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crownofcoins-blog

vagabond vagrant

All wars are civil wars, because all men are brothers

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crownofcoins-blog · 10 years

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Sometimes, if Ethan leaned back in his chair just right, with his feet propped up on the desk and his chin dropped to his chest, he could fall asleep. The music was still pumping loudly outside, making it near impossible to actually slip into unconsciousness and the dreams he had when he actually did fall asleep were disorientating and terrifying; but at least it was sleep. And somedays, most days actually, all Ethan really ever wanted was sleep. Victor was out front to guard the girls and it was a slow night anyway. He could get away with a cat nap if no one came by to bother him, if no one outside tried to start anything. By now, The Cheetah had a good enough reputation regarding kicking out assholes that they had stopped coming by. All Ethan had to do was clear his mind and drift off. Once upon a time Michael, whose name still made him shiver, had tried to teach him meditation and now Ethan was wishing he’d listened. But the second he tried, the door was bursting open and the clacking of stiletto heels was so sharp it felt like it was puncturing his brain. “The schedule for next month is going to be posted tomorrow,” he said, preemptively trying to appease the six foot girl in his room, who was probably five-foot-seven without her towering heels. When he lifted his head to look at her, saw the blazing fury in her eyes, he figured there had to have been some guy outside that had groped her a little harder than necessary or maybe someone had tried something fishier. Heaving himself from his chair, Ethan mourned the sleep he would not be getting and gestured toward the door for the girl to lead him away to the problem maker. Winding his way through the club, he glanced around to make sure all was still right on the floor. Vanessa was performing, and the few men in the audience seemed glued to her. There were two VIP rooms that were closed and Ethan mentally reminded himself to check the camera’s when he got back to his office to make sure nothing funny was happening before he was being lead outside. Straight to the back where all the girls came to smoke on their breaks. Sometimes, Ethan shared a cigarette or two with them out of paranoia some guy would try and kidnap them from the back. Ethan didn’t lack in paranoia these days. But when he stepped through the door, propped open by a brick, he was surprised to find the perp was even shorter than him. And a kid no less. “You’re fucking with me right?” He asked openly to the girls standing there, finishing off their cigarettes. “He’s like fucking twelve. Get the hell in there and earn some damn money,” he grumbled, gesturing toward the door. His voice was covered in a layer of growling anger, but he and the strippers knew that it was all just an act. Underneath his gruff demeanor, Ethan cared more about them than he did himself some days. Once the girls were lead back into the club, Ethan leaned against the brick wall and pulled a pack of cigarettes of his own out his jean pockets. Once he did, he tapped it, pulled one with him teeth and stared at the boy in front of him. He was small, curly haired and almost innocent looking if Ethan believed innocence was still a thing. “You’re either the dumbest thief ever,” he began, finally finding the pack of matches in his back pocket to light his cigarette. “Or the bravest pervert ever.” He held the flame to the tip of his cigarette before tossing it out into the back parking lot. “So which is it, kid?”

Dumb kid, dumb luck. | Ty and Ethan

Ty had been turned away at the door. Some guy twice his size with a shirt two times too small stretched so tight across his torso that it distorted the word “security” into waves of printed white on black. The bouncer’s hair was dark blonde and messy and he was well over six feet tall and he had a face that looked familiar in a way that made Ty think he’d seen him before. But he also kinda looked like every douchebag bouncer who’d ever tossed him out of a bar before. What was the point of being nineteen if you didn’t have a way to prove it?

It also probably didn’t help that Ty was sporting a baby face that no one would even believe printed on the sleek plastic of a drivers license in the first place. His fakes always got him busted.

Clubs like this always had a back door, though. Somewhere for half naked girls to roam outside for a smoke or a line or whatever half naked girls did behind strip clubs, illuminated by the ghostly orange floodlights. Maybe he’d get lucky. Ty figured he was due up some luck pretty soon, since luck had been absent most of his life. Pressing his back against the brick on the side of the building, Ty kept his eyes pointed towards the front, hoping the oversized black-t-shirt-guy hadn’t decided to come looking for him. It didn’t occur to him how suspicious he might look, creeping along the side wall. Or that the level of covert he’d chosen might not be entirely necessary for the occasion.

There was a twenty dollar bill in his pocket and all Ty wanted was a plate of cheese fries. Someone had told him once that strip clubs had the best cheese fries. He didn’t care about the booze or the boobs. His stomach was growling so loud that, in a quieter place, he might have been busted on that alone as he slid around the corner. He tried to keep himself flushed against the building, out of the orange glow. And a brick propping the back door open looked like it signaled a change in the mutants luck after all. “Score,” he whispered to himself, as he rounded into the building. No bouncers, no security, no trouble…

Three pairs of eyes stared him down. Literally down. Three women like he’d never seen in his life towered over him in platform shoes (and would have all the same, probably, even if they were barefoot). “Uh,” he murmured, eyes immediately darting to the floor when he realized he’d been staring at a tattooed expanse of bare skin between bikini top and g-string. “I was looking for the kitchen.” One of the women blazed furiously from the room before Ty had a chance to slip back out the door.

So much for turning his luck around.

#dumb kid dumb luck #ethan thread #ty graves #i looked at his tag on your personal to figure out what he looked like

2 notes · View notes

crownofcoins-blog · 10 years

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Okay...Fine. If he's not a total douchebag I wont.

I love you, Spencer. You're my sister, alright? I know I can be overbearing. I just care.

And you’re bringing him to dinner.