she was in very rare form. to her chagrin, they’d suited her up in a spaghetti strap dress and heels--a far cry from the comfort of her utilitarian street clothes and combat boots. when she’d seen it that morning, she'd initially huffed like a child, and then panicked about the exposure of her tattoo, which she’d been careful to hide since dorian westcliff ’s ominous warning. not wanting to cause a stink, however, she’d decided to bare it anyways. if anything went down, rocket would have had weapons on someone from all angles in seconds.

even with the dress, they could only polish her up so much. she had a decidedly tough if not rugged look, and sparkles did not suit her. the tightness of the glimmering cocoon only served to bring attention to the hard muscle she'd gained in prison. she had scars here and there on her tanned skin, and the faint mark of a bruise still lingered on her cheek from a recent bar fight, still somewhat visible through what little makeup she'd known how to apply.

putting this unassuming costume on lulu was much like putting a fancy casino in a grungy warehouse, and anyone who knew her well enough would have laughed in her face at the irony of it.





fresh out on the floor, she waded into the midst of gamblers, feeling out of place. she’d never been much for it, surprisingly. perhaps she had too many other vices and there had just not been any room for more. she’d play the part, tonight, regardless. there was an embellished coin purse that she carried, holding chips that meant essentially nothing. she was there to rile competitive spirits.

she was leaned against the bar, chatting idly with the bartender, whose named eluded her, when she noticed a dealer point their way. her heart skipped a beat when she saw the red haired man’s facial tattoos, thinking briefly of the warning of her old gang’s presence in hoenn, as many of them had possessed similar ink. after taking in the design for a moment and deciding it was not familiar, she spoke lowly to the bartender. “his drink’s on me.” actually, it was on rocket. she said it out of earshot, before the man arrived, so that it would be a surprise when he ordered.

she didn’t have to see the game to know he’d lost. he was an outsider, and everything was rigged against him. from her post nearby, when he came to order, she looked over at him. “hey, better luck next time, huh pinstripes?” there was a toothy smirk on her face that looked too devious to be wearing that many sequins. smoke wafted up from her cigarette, joining a great cloud overhead at the ceiling.

not tequila. why not tequila? tequila was great.

she watched him down the shots, her impression of him redeemed by relatable alcoholism, tequila or not. it made her want to take a shot herself, but knowing what chaos it might devolve into, she refrained. maybe later, in the comfort and security of the deep ocean.

lulu was genuinely amused at his candid response, and continued to smirk at him, not blinking. then, his hetero-normative question made her teeth grit behind closed lips. she chewed on her words for a moment before responding simply, “depends.” seemingly cryptic but devoid of all meaning; a word of simple acknowledgement, to let his question fall off to the side, unanswered.

she pulled the tan filter of her cigarette to her lips and continued to eye him through the steady ribbon of smoke that ascended between them. he was bold, but then again, so was buying a drink for someone before meeting them.

wait, pander? did he think she was a prostitute?

her eyes narrowed a little, smoldering, but she tried to remember where she was and why. though her violent spirit gnashed its teeth, she willed herself to stay focused, hold a smile. she could only do so much. leaning in to him a hair, her amber eyes were cutting as they looked squarely up at his. he was tall, but she was clearly not intimidated. “i prefer to sleep alone.” she showed her teeth in the smallest ‘fuck you’ grin. that, at least, was a truth she’d offer him.

her shoulders pushed from the bar where she’d been leaning and she sauntered a few steps in a half circle around him, looking idly out over the floor. “on the other hand, gambling alone’s kind of a drag, don’t you think?” she looked back at him. “everybody needs a good luck charm, right?” gross. she needed a shower already. rocket owed her.

she had to admit, in the back of her stubborn mind, that his edgy straightforwardness was refreshing.

lulu’s stare narrowed a hair again, their eyes deadlocked in a sort of standoff. was he catching on? hm. she supposed she could live with not being great at this kind of thing. the man had already been spending, anyways. it was only necessary to coast through this for the sake of appearances; they would see her walking next him, doing her job, and she could take the credit for whatever he spent on his own. it was not her goal to go above and behind on this mission. she’d give pushes when and if needed.

“i’m just being friendly.” there was a lilt to her voice, and she tried to manifest an innocent look, but it fell sort of flat in a toothy smirk that looked more sleezy than anything with a cheap cigarette hanging out of it.

her brows raised when he ordered the shots, caught by surprise. trying not to miss a beat, she told the bartender, “tequila.” as though challenging him in some strange alcoholic way by pledging loyalty to a different booze.

typically, she would have slammed the shots, and probably carried on having a good time, but she was on a job. she strained mentally for just a second or two before holding a single finger up to the bartender once the red-haired man had turned his back. she would allow herself one with the excuse that her breath should smell like it, and that it was a necessary detail for the job. she downed it and stamped out her cigarette, her eyes on his back.

as she made her way over to the table, an agave fire descending through her core, she watched him with a predatory closeness, and perhaps a tinge of curiosity. catching his scene from afar and the murderous glare he’d received, she snorted and grinned. dumbass.

she was waiting at the table for him when he arrived, having slid into a seat already, elbows resting on the wood of the table comfortably, coin purse sitting in her lap. nice shot, saw that was what her face read, but she said nothing amongst the voices of the few other gamblers that surrounded the table.

when he tipped the cup at her, she raised a brow. “ooh,” her voice rising and falling, “big spender.” lulu had a voice that constantly sounded like it was fucking with you, and she either wasn’t aware of it, or couldn’t turn it off. hopefully, her perceptive prey would find it somehow endearing. “thanks.”

her hand reached in and retrieved a chip and slid it onto nineteen. it was the number of her old cell block. it likely held no luck, but the house ensured she didn’t need much. the pins had her back.

others placed their bets, and the wheel was soon spinning. instead of barking at it like a few of them did, she turned to the still nameless man, raised a hand on her elbow and crossed her fingers lazily. there was no telling for sure she’d win, but she’d sure have much better chances than anyone else. both of them would, at first, probably until everyone else decided to leave the table, at which point they’d face off. that would be the plan.

the dealer’s finger ran expertly over something as his hands gripped the side of the table inconspicuously, and the smallest pin jutted out from inside the wheel, dropping the ball in a favorable corner. lulu looked back at it and chewed on her lip a tad, suddenly feeling an unexpected rush. it was better doing this with someone else’s money.

by some luck and skill of the dealer, the ball fell into nineteen. though she remained mostly cool, a jolt of delight coursed through her and she was suddenly decidedly enjoying herself. she looked over at him, grinning smugly. “see? lucky.” she proclaimed, holding her hands up in a 'what did i tell ya?' kind of gesture, giving herself way too much credit.

at the bit about his being a chef, lulu was reminded she’d not been to a restaurant in over a year. she was not a good cook, and although she’d grown up in a rich family, a spitefully chosen derailing into poverty had minimized the menu. the only times she had eaten truly well were when others had cooked for her. as self-sufficient as she typically was, she’d never learned. the gang had been filled with former kitchen workers, but those guys were long gone in her past. it was back to frozen meals and the occasional steak, all by itself. at least she could manage that.

there was something down to earth about a cook that she tended to vibe with, and it was almost enough to make her feel bad for targeting him. almost.

she wanted to ask the obvious question: ‘why gamble if you’re so broke?’ but that would have gone against the goal, so she refrained. “nothin’ wrong with that.” she responded, smiling back. being nice, for a moment.

she was admittedly feeling the thrill, which was nice considering everything that had been going on. maybe this mission wasn’t so bad after all. it beat literally mukking around in the sewers, thinking about impending doom. “fuck a buneary’s foot, i got this.” a win felt like a win at that moment, even as she was cheating.

her brow furrowed a little when he poured out more chips. she’d already won more than him. he’d matched her on shots she didn’t take, suffered through her antics, and was now pouring money out into her hands. his self-deprecating humor reminded her of the voice inside her own head, however, the generosity was something she was unfamiliar with. had she not had a purse full of rocket-provided chips, she would have not been able to afford to play anything herself.

after some fleeting guilt, she snapped out of it. this dude was just a sucker. if he wanted to throw his money away, so be it. that’s what she was here for.

she didn’t place any outside bets. truth be told, lulu didn’t even know entirely how to go about betting in roulette. she did the bare minimum, willing herself not to make eye contact with the dealer. she put her bet on two.

the wheel started spinning again, and lulu leaned into the table this time, hands lowering to the outside of it to crane to see. it was genuine excitement. the dealer was skilled, but her chances still sat at around thirty-three percent if it was done near-perfectly. her smirk grew as the ball dropped, and she made a noise of delight as it dropped into the correct number. people around the table were either flabbergasted or pissed off. not able to control herself, amber eyes flashed to the dealer for just a moment, silently thanking him. hopefully it would go unnoticed.

still grinning, she looked back at her nameless prey, wondering how far this might go. “wow, i'm having a good night.” she grinned at her own bullshit. after taking the chips, her hand went for a cigarette again from within her coin purse. she retrieved a zippo as well, flicking it open and striking it in performative fashion. she deposited it back in its place and blew smoke.

“so, king potatohead, where do you work?” introductions would typically have come first, but lulu was more interested in food than his name at that moment. maybe if he didn’t find her out, she could weasel her way into some kind of feed-me-out-the-back-door situation.

what was it with her and sailors? she thought briefly back to her drunken escapade with the silver-eyed captain, skyler dross , and how the woman had been able to to summon something in her she hadn't felt in years. even if it had come in some drunken, time-traveling stupor, she'd realized there were muscles she hadn't been aware she still had.

she went to hit her cigarette, getting quiet at the mention of his job loss and the hopefulness of his winnings. it didn't make sense, really, for her to soften up now. lulu killed people. she was a bad person--she had thoroughly convinced herself of that. why the conscience? perhaps the uncharacteristic lack of weaponry on her made her more inclined to use her brain before fucking someone over. perhaps prison had, while strengthening her in some ways, softened her in others. or perhaps the fear she'd been harboring lately made her subconsciously seek out the comforts and company of other people when she never would have otherwise.

she was off her game. she skipped a beat, and then, with a half-smile, half-smirk kind of look, "if you open your own place on my luck, that means you have to feed me forever." she hit the cigarette again, attempting to hold his eyes for a moment until a pang of darkness hit her in the chest out of nowhere. she held her expression until nodding at him when he took his brief leave. it didn't even occur to her that he was cashing out, and her eyes didn't follow him with the care they had before.

she looked down at the felt on the table and rolled her cigarette in a nearby ashtray pensively. her head was swimming with a confused soberness. even with no one around to see, she continued to avoid eye contact with the dealer, only this time it was because she was uncomfortable exposing her emotions to anyone, and she felt it was likely coming through her face a bit too much.

lulu and the dealer had waited for his return. she forced a grin up at him. "welcome back." like a true employee. but, what she was about to do, was not the job. watching him put all of his remainder on red, she slid a chip over to twenty-four. anything between twenty and twenty-five meant 'favor him'. several more pins came out of the wheel, almost invisibly, as it began spinning. then ball then dropped into sixteen, and the dolly was placed.

she sideeyed him. "can't win 'em all, right?" there was something decidedly deeper to the phrase. then, she pushed out of her seat, cigarette hanging out of her mouth as she did so. "just a sec." and then she left as quickly as he'd arrived again, bee-lining for the bar. not wanting to deal with her head anymore, she'd decided she'd take those other two shots now.

she walked back again, not in too big a hurry. she was breathing easier, at least. the alcohol was like a warm, weighted blanket. she slid back into the seat next to him, hit her cigarette wordlessly, and waited for him to make his bet first.

when he made her realize the implication behind her words, she felt her ears get hot. "you wish." she said dismissively, giving a professional smirk despite the blush on her multi-colored face.

as she'd walked off, she glanced over her shoulder at him to acknowledge his calling at her with a warm grin. this was distracting her from mortality, if only momentarily, and she was vulnerable enough to feel like a brief respite from paranoia was something more than it was. maybe it was her mind just reaching for things to hold onto, but he reminded her of old friends--the kind she hadn't yet found in rocket. as raw as they were, as raw as they'd turned her, it'd been the only time she'd ever felt like anyone had her back.

feeding someone was a powerful gesture.

feeling the rush of tequila when she sat back down, the grin she met him with was the widest yet, elicited by the playfulness in his own. her eyes averted quickly, self-conscious of what sort of impression she was giving off. lulu had never been good at reading flirtatious situations. he was giving her some sort of emotional craving she didn't care to indulge in. it felt too much like weakness.

while he spoke to the dealer, her eyes were trailing along the felt again, her heart sinking, for a couple of reasons, only one not selfish, and all conflicting. why did he keep giving her money? who did that? she hadn't been in many casinos in her day. maybe it was a thing she wasn't aware of. he just seemed so fucking nice, and not even in an obnoxious way. regardless, it made her decidedly uncomfortable.

when he spoke to her, she gave him an exposed looking stare, feeling their loss as it happened next to them."you're probably right." she responded flatly, when the dealer called it. his eyes were like headlights and she was the deer. she hit her cigarette, and then he got up, and she was surprised at that. here she was, thinking she'd be the first to leave. there was a sort of reverse psychology switch that happened in that moment, and she briefly wished that he wouldn't. the feeling didn't last, however, and she quickly talked herself out of trying to befriend him.

she finally looked away and poured what remained of her chips into her coin purse. she was at a loss for words for a second or two. she felt deflated for some reason. "yeah, well," another expertly forced smile, "thanks for playin' with me, potatohead."

lulu paused briefly, as though she were about to maybe introduce herself, but it got awkward after too long a pause, and then she simply nodded and turned, and walked in the other direction. at first, her toes were pointed at the exit, but after about ten steps she veered off in the direction of the booth to 'cash out' her coins. oops, forgot. almost as though she wasn't leaving with money, anyways. a hand came up and she felt her face in a most subtle facepalm. dumbass.

make her dinner, huh? she gave a light ‘heh’ under her breath as she walked off, amused as she entertained the thought of it; some world where she could take a nice stranger up on such an offer.

the daggers then hit the door with such a force he could probably feel them from the other side. that was a thought she wouldn’t entertain.

instead of ‘cashing out’, she slid her coin purse over the counter at someone as she passed by without making eye contact, already a thousand yards off, legs heading for the exit. she was regretting the alcohol—not because it didn’t feel good, but because it was doing unpleasant things to her head. in a strange way, it had already managed to pull her thoughts back into reality, back to worry and paranoia, and now, the tragedy of loneliness that came with keeping up a false identity. there were three people on the continent who knew who she was (that she was aware of), and their interactions were often cold, and few and far between. saoirse didn't keep friends. there were only lulu's bosses and cohorts. the dissociation was so real, the alter ego so strong, saoirse could have been dead and rotting in the prison of their shared soul and lulu wouldn't have known. perhaps she was catching a whiff now.

choosing an obscure exit, she shoved the door open as though it was the chest of her problems personified and she was looking for a fight. she’d not done her job. she lived for her job; it was all she was, so what did this make her? weak.

and she was still showing it, throwing a small tantrum, even if no one was around to see. the abrasive pressure of her father’s voice was wearing a blister on her mind and the pace of her emotional processing suffered. it devolved into directionless anger, as it typically did. without an outlet, she went to shove her fists in her pockets and found sequins only. huffing in frustration, her shoulders leaned with some force against the warehouse exterior, causing a cloud of dust, and dirtying the dress as she pulled her phone out of the front to dial a taxi.

should've played him.