled the streets now, and violence was the new form of favored transactions. The young Urchins now joined gangs, becoming criminals at an early age. Risking their life and freedom, for a loaf of bread. The kids that grew up to be adults in this world, now ran shady businesses, knowing the streets like the back of their hand. They grew up, at just the right time. Several of the Urchins he'd grown up with, now ran Gangs of their own, fighting amongst each other, using Thugs and Criminals to do their dirty work.
He'd felt more at home, among the explosions on the frontline. That didn't confuse him. That was War. This? This was something different entirely.

--------------

Jacob grew up in this, but got disconnected when he enlisted. He'd been gobbled up by the Machines of War, and spit back out into a world he didn't understand. Everything had changed. Everyone were different. Jacob never had many friends, and of the few he had, even fewer were still around. A few had joined him enlisting, only he returned. Some had left, realizing which way the world was turning, and wanting nothing of it. Some died at home, making his return even less of a relief. There was so little left.

Liam, however. Liam Murphy had thrived. Perhaps it was his Irish descent, that had gotten him in good with Irish Smugglers, now making him one of the biggest suppliers of Illegal Alcohol. The Prohibition only helped to bolster his sales, the Market booming, for people who weren't afraid to take a risk. Liam wouldn't know fear, if it stared him in the face. Liam had been a lively kid, much like Jacob himself, but Liam never lost his charm. He didn't enlist, but stayed home and nurtured his love of life, growing an Empire around the Alcohol, few others could attain. All the while Jacob went off to War and had his love of life tarnished. He'd left everything behind, all for the Loyalty to a Country that lied to him, and the love of a person, he wanted to protect. It was such a stupid thing when he looked back at it. War Advertisement was a lie. The Great war was never really coming to New York, and he should've known. He wasn't protecting anyone, but the pockets of the War Profiteers. He'd wasted ten years of his life, to protect something that didn't need protecting. A Strong Country. An even stronger woman. No one had needed him, in his prime. Even less now.

--------------

Liam had been the one bright thing to happen, since he returned. And even that, was dim. He was... Different. Liam had always been tricksy. He was always the first to get a good catch, and some food on the table for himself, and the other Urchins. Something had to've changed. Jacob saw none of the other Urchins, ever since Liam started dragging him around. So, what happened? Surely, they would still be around, if Liam was still as generous as he'd used to be? No, Liam had changed as well. Adapted. Jacob wasn't about to judge him for that. These days, you had to adapt, to stay alive. Adapt... Jacob wasn't so sure how to do that.
Even now, sitting among peers way above his pay-grade, he couldn't even fake a smile. Strangers scared him. Their intentions hidden behind thin veils. They weren't enemies, those were easy to read. No, everyone had their own agenda's here, and they all had their own way of getting it. And what did he want?

"Come on, Jay! Lighten up a bit, would'yah? I threw this shait for you!" Liam's thick accent blurted, followed by a laugh, shoving another beer in front of Jacob. Even Liam's accent had changed. He'd grown up in New York, without a family. That accent wasn't his own, but something he'd manufactured. Image, Jacob supposed.
"I know. And, I am trying, man. I showed up, didn't I?" He muttered, looking to his oldest, and possibly only friend, at this time, with the faintest glimmer of a smile. Jacob didn't want to be ungrateful, even though he knew Liam hardly threw this party, just for his sake. You didn't rent a Grand Theater, and throw a Great Gatsby, for a friend, returning from war... Dancers lining up the stages, Firebreathers aweing viewers from podiums and Performers swinging from the rafters. Trumpets, Violins and drums setting the stage for it all. A roaring party of excitement and glam... No, this wasn't all for Jacob.

"Think you could've made a bigger deal of it all, mate?" Jacob muttered, hiding his head a little lower into his brown, faded trench-coat, trying to blur out some of the lights and noise. This really wasn't for him. Not now, at least. He wanted to take part. He'd tried to participate. He'd gotten out his finest, which really didn't say much, only really owning faded clothes at this point. Soldiering didn't pay for much, when you payed for the parts Life Ensurance didn't cover. And it sure didn't cover missing limbs, his Prosthetic hand coming straight out of his own pocket... Just another way to trick Soldiers to line up.
"Come on, man. It's rare to get mates back from Hell." Liam sighed, scooting up next to Jacob, taking a seat at the bar. The two old friends, were about as different as it got, Liam in his lavish, dark-green suit, earrings and other jewelry giving away his status.
There was some truth to his words. Jason. Hank. Bridget. They'd all enlisted with him, and none of them came home. Ever would. Jacob lowered his head for a moment, closing his eyes as the right, damaged side of his face twitched.
"True." He gave, looking back up to Liam, straightening his hand a bit as he picked up his mug, leading it up to Liam's. "To coming home. Let's hope I can find a place here again." He cheered, a small, hopeful smile on his face, belying the doubts in his mind. Liam returned the smile, bringing his own cocktail to Jacob's beer.
"Damn straight. And yah will, mate. Things are tough, sure. But you've always found a way, Jay. Chin up. You'll get there." He mused, nodding a single time, as they both sipped at their drinks.

"Ey, boss? She's 'ere." A large, burly man had approached behind the two friends, causing Jacob to flinch slightly, only to skulk further into his seat, sighing at himself. Liam nodded to his Henchman, finsihing up his drink in one drag, sighing with a burp as he hopped from his seat.
"I gotta go take care of some business, Jay." And there it was. Liam's other reason for all of this. Business. "Try to enjoy yourself, yeah? And... Keep your eyes open. Might catch a few familiar faces around." He suggested, smirking with a wink as he slapped Jacob's back, and hopped off of his chair. Jacob shook his head slightly, waving his gloved hand dismissively. He strongly doubted it.

--------------

"A'ight, you led her to the Sweet-room, right?" Liam questioned his Henchman. "That Babe's good business, and we about to press her... Want her to feel comfortable." He muttered, shaking his shoulders slightly.
"Yeah, boss, she's there. Kept Lance on 'er as well, made sure she didn't meet the Wrenchers." The Henchman agreed, nodding a single time.
"Good..." Liam muttered, spitting under his breath. He didn't like his current predicament. He had a lot of respect for the woman he was about to do business with. One of his most faithful costumes, not to mention, an old friend. Her little Hat-Shop, with an underbelly, had made an excellent consumer of some quality exclusives, but now, a Gang had taken an interest in those exclusives... Prices were going up.

Liam and his man finally made it to the entrance to a small Lounging area, kept clear of most of the party. His office. The place suggested lavish luxury, with most of it being counterfeit, fake products. Liam wasn't a fool. He spent just enough money, to look like big business, but without wasting a dime. It worked on the simpler-minded Gangs, and had kept them off his back for most of the time. Even that, was changing now.
In his office, his favorite costumer had been told to wait, accompanied by a charming, if a little simple young man; Lance.
"And my favorite costumer arrived! Beautiful, as ever. Hope Lance hasn't soured your mood?" Liam suggested, holding his arms out in a warm welcoming, as he approached.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

For nearly ten years now, Molly Fairbairn had inhabited the same Greenwich Village flat, all the way from her starving student days when she'd shared the two rooms, kitchenette, and attached bath with four other girls, to the rather meteoric rise of her career that would have sent a more foolish businesswoman into one of the lavish uptown apartments so popular with the nouveau riche. Indeed, most of her female friends (and a few of her more petulant male acquaintances) often hassled her about stubborn refusal to move into the more civilized parts of the city, to the point where very few of them ever called on her at home anymore. Truth be told, that suited Molly just fine. She was hardly ever home anyways, and when she was she preferred to be alone, or with very select company.

As her bank account steadily grew, she had traded her roommates for rather lavish furnishings and art pieces instead, along with a top-of-the-line radio and record player, the latter of which was currently piping Sophie Tucker through the otherwise quiet apartment. Molly herself was sitting in front of her vanity in the bedroom, her small, thin frame draped in a powder blue silk dressing gown that perfectly matched her eyes. Her long hands were busy pulling out and carefully arranging a collection of cosmetics worthy of a stage actress, and her short honey-blond hair was held back beneath a silver turban to keep any stray stands out of her foundation.

Behind her, someone stirred in the oversized wrought-iron bed, and a dark head emerged from beneath the sapphire-colored coverlet. "Molly?" a sleepy voice yawned, and the occupant of the bed, a strikingly handsome Chinese man of about thirty-five, sat up and stretched, letting the blankets fall away to reveal a colorful tattoo of a dragon winding over his shoulder almost to the middle of his chest. "What time is it?"

"Almost four," the woman replied, powdering her face and smiling at the man in the mirror. "I was just about to wake you. We should head out once I finish getting dressed. I don't suppose the boys out west will be very happy if you miss your train, will they?"

The man didn't smile, but his dark eyes seemed to flash humorously as he slipped out of the bed and began to gather his own garments. "You're getting awfully dressed up just to see a fella off to the train station. Going to the club after this?"

Molly sighed. "Unfortunately, no. It's business. My supplier is throwing a little get-together, and I need to make an appearance or I'm sure he'll jack the prices on me. With winter coming on we should see some pretty good action over the next couple months, and I can't afford to have the hooch run dry." After lining her large eyes with rich black kohl, she was gently brushing a maidenly blush onto her cheeks, a look her paramour found ironically humorous (of course, he would never say such things to her face).

"You know..." he said slowly as he began to button up his only-slightly-rumpled shirt. "Mr. Liu would charge you a fair price to sell for him. Less than Murphy would."

"Oh, I know he would," Molly remarked dryly, rising up from the table and vanishing into her walk-in closet. "The trouble is, Sam," she continued, calling back out to him. "Mr. Liu wouldn't stop with just the giggle juice. With gangs like his, it starts with the booze, then comes the drugs, then your Shanghai girls that don't speak a lick of English, and before I know it I've got the coppers on my ass and all the profits headed out Californy-way and beyond." When she emerged from the closet she was dressed in a shimmering silver gown dripping with blue and white beads all the way down to her knees. She was clutching a pair of blue heeled slippers that, once on her feet, would bring her eye-to-eye with Sam, and was attempting to put on a pair of sapphire earrings on with her other hand.

"No, Sammy, I'm afraid you'll just have to tell Mr. Liu that I think you're a dream, but if I went into business with every man I fell in love with, I'd be a poor divorcee with twenty children," she remarked, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before sitting back down in front of her mirror to make sure her hair was absolutely perfect.

A short time later, the pair stepped out onto the street looking like a glittering diamond and its shadow; the woman smiling and making the rapid-fire smalltalk she was known for at her club, and the man nodding solemnly as though every anecdote was the gravest news he might have ever heard. They hailed a smoke-belching cab for the station ("It's a shame you never came here when we had the steam-cabs, those were much less odious," Molly remarked to Sam as they chugged down the street), but when they arrived in front of the bustling building, the man hesitated a few minutes before stepping out.

"I'll be back out in a few weeks," Sam murmured, not looking directly at the woman. "If you're sure you're not willing to go into business with Mr. Liu..."

"I'm not," Molly said firmly. "Send him my apologies, and tell him he's welcome at The Hat Box as a guest anytime, but it's my club, and I intend to keep it that way."

When Sam finally looked her in the eye, he saw a gaze that seemed hot and hard and molten steel, and he knew there would be no more reasoning with the woman today. "As you wish, Miss Fairbairn. You'll understand then if I seek business opportunities elsewhere?"

Now her face softened somewhat, and the woman laid a gloved hand over one of his own. "Of course, honey. No hard feelings. Come see me again next time you're in town?"

His only response was a gentle kiss on her lips, and without another word he left the cab and vanished into the train station. Left alone now (truly alone; cabbies had gone the way of the steam cab, and the diesel cab was now setting on its automatic way to the next destination), Molly couldn't help but feel a bit of regret at his parting. She liked Sam Cheng, she really did, no matter who he worked for or where his folks came from. She had no doubt in her mind that if she had accepted Liu's deal, Sam would probably have been part of it, considering the old man had no intention of relocating to New York himself and preferred to use the younger man as a proxy in all matters. That was, in fact, the only reason she had even considered the deal for a brief moment. But what she had said at the apartment was true: Molly had a bad habit of falling in love, and it was only her good sense about money that kept her from making a mistake (or two, or ten) with the wrong man.

At least the next fella she had to deal with would be easier. Liam Murphy was like a brother to her. An annoying, insincere, most-likely-cheating brother, but it would be a cold day in hell before she ever thought of him as anything more romantic than that. The one saving grace was that even though he might try to wring every penny he could from her, she knew he would never get rough with her, out of respect for their past. Likewise, Liam knew no matter who he pissed off, or cheated, or fucked without realizing who her husband was, he would always have a safe spot at the Hat Box, and indeed in Molly's personal abode. Of course, he would first need to abandon his own ostentatious abode, which was already starting to buzz with activity as the cab pulled up in front.

Inside, the woman handed her mink to one of Liam's army of household staff, while another lit the cigarette in her long silver holder. Molly was about to ask after the host of the affair, but she was quickly intercepted by her least favorite of his goons: Lance. "Champagne, please," she muttered to a passing waiter, knowing she would need to be at least slightly intoxicated to deal with the dumb mook's inane chatter until he could be persuaded to hand her over to his boss.

"Oh, let me get that for you, Miss Molly!" Lance replied, waving down the exact same waiter. "Champagne for the lady, chop chop! Now then," he turned back to her, and before she could stop him he seized her hand and placed an overflourished kiss on the back. "Mr. Murphy will be with you momentarily, mad-ee-moy-sel. He wants you to wait for him in the office. I would be honored to--"

"I know the way, Lance, thanks," the woman said quickly, brushing past his offered arm and taking a long drag on her cigarette as she started down the hall towards Liam's office. On the way she intercepted the waiter, and artfully snatched the glass of champagne from his hand without spilling a drop or missing a step. Unfortunately this wasn't enough to shake Lance from her tail, and having much longer legs than Molly, he easily caught up with her.

"How are things at the club? I heard you got a new singer over the summer. Cuban, ain't she? I hear those Latin babes go real wild, I hope she doesn't cause you any trouble. Like those girls you had a a couple years back, remember? Oh, and speaking of which, isn't that French dancing broad coming back for New Years? Boy that was great last year. I haven't seen shimmying like that since--oh, let me get that door for you!"

Without a word, Molly sank into a deep leather chair opposite Liam's desk, then in a single gulp drained the saucer in her hand. That gave her the fortitude to smile and nod along with his incessant jabbering, and just when she was about to send him off for another glass she heard the familiar brogue of Liam Murphy drowning out the younger man's magpie-like voice.

After taking another drag on her cigarette, the woman rose up to greet her old friend, kissing him on either cheek before sitting back down. "Sounds like you're having quite the party out there, Liam," she remarked, leaning back and stretching slightly to expose more of her decolletage. "Hopefully we can finish this quickly. I think we'd both rather be dancing than dealing, right?" Molly tapped her ash into a lead crystal tray on a table beside the chair. "So I'll cut to the chase. I need a case of bourbon, a case of gin, rum if you can get it, and as much champagne as you can get your hands on. What's it going to cost me?"

 

[GrinningGentleman]

It was always a great pleasure for the sauve-as-gutter-trash-can-be businessman to see Molly. In truth, little Liam Murphy had been quite jealous, of the relationship between his two oldest, closest friends. He hadn't had the same reserved feelings towards her, that she did him, but he never made a move. Didn't even hint it, choking that interest down with liquor, drugs, and prostitutes. What her and Jacob had, those many years ago? That shit was something special. He was happy that she moved on, sure, but she'd always held her little flings with disdain. He invested in vetting every single interest of Molly's making perfectly damn sure, she'd never fall for a trick. Luckily, the intelligent woman was no damsel. She handled herself amazingly, and his help was hardly ever needed, but the day it was, his door would always be open.

Liam placed his large hands on the only slighter shorter woman's upper arms, kissing back her cheeks graciously, before heading for his own desk. Lance had immediately turned his attention towards his boss as soon as he arrived, a hint of worry in his face at Liam's mention.
"I ain't soured nothing, boss. Promise. I just.." He started, causing Liam to raise a hand, tapping his fingers together in a mouthy gesture.
"Your Trap, Lance. Your Trap is yapping away, you can sour any room, boy. You talk too much." He corrected, causing Lance to shut up, grimacing slightly with a shake of his little head. Liam didn't even look towards the young man, as he approached his desk, waving his hand dismissively. "Go ask a waiter to bring the lass another drink. Whatever poison she took, to put up with your mouth." He ordered, walking around his desk, top shelving to pick out a pack of cigarettes, the brand he knew Molly prefered. Lance groaned, grimacing slightly again, about to protest, when Liam looked back up, his green eyes staring Lance down, point a finger towards him, from the same hand holding the cigarettes. "Get..." He demanded in a stern voice, before tossing the cigarettes to his main man Burk. Lance flicked his tongue, swinging in a half-circle towards the door, shaking his head with disappointment.

Catching the pack with one hand, he walked over to the small round table next to Molly's comfortable chair, placing the pack next to the ashtray, pushing it towards her bellow a finger. The massive man would look for Molly's attention, sending her a warm, comfortable smile.
"Nice to see you, Ma'm." He remarked silently with a small, courteous nod, before turning away. Burk was mostly a man of a few words. The kind you'd hardly notice was it not for his massive size. Many considered him a little simple, due to his lackluster vocabulary and perpetual silence. He took a liking to everyone Liam did, being as loyal as one's own hand.
The large man walked towards the door, remaining out of sight, showing he didn't remain in the room as protection against its occupants, but to keep anyone unwanted out.

"Sorry about Lance. He's a nice enough kid." Liam said, in remarks to Lance, as he dropped himself into his large office chair, shifting back in it. "Bit too mouthy, sure. He'll learn. Somehow... Immensely popular among Entertainment girls, though. No idea how." He mumbled, leaning back in his chair, folding his hands on his stomach, pouting thoughtfully. "Maybe well equipped? Hmh. Anyway!" He quickly moved them on, as Molly started herself. He leaned back further, the wheels on his chair leading him a bit off the desk, allowing him to toss his brogue, counterfeit leather shoes up on the corner of the table. Liam himself refrained from grabbing a cigarette himself, very unusually not a smoker. Molly was obviously free to smoke in his presence, but none of his crew got to smoke in his room.

Liam chuckled a single time, looking towards the door for a moment at the mention of the party, nodding his head a few times.
"Ay. Had some things to Celebrate, and some business to do. And, you know me. Efficiency." He smirked slightly, looking back to Molly, as his thumbs tapped his hands. His lips flourished into a grin, as Molly went straight onto business. He chuckled a single time through the nose, and then another, before looking back towards Burk, raising a hand towards Molly. "See, Burk? This is why, I was looking forward to this business exchange the most. Little Moe gets it." Burk looked towards them, nodding a single time.
"Sure does." He agreed, as Lance looked back down on Molly, holding his hands out in a pushing gesture. "Get the business out of the way, quick as possible, so you can hope into the pleasure. Golden." He pouted, nodding his head a few times. "Well then, Molly, here's the deal..."

As Liam was about to start, Lance came barging back through the door, holding a tray with a single glass of Champagne, causing Liam to groan softly. The rather short Irishman narrowed his eyes slightly, eyeing the glass with a flustered look.
"Here yah go, another glass, for the lass! Hah, almost bumped i..." Lance was about to start, when Liam raised a hand to stop him, moving his feet off his desk.
"A single glass? You got the lass a single glass? Fuck sake Lance, get back out there, and get her a bottle... She's at a party, not a bloody funeral!" He growled, his hand dropping to the table with a loud bump. Lance groaned, turning back on his heels, to head back out the door, only causing Liam to fluster even more. "Don't bring the glass out, y... Mmrh..." Liam snarled in frustration, palming his hands for a moment, wrinkling his forehead. Dropping his hands again, he looked hopelessly up at the younger Irishman, waving his hand towards Burk. "Burk, get the glass. Lance, go get the lass a bottle." He ordered, Burke immediately picking the glass off the tray, as Liam pointed at Lance again, stern expression on his face. When Liam Murphy wore a stern expression, he carried a commanding presence few could compare to. "And Lance? Hand it through the door, I don't want to see your fucking face again tonight..." He snarled, as Liam backed through the door with another groan, closing it rather hard behind him.

Burk walked back to Molly's table, offering the glass down to her free hand, before excusing himself. It was clear that Liam was rather irritable that night. It was the mixed emotions, he had a hard time with. He was angry as all hell at the Wrencher's interference with his business, and the fact that he had to put the tighter on an old friend. But he was also overjoyed, that his best friend had survived, and returned from the war. He itched his face with a palm again, before leaning back in his chair with a soft sigh.
"Ooh, boy, oh boy, good help is hard to get by, these days." He mumbled, huffing a single time as he rested his hands on the arm-rests of his chair, looking back up to Molly. "Now, yeah, business. Champagne? Deal, got loads of that bobbly shit, not a big market among my other buyers." He started, holding his hands out. This probably already hinted, that something else was coming. Something worse. The deal was changing.

"The rest? Well.." He started, grimacing slightly, with a shake of his head. "There's been some... Complications. Few of my boys carrying goods got hit by the Wrenchers. Got roughed up real good. Still not sure Jake'll make it. Or, get out the other end with all bricks still there, at least." He grumbled that last part slightly, shrugging a shoulder somewhat uncomfortably. Liam was a tough boss at times, but he had a heart for his crew. Knew all of them by name. They were family. The Irishman sighed softly, shaking his head as he looked back up at Molly.
"Took quite a few cases of your exclusive Bourbon. The good stuff. As well as some Gin n' Whiskey." He explained, leaning back against his desk, hands outwards slightly. The man looked for his words for a moment, hands bobbing a bit up and down, before finally looking back up.
"Here's the thing... This's been happening more and more lately. Only just now learning who's actually causing it. The Wrenchers are putting the twist on me, Moe, and I ain't got the boys to deal with it. Or the tools." He started, looking back up with a glint of frustration in his eyes. "Now, I've got another Business partner, who's going to deal with the Wrenchers. But, until I can guarantee my boys safety, and I've gotten them better equipped?" He started, holding an arm out to his side, before dropping his head in defeat, shaking it again. "Shit, I hate to say this Moe, but prices are going up." He finally admitted as he leaned back into his chair.

"Twenty percent per case of Bourbon. Can't go any lower than that, I'm afraid, my stock is getting low, and I have to prioritize costumers. Now you know you're my favorite costumer, Moe, so I want you to have the chance to keep your exclusive on that." He added, pointing slightly towards her, trying the semblance of a smile, but ending up in a slight grimace. "Ten for Gin, and the stocks are real low on Rum, so twenty on that as well, and you'll be buying it out of my own boys' hands." He explained, matter of factly. Liam wasn't usually easy to push, but Molly of all people would know that he always started a little high, to allow for bargaining, to make costumers believe they'd gone away with a good deal. Something about his general demeanor, however, suggested today might be different. He wasn't anywhere near his usually juvenile self. Something about his predicament, was clearly weighing him down.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"You clearly don't spend enough time with showgirls, Lee," Molly's pale pink lips curled into a little smirk as she took another drag on her cigarette holder. "There's only one thing broads like them look for in a man, and if that sweeney's got it, you're paying him too much." Indeed, for someone who prided themselves on efficiency Liam was sure throwing his weight around, considering Lance had returned with an entire bottle of bubbles. So that's how he wants to play it. Liam should've known better. Sure, getting her liquored up was a surefire way to get his hands on her money when she was young and living off the Fairbairn golden teat, but things were different now. She set the champagne saucer aside, determined not to touch it again until a deal had been reached.

"If you're having trouble unloading the giggle juice, I'd be willing to buy the whole stock if you cut me a discount. You know I run a classy joint, real popular with the girls. If I can keep them coming the men'll follow no matter how shitty the rest of your hooch is," she remarked, crossing her legs at the knees and flashing him the sight of a long, white calf. It was a long shot, she knew that. Liam might not have exactly been her flavor of guy (too many memories of childhood teasing and deals nearly gone bad), but no doubt he had a wide array of dumb Doras to pick from if he fancied a roll in the hay. She was better off saving it for the likes of Sammy Chen and fellas like that, who might actually give her a good deal for it.

Once Liam proceeded with his sob story, Molly's half-assed attempt at seduction immediately deflated, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Jesus Liam, how many times have I warned you about security? This city's really gone downhill," she sighed, removing the butt of her cigarette from the holder and crushing it into the dregs of her champagne. Nothing killed her desire to drink more than a deal gone bad. Her fingers began to lazily twirl the holder like a baton as she tried to think. "Those Wrencher guys...they mercenary? Or they part of one of the bigger syndicates?" Molly muttered, rising to her feet and pacing to the window. "I know Don Scacco's been buying up clubs like baseball cards, wouldn't shock me in the least if he had bastards like that on his payroll....wait, what the fuck? Twenty percent?"

She whirled around with all the grace of an infuriated dancer, blue eyes glaring with indignant fire. "That's bullshit and you know it, Lee. In case you forgot, you ain't the only liquor salesman in town. I buy from you because you're an old...friend, I guess. But not at those prices, no fucking way." Molly crossed her arms over her chest and began to stalk slowly towards him. "Look, it's a real shame your guys got their asses handed to 'em. I'll be sure to send flowers to the hospital. But it's not my job to pay for your dumbass mistakes. If you can't secure your shipments, I'm gonna have to start looking into some other suppliers. Why, just this morning I had a meeting with a fella from one of the San Francisco outfits looking to break into the market. I told him to buzz off of course, out of respect for our relationship, but I might've spoken too soon."

For a moment, she seriously considered leaving for the station. Sam's train might not have left yet...but no. Too much baggage with that deal, even if it wasn't all in cash. Molly let out a deep sigh, then sat down directly on Liam's desk and slid until she was directly in front of him.

"If it's cash you need, Lee, I'm willing to double the order. And I meant what I said about the champagne, I'll buy all of it, for say...a ten percent discount. The rest I'll pay the usual price. And if you need some additional security, I'll send some of my own guys, free of charge. Then you won't have to worry about anything going wrong with the shipments. What do you say, honey? Do your girl a favor." Leaning forward, she let her dress fall forward enough to allow him a glimpse at her (not particularly ample) bosom, and slowly traced a finger up his chest. "It'd mean the absolute world to me..."

 

[GrinningGentleman]

A tight smirk played along Liam's lips with Molly's suggestion, batting his brows a single time. He hadn't fully considered that thought. And he definitely wasn't paying him too much. Or, enough to maintain a lifestyle like that.
"Hmh... Hadn't thought of that. And I definitely ain't paying that Greaser -too- much." Liam mumbled slightly, pouting slightly as he looked up to Burk. "Put a pin in that, Burk." He added, making the large man nod a single time, leaning against the doorframe. Lance might be getting some dime on the side, from all the wrong people. Especially considering Liam's current predicaments. If he was taking deals from the Wrenchers, Liam had to know. The biggest problem with kids like Lance, was their ambitions. It seemed a very realistic fear, that the young man was trying to reach beyond his limits.

Liam nodded a single time with her suggestion. Getting rid of the bubbles, could get him a good pile of money, to handle his current predicament. It'd be a start. He didn't even send her calves a second glance, being a businessman worth his own weight, too good for suave little tricks like that. Especially when they came from Molly. He was too well trained at not staring at her, that he hardly had for a long time. Old habits die hard.
He reserved his judgement to her reaction to the new prices. Gave her a moment. In silence, however, he couldn't agree more. The city reeked of Diesel and blood, and it was hard to keep up. He sneered slightly on the subject of the Wrenchers, but didn't get to answer her question, before she got started.

Liam sighed loudly, visibly sinking into his chair as he rolled his eyes at her flurry of frustration. His eyes hardened slightly, however, as she decided to start pushing at his business. They narrowed as they turned back up to the huffing woman, stomping her feet like she wanted a piece of candy, she couldn't afford. He followed her every step, never leaving those fiery eyes as she stepped closer. A lesser man might've skulked backwards at her predatoy display, but Liam remained where he was.
There was a twitch to the man's upper lip, as she talked about his men, eyes growing tighter for a moment. Reeling in his anger, like a good boy, he twitched his neck slightly, shaking his head a few times as she continued to threaten their deal in its entirety.

Liam raised a brow slightly, his hardened eyes calming for a second, as the woman sat herself on his desk, scooching closer to him. They narrowed again, however, as she went on with the exact same deal as before. No changes. Realizing he'd sat completely still as she did her spiel, Liam raised a hand, quickly snatching Molly's hand in a loose grip. He grimaced slightly, pointing one finger from the gripping hand, as he shook his head a few times.
"Threatening a man's business, gets him hard for all the wrong reasons, Molly. Smoothing them up with Seduction right afterwards? Real effective... But don't flatter yourself." He huffed, pushing her hand away, as he got up out of his chair, reaching for the shelf behind Molly's legs, nudging them gently out of the way with the back of his hand.

"Don't flatter yourself about our deal either. You can get the cheap, lazy American shit anywhere, but to get the good, hard European stuff, you need to deal with me." He stated, pulling out a bottle of Irish Whiskey from the shelf, and a glass to go with it, placing both on the table. "In other words, to keep your exotic European clientele properly oiled, you deal with me." He added, shrugging as he poured half a glass, placing the bottle next to it as he picked it up, looking back up to Molly's eyes, having no issues looking straight at her, and away from her flashed goods. "And let's not forget the most attractive part of our deal, for your part." He raised his glass, pointing to her. "No fucking strings..." He grumbled, finally turning away from her, as he tugged his free hand into his pocket. Taking a heavy swig of his glass, he looked out the window to the dark streets outside. "You know I have no interest in the bar-game. You know I'll never try to get my dirty fingers into your Honey-pot."

Liam tapped his glass a few times with a finger, narrowing his eyes as he tilted his head.
"Heard the San Frano dresses have been putting in a real hard move on local businesses. Would be surprised if that was a lie, on your part." He thought out loud, flicking his tongue in a tsk. "But we both know what happened to Mills. Hardly has a dime to take his kids to the Theatre with that shitty deal he made." Mills lost half his bar to the San Fransisco Mobsters, and was coming on hard times because of it, the new clientele not very welcoming to the old regulars. "And you've got just the kind of business they'd be interested in. But I very much doubt they'd make a deal with you, without asking for part of your business?" He suggested, turning back towards her with a raised brow, taking another large gulp from his Whiskey.

"Offer your charity work to the poor, lass. What are your boys going to do? The Wrenchers ain't some drunk suits, shouting at cars. Those Oily bastards actually work for a living. They'll gobble up your Bouncers like yesterday's Lunch. And now, they've got Shooters as well, apparently. They didn't jump my guys. They held them at gun-point, and wrenched them half to death while they were down..." Liam sneered slightly, eyes hardening again. "And I'll make sure to send Jake your regards, and disregard your disrespect towards my boys. Consider that one out of friendship. A friendship I ain't second-guessing, even when you shove back my plight with sneers and underhanded remarks, before even considering bargaining." At the tone of his voice, and demanding posture, Liam tried to make it fairly obvious that even she should tread lightly around the subject of his boys.

Liam took a moment, eyes narrowed again, a finger tapping his glass as he kept staring at Molly, clearly considering her deal. A big pile of cash might get him a good step towards his goal. He needed a couple of guns for his boys, to be able to keep up with the Wrenchers new tools.
"Alright. You can get the bubbles elsewhere, so you get your ten percent on my entire stock." He agreed, pointing slightly. "The usual Gin and Rum, if you buy double your order? Original price." He added, before getting on to the good stuff, cracking his neck slightly. "But if you want your exclusives to stay exclusive? Twenty percent on top of the usual price. Double the order on that as well, take it down to fifteen." He suggested, sticking to his guns on the Bourbon and two Rye Whiskey's, only she had access to in town, because of their deal. He slowly twirled the glass in his hand, before raising a finger to pause her, before she started countering the offer. "I'd like to say it hurts me to say this, but since you seemed to suffer no heartache from pushing a friend, it doesn't... The Borrow, has been offering me ten percent more, than what you pay for your exclusives, for me to break the deal. The Corner twice that, they've really been trying to cater more to the European audience these days. Now I know doing business with those two Suits is tricky. They're flimsy. All over the place. But it'll land me some good cash right now, which is what I need. I'd much rather stick with you, as an exclusive. But if the deal has to die here? I wouldn't exactly lose sleep over it." He suggested, shrugging slightly, but his posture didn't exactly suggest the same harshness his words did. Slightly slumped, he seemed like a tired man, more than done with business. But the frown on his face, suggested even more reluctance. The crooked frown on his lips, and light furrow to his brows, suggested that he didn't like doing this. He didn't. But he was desperate, but he might still push it down a bit if she really needed it. He just needed her to make a choice on the matter. If she needed him, enough to actually start bargaining, and not just choke him into a bad deal.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

A sense of alarm coursed through Molly's veins when Liam laid his hands on her, no matter how delicately. At times like this, he reminded her of the caged lion at the Central Park Zoo: impressive-looking but lazy at heart, and yet at the end of the day he was still a wild beast who could, no doubt, be provoked into violence. And she would rather not be on the receiving end of such violence, even if he might pull his punches or turn his efforts towards scaring her. Accidents did happen, after all.

"Testy testy," she muttered, slithering off the desk and opening her purse. Pointedly not helping herself to any of the cigarettes he had offered, she opened her own mother-of-pearl case and slid one of the long thin Cupids into her holder. "At the very least you could give me a light, like a gentleman," the woman continued, waiting for him to ignite the cigarette. "You know Lee, if you could be bothered to dress up a little, mind your Ps and Qs and all that, I'd be happy to have you come by the Box. I think you've got my place all wrong." Turning around, Molly sank back into the chair across the desk from him, her expression genuinely softening.

"Does having the good booze help? Yeah, of course it does. But the real reason people like my place is because I draw in the prettiest girls in New York, and I make sure the club is safe enough that they don't need to come on the arm of some mobster goon to have a good time. If I fill the joint up with good-looking single dames looking for a dance partner or three, I could serve hot chocolate and lemonade and the fellas would still line up around the block to get in. But I gotta keep the dames coming. That means I need three things. One: the giggle juice." Molly reached for the bottle Lance had left, and slowly, expertly, began to refill her saucer. "Or if not the giggle juice, I need the best bartenders in the city that can make the shittiest rotgut taste like ambrosia. Which, thank God for Jinx and Louis, I have. So that brings me to two."

Setting the bottle aside, Molly raised the saucer to her lips. "I need the best damn entertainers in the world to keep each dame and fella from figuring out how fucking boring the other one is. I need musicians, dancers, acrobats, contortionists, I'll even take a goddamn ventriloquist if he's good. But those folks cost money, Lee. Money I won't have to spend if my suppliers are fucking me over on liquor. So you see my first conundrum here." She took a delicate, ladylike sip then set the saucer aside and folded her hands in her lap.

"Now, the third thing I need is a certain kind of fella to keep the girls entertained. Otherwise they're welcome to fuck right off down to the Borrow or the Corner and try their luck with all the other wannabe gangsters, or the actual gangsters if the bitch feels like waking up with a bullet in her head some night after she burns the roast. But at the Hat Box, we pride ourselves on attracting nice, rich, classy guys...like yourself." Molly couldn't quite keep the note of sarcasm out of her voice at that remark, but quickly continued on.

"Now the cover we charge keeps out the riff-raff, so that's good. But you're right, a man needs to be able to buy his aged scotch and brandy and all that good shit, otherwise how're the girls ever gonna know he's a big-shot, right? So yeah, I do need your product, and therein lies my second quandary. But if you're gonna fuck me over twenty percent, I either need to buy from someone else--which I don't think either of us want--or I'll need to buy less from you. One of the things I learned up a that college in St. Joseph's is that if I gotta jack prices on my end of things, that means I'm gonna be selling less, and the last thing I need is a double order of bourbon and rye I won't be able to move until those Washington bastards legalize the hooch again. I might as well buy some of that Albany 'Shine from up north and turn it over to Jinx and Louis and let them work their magic. By the by, they've been mixing some of that Appalachian shit with honey and some kind of fresh berry juice, tastes like fucking candy and sells like hotcakes with almost no overhead. You should try it sometime."

"But I digress," Molly continued, her expression hardening. "Bottom line, Lee, here's what I can do. Your entire stock of champagne at a ten percent discount. Double order of gin and rum at the usual price. If you have to have your fifteen percent increase on the rest, fine, but I'm halving my order. I still have another case of that old Kentucky squirreled away that'll get us through the winter. Once I've worked through that, I might be willing to accept the increase as permanent and put in another order. Or I'll swing by and we can have this conversation again in three months. As for the exclusive...do what you've got to do to keep yourself up and running, I guess. But if you think I built my business on you alone, Liam Murphy, I got a bridge over in Brooklyn you can purchase for a nickel."

The woman drained her champagne saucer a second time, then took her purse in one of her small white hands and rose to her feet. "So will you take it, or should I call a cab? I'd hate to ruin your party if we can't come to an agreement. Especially if money is so tight for you these days." This time there was no hiding the sarcasm in her voice, not with the sounds of musicians echoing from elsewhere in the palace-like house. "In either case, my condolences towards your men, and if you're looking to purchase arms, I know a fella in Jersey who can help. It's a shame none of us are safe these days, isn't it?"

Her purse "accidentally" opened slightly, flashing a glimpse of a pearl-handled revolver that almost perfectly matched her cigarette case. "Can't be too careful," Molly sighed, half-hiding a smile as she tightly shut her purse again and turned towards the door.

 

[GrinningGentleman]

Liam's hand snatched a lighter out from the same shelf as the alcohol, where a few other packs of spare cigarettes were parked. He always had spares, for particular costumers, such as Molly. He made no real deal out of lighting her cigarette, tossing the lighter aside on the desk dismissively afterward. He snorted lightly at her remark about him and the Box, shaking his head a few times as he took another sip of his drink.
"The fact that your clientele would have an issue with how I dress is enough to tell me, that ain't my dig. I remember my roots, Princess, and your circles wouldn't appreciate it. And the sky stinks as bad as the sewers these days, so I'll just keep my nose down, thank you." He smirked, referring to the vast difference there was between their pasts. She came from something, he came from nothing. He was perfectly fine with that fact, however, because he had stuff now. A reputation. Money. Friends. What he didn't need in his life, was folks who thought they deserved everything they had, when it'd all been handed to them. Molly didn't fall in that category, however, and he knew it. But he still didn't mind reminding her how far he'd come, in comparison.

Liam's eyes narrowed slightly as Molly started on, tapping his glass in between spinning it between his fingers. It hurt to admit, but he knew she was right. And, in truth, it didn' hurt all that much. He'd be fine. And, if she was right, so would she. The main reason it hurt, was probably the fact that there'd be fewer reasons to see Molly from now on. He frowned slightly at the thought, as she kept up the rest of her speech. In truth, he didn't need half of it, his decision had made from the start. She didn't need his stuff, and he needed the dough.
It became somewhat clear how disinterested he was in her spiel, as he started turning his attention back out the window, watching one of the Trapez girls swinging along the ceiling, before he turned back towards her, as he called him by his full name.

He raised his brow slightly at the mention of the party, looking out the window for a moment, pointing out at it with his glass.
"Phf, think I paid for all of that?" He questioned, looking back at her with a sly smirk, holding his arms out. "I still run the best place for a Cabaret. The Entertainers basically paid for themselves, and I'll make back the expenses in sales at the plop-up bar, with enough interest to buy another Diesel Truck." He chuckled. He might've come on hard terms with his supplies, but he was still an excellent and sly businessman. The only reason he hadn't worked Molly quite this hard before this day, was their friendship. It was a shame it had to change, but he had to cut his losses.

His eyes drifted down to her purse, a proud smile on his lips for a moment, nodding his head with pursed lips.
"Good girl." He applauded, raising his glass lightly, before shaking his head. "And thanks for the offer, but I've got a guy. Just don't got the cash for it. My guys weren't held up with pea-shooters. I'll need the stuff that'll kick over a horse, not just frighten it." He suggested, still smiling slightly for a moment, taking another sip from his drink.

His expression turned a little more solemn as he lowered his glass, shaking his shoulders slightly before stretching them.
"Alright. You can pick up your bubbles sometime next week. Bring a Driver, I'll load e'm on the Truck for you. There's a lot of the shit." He agreed, shrugging lightly. "I'll be turning elsewhere with the rest. And I gotta cut the exclusives. You don't need e'm, and I do." He admitted half a smile on his face. "And I hope that I'm wrong, Molly. And that the boys that attend the Box can stand the fancy, chatty girls there while making do with girly drinks." He genuinely suggested. He truly hoped the lack of good stuff, wouldn't hurt her business. That isn't what he wanted. But selling it to her would hurt his, at this time.

"Please stay, though. Enjoy the party." He requested, raising a pausing hand. "Come on, I can differentiate business and friendship. And it's not like losing this deal will change anything on my part. I'll still make my money." He shrugged, hands out slightly. "Only reason it hurts a bit is the fact that... We'll have less reason to meet, Moe. Let's be honest, we don't exactly run in the same circles." He suggested, snickering slightly with a smile that tried to hide the fact that this really was disappointing to him. "Think about it. When's the last time we met, outside of business? Years? I'll miss your ass." He added, smirking slightly. "Just pretty enough, it makes up for how snarky it can be at times..." He teased, quickly moving on. "Let's try to give each other better reasons to meet, yeah? I'll... Erh. I'll even consider buying a new suit, n' visit you at the Box..." He spoke in a tone, as if it physically hurt him suggesting it, his smirk making it clear that it didn't, pointing at her as he continued "But I'm bringing my own booze... You ain't got the good stuff anymore, and I am not making do with Jinx's Liquid Candy." He added.

"But, yeah. Please stay. Got a bit more Business to do, then I'll join you." He requested with his usual, warm smile. Losing this deal really wasn't going to hurt him at this current time. He was going to lose her stability, and have to make due with weaker business-partners, but he was sure they could back on the horse, eventually. Especially, considering, Molly seemed to believed she'd be fine, also. "And, you might catch some old faces out there. Promise, you won't regret it." He suggested, smiling as he raised his glass as a cheer, before turning to his desk, picking out a notebook from one of the middle shelves.

------------​

You drank slow, when you could only afford one drink. Jacob had been hogging the same glass of Whiskey Liam had gotten him before he left. Liam had told the bartender to load him up for free, but Jacob didn't want to be a bother. Besides, alcohol hit him pretty hard these days. They'd had drugs in abundance on the frontlines, alcohol was a different deal. He hadn't had a good drink for several years, and knew it'd go straight to his head in no time. Right now, he was supposed to be enjoying himself with good company. He wanted his mind clean.
But where was that company? He'd been sitting alone, since the moment Liam left. He knew no one else here. He'd lived with the same people for years now, he'd forgotten how to socialize. Mingle. He just sat alone at the empty end of the bar, tall collar of his Trenchcoat hiding his mangled face, making himself as small as a tall, muscular man could.

He did attract some attention, however. A young woman, dressed more than a little provocatively, waltzed her way to his side, slowly approaching his side, placing a hand on his upper arm. It caught Jacob by surprise, causing him to twitch, quickly looking her way, before the cracking of glass drew his own, the woman and bartender's attention. Jacob sneered slightly in pain, looking down to his hands, seeing that he'd cracked his Whiskey glass with his prosthetic, slivers of the glass having cut into a few of his fingers, now bleeding a little. The woman yelped slightly, clearly as surprised as he was, placing a hand over her lips.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." She snickered a little carefully, placing her other hand on his lower arm, pulling his bleeding hand closer to have a look at it. Jacob raised his hand slightly towards her, giving her a comforting smile as he shook it.
"It's fine, really." He reasured, looking apologetically up to the bartender, holding a hand out. "Sorry about that, man. I just..." The bartender cut him off, raising his hands with a warm smile, before picking up a new glass.
"Don't sweat it, big guy. Let me fill you up a new one, and get rid of that." He offered, causing Jacob to smile a little wider, nodding his head a single time.
"Thanks." He nodded, turning back to his hand, as the young woman started gently drying off some of the blood, with a handkerchief.

"I really am sorry, dear. It's.. Bleeding pretty bad." She fawned, causing Jacob's neck to twitch slightly. It really didn't. He'd seen way worse. Way. Way worse.
"Nah, it's fine. Just cut the skin, barely pierced the flesh." He reassured the young woman, pulling his hand back, trying to hide behind his collar, a second too late. He knew that expression all too well. It was always fleeting, but there. Surprise, followed by petty. Thoughts of what happened to him, running through her head. All too familiar. All too old.
"Still. Came over here to give you some company, since you looked lonely, and the first thing I do is make you bleed. Bad first impression." She admitted, smirking slightly as she pulled over a chair with a foot, getting herself company. Oh, great, company...
"That's mighty nice of you, Ms." He mused, smiling somewhat awkwardly, looking back down at the bar, trying his best not to look to his hand.
"Oh please. Names Olivia. Nice to meet you." She introduced herself, offering him a hand. He looked to it, hesitantly raising his own, catching a flash of the blood once again. He held it up, hinting at it with a crooked smile, causing her to snicker slightly, giving his arm a gentle pad.
"Jacob. Pleasure's mine." He courteously introduced himself back, having an easier time looking at her at this point, his disfigurement seemingly not deterring her quite yet.
"Oh, you don't have to be so courteous with me, Jacob. We both know why I'm here, and what my profession is." She admitted with a sly smile, making sure all cards were on the table, and that he wasn't fooling himself. He smiled lightly, nodding a single time as he chuckled, shrugging his shoulders.
"Force of habit. And, your profession doesn't make you any less deserving of manners." He pointed out, causing her to purse her lips, seemingly a little surprised. Seemed manners were going down the drain in the city, as surely as the rest of it.
"Touche."

As the bartender came back with a new drink, Jacob leaned back a bit as the man started drawing broken glass down from the counter, into a bucket on the other side.
"You... You a Vet?" She asked, a gentle smile across her lips. Jacob returned it, shrugging a shoulder as he picked up his new glass.
"Guess they call it that." He admitted, looking to her with a smirk, dimples causing the large scar across the right side of his face to fold lightly with the movement. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders back.
"Well..." It was obvious, and they both knew it, snickering as she refrained from answering. "Reason I ask... I work at Mademoiselle Le'flour's Nook. Local brothel?" She tilted her head.
"Heard of it." He agreed, nodding a single time. Le'flour's had been around for a long time, since before he'd went off to war.
"Well. At the Nook, Vets get a heavy discount. We appreciate your sacrifices, for our freedom." She offered, causing Jacob to smile, but grimace slightly, shaking his head a few times.
"That's mighty nice of you, and Madam Le'flour, Ms. And mighty tempting. Sadly, the Government and Banks don't seem to second that appreciation. Probably still couldn't afford it, even with a discount. And Le'flour's is a fancy place. I'd stick out like a sore thumb." He suggested, chuckling slightly with his own self-destructive humor.
"Oh, we don't deferenciate between costumers, Jacob. You'd be just as welcome as the guys in suits, who wouldn't know sacrifice if it slapped them across their cheek." Both laughed lightly with that, Jacob pursing his lips as he took a long sip from his drink.
"Well. If you're looking for more cash... Madam Le'flour has been looking for some more muscle for a while?" She suggested, causing Jacob to peak slightly, looking back at her with more interest.
"Now that is even more interesting." He admitted, causing Olivia to smile, reaching into the natural pocket between her breast's and bra, picking out a card, offering it over.
"Think about it, then. Show this to the bouncers. You'll get right in. Ask for me, any day of the week. I'll get you in touch." She offered, swirling off the chair in a flourish as Jacob picked up the card between two fingers. His eyes couldn't help themselves following her curves, hardly hidden at all in the tight dress, causing him to sigh slightly and look back down.


Looking at the card, he tapped a finger against it a few times, causing a stroke of blood to graze the last, decorative letter in Le'flour. It caused a bad tick of Jacob's neck, his eyes closing shut in visible discomfort as he stretched it. A low groan escaped his lips, as images started flashing across his retinae again. Drums grew in intensity. Something else. Explosions. Laughter turned sou. Something else. Horrid screams. The large room around him started tightening, his muscles tensing up as he felt his breath laboring without reason. Slowly opening, his eyes looked around him in switch twitches, hazy with a fog of fear. As if a filter was shut on, he saw the faces around him as something else entirely. Laughter and enjoyment, was being replaced with fear and pain. Every face. Every eye. All staring at him.

All the therapy in the world, couldn't prepare a person for a Panic attack. With time, it might teach him to deal with it, but when it struck, it was nearly impossible to shake. He needed air, and space...
Pushing off from the counter, Jacob panted heavily, the bartender stepping over. His voice was worried, asking if he was alright, but all he heard was disgruntled complaints. Disappointment. Why was he acting up? He couldn't answer him. Jacobs face was contorted in uncontrollable fear. His strong features reduced to a crumbling mess. Lips twitching. Eyes bulging. He gulped. But it wouldn't go down. Choking on his own saliva, Jacob gagged, walking backward a bit more, looking around in absolute panic. He bumped into another gentleman, asking him what he was doing, causing Jacob to twirl, holding up his hands in defense. He had to be timid. Had to submit. If he didn't, he'd lash out. He couldn't. Friendly fire...

Jacob started rushing. To where? Anywhere. He made his way through the crowds, surrounded by the horrific screams of joyous laughter, and soothing explosions of drums. He was ventilating. His breath was useless. Choking. He pushed his way through people, hearing disgruntled complaints and frightened yelps on his path. This was horrible. He was making a mess of things. Again. But he had to get away. Had to get air. The first thing he spotted.

Stairs. Roof. Balcony.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

It took all of Molly's fortitude not to smile at Liam's acceptance of the deal. Of course, it wasn't exactly the deal she wanted (who ever wanted costs to go up, even if business was good?), but it wouldn't break her and probably not him either. For all the trouble Liam could and probably would cause, she needed guys like him in the changing face of the city. He was right, new people were coming in all the time, and few if any could be trusted. The Irishman certainly wasn't the woman's favorite person in the world, but he was a known variable she couldn't afford to forsake just yet. So instead she turned back to face him, and inclined her head in a gesture of acceptance.

"A pleasure doing business with you, as always," Molly replied, reaching out to shake hands as she glanced over his shoulder at the entertainments going on out the window. "And if you ever take it into your head to start representing the talent, give me a call. I'd be willing to throw a few more simoleans your way if you can help me book a decent band." She sighed as she thought of one particularly screechy brass set that had nearly vacated the Box one night. Even a federal raid wouldn't have scared that many people off. "Meanwhile I'll have Big Frieda and the boys come over with the milk truck on Wednesday. They'll all be packing, so tell your people no funny business, all right? Not that I expect any." The woman finished the statement with a laugh and the smallest sparkle of warning in her eyes.

Satisfied that the matter was closed, the woman finally turned and headed back towards the door, more than ready to explore a bit of her old friend's extravagance (not to mention snoop out the competition). Hand on the handle and praying Lance wasn't outside listening, she turned to look back at Liam. "And I meant what I said about coming by. If the mood ever takes you, just stop by the shop during business hours and tell Minnie you're planning on dropping in some night. She'll put you on the VIP list, and I'll make sure to introduce you to the richest, most depraved girls I know," Molly winked. "Men ain't the only ones who like to show off by spending big money on the opposite sex. Ta-ta!"

As she left the confines of the office and began to follow the sounds of music and laughter, Liam's last words echoed in her mind, and not too auspiciously. "Familiar faces, hm?" she murmured to herself, deftly avoiding the attention of the wandering Lance and losing herself wholeheartedly into the crowd gathering between a long bar and a titanic dance floor. To the undiscerning eye, this would be enough for her to vanish completely, just one more sparkling gown in a rainbow sea of them, heavily interspersed by men in sharp black suits. But there were plenty in the crowd that recognized the fashionable young owner of Molly's Hat Box in her silver gown and signature blue-black feather fascinator, and not all of them watched her with friendly eyes.

To be fair, a good number of the starers were either past patrons that had subsequently been banned from her establishment, or had never been allowed past the bouncer in the first place. Liam might have been willing to do business with everybody and his brother, but anyone who offended Miss Fairbairn would receive nothing but a smile and a door in his face, be it by getting too ossified in her club, throwing his weight around with her staff, treating the Box like a brothel (the second worst offense one could commit within its walls) or by offending one of the female patrons, the lattermost of which was unforgivable in Molly's eyes. Women tended to look upon her a bit more warmly, but there were always a few wet blankets who thought the club would be better off in a husband's hands, and that there were too many rumors going around about the proprietress and...well, a lot of men.

But then there were girls like Vera Stephenson, who emerged from the crowd and had her arms around Molly's shoulders before either one of them could get out one syllable of how-do-you-do. "Well good golly Miss Molly!" the tall redhead grinned, embracing the club owner from behind. "I was wondering if I would see you here! Mr. Murphy throws a great party, doesn't he? My boss is gonna have to give me four more inches on the society page to write about all this. Why, did you know there is an honest-to-god prince in attendance? Have you seen him anywhere?"

"Nope, sorry. I just got here myself," Molly smiled back, untwining herself from Vera's grasp. As with Liam, she couldn't say she exactly liked the newspaper reporter, but she could afford to break ties with her even less than she could with the bootlegger. It was partially due to Vera's vast network of high-society connections that the Box had become so popular, and the writer had even been kind enough to say good things about the actual hat shop Molly used as a front for the club. What little legitimate business the Fairbairn Haberdasherie did was probably due to Vera telling absurdly flattering lies about Chinatown-manufactured millinery she passed off as Parisian chapeaus. Other than the fact that she always drank free at the Box, Molly couldn't understand why exactly Vera was so quick to champion her business ventures, but her old da had always taught her never to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I'd be happy to help you look though. Need a drink?"

"Yes please!" Very replied, linking arms with her as she made her way to the bar. "I'm dry as a desert. I wish your place was open during the day, I would have stopped by before heading over here."

"Yeah, well, I don't really fancy catering to the law-abiding types, if you know what I mean. And speaking of the law..." Molly's eyes drifted to a familiar-looking pair of gentlemen that were frowning vaguely in her direction. While neither one of them wore a badge on the outside, there was no mistaking the cut of their coats for policemens' uniforms. "Any idea if those guys are on Murphy's payroll?"

"Would they be here if they weren't?" Vera asked, taking two more glasses of champagne from the bartender and passing one to her friend. "You should relax, you know the rules at these things. Everyone's here to have a good time, and that includes you, Missy! Now let's go dance, and if you catch sight of anyone looking princely, I've got dibs, you hear?"

The next hour was a whirl of faces and music, and against her better judgment Molly allowed herself more champagne than was probably necessary. Somewhere along the line she lost track of Vera, but she thought she caught a glimpse of her dancing with some snazzy-looking fella covered with medals. And before she knew what was happening, she was dancing with with a tall, burly man in a policeman's coat, who might have been handsome if it weren't for the ugly twisted scar that ran from his mouth to his left ear. His arms held her almost painfully tight as he steered her to a more isolated corner of the dance floor, where he leaned in close, breath smelling of Liam's fancy imported whiskey. But instead of pressing his lips to hers, as the woman had expected, he brought his mouth close to her ear.

"Having a good time, Miss Fairbairn?" he asked in a low growl that instantly sobered her up.

"Yeah...yeah I am. You?" she replied slowly, shifting a little bit in his grip.

"Not as good a time as I could be. You see, my brother's in the hospital."

Molly's heart began to beat a little faster. "Your brother?"

"Yeah, my brother. Rudy Wilcox. I believe you know him. I'm his big brother, Frank. I believe you've heard of me too. Ain't that right, Miss Fairbairn?"

She said nothing in return, but began to squirm a little more violently in his grasp. Frank held her all the tighter and continued speaking as though nothing had happened. "You see my brother was the beat cop up there in your neck of the woods. You used to pay him a hundred bucks a week, didn't ya, Miss Fairbairn?" One of his meaty paws slipped down to her delicate wrist, ready to snap the bones on a moment's notice. "But you haven't paid him in a while now, have ya?"

"He...he hasn't come by to collect," Molly stammered finally, relaxing in his grip. It was clear by now strength was not going to be the way out of this mess.

"Oh, I know. You know why? Because he got jumped by bunch of guys with billyclubs, outside a little joint called Molly's Hat Box. You know anything about that, bitch?" he spat, shoving her up against the wall just as the music crescendoed. "You know anything about the guys that nearly killed my brother?"

The woman took a deep breath. "I don't know shit, pig," she snapped, then jammed a knee into his groin. Frank let out a snarl of rage, but he also let his grip slip, and Molly instantly twisted away and stumbled back into the throng of dancers. If this is Liam's idea of a joke...she thought to herself, darting between the bodies until she found an innocuous-looking corridor leading away from the ballroom. Without stopping to look behind her, she followed the dim hallway all the way to the end, where a dark set of steps was leading upward and a sign next to them read "Roof Access." After checking to make sure Frank hadn't followed her, Molly quickly moved up the stairs, hoping if anyone was up there they would be intimidating enough to ward off the drunk cop.

But there was only one person on the roof, a guy standing by the rail with his back to her. She could tell one of his arms was one of those fancy automated prosthetics; the real one had probably been lost in the war. Molly's fear subsided, and was quickly replaced by curiosity. Was Liam putting vets to work now? Well, she had to give him credit for that at least, even if he was stupid enough to invite cops to his parties. After glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one was coming up the stairs, the woman cautiously approached the man by the rail.

"Excuse me mister...you got a cigarette?" She'd probably had enough of those tonight too, but it was a good excuse to get him in conversation.

 

[GrinningGentleman]

The world around him was a twirl of pictures. A twisted mixture of memories and reality, seeing everything through the lens of a soldier on the battlefield, rather than a socialite at a Cabaret. Everything around him was a danger to his life, though none seemed armed. Concealed weaponry? Surely they didn't come unarmed? No! No, a party, not a fucking battlefield... The little voices inside his head chimed different tunes, contradicting each other, scrambling his mind even further, causing him to hyperventilate even worse. He was suffocating on his own breath, choking himself with a dry throat.

Your face is busted! Jacob brought his good hand to his face, squeezing at the brutal scar on the right side of his face, stumbling into another group of people, shoving him away with complaints. Your hand! It's been ripped off! Jacob snarled with the phantom pains, as his mind screamed at himself, now grasping at his wrist instead, exclaiming in a silent, pathetic cry.
"The fuck is wrong with you, man? You high, or something?" One of Liam's patrons, lose cheap suit and garish shoes, grasped Jacob's shoulder, more worried than frustrated, contradicting his use of words. No, so close to the exit... Safety! Air! Jacob swirled, pushing the short man's hand away from his shoulder, exclaiming in a growl, more than enough to scare the man away from him, before Jacob stormed at the stairway.

Jacob stumbled through the doorway, catching the bottom step as he looked back at the roaring fire behind him, gasping and panting for his breath. He stumbled on the first step of the stairs, crashing over forward, but in a frantic panic was quick to crawl a few of the steps. Getting back to his feet he started sprinting the stairs, rushing towards the much-needed air! Still, his head was spinning, imagining shadows following him. Dogging his every step, only a few behind, his opposition closed in on him. Like a scared prey, on the run from its predator, he skipped every other step, his heavy footsteps noisily carrying him up to the balcony.

Shoulder slamming through the door, just barely having the capacity to pull down the handle, avoiding breaking the hinges off from the door, it crashed open with a loud crack. Storming out onto the balcony, Jacob brought both of his hands to the sides of his head, turning around as he continued to hyperventilate, every other breath coming hacking as near coughs. He groaned in pain, feeling like his head was about to expell his brain through his ears, he observed the way he'd come from.
No one followed him... He realized just in time that he'd been backing up the entire time, slowing himself down into a gentle bump against the railing. He quickly spun around, hands grabbing tightly at the railing, as he looked over the city, breath still labored and desperate. His fingers tightened harder, as he closed his eyes, neck twitching as he cried out in discomfort once more, trying his best to calm his breathing.

In all of it, he'd missed the silent creaking from the railing, as his prosthetic hand crunched its way into the weak, thin, hollowed metal, before a low whirling came from the pumps, and it expelled its steam. Finally, he started controlling his breath again, taking a few deep, sweet gulps, as he opened his eyes again, looking over the evening sky. A few stars managed to peak out this night, through the heavy fog of smoke and pollution. Considering the disgusting place he was in, the evening was a rather beautiful one. There was a faint hint of the moon from behind a cloud, mixed with factory smoke, white sparkles dotting everywhere pollution didn't taint.

Feeling himself starting to calm, he reached for his cigarettes. Doing so, his body jerked slightly, as his left arm refused to obey its command. Rather, he soon realized, it was his hand that did not cooperate. His blue eyes turned down to the prosthetic, a low sneer escaping him as he tried to jump backwards a few times, coat trembling as he kept being pulled back to the railing, hand not relenting from the iron grip on the railing.
"Orh, come on, you cheap piece of crap..." He growled, slamming the hand with a fist, yanking at it a few more times, before realizing the steam was all but entirely extinguished. Sighing, his fingers undid the clamp holding the safety shoot closed, opening it up. The little door around his wrist, was usually bolted shut, but Jacob had realized early, that he needed to do repairs on the cheap piece of equipment way too often, to have to rely on having a wrench on hand. He'd replaced it with a clamp, allowing him to always gain access to the small valve he now turned, opening a small compartment, revealing an air button inside. he pumped it a few times, getting the wheels inside the Steam prosthetic going again, starting to heat up it's tiny, effective furnace, in order to build up steam.

Jacob sighed softly, as he closed it shut again, itching his face with his palm, looking back at the sky.
"I'm such a fucking mess..." He muttered to himself, before reaching for those damned cigarettes again. Having to work with one hand, he opened the package with a finger, observing its contents. One normal left, and two packed with a grassy mixture, that helped calm him down. He did not know exactly what it was, nor did he really care. He was lucky enough, that one of his grunts had directed him to a source in New York, who'd sell it to him cheap. Weed had helped them in the war, and now it helped calm his heart, whenever he had panic attacks.
Just two left. One, and he'd have to get in contact again... Wasn't much point though. He didn't have anything to buy new stuff with.

Grumbling silently, he picked one of the home-rolled cigarettes up with his lips, packing the cigarettes away, replacing them with a lighter. About to light the cigarette, a voice crept up behind him. Gasping, almost in a hiss, Jacob twirled half way around, lips parting slightly. This caused the cigarette to drop, and he clumsily tried to catch it with his hand, while holding on to the lighter.
"Fuck, fuck fuck..." He complained, as the cigarette continued to bounce in his hand, getting further and further over the edge, before he was practically dangling over the railing, reaching for the falling saint. And such, there was only one left, with the good stuff...
"Ouh... Fuck." He mumbled to himself, lowering his head, just hanging off of the edge for a moment, before raising himself back up, leaning against the railing again with both hands. He looked over his shoulder, but not directly at the woman who'd spoken, only his right eye, and a bit of his scar, reaching up and cutting off just an inch of his hairline, visible above the tall collar.
"Sorry, Miss. A bit jumpy, these days." He apologized kindly, as a little voice in his head started ringing bells... The woman's voice had been familiar, hadn't it?

"Sure." He agreed, picking out his back again, opening up the lid as he turned halfway around, still rooted to the railing by his prosthetic. He reached out his arm, looking to Molly with a faint, welcoming smile, trying his best just to show the good side of his face, and hide the bad, mostly succeeding. "Take the filtered one. The roll has medicine in i... In it." He hesitated in his words, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked over the woman. Her face seemed familiar as well. Very. Familiar. But different. Older. Grown-up.
After a few moments of staring, he realized that he was, taking his eyes away from her, looking down by his side, hiding entirely behind his collar once more, snickering a single time.
"Pardon my staring, Miss. You just. Look very familiar. But... I'm sure you get that line a lot? Boys are so 'not very creative' when talking to..." He was about to say a line, he'd said many times before, back when his vocabulary was still struggling, talking with a very specific person, hiding out in one of the old, worn out buildings on the outskirts. Talking about everything, and nothing, but most specifically the fancy men, who her parents had so often tossed at her, who all said the same thing. He used to say that in return, with a childish smile across his face, all the while planning what he'd say, to make himself... Different. Better. Creative. Attractive, to this young girl, who rightfully had no reason to have an interest in him, too childishly naive to realize at the time, that she wouldn't be spending time with him in abandoned buildings, if she wasn't already interested...

"Girls..." He finished his sentence, turning his face back towards Molly, eyes widening slightly, full of realization, turning to show the entirety of his face. "Moe?" He questioned, his jaw slacking, as he looked over the first and only love of his life. The only person, who he'd ever really connected with, any further than creature comforts. He had been the bed-warmer of many women on his years of service, but none of them had touched him like she had. Molly, fucking Fairbairn... The classy girl, who fell for a Street Urchin. Who fell for him. And for whom he fell so desperately in love himself.
Jacob stood dumbfounded, for as long as it would take for Molly to react, taking no risks. Perhaps he was wrong? Surely he was. Then again, Liam had said she was doing well, and he was doing quite well himself. Why wouldn't she attend his party? Then again, he'd also said they didn't chat that often, these days. He wanted to be sure. Sure, if she was right in this assumption before he went on. Being entirely honest with himself, he wasn't sure if he was happy, or downright terrified to see her. For her to see him.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

As Molly approached the man by the rail, she could hear him muttering softly under his breath. With her own fear subsiding, even in the dim light from the party below she was beginning to see the guy was definitely not all right. Her mind suddenly went to her stepbrother, locked in the asylum outside of Saratoga after he'd left his marbles in the trenches of Europe. Poor Bobby...her folks had tried to help him reintegrate to society after he'd come home, but it only took the slam of a door or the sound of a dieselcab outside to send him right back to the battlefield and cowering behind Mrs. Fairbairn's davenport, using the fireplace poker as a bayonet to fight off bewildered party guests he'd mistaken for Huns. Luckily the man before her didn't seem quite that far gone, but as she watched him fumble first with his cigarettes, then with the mechanical arm that appeared to be locked onto the railing.

"No no, my apologies," the woman said quickly, feeling a built guilty for having scared the poor chap. "I didn't mean to startle you. And if you've only got one left, I'd hate to be a bother..." She did note a faint, familiar odor coming from the hand-rolled one though. Sam smoked those too--dámà, he called them--usually after a particularly unpleasant phone call to Mr. Liu. Molly herself didn't care for them, preferring a cigarette to help clear her mind rather than dull it. Still, she reached one hand for the filtered one, pausing only to get a better look at the man's face before taking it. It wasn't easy; the guy kept part of his face turned away, and when she saw the edge of a scar near his hairline, she had a sneaky suspicion why.

What a shame Molly thought, plucking out the cigarette and raising it to her painted lips. He's a good-lookin' fella, wonder how bad the other side's messed up?

"You ah, got a light there, soldier?" she asked with a small smile. Scar or no, the woman decided his face was just fine when compared to that of the cop downstairs, or even Liam with his smug mug. But the way he was watching her was oddly familiar, and a strange storm of emotions began to brew in her heart. Silhouetted against the night sky, she realized the man's profile was strikingly familiar. Molly seemed to remember seeing it framed in candlelight, laying on a lumpy madness in a chilly room, and a blush rose to her cheeks. Dear God, had she really gotten to the point where she'd fucked so many men, she was starting to forget them? Was this just another brief dalliance come back to haunt her at the most inopportune time? Then again, she definitely would have remembered a man with a scar like that, not to mention a mechanical arm.

"We might have met before," Molly said slowly, taking a slow drag on the cigarette. "Do you ever go to the Hat Box? I'm there most nights." But no, he didn't seem like any of the normal patrons of the Box. For one, the fella looked like he had maybe five bucks to his name, and no man got past the door unless he was willing to drop at least ten times that on the cover. Maybe he'd bounced for her at one point? Or been in one of the bands? With an arm like that he could have also probably been a hell of a bartender, but before Jinx and Louis had come on board three years ago, there had only been one bartender, Handsome Joe Malone, and before him the Donnelly girl, and every single one of them had been less than 100% organic (at least until that unfortunate incident with the garbage truck).

Then one single syllable quieted the whirlpool of ideas, like a key fitting perfectly into a lock and aligning all the tumblers. Moe.

Her lips parted, and the cigarette nearly dropped out. "What did you say?" Molly whispered, suddenly taking a closer step to the man. "Did you call me Moe?"

She could count on one hand the number of people that had addressed her by that name. Acquaintances and patrons of the club always called her Miss Fairbairn, and her respectable friends (or at least, as respectable as Vera Stephenson) knew her simply as Molly. But The Gang...that group of feral children she had watched as kid, like an anthropologist observing a savage tribe until they had finally accepted her as one of her own...they had always called her Moe. With the exception of Liam though, they were all long gone. Some in jail, some dead in the streets, and at least one...

One had gone to war.

Molly's heart began to race. It couldn't be Jacob. He was dead...or so she had assumed. First the letters stopped, then Liam stopped mentioning him in his meetings with her. She thought it was becuase the Irishman had heard the news, and couldn't bear to tell her. Or maybe he though she didn't care any longer. After all, she hadn't exactly been loyal to her first love. But the more she thought on it, she realized no one had ever said for sure that Jacob had met his end in the war. Rather, he'd merely been forgotten, a part of her past she'd needed to burn to the ground in order to move on to her sparkling future.

But she couldn't forget the way those eyes had looked at her, from the very first day they'd met. She never knew why she had followed the boy after she'd seen him taking the piece of machinery off of the family's steam carriage, rather than warning her father (and boy had he fumed when he'd gotten the repair bill the next day). Molly liked to think it was because she had just finished reading Oliver Twist, and the boy reminded her of the Artful Dodger, and she was sure what ever he was up to would result in a grand adventure for herself. So she'd stalked the lad back to his dingy little lair, where he'd looked at her with that same air of surprise that the man now turned towards the woman.

"Jacob?" Molly ventured finally, forcing the memory to the back of her mind. "Are you Jacob?"

This was what Murphy meant when mentioned familiar faces, she realized. Her heart-shaped face darkened, and suddenly she gripped at the railing almost hard enough to break it. "Liam you son of a bitch..." she growled beneath her breath, taking another long drag of the smoke. He knew. He knew Jacob was alive this whole time, and he'd never said a goddamned word to her. I'll never buy from him again, the lying, potato-eating, snake-tongued bastard she fumed. What the fuck else has he been hiding?

By the time the cigarette was a butt, the woman realized she must have looked downright terrifying, and when she turned to look back at the man she tried to wipe away the rage with a sheepish smile. "Liam never told me you were back. Never told me anything, really. When your letters stopped, I thought you were..." Molly couldn't bring herself to finish. Instead, she flicked the cigarette butt over the edge of the roof, and laughed nervously. "It's good to see you though, Jacob. It looks like you've had...well, quite a time." Reaching over, she laid one hand on his mechanical one, remembering how its predecessor had felt when it caressed her face, or rested on her hip, or cupped her breast.

The blush on her cheek darkened. At least she hadn't forgotten him after all, and the mistake could easily be chalked up to his...enhancements, for lack of a better term. Suddenly, a new idea occurred to her. "You never came to find me," Molly stated, not exactly accusingly, but with a hint of sharpness in her voice. "Did Liam tell you I died or something?" Maybe he knows about you and Sam. Or you and everyone her conscience needled. The woman quickly turned away from him before he could see the guilt in her blue eyes. "Liam and his jokes..." she murmured, staring out into the darkness.

 

[GrinningGentleman]

The woman was quite polite. Especially for a woman like her. She seemed to him a fancy lass, with her shit together. The kind of person, a snap judgement would put her in the snobby category. She sure had reasons to. Beautiful. Clearly not lacking money. Possibly had a wealthy husband, in a good position. Or was one of the female entrepreneurs, luckily popping up around the world. The human mind was quick to judge, and Jacob was no saint in that manner. He treated her just the same, still, and was happily surprised to find her a kind person.
"Nah, it's fine. Probably heading out pretty soon, I'll get a new package." A blatant lie. Buying a pack of cigarettes at this time, would mean he'd go hungry for a while, and he needed his strength. Luckily, Jacob was quite a competent liar, for how generous and formal he acted. "Probably heading out for the same reason, pretty soon. This whole Party? Probably a bit too much for my scatterbrain." He suggested with a soft chuckle, looking down and hiding behind his collar, this time shrouding the shame across his expression.

He extended his arm, holding his lighter to flick on the light, the gentle wind of the air around them not enough to brush out the flame if she helped it along with a hand. She clearly knew that he was a Vet, by what she called him. He hadn't been wearing his glove, and she'd probably noticed the scar, so it wouldn't really be a hard conclusion to come by. It was always nice to meet the people, appreciating the work they'd been doing. The sacrifices they'd made. Of course, none of the people he'd served with, did it for the recognition. But. It made it just a bit more worth it. A very slight bit...

He decided to forego his own cigarette, right around the time she started suggesting they'd met at something called 'The Hat Box'. It didn't exactly ring a bell. Had to be some new, fancy joint. If it was a place this woman attended, he was fairly sure that wasn't the case. And sure as death, the memory started returning. It was Molly. It had to be. No face had ever made his heart skip in that manner before. With that gentle glow from the moonlight, desperately breaking through the skies, to provide her with that perfect spot-light, she was practically angelic. Beautiful, she was, no doubt, with only a few lines suggesting her growth since he'd last seen her, as well as the cut hair. It was Molly...

He nodded a few times, as she questioned him about the name. That is what they'd used to call her. Molly Fairbairn. At first, it was only really Jacob and Liam, who knew of Molly's origins. They'd taken to calling her Moe, as she started running with their little Gang of degenerates. Liam, with his snaky tongue, always able to get them out of most trouble with other Gutter-runners. Jake, the brawn, doing most of the fighting, when it was required, earning himself an early end at the hands of Wrenchers, over a dumb dispute, many years back. Sally, the sprinter, who scouted out most of their targets, whenever they went for big quarries, and served a distraction when necessary. She'd gone off to war with him. Never came back.
And then, there was Jacob. The oldest of the street Urchins, and definitely considered the smartest by the others. Always able to fix, anything they broke. Always able to see a solution, to a problem. Making little devices out of scrap, that went beyond expectations, giving their meager lives, tiny little hints of luxury, providing the most simple of necessities, like warmth.
There were others, but no one around. Now, they were just two. All grown up. One, a shady businessman, the other a broken Vet. It seemed, they never truly got out of the rut.

As realization dawned at her, and she mentioned his name, a beaming smile spread across his lips, nodding a single time, with a soft chuckle.
"Yeah. Well. What's left of me, I guess." He suggested, glancing for a second down at his hand, a solemn shake of his head at that note. All melancholy disappeared, however, when his eyes returned to Molly. Even as her face distorted in furious rage, it warmed his soul to stand beside her again. He raised a brow slightly, as he cursed the name of Liam Murphy.
"Hmh. Probably is, yeah. What did Liam do now?" He questioned while suggesting that he probably was the son of a bitch. They all knew that Jacob's parents had died shortly after his birth, earning him a place in the gutters, but none of them really knew what happened to Liams, not even himself. It wasn't something he was sore about like Jacob was a bit protective of his parents name. Even though he didn't even know them. He'd just always had this cute dream, that they would've been amazing parents, if not for the sickness that took them.

Jacob smiled solemnly as she mentioned the letters stopping, looking down at the city bellow them, just as he caught the movement of her hand at the corner of his eyes. He looked down, seeing her's laid over his, and the same warm feeling that might've sparked from her touch, ran through his mind, even though the touch only grazed the replica part of him. His lips curved the warmest of smiles, memories of her hand in his, as they walked through the parks, talking about nothing in particular, mainly just giving each other reasons to look into each other's eyes. Of her hand grazing his naked chest, as her cheek used his shoulder as a pillow, just silently falling asleep with each other for warmth, in the back of a stolen car with foggy windows.

His eyes returned up to her face, his lips warm with the emotions of relief and calm joy.
"It's good to see you too, Molly. You look good. It is relieving to see, that at least that hasn't changed around here." He complimented with a caring smile, as he looked back down at the city, a light tick to his neck. "For... A minute there, so did I. Think I was. Gone, that is." He admitted, looking down to his mechanical hand, nodding towards it with a soft sigh. "That. Right before my letters stopped? Kinda put the fright in me. It made me realize, how truly non-immortal I was. I stopped writing because I just started thinking every day would be my last..." He admitted, frowning slightly as he shook his head, looking back up to Molly's face. He had never felt a higher level of regret than he did at that moment. "I'm sorry, Moe. I should've told you why I stopped. I just started having stupid excuses for everything, and I never got to it. And, after a few years? I just hoped you thought I was dead and had gotten on with your life." His frown folded back into a weak smile, as he nodded a single time. "Luckily, from what I hear, you've done quite well for yourself." It was a whiff of relief, when Liam told him. The biggest fear, other then that of his life, had been that Molly got stuck on him, like a grieving housewife. She wasn't. They were just young lovers, and she'd had plenty of life to live. He hadn't wanted her to wither away on lost love.

He smiled weakly as she mentioned that he hadn't come to find her. He hadn't come to find anyone. It'd purely been luck on Liams part, that he'd caught up on him. Jacobs part as well, he figured. It was probably good for him. He laughed slightly as she suggested Liam had been pulling a joke on them, shaking his head a few times as he fumbled with his lighter.
"Nah, Liam's an asshole, but his a good friend." He defended his friend, smiling as he looked back over the streets bellow them, shaking his head a few times. "I just reconnected with Liam... Three days ago? I.. Haven't really been looking for any of you, since I got back, a little less than a month ago." He admitted, resting his other hand on the railing as well, lowering his head again. He took a moment before continuing, suggesting how hard it was for him to go on, good hand fumbling a bit more with his lighter.

"As you probably noticed, I am... Not exactly all there." He started, looking up to her. "And, not just talking about body-parts..." He added, laughing slightly as he wiggled his arm, left hand still stuck to the railing. "I... Didn't know how any of you were doing. How you'd gone on with your lives. But. No one needs a charity case as a clutch." He chuckled lightly through the nose, a shameful smile on his lips. "It was dumb luck, I ran into Liam a short while back, returning from my latest trip at the pharmacy. I... Couldn't exactly get myself to turn back then, realizing some socializing might be good for me." He admitted, laughing slightly as he looked back up. "I asked about you. He told me you were doing well. Seem to remember him referring to a particular asset of yours never looking better, but I'll refrain from using the same colorful language as that Irish prick." He laughed slightly, his mood turning a little warmer. "I told him i wanted to reconnect with you. Eventually. Just. Guess I needed to build up the courage." He admitted, smiling as he tapped his fingers at the railing. "I am also guessing, Liam didn't quite have the patience to wait for my confidence to rise, inviting us both to this Celebration... Asswhole." He chuckled, clearly not really blaming him for it. Or, angry about it. It got him to do something, he honestly wasn't sure he would've ever build up the courage for himself.

"So. Molly Fairbairn. 'Doing good', very obviously wasn't a lie... Your degree help you out in this city of Diesel and smog?" He asked, turning towards her, trying his hand again, sighing softly as it remained stuck, disallowing him from turning properly towards her. Probably for the best. Allowed him to continue to hide the scar, as best he could. She'd probably seen it by now, but he didn't have to tarnish her memory of him with it, more than necessary.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Don't worry about the letters, Jacob. It's not important now," Molly said, not turning to look at him. How could she? "After all, I stopped writing too. I...got busy." Not a complete lie. When she'd been away at school of course, she had longed for his letters, and hoarded them under her pillow as though they were printed on hundred-dollar bills. But after that last visit of his...and the matter up in Vermont...there was no way she could keep writing him as though nothing had happened. Then she took over the shop, which evolved into the Box, and while she had never truly forgotten him, there was no doubt she had tried her damnedest to lock him away in her most private of memories.

It was almost an inconvenience for him to appear before her now. Lost loves were the last thing she needed to be thinking about, with the rising costs and growing threats to the club (and not to mention Frank Wilcox downstairs). But whenever she dared a glance at him from the corner of her eye, it was like she saw two different Jacobs superimposed on top of one another: that shy, sweet, clever boy she had known as a girl, and the strange amalgamation of ghost and automaton that stood before her now. Molly had often wondered what might have been his fate if he'd come from better circumstances. He was smart enough for any college and should have been building the war machines, instead of becoming one.

Finally, Molly turned to face him straight on, wishing she had another drink or cigarette to calm her nerves. "Looks like the war did quite a number on you, huh? What happened?" she asked, turning around and hoisting herself up to sit on the railing. It was a bit precarious of a position, and a force of habit. When she was a girl she was always walking along narrow railings and sitting on roof edges. After all, if she slipped she had no doubt in her mind Jacob would catch her. But now, with his hand stuck to the railing? Well, she was a risk-taker.

"Not to sound unwelcoming, but if you didn't come back purposely looking for Liam or m...anyone else," she quickly corrected, blushing at the idea he would have returned for her sake. "Why did you come back? I would have thought you might have settled down in Paris, or London. Someplace glamorous like that. What, were they not smoky and dirty enough for you?" she teased. "Not enough rats?" Molly's forced laughs slowly died down into a sigh. She had dreamed for years of visiting the continent, but with the war on it was practically a suicide mission. And now she didn't dare leave the club unattended, unless she wanted to come back to find the Box totally dominated by the mob.

"As for the degree...yeah, it worked out all right. Remember that club I mentioned? The Hat Box?" Molly's voice grew a little strong at the mention of her pride and joy. "You are looking at owner and manager. See, after I failed the old M-R-S degree in college, I asked my old man for the money he'd been saving for my wedding. Of course he said no, but I agreed to get him to lend me the ten thousand dollars so I could purchase a business and try my hand at running things. Bought a hat shop over on 48th Street...and damn near ran it into the ground. Selling hats is a lot more challenging than you'd think," she laughed warmly. "But thank god for prohibition. There was a good-sized manufacturing area in the back of the store, and with the help of some good designers I turned it into a club and started selling hooch on the sly. Paid off the debt to Da in six months, and been turning a profit ever since."

Of course, it was hard to tell if those profits would continue with the rising costs of liquor and the growing brazenness of guys like Frank, but she hardly needed to put those kinds of problems on Jacob's lap. "You should drop in for a visit sometime. I'll tell my girls to put you on the list when I stop in on my way home tonight. Come by any time, I'll make sure you drink for free," she insisted, then frowned a little. "Although if Liam keeps fucking me over I don't know if I'll be able to offer you more than a glass of champagne and a few cocktails. Oh! But we've got some great entertainment coming up. Do you dance much these days?"

Her eyes fell again on his mechanical arm, wondering if it would impair his movements at all. It was at that moment she realized he was still gripping the rail almost impossibly tight, and despite noticed other subtle shifts in his posture, it was still stuck fast. "Is that thing...working okay?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

[GrinningGentleman]

Jacob smiled faintly, being told he shouldn't worry about the letters, but there was still a hint of. Regret, to his features. Had he known he'd live the war, he would've kept writing. Kept telling her, that he was alright. If not for his anxiety, he might've announced his return. Announced the fact that he was coming back. Been happy to embrace old friends, and be embraced the same.
It is not really a wonder, an explosive shell that close to the face, will knock all ideas of that out of your head. Still, it tortured him. Still, he couldn't help but wonder. How different would it've been, if he had kept in contact? Would she have been one of the girls, waving them in at the docks?
No. Going silent was for the best. She'd had a life, for the past ten years. If he'd stayed in contact, he would've only been a worry on her shoulders.

He couldn't help a bitter chuckle, as she mentioned the war had done him in good, nodding his head a few times. He took a moment, observing her dangling on the ledge, eyes twitching slightly. She'd always had a thing for ledges. It almost made him wonder if she did it, purely because she knew she could. Because she knew that he was always ready, should she fall? That brought up a question to his mind, he wasn't sure he wanted answered. Who'd been the one she could count on, those past ten years?
"Well. It was war. Did a lot of shit, to a lot of people, for the profit of some." He mentioned, snorting a little bitterly at the last part, nodding down towards his hand. "This, specifically though? Yeah, don't think I mentioned it. My Company took a shell in the initial Bombardments, in Verdun." He explained, eyes narrowing a bit, as he swallowed. "I was.. Lucky, though." It felt strange to say, having lost a hand, half his face and torso from the shell. But his body had been covered in more than just his own blood, after that blast...
Jacob's neck twitched slightly, shaking his head a single time in the aftermath, visibly shivering. From the shrug on his shoulder, and the following silence, it was clear he didn't particularly want to keep thinking about it. Keep remembering. He had plenty of battle scars to tell about. But that wasn't the worst damage the war had done to him, and he really didn't need all of those images to resurface right now.

Jacob followed along her forced laughs, snickering softly as he shook his head a few times. He didn't have to think long about the question, though. She'd misunderstood. Understandably, considering she was just reacting to exactly what he said. He wasn't entirely truthful, though.
"I did consider it. And... I helped with the relief efforts in France for a few months. But..." He paused for a moment, leaning against the railing, stretching his neck a bit, sighing. "I.. It didn't come out right, I realize that. I came back... For familiarity. For old faces. I did come back for Liam." He admitted, looking back up to her with a warm, genuine smile. "I did come back for you." He added, more prominently, turning his face away again, giving the scared part of his face to the shadows. "I. I just. I didn't know what to do with it, when I came back. I guess I realized when looking in the mirror... There was nothing familiar about me. So maybe there'd be nothing familiar with anyone else?" He suggested glumly, looking back down at the streets, shaking his head a single time. "A horrible way to think. A lot of my thoughts are, lately. Hence why I go to the pharmacy every week now." He chuckled lightly with his own plight, trying not to sound like a sob story, and failing miserably. "Eerh, I don't know. I was dumb, no doubt about that." He admitted, standing back as straight as his stuck hand would allow, looking to Molly with a warm smile. "While I'm sure you've seen a lot since I last saw you, and changed in many ways, Molly Fairbairn... There is still something pleasantly familiar, about your face. And I am glad that I got to see that again." He sighed softly, looking into her eyes with a well of emotions on his face, as they looked at each other in that gentle glow of the moon. He finally turned his face away, once again hiding that most unfamiliar part of his face, trying to make his head small within the safety of his tall collar.

He looked to her with a half face, still doing his best to hide those scars, as she explained her position. He grew a pleasant, warm smile, as many of his worries were put to rest. She had a life, for those ten years. She'd grown into her own woman, apart from the pockets of her parents. Owning a business, and adapting to the market, she seemed quite well set. He always knew there was a good head behind that pretty face of hers. That she was different than the other Ladies from her kind of upbringing. For one, there was the risk-taking part of her. Going out with street urchins, almost getting into trouble with the law together with them. That, already, set her pretty far apart. But her strong personality, along with her capacity for kindness, made her such a rare gem, to a pauper.

A chuckle escaped his nose again, as she suggested that he drop by the Box, looking to her with a small smirk, eyes looking down her dress with a raised brow. His eyes then looked down his own, ragged trench coat, causing him to laugh slightly. The laugh slowly grow more prominent, and boisterous, face growing into a cheerful smile, which almost looked strange across such scarred features.
"Sorry. Sorry, I just realized... Ten years? Ten years, prohibition and a war... And Liam is still fucking you over, you're still in a fancy dress, while I am still wearing old rags." He laughed slightly again, shaking his head as he looked back to her. "Some things never change, do they?" He joked, laughing one more time, before shaking his head a few times, tugging his free hand into his pocket again. He remembered many a time, when Liam had played pranks on the 'Fancy Lady' as he'd liked to call her a few times. It was mostly out of fun, Molly fairly quickly proving, that she was cool enough to hang with, and most of the teasing stopped, and turned to friendly rivalries and games instead.
"Thank you for the offer though, Moe." He finally thanked, nodding a few times, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Might have to wait, till I can afford something decent to wear... Not sure how your guests would react to the local bum showing up?" He suggested, smirking slightly. "And I still dance. Don't use my left hand much, but I dance. When you're at war, the few times you have a chance to celebrate, you tend to make the best of it. And, on a five-day binge, you'd do your fair share of dancing..." He admitted, laughing slightly. Jacob had always been rather shy, and inward, but music did tend to get the best out of him. He still remember fixing an old, busted radio, spreading music around the abandoned house his gang had once called home. And, he remembered dancing with Molly to said music. He didn't dance to be fancy, however. Never took classes, or anything as such, just went with the music, and had fun with it, and if he made himself look ridiculas doing it, he owned it. "Just don't expect a 1-2-3 guy..." He reminded her with a smile, remembering having stumbled a few times, in his attempts at dancing, on the rare occasions there was something to celebrate in the old Rats Den.

He turned to his arm as she did, sighing softly as he reached for his sleeve, lifting it up to reveal the still open panel, watching as its miniature furnace continued to build up steam, little cogs trying to get it booted up properly.
"Its... Mostly fine. It doesn't handle high pressure very well though." He suggested, tilting his head as he looked at the bent railing. "I. Tried to improve it, for a while, but... I just..." He sighed softly, pulling down the sleeve to hide his problems once again, shaking his head. "Become good at breaking stuff, I guess you forget how to... Fix things." He suggested, a somewhat glum tone to his voice, as he looked away. It was a heavy understatement. Building things, had been his passion. Fixing broken things, building new with spare parts... He'd loved it, and was proud of his work. Ever since he came home, he hadn't fixed a single thing. Even if his left hand was as deft as it used to be, he still had this growing anxiety, whenever he did. Like what he touched, was liable to burst into flames.

Jacob shrugged it off, moving on to a different subject, looking up to Molly with a curious smile.
"So. A Club owner? Doing shady deals, with a slimy Irishman? How's the old Fairbairn family taking all of that?" He questioned, chuckling slightly. Jacob had never had any personal problems with her family, and didn't even know them from anything but Molly's stories.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

As Jacob told his story, Molly shivered a little, not just at the thought of his ordeals, but at a sudden chill wind that had picked up, whipping the beaded fringe of her dress against her knees and making her wish she had brought her wrap up here with her (for now she would just have to pray that it, and her purse, were still at the table she'd left them on downstairs). At first she thought it might have been a rising storm, but a rising roar and a wide white beam suddenly revealed the commotion as an airship passing overhead, no doubt headed for the Battery Park Airstation. The light passed from one rooftop to the other, and for a moment when it was directly over their heads, it completely illuminated her companion's face.

Or what was left of it.

Despite her best attempt, Molly couldn't help but let out a little gasp of surprise, nor could she keep fresh pity from her eyes. The steam-powered arm had been surprising enough, but considering his mechanical genius it wasn't the most unexpected development for one coming back from the battlefield. But it was hard to see the face she had known so well practically shattered, like some kind of a porcelain mask. One gloved hand reflexively reached for the cheek she had often caressed in better times, but by the time the airship had passed, it dropped with the returning darkness, and the woman hardened her expression. She had been around enough doughboys to know the last thing they wanted was pity, especially from girls like her. And however she might treat guys like Liam, or Sammy, or the male patrons of her club, Jacob was the one man in the world she did not want to hurt. Not more than she probably had already.

She forced another smile onto her face. "I'm just glad you made it back," she said finally, sliding down from the rail and moving a little closer to him. "Liam doesn't deserve you though. For that matter, neither do I." The smile faltered and her gaze shifted away. "But you always made this shithole of a city a little bit more pleasant, and if you don't have anything better to do with your time I'm happy you're here, rags and all." Her fingers brushed against his coat, as if to reassure her that they were real, he was here, but he wasn't the same person she had known ten years ago. "And hey, you always had a knack with machines. I'm sure you'll have it up and running again before long. And if you're looking for work, there's tons of shops in town now looking for skilled mechanics, for the dieselcabs and airships and whatnot. I hear it pays pretty well and I'm sure they'll give you all the nuts and bolts you could ever want. I can ask around for you, if you like?"

But his words and expression made it seem like that might not be the plan, and somehow that saddened her even more than seeing his scars. His brilliance had been the most fascinating thing about him, something that always raised him above the other urchins she had known in her youth. And it enraged her in a way that the politicians and warmongers had squandered such promise in their battlefields and trenches. Perhaps it wasn't too late though. He was here after all. A little R&R and he'd probably be right as rain...right?

"We shouldn't talk about work though," Molly said quickly, sensing a mutual discomfort with the subject. "Frankly, my job stopped being fun the moment I had to start paying not only for my drinks, but for every single drink in the place. And Liam is absolutely fucking me over, you should know. All this bullshit about Wrenchers...well, you can't squeeze blood from a stone, as Da always said." She had to let out a little laugh at that. "Oh the trials and tribulations of the Clan Fairbairn...and all of our own making. You know Da lost all almost his money three years into the war? Didn't believe in diesel. But I bet you didn't see any steam engines over there in Europe, did you?"

She sighed. "In the end, that little wager he made on my failure is the only thing that kept him and Martha out on the family farm in Connecticut. He was smart enough to make some decent investments in a few shipping companies, but the dividends are a pittance. I send them a fair amount of money every month, and Mr. Burgess--he's my lawyer now too, after working for Da all those years--passes it off as returns." Molly couldn't help but roll her eyes at the thought of her father's stubborn pride. If he ever knew his only income these days came from his black sheep of a daughter, he'd go back to Edinburgh before he ever showed his face in New York again. "After he dies though, I can't wait to tell Martha the truth. Can you imagine what she'll think, knowing her 'rebellious strumpet' of a stepdaughter is the reason she still has her stuff old house and hideous old silks?"

"As for Bobby and Anne--Martha's brats, remember them? Bobby threatened to beat the shit out of you that one time, and Anne used to make fun of me because I was so short and skinny?" she wrinkled her nose at the memory of her stepsiblings. There had never been love between the three of them, although these days Molly did feel an appropriate amount of pity for them.

"Well, he went off to war and came back...well, the doctor's call it shell-shock, but I think it's worse than that. He doesn't even know his own mother these days, and barely talks to anyone. Just stares at the wall most days, sometimes whispers nonsense to himself. Kind of makes me feel a little bad about some of those tricks we played on him as kids," Molly admitted. "As for Anne, she married Michael Hamilton, the son of Da's business partner, old money you know. But he got drafted too, and died at Ypres. Then it turned out most of his money was tied up in the Fairbairn Steam Engine Company--which was lost--and everything that wasn't went back to the Hamilton family. Turns out they didn't like Anne anymore than the rest of us did and had her written out of the will."

She couldn't hide the note of glee in her voice at that. "Anyways, she lives out at the farm now with Da and Martha and sort of looks after things. I'm pretty sure she knows about my club, but she also knows that if the folks find out about it, they'll stop taking the money, and she'll either have to beg me directly or live in poverty. She'll die before she does either." No use, the had to let out a wicked laugh at that idea. "But maybe he'll get lucky and marry the neighbor boy. Granted he's about fifty and his hearing's starting to go, but beggars can't be choosers, can they?"

Molly stretched her arms over her head as though she had just completed a herculean task. "And there you go, Jay. All caught up on ten years of history." Well, not all ten, but at least the ten she felt like sharing. It was going to require a lot more booze to get through some of the other details. She wondered if Frank was still prowling around downstairs, but after all of this the desire for a drink was making him seem a little less frightening. Besides that, a familiar song was beginning to waft up the stairwell.

"So what do you say about that dance, hm? Feel like keeping me company?" she turned back to face him and held out a hand. "Or are you gonna send me in there all by my lonesome?"

 

[GrinningGentleman]

Jacob paused everything, as the rising growl of a predator came over them. The tall, imposing man crumbled in a twitch, cowering at the roar from those Diesel Engines. Bending his back slightly, holding his free hand up against the flames of those bright lights, Jacob shielded himself from inevitably sounds that would follow. A piercing whistle, and the following boom. Precursors of destruction.
This is what he had seen from Airships for so long, breaking the involuntary reaction to cower, would probably take a long time. It had made him despise that particular step in innovation. In truth, he wasn't sure he'd ever shrug that feeling. The feeling of dread. Fear of losing someone again, in yet another air-raid. Any destructive thought, that grounded him, and reminded him just how paranoid the war had made him.

In his cowering, he'd turned his face away from the light, but revealing it more clearly to his companion, than before. Putting emphasis on it. A fact he was oblivious to, until the Airship had nearly passed, and his eyes noticed Molly's raising hand. His eyes moved to meet hers, his body hardening for a moment. He'd seen enough petty, as most scarred Veterans did, to get sick of it, but not enough to despise it yet. He didn't want it and didn't need it, but he knew where it came from. A heart that cared. A small, saying smile curved at the edge of his lips, before his face turned away, looking after the Airship. He was not going to tell her off from the involuntary reaction of pitty, but neither would he encourage it.

He looked back to her, smiling as she expressed her joy to have him back. He raised a brow slightly, as she suggested neither her, nor Liam, deserved him, chuckling a single time through his nose, shrugging lightly as he looked down to her hand, feeling the disturbance against his coat.
"Well. There. Might not be much of me left. And I might be in a sorry state. But if I can make this smog infested rats-den less of a toil? I like to imagine, that I might deserve you." He suggested an almost playful smile on his lips. "Not to mention, seeing your face has, without a doubt, been the best thing about surviving a war, and coming home? Think I'll stick around. Least for a while. Even if I have to live with the likes of you." He suggested, thick with sarcasm, as he gently nudged against Molly's side.

It was Jacob's turn to turn a forced smile, with Molly's offer. The edge of his lips twitched, as he placed his hand back on the railing, clutching it hard to keep it from shaking. He knew full well, it was shaking in that moment. He had not been able to focus on anything innovative, for several years now. No less things, not constructed to kill. Something he didn't want to make anymore, but... He wasn't sure he could think of anything but that, anymore.
"Thanks, Moe. I'll. Think about it." Was all he could offer, turning a weak smile down to her as his hand eased up a bit again. He didn't want to seem ungrateful, because he was. Grateful that she would put in an effort on his behalf. But he was afraid he wouldn't be able to commit to it. Wouldn't be able to live up to the tall tales, she'd undoubtfully tell. Disappoint the contact she pulled, possibly weakening her position in that relationship. He didn't want to be a burden.

He looked back to her with interest as she suggested they drop the talk of work, nodding a single time as he listened. It almost caught him frowning, as she mentioned a saying of her father's. 'Can't squeeze blood from a stone'. He would hate to learn, that the business world had turned her cold as a stone.
"Well. Can't squeeze warmth from a stone, either." He had to interject, a small smile on his lips. "You have to crack it against another stone, to get that. Damage it." He suggested, shrugging lightly at the symbolism of his words. "And living without warmth... That just ain't living. Coming from someone who grew up mostly without." He suggested, hoping she'd catch the symbolism, without taking offense. Of all the things she could take from her parents, he was hoping she wouldn't take the cold business view of the world. Were profit, trumped love.

"Mostly just the wreckage of it, yeah. Diesel took over a few years into it, yeah..." He agreed, as she mentioned steam engines. It was a hard hit for him as well, having always been fond of the hums and whistles of the Steam-engine. Not to mention, the lacking stench. Sure, burning charcoal wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was surely far better than that of fuel.
He frowned slightly, hearing the plight of her family. Sure, he'd always considered them pompus, and in some ways one of the issues of the modern world, but he was sure they weren't bad people. They'd grown up under different circumstances. Different understandings of the world. If he'd learned anything from seeing the world burn in war, it was that no one deserved that.

"I'm sure it'd be a shock for her to learn, that said 'Rebelious strumpet', ended up being the best daughter she could've dreamed of..." He added, a warm smile on his lips, as he looked to her. "Seriously, Moe. Not everyone would've done that." Many times had he listened to stories about how frustrating Mr and Mss Fairbairn were, and yet she'd taken it upon her, to care for them through difficult times.
As she continued a low huff came from Jacob's hand, as a gust of steam escaped it, suggesting the furnace was starting to rile up properly. He glanced at it shortly, as one of his fingers managed to pop free from the railing in an inhuman twitch. He didn't pay it much mind, as it continued it's silent whirling and whistling, more fingers starting to release themselves, as he listened on.

"He would certainly never forget the big, angry puff of gust, that was Bobby, and his sister the bratty Witch. Of everything about Molly's life he'd reserved opinions on, her siblings were creatures he didn't mind expressing his displeasure of. He'd tried his best not to offend her with his obvious dislike, but also made it clear he'd probably never get along with them, or want to attend anything with them present.
Hearing of their own plight, however, a frown expressed itself on his face, lowering his head slightly. He chuckled only lightly along with her glee at her step-siblings displeasure, shaking his head a few times.
"Careful now, Molly Fairbairn... I got a choice, didn't I?" He suggested playfully, reminding her he'd kinda been said beggar once. He tried to make it obvious in his tone, that he was not offended, and had probably played around with 'Beggar' as a playful tease between them before. He certainly wouldn't mind. She still stuck around, so clearly didn't either, and that's all that'd mattered to him.
"But. I can't help feeling for their plight. However ghastly they were. No one deserves the aftershock of war. I have a... Especially heavy empathy with Bobby. Having seen, and to some degree felt his pain, I relate. Hope he's getting the help he needs." He nodded a few times, a pout to his lips, a genuine tone to his voice. A small grin did build on his lips, however, looking down at her. "Maybe the neighbor 'boy' would be the lucky one, in that marriage then. Least he might not have to listen to Anne's barking for long?" He suggested, laughing with the same glee as she had. Sure, he could feel for their plight, but he still hated their guts...

Finally, as Molly stretched her arms, Jacob's hand yanked free from the railing, causing him to sigh lightly in relief, looking down to the showing cogs swirling as he flexed the mechanical device. He reached into a pocket, looking to her as she prepared herself to return. A hinge of dread build up at the back of his mind, at the idea of returning to the massacre of a party downstairs. His dark eyes moved down to the offered hand, as a smile crept onto his lips.
"I had... Considered leaving. Getting a new pack of cigarettes. But..." He paused, bringing out a thick cloth glove from his pocket, pouting slightly with a smirk. "Think I found some good reasons to stay... Besides. I'd be a fool to refuse such an offer. Not about to be the one man at a party, to refuse such an offer from Ms. Molly Fairbairn." He suggested with a chuckle, putting the glove over his mechanical hand, hiding the whirling cogs, before offering his arm formally, for her's to take. "Not to mention, I wouldn't send you off among Vultures on your own. That'd just be... Inhumane." He laughed a little more heartedly, placing his mechanical hand upon her arm, if she'd taken his. The glove took away most of the synthetic sensation from the fake hand, giving it a warm heaviness to it instead.

As they started towards the stairs, he looked down to Molly with a smile, and an almost charming glint to those eyes, even with the scar so close to one of them.
"I can't help but be curious, however... I don't feel quite satiated in your 'catching up'. Feel like I am missing details about one specific Fairbairn." He suggested, opening the door back to the stairway for them, leading the way. "The most. Intelligent. Definitely most fascinating. Kindest. And, without equal, most beautiful of the Fairbairn family." He continued his lavish complimenting, a playful smile across his lips, as he looked to the stairs, starting down them with her by his side if she'd follow. "I'd like to hear more about Molly Fairbairn. Eventually. I am no glutton, however. Not about to demand the full course, as part of the starter." He mused. He was in no hurry. He didn't intend to go anywhere, and he was hoping desperately, he'd have plenty of chances to catch up.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Hey, wait a minute," Molly said softly as he offered her his arm. "We don't need to go down there just yet. I can hear the music fine, can you?" she asked, lacing her fingers with his and placing one hand on his shoulder. In her heels she was only a little bit shorter than him, and her thin body easily fit against him as she began to sway in time with the song down below. Her eyes drifted shut slowly as she breathed in a scent that was both strange and familiar. The smell of metal and oil had never been so strong before, but the cigarettes gave a grounding note that reminded her of sitting in alleys with him, complaining about Martha and her stepsiblings and making plans to run away together. If only they'd been brave enough to step out of that alley and actually do it.

It wasn't their first dance, not by far. Despite her insistence to Liam when they were kids that she was no "lady," Molly had always been fond of music and dancing, and from the earliest opportunity had often bullied Jacob (who could be trusted to keep his mouth shut about the matter) into being her partner, despite the fact that in those days she always tended to lead rather than follow, and had a bad habit of clomping her feet like an overzealous workhorse. Even now she led him slightly, just because she knew he would let her. Not every guy was so accommodating. "Seems like those European girls must have been pretty good partners," she said finally, opening her eyes and smiling up at him. "But I bet you never snuck up to the roof of the Jupiter Theater with them to dance to the orchestra rehearsals." Raising their hands, she turned expertly underneath with a laugh. "I thought the house manager was going to kill us when we got caught..."

Despite the sweet storm of nostalgia that seemed to be swirling around them, Jacob's insistence that she speak more about herself was sending a dark, clarifying bolt of reality through the mist. Molly faltered a little as she pressed closer to him, even going so far to lay her cheek against his chest. "Oh what's there to talk about?" she sighed finally, a little annoyance creeping into her voice. "I live alone in the Village, and I try to run a business while staying ahead of people who'd rather see me running a household, or nothing at all. I've barely left New York, except to go see poor Bobby up in Saratoga or the folks out a the farm. At the end of the day, Jacob, I'm just as much about dollars and cents as Da ever was, only I deal in hooch and jazz instead of engines and motors. I'm just hoping it'll turn out better for me than it did for him."

The band was winding down beneath them, and Molly was just about to pull herself away from him when fresh footsteps suddenly thundered up the stairs. At first she thought it might have been Frankie, and she instinctively pressed against Jacob, wondering if he had a gun on him. But unless Frank Wilcox had seen one hell of a beautician on the way up, the red-haired, sequin-clad, heavily-painted face that appeared before them clearly belonged to a woman.

"There you are Molly!" Vera cried, cantering over with more than a little relief in her eyes. "Gosh, I was lookin' all over for you downstairs. Caught that ugly fella tryin' to rifle through your pocketbook," she added, pulling out Molly's clutch and shoving it into her friend's grasp. It was only at that moment she seemed to realize the blonde was not alone, and looked first with curiosity, then disgust, then embarrassment upon Jacob's scarred face. "Hullo there, sorry to interrupt. You are...?"

"Jacob, this is my friend, Vera Stephenson," Molly introduced quickly, stepping away from him and laying a heavy hand on Vera's shoulder. Very lightly she dug her sharp nails into the redhead's bare skin, warning her not to be rude. "Vera, this is my very old friend, Jacob, just back from the front." She tried to laugh off Vera's stare and gently shoved her away from the man. "You'll have to excuse her if she asks a lot of questions. Vera fancies herself quite the journalist, but don't you believe it. She just writes the society page for The World."

"Hey, every single person downstairs would kill to be in one of my stories," Vera sniffed, deciding that a scarred veteran wasn't worth looking into at the moment (though she did make a mental note to try and figure out what a high-class gal like Molly Fairbairn might be doing with a mug like that). "And speaking of which, I found my Prince! Prince Clemente of Ronchetto, that is. And guess what! He wants to come to your place on Saturday night, him and all his on-toor-aj. You gotta set it up, Moll!"

Molly's blue eyes glanced apologetically at Jacob while her hands began to rummage through her purse. After pulling out her cigarette case, she offered one first to Vera, then to the veteran. "Don't worry about the light," she winked at him, igniting the cigarettes with her own mother-of-pearl lighter before turning back to her friend. "How many guys are we talking?"

"At least a dozen, maybe more. And that's not including all the dumb doras that are going to come chasing after his very eligible ass. He's making the rounds right now, sounds like it should be a hell of a party!"

"Great," the club owner sighed, thinking grimly about how poorly she had negotiated with Liam earlier. "You definitely know how to get feet in the door, don't you, V?"

The redhead only grinned and linked arms with her, steering her back towards the stairs. "Come on, we got some planning to do. Oh, unless you and Mr...what was your last name?" Vera looked back at Jacob, feigning the slightest hint of interest in him. "Did you have other matters to discuss?"

Molly didn't dare look behind. In truth she would have loved to stay on that rooftop with him, dancing and reminiscing until the sun came up. But if he was going to keep asking questions...it couldn't continue. "Sorry Jacob," she murmured, loud enough for him to hear. "It's business. But come by the club anytime, and don't you mind the jacket. You're on the list." She flashed him one more smile as Vera urged her back down the stairs.

 

[GrinningGentleman]

A silent sigh of relief left Jacob's nose when she took his hand, rather than his arm. He chuckled lightly as she nestled against him, shaking his head a few times.
"If I am completely honest, I can't remember ever being so relieved, to've misunderstood someone..." He admitted, wrapping an arm around Molly's waist, folding his fingers with her's as they swayed into the gentle tunes. He definitely wasn't afraid to admit, that he had no real interest in going back downstairs, for any other reason than b-lining straight for the doors. This party had clearly been way too much for him, way too quickly. He hadn't had that heavy an attack since he got home, and had no intention to tempt fate.

This was a much more pleasant ordeal. He was almost a bit surprised, how natural it came to him, to follow her lead. He'd been more used to leading, when taking up arms on a dancefloor with the Ladies of Europe. His steps were sure, but elegant, surprising from someone without any real prior training. He followed along, only taking the lead for small, playful flourishes, handing it right back to her, as he knew she preferred. He had no preconception about his position as the male partner in a dance. Felt no urge, to take the lead from the partner, with the most experience. And, as always, the experience came up far more appealing for it.

Jacob looked down to meet her smile, snickering a single time with her compliment. He laughed lightly with the memory, brought up from a vault long lost under layers of dust, shaking his head a single time as he gazed into those eyes, following the casual little flourish, giving space for her to spin, only to slowly pull her back in, still with only enough distance for them to still look upon each other.
"Who knows, he probably would've. Lucky for us, his stumpy old legs worked about as well, as a Steam-Engine gone cold." He laughed slightly, before looking thoughtful, seemingly remembering something. "Or, wait... He wasn't actually all that old, was he? We were just kids, right?" He admitted, realizing the manager probably wasn't much older than his thirties. "Almost felt like the music was playing background music to the chase, from what I remember as well. Definitely one of my most entertaining chases."

Jacob's eyes narrowed a bit, almost regretting what he'd asked. Only almost, however. He'd been gone for more than ten years, of course he'd be curious. To learn that that entire time, was apparently a sore subject? Discouraging, surely. There was a lot to talk about, but apparently not much she wanted to. Not much they could, without souring the mood. The last thing he wanted, from this particular reunion.
Her annoyance almost felt venomous, and his lack of regret turned around. Like she'd been inconvenienced by his question. He did regret it now. Of all the people he'd met in his life, Molly Fairbairn was the last one he'd wanted to annoy. To be a thorn in the side of. Slowly, he realized, avoiding that might be impossible, if what she said was true.

He found it hard to believe. Or was it simply because he didn't want to believe it? There was no place for a man like him, in a person like Molly Fairbairn father's world. He was nothing more than a nuisance, in a world like that. It made him shrug, the emotionless frown he'd almost turned to, ticking into a careful smile.
"I don't know if I entirely believe that, Moe. If you were like your old man, why would you've wasted your time up here, with a broken old machine, such as myself? You sure ain't making Millions here..." He suggested, chuckling weakly. "But. I am sorry I asked. It's been ten years... And you know what mine've been spent on. I'll try to holster my curiosity. I don't..." He was about to finish when he heard the same footsteps as Molly, and he felt her press against him. Instinctively, Jacob straightened up, his broad chest ready to shield Molly from any dangers that might spring up from those stairs.

He was quick to calm back down, however, as a young woman sprang out of the light. He raised a brow slightly, hearing Vera speak about someone riling through Molly's things, looking down to his old friend for a moment, only to catch a very familiar look out of his peripherals. It made his eyes close, and his head turn away, hiding away his deformities once again. Those mixed emotions were the worst. The embarrassment of her own reaction. She wasn't the only one to find his looks vile these days, she would have nothing to apologize for. He just needed a reason to not be there right now...

He showed no interest in conversing with Vera either, even less when told she was a reporter. He gave a formal nod and smile, looking halfway at her.
"A pleasure, Ms. Stephenson." He was short and simple, before turning his gaze elsewhere once more. He had to fight back a scoff with Vera's suggestion about the attendees downstairs. "They're Liam's guests. I wouldn't doubt it." He mumbled slightly, chuckling to let off some of that scoffing steam, while being less inappropriate. With the little time he'd spent with Liam in his new element, he had no doubt that many of his guests, were full of themselves enough, that they'd murder for a column in a paper.

Half hiding his face behind his collar, his eyes narrowed slightly, a full frown starting to form on his lips. A fucking Prince, wanted to go to the Hat Box? It became painfully apparent then, just how far from Jacob's grasp, Molly Fairbairn had gotten. She had Princes, (granted, probably more by title, than actual status) coming to her Club? Any shot of seeing himself show up at the Hat Box, grew into a distant dream at that point. Hardly even a dream. A nightmare. Mingling with the likes of Princes? Liam's party had made jumping off the Balcony seem like a viable escape. Now, the Hat Box, didn't seem that appealing... The only light in all of that, was Molly, and he'd probably just end up making a fool of himself. Or annoy her.

Jacob didn't even see the apology on Molly's face, nor had he wanted it. She had nothing to excuse. This was her life now. But he wasn't going to turn away a free cigarette, taking it between two fingers, bending down slightly to accept her light. Jacob slowly started turning away, as they discussion continued, looking over the rooftops, as he exhaled a sip from the cigarette through his nose. He turned back towards the girls, as Vera addressed him by title of his gender, looking half towards her with a pouted smile, and a shrug.
"There was none." He admitted. He was no 'Prince Gentle Tan of Arabia'. No 'Mr. Rich Dude of Canterbury'. "It's just Jacob."

"Business is business... It was good to see you again, Ms. Fairbairn. A pleasant evening to you, Ladies." He farewelled with a weak smile in return, before turning his back on the whole thing, returning to the safety of the Balcony. In that moment, he realized that the stench of Diesel, was already more familiar to him, than his friends. He didn't mind, that she had other things to do. He wasn't angry at that fact. She had a job. A life. It was the fact that he'd annoyed her, with his questions. Questions, he'd felt were so... Innocent. But she reacted to them, like they were attacks on her. It suggested, that she wasn't proud of what she'd done. What she'd made for herself. Which was a completely ridiculous notion, for a man in Jacob's position. To him, it seemed she had so much to be proud of, yet when asked about it, she wanted it cut down like a lepper.

Jacob stayed on the Balcony, until his cigarette was nearly out. When it was, he took out his own, stuffed with that little extra kick, turning around the dying remainders of the old, to light the new, letting the calm, numbing sensation of the drug take his mind, and drift it away. But it never quite worked, to the extent that he wanted it to. And, for a short moment there, he found himself wishing he was back in the Trenches. He'd never felt this lost there...

 

[Shiva the Cat]

There was a sinking feeling in Molly's stomach as she left Jacob behind her. Even though she wasn't ready to tell him everything that had happened since he went away, she still wished she could have stayed on that rooftop, dancing and sharing cigarettes, pretending nothing had changed over the last ten years. As the two women descended back into the sparkling chaos down below, the conversation with her old flame almost felt like a dream, and if anything could bring her back to a frantic reality it was Vera's nonstop chatter.

"Now there's this fella named Pietro who hangs around Clemente, I think he's his brother? His cousin? Anyway he's even better looking than the Prince, and I think he's some kind of a Duke or something, but the guy is flat broke. I think a lot of those guys are--lost the family fortune in the war you know--but Clemente seems like a pretty big spender. Guess he made some good investments or something, I dunno."

Molly couldn't help but roll her eyes, but quickly covered the expression with a smile and a squeeze on her friend's arm. "Sounds like a real dream, V. Are you gonna try to slap a manacle on this one?"

Vera grinned back, but shrugged. "Who knows? Let's go see if we can find him. If I can get him up to my place for coffee, that'll help me decide if he's a real winner or just a one-trick pony, ya know? But speaking of manacles..." The reporter's eyes glanced around, and she pulled the blonde a little closer. "What was up with you and Frankenstein up there? I ain't ever seen you look at a fella like that, not even the kind with all their original parts. What's the story there?"

At the mention of Jacob, Molly stiffened and sharply pulled away from her. "I told you, he's an old friend, and he lost his arm in the war. Show some goddamned respect Vera, Jesus Christ."

"Whoa whoa whoa, take that kettle off the stove, Moll. I didn't mean nothing by it, just curious that's all. I mean, I don't think I've ever seen you smile like that before, and you can't blame me for wondering what kind of a fella can do that to the Fifth Avenue Cleopatra. He must be real special, huh?" Vera murmured, laying a gentle hand on Molly's chilly shoulder.

This time, her friend didn't shake it off, and there was a certain wistfulness in her sigh. "You have no idea," she murmured, then shook her head. "So, Cinderella, why don't you introduce me to this prince of yours, so your Fairy God-Molly can get started on making your dreams come true so you can be princess of Ravioli or wherever he's from?"

"Now you're talking! Come on doll, this is gonna be the cat's meow," the reporter squealed in delight, dragging Molly back into the roar of the party while making a mental note to find out more about the mysterious Jacob. The story of how a guy with no last name and a metal arm could be entwined with an infamous heiress-turned-scofflaw was sure to set the society pages on fire, and maybe even get her out of that vapid hell altogether if there was something juicier dwelling under the surface.

Vera's ideas were churning so rapidly she was unable to locate the missing Prince Clemente, and when the women finally learned he had already left Molly had had enough. Proposing they take their planning session back to the Hat Box, the reporter sadly agreed, but not before sidling up to their host and kissing him gently on the cheek and whispering a request for lunch later that week. After all, there was no way the guy on the roof would have been there without Liam Murphy's knowledge or approval, and if Molly wasn't going to talk, Vera would just have to try another angle.

Molly in the meantime was glaring daggers as she watched Vera say goodbye for the both of them. Everything that had annoyed her that night, from the jacked prices, to Frank Wilcox, to the bittersweet meeting with Jacob was 100% Liam's fault, at least in her mind. She would have to tell Big Frieda to put the fear of God in his people when she went to pick up the stuff later that week; not enough to cause real trouble of course, but enough to get the point across. There was no more patience left in her for Murphy's stupid jokes.

So it was that the pair departed around midnight, furs wrapped tightly around them as they piled into a dieselcab headed straight for the Box, still chattering about the party they had just left, and the one that would be coming in only one short week.

*****

The rest of the weekend passed rather uneventfully at the Hat Box. The band was middling but the new singer was a smash, and more than a few of the guests from Liam's party had followed the proprietress back to the club and stayed until closing time, filling her coffers but putting a dramatic dent in her liquor supply. Molly was still too pissed to go crawling back to Murphy to beg for more, but while there was no shortage of suppliers in the city, she had to bitterly admit there were none she could trust as much as Liam. While she toyed with the idea of talking to some of her fellow club-owners in the city, she was hard-pressed to think of any that wouldn't gladly see her place shut down entirely. It wasn't just the success of the Box that put a target on her back; she knew it was the fact that she was a woman, and still relatively young compared to some of the other guys running things. And the name Fairbairn hadn't been wholly beloved in the city, thanks to Da's drastic layoffs and slashed salaries towards the end of the steam dive into bankruptcy. No, if there was another club owner in New York that might have turned a sympathetic ear to her plight, she had no idea who they were.

That meant she had to widen the circle. Not just looking in speakeasies, but--and at this thought, Molly's hand clenched into a fist--the brothels too. There wasn't a pimp or madam in town that didn't have a fully stocked bar, and while some used the same suppliers as the slightly-less-illegal establishments, a good number had their own. Molly had no doubt going to them was going to cost her a pretty penny, but if she could get good shit and get it in time for Saturday night, she didn't care. And if she chose her contact carefully, it might even be chance to bury one particular hatchet.

As a rule, Molly didn't care for madams, but she had a notable distate for one Mademoiselle Le'Fleur and the girls at her Nook. It wasn't only the brothel's proximity to her own club, which could draw away business on already-slow night, nor was it the generally low-class women Le'Fleur kept on hand in cheap parody of Molly's own high-class, low-moral female patrons. The trouble all started nearly a year ago, when a group of strange men, dressed well and each one willing to pay the twenty-dollar cover reserved for non-VIP guests, invaded the Box on a Friday night and caused absolute chaos. Even though the six or so fellas barely ordered two drinks between them, they still managed to break a few chairs, give poor Louis a black eye, and molest several of the female guests, even going so far as to tear the dress off of one girl before Big Frieda intervened and broke a baseball bat over the offender's head. The ruckus was so bad that no woman stepped through the door in more than a week, and what men showed up left after one drink, muttering about the decline in clientele into their watered-down whiskies. It was only after Molly had arranged for absolutely no male patrons to enter the place for a week, and only allowing VIPs to enter for the month after that she repaired her reputation enough to start seeing profits again.

Now, there was no proof that the goons had been sent by Le'Fleur or anyone affiliated with the Nook at all was behind the incident. But that particular group of ruffians, which when not terrorizing the Uptown crowd had begun carrying heavy wrenches and calling themselves the most uncreative title of "Wrenchers," had occasionally been seen at the Nook, noticeably not destroying everything in sight. And rumor had it that while Molly was suffering heavy losses to her reputation and her cash registers, Le'Fleur had several very productive weeks entertaining gentlemen who usually paid for liquor and got women for free at the Box. But if the madam was innocent, she was probably the only one who could understand Molly's current predicament, and with the right amount of money of course (what whore could ever turn down cash?) she might be prompted to put in a good word with her supplier.

So it was that on Monday morning, Molly dressed in a sharp navy suit and new black fedora walked the few narrow blocks that separated the Hat Shop from the brothel, then rapped sharply on the door, glancing over her shoulder in the hopes that she wouldn't be seen by any particularly sensitive acquaintance.

 

[GrinningGentleman]

It wasn't long after the Ladies left, that the Balcony became painfully lonely. Jacob would've been fine with that. Would've been pleasant, had he not just sampled good company. It was good to see Molly again. Way better than he'd expected, and he'd quickly learned a lesson he'd take to heart. Don't ask her too many questions, and make the best of the time he had with her. Her life was clearly tumultuous these days, and her time was fleeting. And even with the abrupt ending and the dropping sense of not belonging, Jacob was soon left with a perpetual smile on his face It was, indeed, heartwarming to see Molly again. Reinvigorating.

After a long while, Jacob finally emerged at the party again, but not just to ditch it at a first chance. After a bit of rummaging through the crowd, he finally caught up with his old friend, chatting up a burly looking man. Liam turned to Jacob the moment he saw him, raising his arms in welcoming surprise.
"There you are, big guy! Y.. You been hidin under rock, or somethin'?" Liam slurred, clearly having had more than the few drinks Jacob had seen him order, causing the old friend to smirk with a laugh.
"You've been keeping to, haven't you?" Jacob questioned, as Liam walked over to wrap an arm around his friends neck, causing him to stand at a ridiculas angle, to even reach the taller man's shoulders.
"What'chu mean?" Liam questioned, looking genuinely perplexed.
"You are drunk, Lee." Jacob 'explained', chuckling lightly.
"Noohoo, No... I'm not drunk at my own party, wherein I managed to clearly piss off one of my only friends, and score a Lunch date with a smoking red-head... Hah!" Liam laughed, slurring at his steps a little, looking thoughtful as he guided Jacob towards one of the tables. "Mmh, did you meet her?" Liam asked, a smile on his face. Probably the most coheerent emotion he could muster at that moment: hopefulness.
"Moe? Yeah, I did." Jacob admitted, as they dropped into one of the booths, Liam sighing, nodding his head a few times. "Seems pissed off at you, for some reason." Jacob laughed, as Liam almost toppled over on the bench.
"Ooh, you know... She probably has good reason to, you know? Can't say I understand said reasons, but... When the hell did people start expecting men to understand women, eh?" He suggested, laughing as he half lay himself over the table, looking up to Jacob, narrowing his eyes. "Do you understand? Did she mention why she was pissed?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes.
"Understand Moe? Me, the bum in a raggedy old Trench Coat, understand the wealthy businesswoman? No. No, me and Moe are about as apart now, as we were before we met." He admitted, without loosing much of his smile, however. "But. I hope to eventually get a chance to change that." He added, a strange sense of hope to his voice. Hope. A sweet taste of Honey, he hadn't felt for a long time. "Red-head, though? You aren't... Talking about that Journalist?"

Liam and Jacob spend a few hours, talking back and forth about the old days, as well as new ones. Jacobs gentle warnings about fraternizing with Reporters were well-received, Liam insisting he knew what he was doing. And, that he wasn't going to be drunk when they met again, and that'd be a good start. He admitted that he liked Vera. Her go-for-it attitude, and her lack of fear among high company, was a refreshing change of pace. And, she was the right one for the job, if you wanted word spread about something. She was a good friend to have, on paper. On the arm? That would remain to be seen. Liam sure wouldn't be against it, though.

A subject they both elegantly waltzed around was Molly. Jacob didn't want to get details about her, from a second-hand source. If she ever felt ready to talk about herself, as she was now, it would be between them, and not himself and a drunk Irishman. And Liam, was more than happy to avoid the subject as well, being disappointed in her, and his own, disability to distance business from friendship.
And, finally, they parted as the good friends they'd always been, Jacob taking his leave from the party.

------------​

Coming home, Jacob was promptly tossed back into the ice-bucket, reminded just how fucked he was when talking economy. He went to bed hungry that night, with more than a small headache. The drugs helped. Helped him forget about the tiny one-room apartment, cold from the many holes in the walls, and uncomfortable on the floored mattress. It was neither more, or less comfortable, than what he'd been used to in the field. Being home, was just another war, but way more complicated...

The next morning, after way too little sleep, Jacob was back out on the streets again, before any of the suns rays, could even penetrate the thick sky of fog the night always carried. He went straight for this new business opportunity, frowning at the fact that he was already giving in. Many Veterans, gone relatively unscathed through the war, ended up working security, somewhere. Jacob had wanted to avoid that. To put fighting behind him. But if anything, these last few weeks had taught him... He didn't know much else.

Madame Le'Fleur's place, was a respectable establishment. Ms. Antoinette Le'Fleur wasn't exactly bad company, either. A woman in her early forties, she ran the place like a gentle Hawk, keeping a sharp eye on patrons, as well as workers. Weather Molly liked it, or not, Le'Fleur's was about as protective of her girls, as the native businesswoman herself. First thing Jacob was taught, was the places safe-word: Peur. If anyone heard this shouted from one of the rooms, one of the Patrons had broken contracts, and the girl wanted help, and security was expected to step in.

Saturday and Sunday went on rather quickly. Having something to do, helped put his mind at ease, and made the days go on faster. Made him forget his troubles. And he managed to score a deal, for the time being, where he got paid on a daily basis, meaning he could afford to eat properly a few times. He got the day shifts, which basically just meant he showed up in the morning, and went home when it was appropriate to go to bed. He was a hard worker, and Le'Fleur was quick to take a shine to him. She'd hired security before, who wouldn't raise a finger to do heavy lifting, expecting others to do those jobs. Jacob was not.

Monday morning, was the same deal. A new shipment of Hooch from Bradley, one of Madame Le'Fleur's fences had arrived. Le'Fleur didn't mind purchasing stolen goods, especially at the prices Bradley sold off his stuff at. She replaced everything on the bottles she bought from him, and was always matriculate in hiding details.
Jacob grunted slightly, lifting up the third box of Wines, the sound of glass clinking together ringing out behind the Brothel's main counter.
"Easy there, big boy. Don't go breaking the bottles now." Le'Fleur's apple voice sang out, without taking her brown eyes off of the notebook on the table.
"Jesus... What does this guy water his wines down with? Oil? This sure isn't just water..." Jacob laughed, making his way past Le'Fleur, towards the stairs to the basement. Le'Fleur snickered lightly, looking over her shoulder, past the golden-brown curls of her long hair.
"I'm sure you can handle it, though? Or do you want I should get Jezebelle to help you out?" She mused, stroking Jacob's upper arm gently with one hand. Jacob snorted a laugh, grinning as he shook his head.
"I'll manage, Madame..." He kept chuckling, as he continued to haul towards the basement.

"We're off, Madame." A mousy little voice chimed, as a young girl walked towards the counter, followed closely by a few other girls, around the same age. The front girl, with rosy-blonde hair, and doey blue eyes didn't look a day over twenty, probably the reason she was so popular. Same reason no one knew her actual age. Le'Fleur looked up with a loving smile, reaching a hand down to stroke the girls cheek.
"Of course, Anne. You made some good earnings, this weekend... You sure I can't get you to work the next one as well?" She questioned, the young woman smiling shyly, lowering her head a bit, hiding her hands in the pockets of her large coat.
"I'd.. I'd like Saturday off, at least? Really wanted to go to the Box again..." She admitted, causing Le'Fleur to sigh lightly, crossing her arms on the counter in front of her, getting an annoyed roll to her eyes.
"Course you would... All you young girls do, don't you? I really hope they keep letting you in, girl. Don't..."
"Don't expect them to, if they find out you work here... Got it, I know, Madame." Anne finished Le'Fleur's sentence, causing the older woman to smile sweetly, nodding a single time.
"Alright, I'll give you Friday and Saturday. I'll write you down for Sunday, though?" She suggested, Anne nodding eagerly, as she prepared to leave, turning to her friends, laughing happily as they started towards the door.


The door opened, almost immediately after Molly knocked it, being greeted by the group of four laughing girls. Anne, still in the front, looked up to Moly, being a few inches shorter, even than her. Anne's eyes went wide, immediately recognizing Molly, and quickly stepping aside. There was a glint of fear, in the young woman's blue eyes, as she tried to hide them, all the other girls stepping aside as well. Anne had been told she was quite recognizable, and she cursed that fact in this moment, hoping to God Ms. Fairbairn wouldn't recognize her. She'd only been at the Hat Box one time, but had seen Molly a few times then. In the crowds, she might not have spotted her, but if she learned her face now, she might in the future.

"M.. Madame Le'Fleur? You. Have a visitor." Anne called out, trying her best to look away from Molly, holding a hand out to welcome her inside. The other girls in the group didn't pay Molly much attention, it was only Anne who immediately recoiled.
"Hm? Please, let them in. And, be off, you're off the clock, dear." She requested. She didn't want a possible client, to immediately get an interest in the young Anne, knowing she couldn't provide them with her right now. Anne was quick to scurry out of the Brothel, followed closely by the other girls, rushing for many steps before setting down their pace.

Mademoiselle Le'Fleur's Nook was a rather respectable establishment. On the outside, it did not look like much, inconspicuously nestled in between two other apartments in an appartment block. Inside, however, it had all the rustic elegance of an old Inn. Wood floors and walls, wooden furniture with red cushions. A large bar counter, spanned from the side of the entrance, a several feet, packed with a variety of cheap liqures, many of the bottles full, but some near empty. On the other side of the entrance was a large lounging area, with several tables surrounded by comfortable armchairs, with the same expensive-looking furnishing. A few benches along the walls, decorated with spruced up girls, wearing their grandest of make-up, fit with scantly clothes. There weren't any patrons at the tables at this time, leading all the girls to look rather bored, if with a sudden interest in the suited woman who just entered, sitting up at the edges of their seats.

At first, Le'Fleur looked less amused, immediately recognizing the women who entered, narrowing her eyes slightly. The woman was known for her steely exterior when she got mad, but also for how quickly that melted away. And so, it did, leaning herself casually against the counter, picking up the pack of cigarettes on the other side of her large notebook.
"Lady Fairbairn... What a. Surprising pleasure, I'm sure..." She mused, in a venomous sweet voice, a smirk spreading across her lips, as she took out a cigarette, picking up her long, elegant, red and black cigarette holder, placing the cigarette at the end. "I sure did not expect you, to ever set foot in my establishment... But. I guess we all have our cravings, from time to time. As for all my clients, I guarantee an air of... Discretion." She promised, her smirk only growing slightly, as she pushed a few of the golden-brown locks out of her face, before lighting the cigarette at the end of its holder. "What can I interest you in, this humble morning, hm?" She questioned, tilting her head slightly, blowing smoke out the edge of her lips, an almost flirtatious look to her eyes, as a few of the girls, as well as two boys, started getting out of the benches, walking seductively, but slow, towards the businesswoman.

Antoinette knew there was bad blood between the two women. It wasn't easy, being self-made women in the field, and it was a poisonous one. She was blamed for an act she had no hand in, and found herself quite offended by this fact, but never really pushed back as hard as Ms. Fairbairn did. She'd been struggling too, when first Molly started seeing success, but she'd found ways of complimenting Molly's 'failures'. Not all men left the Hat Box with a dame on their arm. And, the ones who didn't, paid well to have their unsettled cravings sated at the Nook. Their prime-time, was shortly after things died down at the Hat Box. Weather Molly liked it, or not, her business was decent business or the Nook.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

When the door opened, Molly's eyes fell on a terrified waif of a girl whose wide-eyed expression both evoked sympathy and annoyance in the club owner. It wasn't as though she expected the varsity team to be manning the door at this time of day on a Monday, but still...if this was the type of stock Le'Fleur kept on hand, it was no wonder guys came to the Box every night. The women there were all different colors of the same brash, sparkling, over-rouged variety that drowned out any demureness or timidity about them. It never occurred to her that such women might look very much like the whore at the door on Monday mornings, with their sequins and makeup stripped away and the brazen act dropped, now that the audience was gone.

"Is Madame Le'Fleur in?" Molly asked, flashing a business card listing her as the proprietress of Molly's Hat Shop (the legitimate enterprise, not the secret one in the back). "I was hoping to secure an appointment with her to discuss a private matter."

The girl quickly called back to the madam before shrinking into a crowd of bored-looking hussies. The blonde kept her expression straight and blank, but had to fight every instinct to roll her eyes as the gaggle of gossiping ninnies. To be fair, there were a few good-looking faces in the group that would probably have fit in well enough at the Box with some better dresses and more polished manners (the mousy-looking girl excluded, of course). And Molly often suspected that on more than one occasion a prostitute had slipped past her doors and conducted her own business within the walls of her club, possibly even one or two of Le'Fleur's own girls, considering how familiar a few of the faces looked. But as long as she couldn't be sure it was happening, the cops had nothing on her. Well, besides the obvious crime of running a bar, but no one was going to send Molly Fairbairn up the river for pimping.

If it hadn't been a brothel, Molly might have admitted that the Nook did have a certain old-world charm about it. Indeed, it reminded her a great deal of the old saloons her father and men of his ilk had frequented in her youth, albeit with quite a few more barely-dressed females lounging about the place. As her eyes glanced over the whores, the ever-fashion-conscious woman wondered if the costume was their own choice, or something Le'Fleur insisted on. No one could ever accuse her of being a prude of course, but Molly did pride herself on acting with taste and discretion, both of which seemed greatly lacking in the employees of the Nook. But the establishment had one thing that redeemed itself slightly in her eyes, and that was the line of bottles along the back of the bar. That meant Le'Fleur was buying from somebody, and it was just a matter of figuring out who.

That was, of course, assuming the madam was willing to share that valuable information with her rival. But if not, it might be possible one of her girls would be a bit more amenable. Molly looked from one pretty face to the next, trying to gauge how the ranks might be formed and who might be a likely aide if Le'Fleur wasn't willing to play ball. The club owner didn't doubt she could pay a whore as much as any of their other patrons, and they wouldn't need to bother taking their clothes off in the process.

Unfortunately, her gaze must have lingered a bit too long on one particular dark-skinned woman in a deep purple negligee and dressing gown (who, she had to admit, was quite stunning), because when Molly heard her name called there was a certain insinuating tone in the speaker's voice. Turning sharply, her eyes fell upon the owner of the brothel, who was smiling at her the way she probably smiled at men she caught in particularly embarrassing encounters with their paramours. Molly couldn't hide the little spots of pink that appeared in her cheeks, but she did clear her throat and straighten her shoulders as she approached Le'Fleur with an outstretched hand.

"Please, Madame. Whatever you might have heard about my family, we were never nobility, not even in the old country. Miss Fairbairn is fine," she replied smoothly. "And while your ah...employees are quite lovely--" Her tone faltered slightly at the insincere flattery towards the girls, but her cold blue gazedwas still locked on Madame Le'Fleur. "I actually had a different matter I was hoping to discuss with you. Someplace more private, if possible?" She glanced around for any sign of an office, with the slight fear that certain other private "conversations" might be taking place behind the other doors of the establishment.

That's the last thing I need on a Monday morning she thought to herself grimly. It was bad enough she'd been plagued by some very vivid dreams--or were they memories?--of past encounters with Jacob since their meeting on Friday, and she'd barely slept the past few nights for thinking about him. If only Sam hadn't gone back to California, she might have been able to work some of the stress out without answering any awkward questions, but she made it policy to never ask a man for favors of that sort unless she could make it seem like he was the one coming out ahead.

But hey, if that meant she needed to fuck someone to get a decent case of whiskey, so be it. As far as she was concerned, it would be killing two birds with one stone.

"It's a matter of business," Molly added, taking out her own cigarette case and sliding one between her lips, letting the nearest girl produce a lighter God-only-knew where and ignite the end for her before waving the whore away. "I was hoping as a fellow entrepreneur you might be willing to offer an ambitious young woman some advice. Would you be so kind?" The note of hope in her voice was, for once, genuine, and her gaze, while not kind, had softened to a certain submissiveness, like a willing student looking upon a knowledgeable teacher.

 

[GrinningGentleman]

Anne nodded timidly, holding an arm out through the doorway, as the other girls stepped aside, all equally baffled at their friend's attitude. She was usually quite confident and cheerful, talking to other girls. Seeing her bend over like this before Ms. Fairbairn, was all new to them. But they were smart enough, to put two and two together, especially after Le'Fleur's warning a moment ago. Even the girls who didn't immediately recognize the woman at the door could put it all together. And, with the intimidating businesswoman on her way to Le'Fleur, without more words from the scared young woman, they girls all ran along their way, ready to enjoy their day of rest.

Le'Fleur had indeed noticed the young businesswoman's drifting eyes, as had the girls undergoing her gaze. The hint of prejudice there was easy to spot, but they were very used to that, and easily faked ignorance. They were well trained in their craft, under Le'Fleur, and knew how to put up a brave face, under the most demeaning circumstances, especially under possible business encounters. And from the tone their Mistress was taking with Ms. Fairbairn, they knew to put on their most inviting faces.
In the smallest of ticks, Antoniette Le'Fleur's smile grew into a second's smirk, noticing the light pink at the edges of Ms. Fairbairn's cheeks. The professional businesswoman was quick to hide it, though, snickering lightly with the other woman's humble request, she shrugged a shoulder, leaning against the counter.
"All girls deserve to be called a Lady, once in a while. Whores and Businesswomen alike." She suggested, snickering as her girls continued to close in on Ms. Fairbairn.

One of the male prostitutes walked past Ms. Fairbairn, leaning against the counter, looking to her with a boisterous smile. Quite a stunning young Lad. Tan skin, an open, fashionable vest, showing his rippled stomach. A soft jawline, a face painted in gentle feminine softness, but with masculine charm. His smile was confident, as one of his colleges turned around Ms. Fairbairn's side, a careful, gentle stroke, feeling the texture of the woman's shirt, before retreating, but never far away.

Le'Fleur narrowed her eyes slightly, at Ms. Fairbairn's calm, almost submissive attitude, her head tilting slightly as she took another heave from her cigarette. This was nothing like the woman she'd seen, and heard about, cursing her name, and establishment, back during the incident with the Wrenchers. It made her a little cautious, rather than callous. The world of business was a tricksy one, and she knew Ms. Fairbairn was smart. She wasn't going to let her wrench her out of something, or back down.
She had, however, heard about the opening of Ms. Fairbairn's exclusives. One of her little Doves had told her, that another establishment had taken over the Irish Rum, and that the Whiskey was still in the air. Of course, she'd had no interest in the product. She didn't believe such exclusives, was going to bring her more business. Especially not for the prices asked. But it made her suspicious.

Le'Fleur bent over slightly, resting her elbows against the counter, making an obvious wave with a hand, as Ms. Fairbairn mentioned she was there on a matter of business. The girl who'd stepped up by Ms. Fairbairn's side, lifted up her provocatively short skirt, picking out a simple lighter from her garters, lighting the businesswoman's cigarette. She frowned playfully, a small smirk at the edge of her lips, as she was waved off, reaching a hand for her male counterparts vest, pulling at it with a little giggle, stroking her other hand down Ms. Fairbairn's side.
"Your loss." In the most silent little whisper, she winked, as she dragged her college away, letting Le'Fleur and Ms. Fairbairn discuss business.

"Ambitious, indeed... But. A woman has to wonder. Why said young woman would come for her advice now?" Le'Fleur questioned, playing at her lower lip with her cigarette holder, looking over Ms. Fairbairn with a curious, wonderous look. "It's not like it's a secret, that you have no l..."

Le'Fleur was interrupted by doorhandle, suddenly raddling open on the balcony overhead, and a door being swung open.
"Peur! Pe..." The second word was muffled by a hand, turned instead into a hampered, desperate scream, as the door was slammed shut. Le'Fleur's eyes had shot towards the Balcony immediately, leaning up against the counter, almost dropping the cigarette, as a clanging of bottles sounded from the basement door.
"Jake!!" Le'Fleur ordered as a thundering of footsteps sounded up the stairs, from the open door.
"I heard!" Jacob shouted back, voice possibly not entirely recognizable through the short stairway up from the basement. The hammering of his footsteps suggested the size of the running man, jumping at least two steps at a time. What was recognizable, was his scarred face, and tattered old trench coat, as he came rushing out the doorway.
"Girls, make way. Red costumer. Room Four." Le'Fleur said, in a short span of words. Her warning to step out of the way had been wholly unnecessary. Her Employees had all gasped, and whimpered in fear, as their college had screamed, all stepping aside, gathering on chairs and couches against the wall.

"I know Milla's r..." Jacob paused, as he rushed past Molly, a surprised expression on his face, as he faltered in his pace for a second, followed by a small smile, and a nod, as he passed by. "Room." He finished his sentence, as he rushed off. He'd thought quickly, and opted not to greet Molly. From what he'd learned so far, being recognized in an establishment quite like this, might not be of interest. Even then, Le'Fleur had noticed Jacob's look at the woman, causing her to raise a brow slightly, as the man rushed off towards the stairs.

"Sorry about that, Miss. Fairbairn... Monday mornings, you know." Le'Fleur shrugged lightly, an air of attempted professional indifference towards the current incident, but there were obvious lines of worry across her face. "As I was saying... It is no secret, that you hold little love for my establishment. Or. Me, for that matter... So, you'll excuse a 'fellow entrepreneur', for being a little cautious about your request." Le'Fleur mentioned a small attempt at a smirk across her face, eyes drifting towards the balcony, as Jacob's thundering footsteps reached the door, swinging it open.

"H.. Hey! Nothin's going on here!" A young man's complaining voice rang out from the now open room, it's sound-proofing doing nothing to stop the sound of a scuffle to go through the room.
"Sure! The girl's just crying, because you were tickling her, r... Right! Get the fuck out, you little prick!" Jacob's voice thundered, a wave of anger to it, he'd never displayed in front of Molly. He had been furious before, but he'd always been good at hiding it or subduing it. Now, he was meant to unleash it. To be intimidating. And if the war had made one thing easier for him, it was displaying his anger.
"L. Let go of me, you big brute!" The stammering, pathetic voice of the 'wronged' man complained before he was pushed out the door, stumbling into the balcony. Jacob followed him close by, kicking the man's leg lightly, to get him to rush back up on his feet, and back away towards the stairs. "What are you doing!? I am indecent! Give me back my pants!" The man demanded, now showing to the people in the 'saloon' bellow, that he wore a nice white shirt, but his pants was dangling from Jacob's prosthetic hand, only wearing a pair of simple white boxers bellow.

Reaching for his pants, Jacob shoved him further towards the stairs, reaching the pants further away from the frantic man.
"You'll get your pants, when you're out of this establishment, buddy. Keep moving!" Jacob ordered, grabbing at the man's shirt, shoving him roughly once again. The complaining gentleman was a good few heads shorter than the massive Veteran, making the scene almost a little comical, more than one of the girls giggling slightly at the display.
"Y. You wouldn't... You. Madame Le'Fleur! Dismiss this beast!" The man continued to feign his attempt at victimhood, causing Le'Fleur to scoff silently, shaking her head a few times.
"Just listen to Jacob, Mr. Laurens. You've lost your privileges here..." Le'Fleur corrected, looking towards the door, as Milla came outside, huddled into a blanket, shivering slightly as she looked after Jacob, timidly ready to rush back inside the room. Her left eye was having a hard time staying open, a bit of bruising already showing, as she cowered.

"Mr. Ford will hear of this! I guarantee it! Give me back my pants, you bastard!" Laurens complained, followed by a sudden slapping sound, as his palm met Jacob's cheek. Almost immediately, as Jacob paused his advancing towards the shorter man, a surprised expression on his face, Laurens started hurrying his retreat, clearly regretting his outburst. There had been a silent gasp among the girls at this, a few of them hiding their mouthes.
"W.. What!?" Jacob questioned, followed by a little chuckle, as he chased a few steps after the pantsless man, making him stumble a few more steps away. "You'll punch the girl, but slap the man!? You miserable little fucker... Faster! Get the fuck out!" He rushed the man, quickening his pace, approaching the man to push his back, as he stumbled his way down the stairs.

There was more complaining from Laurens, as he was rushed through the room, still only in his underwear. He was quick to grab his Jacket, before Jacob kicked his back, causing him to fly out the steps of the door, stumbling into the street. There was no words from Jacob, as he tossed the pants on top of the whimpering man, making a big deal out of the 'damages' done to him in the fall before he slammed the door shut.
"Good job, Jacob." Le'Fleur complimented, as Jacob returned, nodding his head in response. Le'Fleur turned her eyes back up towards Milla a worried little smile on her face. "You alright, sweetheart?" She questioned. Milla returned a careful smile, clearly putting on a brave face, as she nodded a few times. "Naw, dear, you don't have to act brave. Take some time in the Suite, please?" She offered, Milla nodding her head a few times.
"You sure, Milla?" Jacob questioned as well, looking up towards her with a small frown, having just seen the poor woman cowering bellow the Suit. She nodded again, this time frowning slightly before she turned towards the other end of the Balcony, heading towards the door there.
"Anita? Kev? Go see to her, please." She requested, the two prostitutes who'd gotten close to Ms. Fairbairn nodding, and rushing up the stairs, a few of the others hurrying towards another door, off to get some supplies. "Jacob?" She turned towards her bodyguard, who shrugged a shoulder lightly.
"Not too bad, Milla's a tough girl. But she looked scared." He explained, making the woman nod, sighing lightly.
"Go up there, regardless. You'll make her feel safer." She ordered, Jacob nodding a single time, turning his eyes towards Molly with a small smile, and a formal nod.
"Miss. Fairbairn." He excused himself, before heading back towards the stairs, significantly less intimidating this time.

"Hm. You two know each other?" Le'FLeur finally questioned, as Jacob had reached the stairs, looking to Molly with a curious eye. It was obvious from her voice, that she wasn't regarding Jacob, so he moved along, doing his best, pretending not to hear anything. There was some surprise to Le'Fleur's voice, as well as her expression, as she looked over Ms. Fairbairn again. She would be very surprised, as well as curious, to hear that the fancy Molly Fairbairn had any dealings with the likes of Jacob. From what she'd gathered, on her preliminary questioning, he seemed an Orphan. Street Urchin. Not the likes, she'd expect Ms. Fairbairn to fraternize with.
"In any case... If you can promise that this 'Business Advice' can stay professional, and maybe even help me prove my innocence in past incidents? Or, at least help to warm our Relationship as Entrepreneurs... My office is right this way, Ms. Fairbairn." She offered, holding an arm towards a hallway leading down beside the bar.

If Fairbairn agreed to those terms, Le'Fleur would show her down the aforementioned hallway, after asking one of her Employees to take the Books. She showed the way to the last door on the right of the hallway, and into a large room. It was an office, inside of a comfortable, small apartment. A large bed, curtains draping its sides, might suggest that this businesswoman, was not afraid to get her hands just as dirty, as her Employees did. Or, she just liked her office to be comfortable. There was a gentle scent of flowered perfumes, not enough to be overwhelming, and the large, mirrored countertop with a plethora of shelves, carried the little sinners in various spray bottles.
Nearest the door, was a small desk, with a comfortable couch in front of it, and a lounging chair behind, which Le'Fleur would approach, offering Fairbairn the comfortable couch, while letting her start off.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Molly visibly tensed under the prostitutes' hands, and when they finally removed themselves from her (hopefully convinced she was not a paying customer), she instinctively checked her pockets just to make sure nothing had been lifted--an old habit from her youth running with Jacob and Liam and their gang. Nothing appeared to be missing, but all the same she didn't like the looks of either the girl with the lighter or her male companion. Thankfully they'd gotten close and lingered long enough that she was sure she would remember their faces, and there was no way in hell either of them would ever be stepping through her doors.

That is, assuming she still had doors to open, and it made her stomach sink to realize Le'Fleur seemed quite aware of the current tenuousness of that situation. Molly was about to let out a cutting remark in defense of her position, but before she got a chance a ruckus seemed to erupt in the higher reaches of the building. Ah, now she finally had a reason to smile among all these smug faces. "Oh my...trouble in paradise, Madame?" she remarked, leaning back against the bar and tapping her ash into an empty tray. "I imagine that sort of thing must happen a lot when you let just anybody into your place. If you're looking for security, I'd be happy to recommend--"

But both the recommendation and the smile instantly died on the blonde's face when a man came running, not away from the commotion upstairs, but from a door that seemed to open up from the lower reaches of the building. "Jacob?" she gasped, seeing the familiar face breezing past her like the Jupiter Theater manager was on his tail yet again. If her old friend saw her, he didn't say anything to her. Then again, could she blame him? What in the world was he doing there anyways? For someone who claimed to be as broke as he did the other night, it hardly seemed realistic he was here throwing his money away on girls.

Especially when he was just dancing with a perfectly willing one the other night. Molly blushed at both the thought and the memory, then shook her head. No way, Jacob would never in a million years come to a place like this. Not in New York at least. But when he was overseas? A little cinder of jealousy flamed in her heart, but her logic instantly quenched it. So what if he had fucked other girls since her? She certainly hadn't been faithful to him. Granted she had assumed he was dead, but still. If he had wanted her to live like a nun while he was away, the least he could've done was write to her and say so. Would that have changed things though, really? Somehow, she thought not.

While all of these thoughts were racing through Molly's mind, Le'Fleur was cool as a cucumber, and that only annoyed her all the more. Ignoring the sounds of Jacob yelling at someone upstairs, the club owner did her best to remain professional, although she seemed to be smoking her cigarette much more quickly than normal.

"You have to admit we are in competition for certain audiences, Madame. And this is such a cutthroat city I think it's perfectly natural for you to question my motives. You can imagine I questioned yours greatly after that unfortunate incident at my club a few months back." Molly's long fingers crushed the cigarette butt into the ashtray for emphasis. "But at the end of the day, when I think of all the men that would like to see both you and me put out of commission, or at the very least see us trapped under their control, I would prefer to have you as an ally than an enemy. Bottom line: I want to bury the hatchet, but if you can't find it in my heart to help me, I'm not afraid to look elsewhere. In neighborhoods where women like you are none too popular. Don Scacco is a regular VIP at the Box, you know."

It was a gamble dropping the mafioso's name in a place like that. The Don ran plenty of his own brothels, and it was a well known fact in New York he'd had his eyes on the Nook for years. Why he hadn't simply taken it over Molly couldn't fathom, but she'd never heard him speak particularly kindly of Madame Le'Fleur in the walls of her establishment.

But she might as well not have mentioned it. The argument in the crib upstairs had spilled out into the main room, along with a hapless john missing his trousers. Even more shocking though was the sight of Jacob damn near getting ready to throw him over the railing. "What in the world?" Molly murmured. She couldn't even remember seeing her former lover swat a fly, let alone throw a punch at someone. And besides that, there was rage in his face as he escorted the john roughly down the stairs. Not even when her stepsiblings had insulted and threatened him in their youth had she ever seen him respond with anything more than calm and quiet dignity. He was...almost frightening now.

When she saw the girl with the black eye though, Molly could understand a little bit more, and even felt pity for the poor creature. A lot of the women in the club owner's circle prided themselves on sending their sexual inhibitions out the door, but at the end of the day all of them, including Molly herself, were still the ones who got to choose which men they did and did not sleep with. In a place like the Nook though, that wasn't always the case, and she hardened herself a little as she looked back at Le'Fleur. Fat lot of good it did to revoke a bastard's privileges when he still got a good punch in beforehand.

At least some of the other employees were quick to help the girl out, including Jacob himself, who finally acknowledged Molly's presence. With so many people around, and her emotions in a whirl over seeing him in a place like this, with a girl like Milla, it was all the blonde woman could do to nod curtly towards him and immediately turn her gaze back to Le'Fleur. "We have a mutual acquaintance," she explained briefly, rising to follow the madam to her office. The last thing she wanted was to explain her history with Jacob to a woman like her, especially considering she was apparently his employer. He's too good for a dump like this the woman thought grimly as she sat down on the couch.

Still, Jacob wasn't the reason she was there. The best thing now was to state the situation, see what Le'Fleur could do, then leave before things could get any more awkward, if that were possible. "I'll cut to the chase, Madame Le'Fleur. I have a soireé coming up later this week that I believe is going to be a very lucrative opportunity for my club. Unfortunately, I've had a...difference of opinion with my chief liquor supplier, and I need to find someone new, and quickly. I was hoping with your extensive connections in the city, you could provide me with a recommendation."

Crossing her legs, Molly rested her hands on her knee. "Of course, I would be happy to pay you an appropriate finder's fee for any successful connections you can make. And as a personal thank you, I would be happy to invite a select few of your ah...people to attend the party as my guests. A very select few, you understand. The sort of people who can blend in well with society and not draw too much attention. I will of course turn a blind eye to any business they might choose to conduct, and I do want to point out there will be some particularly high-class people in attendance. Now, I'm not sure what kind of splits you charge with your employees, and frankly I don't care. But I think would be a good opportunity to build a bridge between our two establishments, don't you agree?"

She did her best not to appear too anxious for the woman's reply, but she couldn't hide her hand shaking slightly as she reached for another cigarette.

 

[GrinningGentleman]

Le'Fleur rolled her eyebrows with Molly's remark about Paradise. She had no idea. And as she continued to pretend she had one, her eyes hardened slightly, rolling the cigarette holder between her fingers. She raised an eyebrow lightly, seeing Fairbairn's reaction to Jacob, but continued as she would.
"I'm good on security, thank you. One of the dangers of the occupation... And, trust me, the kind of people who attend the Box, are just as, if not more likely to treat a Prostitute, like a piece of cloth to jerk off in, and toss aside. Much of the scrap that leaves the Box without one of your High-Class dames, come here, Miss Fairbairn. And more than one of them is already blacklisted." Le'Fleur mumbled, returning her eyes back to the books in front of her, writing something down next to a name, as Jacob started 'showing' Mr. Laurens out.

Le'Fleur raised a brow lightly, as Fairbairn suggested they were competitors, shrugging slightly.
"If you still consider your scraps, your costumers? Sure. And, yeah, I know your opinion on that whole thing. And I am not about to start explaining myself again." She suggested, blankly. She'd already explained, that she didn't need to apologize, or explaining anything, because she had nothing to do with that horrid business. The last thing she'd ever condone, was the exploitation of women.
The woman's attention was peaked again, and she was back to focusing on Fairbairn, as she went on about their position. What she said, made perfect sense. Them sticking together could only benefit them, in a world ruled by men. But as she dropped Scacco's name, Le'Fleur sneered as close to a hiss a non-feline could, looking away with a shake of her head, clearly hardening up.
"Talk about letting anyone through your doors, Fairbairn... Catering to filth like that, and feeding them extra privileges? For an Entrepreneur who prides themselves on the women in her club's safety, you've got some really bad friends... Or, you just don't give a fuck about women, when they aren't under your roof, helping line your pockets..." Le'Fleur snarled in a hushed tone, crossing her arms, and if Molly made any hints that she was about to defend herself, Le'Fleur raised a finger, hoping to silence her. That opinion was not up to debate, and she was in the seat of power at this time. She hadn't woken up that morning, thinking she'd really like a partnership with Molly Fairbairn. She was the one who came here, for business.

"Think you'll find people has a lot more space in their heart, for people who leave threats at the door... Is that the way you do business? Put in 'threats' of taking business elsewhere, against the kind of people who didn't even need your business in the first place? Don't get me wrong, Miss Fairbairn, I was actually quite intrigued, until you decided on that needless little powerplay. And if you intend to bring up more of those, the door is there. And if you ever intend to brag about your affiliation with Don fucking Scacco again, I wouldn't need Jacob to toss your High-Class-Ass to the curb..." Le'Fleur didn't loosen up her posture, arms crossed her eyes hardened before Molly agreed to those terms. Scacco was clearly a touchy subject, that she needed Fairbairn to know not to play around with inside her house. Le'Fleur could be just as playful as the next girl, but not on the subject of Don Scacco.

If Molly opted to stay, Le'Fleur would still invite her to her room, but the atmosphere around her had clearly tensed. If Molly really wanted any business done, it was clear she should probably ease it on the threats, and snarky remarks. Or, at the very least, never mention people like Don Scacco in her presence, until she'd loosened up again. Le'Fleur didn't even seem interested in Molly relation to an orphan like Jacob. Jacob himself shook his head in silence, a small frown on his face. While he had expected it, it still stung. Definitely didn't help the case of him, ever showing up at the Box, if she wouldn't recognize him here. But, the relationship seemed tense between the two women, so that might also be affecting the case, but Jacob shrugged it off. It wasn't the first time, someone didn't want to, or couldn't, recognize him.

Dropping into her chair, Le'Fleur sighed lightly, crossing her legs and releasing her hair from its bun, shaking the lively curls free. Her eyes returned to Molly, as she started her business offer while ruffling her hair slightly, scratching her head. She raised a brow slightly when Molly referred to Liam, simply as a Liqure supplier. Said difference of opinion was probably quite grand. Of course, if Molly brought threats to Liam as she did here, Le'Fleur wouldn't exactly be surprised. Friends never mingled well, when business was involved. And only friends got the kind of prices, Molly got with Liam.

Le'Fleur leaned back in her chair, as she let Molly continue. She folded her hands in front of herself, elbows rested on the arms of her chair. She narrowed her eyes slightly as Molly went into the muddier territory, talking about her girls, but she let the woman continue, and didn't seem to harden up further. And as Molly finished, Le'Fleur grew silent for a moment, pouting her lips slightly in thought. She raised two fingers from the clump, tapping them together gently, before dropping her hands into her lap.
"I would agree, yes. But, just to be clear, this shit-show of a society we live in, gave birth to my girls, and their conditions. All of them fit in... But, I know what you mean, Miss Fairbairn. And, I've got a few who could. As well as a few who'd sooner hang, than make an attempt." She snorted lightly with a chuckle, picking out another cigarette from her pack, forgoing her holder this time. "And, I do think I know a few Suppliers, who might be of interest. Won't get the quality you might be looking for, for the same prices as your burly little Irishman, though. And you don't want the watered-down stock I make do with for my establishment. But there are others, who are safe-enough to deal with, yes."

"With that offer, I wouldn't ask any money, for a finder's fee. I consider the rest of your offer, much more interesting. Instead, I would ask a bit of footwork done, by your people..." She stated, inhaling from her cigarette, with a tense expression. "Since I didn't know you catered to monsters like Don Scacco, I would've been inclined to send my girls to the Box, in the past. Now? I'd sooner abuse them myself than risk them being picked up by that man. At least I would have the heart to stop, before breaking them beyond repair..." She mumbled lightly, shaking her head a few times, still baffled to hear that Molly invited people like Scacco inside her business.

"Rather than paying me, I'd like you to do something for my girls. Have a drop-box, or something of the likes, near the entrance to your establishment. Just something your people at the door can do, to let my girls know, when Scacco's in. And, more specifically, one of his little Hellhounds..." There was a visible shudder to one of Le'Fleur's shoulders, at the mere mention, sitting herself up a bit more comfortably, as she continued. "And there's the footwork... I need your people to know, and familiarize themselves with Paul Lockheart. One of Scacco's Recruiters. Mid-fourties, I believe. Scrawny. My exact description wouldn't be fair, since all I see when I think of the man, is the Monsters of my Nightmares..." She sneered slightly, looking away for a moment, a somewhat shaky hand leading her cigarette back against her lips. If Molly had ever made any attempts at knowing Liam's men, the last name might remind her of someone. Kevin Lockheart.

"Whenever one of these Monsters are in, I don't want any of my girls in your establishment. I wouldn't advise any woman being there, either, but that's your business. Lockheart is a Manipulator, and he's frighteningly good at his job... Scacco's Brothel's pays better, but there are no restrictions. No Jacob to toss abusers to the curb, and make sure they stay there. Scacco's brothels go through women like an Engine goes through fuel. Burnt out, and evaporated... But he'll make the deal sound so god-damn tempting in the progress..." She clearly did not like this subject, but she liked the possible income with this deal enough to stomach it. She leaned over, trashing out the butt of her cigarette in the ashtray, looking to Molly as she did.
"Don't get me wrong. I trust my girls. But I don't have them on chains. If they wanted to take their business elsewhere, they'd be free to. But if I can reduce a risk to their safety, I damn-well will. And Scacco? Scacco's about as risky as they get. And he sure as hell won't be as willing to let them go, when they regret their decision, as I am." She finished, as she leaned back in her chair again, crossing her arms and getting comfortable once again, excited to hear Fairbairn's counter. Or, if she'd be interested in acceptin.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Molly was sharply taken aback at the reaction Don Scacco's name brought out in the woman across the desk. She had expected a little tension of course (what was the point of mentioning him if not?) but not the unadulterated rage she saw on Le'Fleur's face. The blonde didn't even know the placid-faced madam could show such rage. From what she'd heard she'd always seemed so in control of herself and her business. And while the Don definitely was not a force to be trifled with, Molly herself had never had too much trouble with him. He was on the VIP list of course, meaning he never paid a cover and rarely paid for drinks, but he tipped the bartenders just the same and almost acted as a sort of watchdog for the Box. No one ever tried to pull shit while he and his men were in the place.

Still, it didn't seem wise to press the issue, although she had to bite her tongue to keep from making a comment about Jacob. It wouldn't be the first time she'd tossed with him...

"Of course none of your people have to attend. As I said, I meant it as an offering of peace. If your girls don't want to get their hands in the pockets of some of the richest men in New York, that's their business, not mine. But I digress." Molly paused, and it took all of her resolve not to let her jaw drop to the floor when the madame declined the money. Free info? At a brothel? No fucking way. There had to be a catch, more than never mentioning Don Scacco's name. At first she wondered what the hell kind of booze Le'Fleur was serving at her place, but figured it couldn't be poison at least. Jinx and Louis would just have to get extra creative.

"You want to know when...he's there?" the club owner asked with more than a little confusion in her voice. "I mean, that isn't a problem but...okay, have you seen that godawful gold and purple flowered turban in the front window of the hat shop? Haven't been able to sell that monstrosity in years. But on the nights when Scacco's or his guys are due in, I'll have one of my shopgirls take it out of the window. Get it? No hat, no play for your girls--for whom, by the way, the rules still apply. They dress nice, they buy a couple drinks, they don't do anything that's going to get me in trouble with the cops, and I'll look the other way. Any trouble goes down, and I'm gonna play dumb. Those terms okay by you?"

"As for Lockheart," Molly needed to pause and think a minute, while trying to keep up the expression of absolutely knowing who Le'Fleur was talking about. "I believe I know who you're referring to. Same situation: no hat, and he's around. If you need me to differentiate, there's also this disgusting pink lace number my granny wouldn't wear to her cotillion, I'll put that away for him." Tilting her head slightly, her blue eyes rested a little more seriously on the madam. "It's nice that you're so good to your girls, it really is. But I don't know how the hell you stay in business running things like that."

"But anyway...names?" The blonde reached into her purse and pulled out a notebook and a sharpened pencil. Turning the page to a fresh sheet, she paused and waited expectantly.

 

[GrinningGentleman]

Le'Fleur huffed with lightly with Molly's remark about the richest men, following it with a snort and a shake of her head.
"Maybe they prefer to keep their hands. The same men you're talking about also happens to be the most dangerous in the City, because they believe the world owes it to them, to have things handed for free. Not to mention, not all of us like your snarky attitudes. With an emphasis on your... Every other word that comes out of your mouth, Miss Fairbairn, contradicts your interest in this deal, and honestly makes me less, and less inclined to take it. As if talking down to me, and mine, again and again, is going to earn my favor?" Le'Fleur rolled her eyes a bit, fingers itching to take another cigarette. Itching for Miss Fairbairn, and her High-class attitude to be the hell out of her joint...

Le'Fleur raised her brows, very much knowing the Turban in question, crossing her arms as she nodded her head. She smirked lightly, waving a hand dismissively with her terms.
"Despite your obvious disdain for my girls, and their position, they know how to play their craft. They won't need your High-Collar pampering, to make due. You won't even notice they're there. Much to your pleasure, I am sure." Le'Fleur suggested, nodding a single time to the first part. Her eyes hardened slightly, not particularly fond of Molly's uncertainty.
"You 'believe'? Was I unclear, on the importance of this, Miss Fairbairn? Was I stuttering? Did I sound like I was trying to protect my girls against a slap on the cheek? Their lives might mean nothing to you right now, but before I am lifting any finger to help you, they better." She muttered, sneering slightly again, as she picked out another cigarette, pointing it at the door. "My girls knows Lockheart. And if... If I find out, that you've let him slip you by, and not warned my girls? I will start treating you like a competitor." She warned, putting the cigarette between her lips.

She sighed softly, as Molly's attitude came back to assault her again, and then just swiftly moved on to what she expected to get in return for all of this. Le'Fleur looked towards some shelves with a variety of simple, cheap decorations, shaking her head.
"How I run my business, isn't any of your concern. The safety of my girls, however, is. I know you have just as much sympathy for the dirt beneath your shoes, in a stormy night, as you do for my girls on the best of days, but at least try to pretend. You keep the act up real well in your establishment, most of the time. Shouldn't be too hard to do as I say, and keep a few Whores safe from a Monster. They sure don't need as much pampering, as the La'Di'Das who you're used to." Le'Fleur mumbled, lighting her cigarette once more, tossing the lighter aside.

Le'Fleur raised a hand, almost immediately regretting her won attitude, sighing softly.
"Sorry, Miss Fairbairn. You just... Make it so damn hard, for anyone bellow your Class in society, to like you, since you really seem to want to make it clear, that you don't like us. Yes. Names." She agreed, nodding a single time, inhaling from her cigarette for a break.
"I have a few options, depending on your preferences. There is Johnston, down at the Wharf. He's a Sailor and smuggles Wines and soft-drinks from France. He's expensive, but he's as fuzzy as a Teddy Bear, so safe to trade with alone." She started, looking at her nails as she continued, taking strokes off her cigarette in between sentences. "Then there is Marshall, up north, near the edge of town. Real Hill-Billy type. Cheap, and somewhat watered down hard-drinks, like Whiskey and Rum. Marshall, is the opposite of Johnston. Bring someone big and burly, if you intend to do business with him." She continued to the second name, stretching her neck slightly, still paying attention to anything but her new 'business partner'. "Mmh. Guess Useph is an option to. Egyptian, I believe? I don't know, never asked, doesn't matter, he has more of a variety stock, but only get smaller batches. Safe-ish to deal with. Insult and threaten him, like you've done me, and you'll lose a tit, if you're lucky." Le'Fleur snickered lightly with that, smirking as she looked back to Molly. "On second thought, I think it'd be a bad idea to visit Useph. I honestly don't think you'd be able to stop yourself from looking at his drapes in disgust... Because they are Vile. And you're horrible at pretending to like things." Le'Fleur laughed lightly with herself, shaking her head a few times, as she dabbed her cigarette over the ashtray, sighing lightly as she leaned back into her chair.

"Any further inquiries? Otherwise, I'd really like you to vacate my establishment, so I can spend some time with some company, that doesn't despise me, for not growing up with a Silver-spoon..." Le'Fleur smiled, with faked sweetness to her tone, turning towards a small notebook at the side of her table, looking to it as she started writing something down.
"Oh, and. One last thing, before you leave, Miss Fairbairn. Another piece of advice, for free..." She started, ignoring if Molly wouldn't have it, and just continued for the door. "If you really do care about the girls in your establishment, please do the world a favor, and look into Scacco... Be careful, though. He won't like you looking, because you won't like what you'll find." Le'Fleur snorted slightly, not taking her eyes off of her notebook, as she scribbled a few things down.


Jacob hadn't spent long in Milla's room. Not for lack of wanting, but for knowing his place. Sure, his presence made the girls feel safe, but a few of them still looked at him with a bit of distrust, and maybe even fear. Hating men, for anything but their wallets, came naturally to the women of the night. It would take a while, for him to earn their trust. Something, he was starting to feel like he wanted. They were good people. Not to mention, probably one of the most familiar things he'd actually seen, since his return. Most of the girls at the Nook, had grown up under the same conditions as himself but never had a way out. While he was a little afraid, that he might end up in the same sort of situation, and never aspire to more than a bouncer, protecting them felt like the most real thing he'd been doing, ever since he returned. Being at his old friend's fancy party sure didn't feel real. Molly's touch, and the way she'd made him feel, perhaps trumped it. But even that, was lazed with a foul scent. Like the part that he'd used to love, was now a part she tried to surpress. That, was just him throwing guesses at this point, but how could he do anything but guess? He couldn't ask questions, for fear of scaring her away...

Instead, Jacob had taken to the streets, just outside the Nook. There were no more costumers at this time, being a usual Monday, so his place was at the door anyway. And, leaning against the lonely street-lamp, he saw it just as well. He wanted to catch Molly on her way out. He knew of the secret exits to the Nook, but doubted Le'Fleur would open them to Molly. From the tension between them, she didn't seem like a priority transaction. So, he waited at the door, sighing as he inhaled another cigarette, the early morning noise of a roaring city, starting to buzz to life.