I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE

OUTFIT | OPEN

It was just another night. Tamara really just took them one night at a time at this point. There was no reason to do anything else. She went to work, she went back to the room she rented in the hotel, and entertained herself in other ways. There was really no reason for her to think about the future, to make any other kind of plans. She didn’t know what else she could really even hope for. She’d had a good life, at one point. She’d had plans, she’d had somewhere that she hoped to go with her life. She had Jack, and her writing, and the prospect of a future. They were going to get married, probably have a kid—or at least get a dog, and a house. But that wasn’t her life anymore, and she had no reason to think that she’d ever have anything like that. It wasn’t what she wanted anyway. If she couldn’t have it with Jack, then she didn’t think there was much of a point in trying. She would… enjoy her life in the only way that she could, and this… worked for her. It wasn’t what she ever would have expected, but it was better than being homeless. Before this, that was what had happened. She had gotten herself off of the streets by going into this particular business, and it was fine. It was all… fine. A few drinks helped, but getting drunk didn’t. That wasn’t good for business, if you looked like you had to be drunk to stomach the work.

She didn’t have to be. Tamara had actually been surprised how easy it was to get good at this job once she’d gotten used to it. Now that she was at Fleur De Lis, she was safer. She knew that. Having her own client list had been… both better and worse, depending, but she knew that it was mostly worse. It was more dangerous, there was more risk, because it was impossible to know what kind of situations she was walking into, and there was no one to vet anybody. She didn’t know how Mellie did that, really. She didn’t know if there were people that went too far that she didn’t let in the door, or if she knew and let them in anyway. Not everyone that came here was a gentleman, after all, and there were whether they were here or out on their own. But she thought that everyone knew that they were safer here, which was part of the draw of it to begin with. That, and a bigger base of clients, and just a place to go so that they didn’t have to worry about that either. To her, the answer had been obvious. This was the only thing that she could really… do, these days. She barely slept, barely functioned some days. She could go from not sleeping for nights on end, to sleeping for nearly a week after she couldn’t function any longer.

Sleep paralysis, and insomnia. It was a lovely little combination that she’d had to contend with in recent years. It had gotten worse after Jack had left, and when he had never come back… well, then it had gotten even worse. She had thought she would be okay once he was home, and back in bed with her, and then he never had been. Everything had just gotten worse, and now sleep wasn’t something that she could count on. She just went until she couldn’t anymore, and hoped that just maybe she’d get some sleep—and if she did, she had to hope that it was okay, and there was no sleep paralysis, no hallucinations. Sometimes she got lucky, sometimes she didn’t. She didn’t know what tonight would bring, but she knew she had a fair amount of time before she’d even get to think about that. For now, she had work to do, and she was milling around the main area, waiting to see if she caught anyone’s eye, or they caught hers. Or someone wanted to see every one of their options lined up all pretty. She could go out into the hotel, to the bar, but she didn’t quite feel like getting changed and dealing with that just yet. She thought she’d just drink her martini and see what happened. Usually it didn’t take too long before someone came up to her—it was why they were here, after all.

SO SHAME ON ME NOW

outfit

One of her teammates had basically grasped her by the shoulder and ordered her to go to the hotel. She couldn't quite remember if it was Harpies (in which case, such disrespect to their Captain) or someone on England (in which case, such disrespect to an elder) or someone on Wales (they had a Harpy or so there, so she fairly knew them, in which case, rude to both an elder and non-teammate). Whoever, whichever it had been (had she been drunk when it happened? at an after-party? probably. she was turning into more of a sad drunk as time went on), somehow she'd agreed and she'd been called out for procrastinating, and she was. . .here now. There?

She took a breath. This felt. . . she didn't know. She'd never done something like this before, had never needed to. She usually just fell into bed with some Quidditch player, or whoever was at a party if they looked like she could survive the night. Maybe she did have a problem, who knew. But-- it wasn't like she was getting older, she was only thirty-four, her body could still go through everything-- she just wasn't the early/mid-twenties model of Quidditch player everyone liked.There had been a slight surge after the interview with Ginny, but it had died down, and she was more of. . .

Well, whatever. More alone, probably. The Harpies, and even bloody England knew she hadn't really been the same since Lady left, so it was like they thought they were doing her a favor. Well, okay. And she'd tried her best, really, she had.
She'd cut off her hair for the night so it didn't start eating at pillows or headboards or even hands twirled in it (Glynnis Griffiths, that was always embarrassing in mornings when it came time to explain) so that was. . .something? And she'd tried to dress up a little, had made sure to extra shower and use some small scent and deodorant just in case.

She took another breath, trying to find someone who looked both. . .relatively non-scary (please, she might have been a Gryffindor, but that didn't always help when doing something like this!) and not-too-young for it to be weird. Her face flamed (she was a grown woman, for Gwendolyn's sake! a grown, adult woman who had worn lingerie before!) at the sight of one of them-- but she also looked the least intimidating. Okay, okay, okay, she could do this.

She kept her hands from tugging at hair that no longer dusted the sides of her ribcage, swallowed her anxiety and headed up to the woman, hoping beyond hope she wasn't doing something wrong-- how even did you act in these situations? Even if nothing ended up happening, she could at least still pay full price (and tip? do you tip?) before fleeing from embarrassment. Did you introduce yourself? Use false names? Had she been told, if so why hadn't she paid attention as the other Quidditch player spoke to her?)

A question burst out-- if not perhaps the question she meant to. "Does the lace get itchy?"

Nights never really changed here. They all mostly all felt the same to her. There were different clients, and their different ideas of fun, but nothing ever really stood out to her. After all of this time, it was just more of the same. This was just what she did for a living. Sometimes, it was fine. Sometimes, it… wasn’t. But she was used to it regardless, and Merlin knew that it was safer being here than it was anywhere else. Being on her own had its own dangers. She didn’t know just who she was inviting into her bed for the night, and as such, she was at more of a risk of something happening that she didn’t want. Tamara had to rely mostly on instinct, in the past, to make sure that she didn’t make any bad choices. There was a difference in an unfortunate desire of a client, and something that could actually get her hurt, and what was important was figuring out that line. It was something that she’d had to learn over the period of time that she had been doing this. And it was something that had been slightly easier because of the time she’d spent homeless.

When she was living on the streets, her entire life was calculated risks. She had to figure out what was too dangerous, and what was worth it. It meant that she was mistrustful of people’s motives by nature, and that proved to be useful when she was deciding whether or not to get in bed with them. But it was still a risk when she was by herself. There was still a chance that something could go wrong, and that she would get herself in a situation that she couldn’t get out of. That was why she had taken Mellie up on this offer. Not only was the location set, in a private backroom of a hotel, but there were people for that. Mellie was in charge. She wasn’t going to let anybody in that was dangerous. Yes, people sometimes had dangerous wants and she wasn’t going to turn all of them away, but she at least would stop someone from coming in that would do permanent damage. That was something. And if someone happened to slip through the cracks, they were surrounded by other people. There was help. There was support if something went wrong, and she certainly hadn’t had that when she had been working by herself.

But regardless of what the clients wanted, nights still remained the same to her. She had regulars, and they usually wanted the same thing anyhow, and then there were the clichés. First timers, to a place like this one, or just the act in general. The married men, the single ones, the women, the couples… there was nothing that she didn’t see before. Nothing really surprised her anymore. Tamara didn’t know if she considered that to be a good or a bad thing, but it was reality nonetheless. This was just her job at this point. She wasn’t happy with it, but she wasn’t miserable either. She liked the regulars that brought her presents, and deal with the clients that left her sore the next day. It was just the job. Before she had been an editor, now she was… this. This was what her life had turned into, and that was all there was to it. There was no reason to think too much into it, and she certainly didn’t like thinking about the way her life could have gone. She didn’t like thinking about the what-if’s now that Jack was gone.

Tamara didn’t know what to expect of tonight, so she had just stayed in the front of the house. She would have gone out to the bar, but she didn’t feel like getting redressed or putting that much effort in tonight. It was easier to just stay back here. Someone would approach her eventually, as always, and then they would just take it from there. There weren’t very many women back here that weren’t working, but one of the few that was ended up being the person that approached her. And what she asked was… actually something that she hadn’t heard before. A first. She found herself smiling anyway—there was no reason not to show that she was amused. “It doesn’t. But I admit that I might just be used to it.” It wasn’t something that she had ever thought all that much about. It had never bothered her. When she had been starting out, the fabric of what she was wearing was hardly what made her ill at ease, and then she had just gotten used to… all of this. She was rather comfortable with it at this point.

better believe I'm troublE

appearance 

Jaxon Cole--infamous playboy of the Puddlemere United--did not have to pay for sex. He had many eager and very willing partners. Hell, he even had a particular little ginger that he could do most anything he wanted to with--and of course, he did. But that did not keep him from being curious about what the Fleur de Lis had to offer him. He was a man of particular sexual appetites--and had no shame about them. Sex was fun for him...in a different life where Quidditch had not worked out, he might not have minded to be one of the Madame's employees.

The seeker had gotten a drink--not to calm the nerves, as he had known, but just because he fancied a nice scotch--and had it in hand when he was guided back to the private area. Scantily clad women were all around. He took his time looking over each of them--looking for what might suit his fancy this evening. There was no shortage of selection. Truly, he was quite impressed. He just might have to come back to this place. If he just wanted to get laid, it beat putting up with all the fanfare that accosted him when he went out to clubs.

Sure, Puddlemere wanted him to be seen--to keep his name and by extension the team's in the tabloids--free publicity was the best kind, so long as it wasn't too bad. They didn't want him fighting or getting thrown out. They just wanted him seen out having fun and being handsome. It was easy enough. He had lived the life for almost a decade now. He had loved it for awhile. Now, it was starting to drain on him. He found little enjoyment out of going to the club night after night now that he was creeping up towards thirty.

Merlin, when had he gotten so old? The time had just vanished. He could barely fathom it. But his age wasn't on his mind tonight. The blood to fuel his brain was being diverted southward by all the lovely figures on display for him. One brunette caught his eye and he strolled over---all cocky swagger, broad shoulders and damn tall. It wasn't until he got close that he realized she was talking to someone he had played against for years now---another captain of a pro team: the one and only Demelza Robins of the Harpies--as well as played with for a number of years since he took up the mantle of seeker for the English National Team. Jaxon had joined the National Team his second year in the professional league after he'd had such a knockout rookie season, won rookie of the year, and all that jazz. So, he'd been a teammate of Demelza's for creeping up on ten years--He couldn't even keep the time straight anymore. Time was all just one full moon to the next to him. Such was the plight of the werewolf. Hell, he was even her captain now....since Chet had gotten sick of quidditch and thrown in the towel, Jaxon had stepped up to lead the team. 

"Well, fancy seein' you here," Jaxon announced his presence, while slinging an arm over Demelza's shoulders and winking at her. He gave her an easy grin-- his comfortable demeanour and warm persona made it very clear he had no judgement about the woman's presence at the club. Truly, he was a strong proponent of everyone he knew getting plenty of skin to skin contact with other people. It was good for the mind and the heart--even if it didn't mean anything. Or so he thought. "You makin' a claim on this un, Melza--" the seeker asked. His usual country drawl drug out his words. The deep bass of his rough voice rumbled the air around the pair of beautiful women.

A half-smile grew on her face in return.

That was. . .difficult to picture. Demelza couldn't imagine that, couldn't imagine being stuffed and prodded into. . .itchy things. Were there spells for things like that? Her mother had tried, a few times, to make Demelza like she had-- had even given her a family name, and some long middle name that Demelza only used to show how she belonged on the Harpies, because she too, had a G-name. Alicia had done the same-- the middle name, that was. Alicia was married though, and happily, gleefully so to. . . Giselle, that was it. No, Gizella. A name like that.

It didn't feel-- how was she to know that it really was consent, that. . .they could still say so, right? Did they feel comfortable enough? She didn't know, she couldn't be sure-- would it be possible to just. . pay enough for a few nights, and do something non-creepy for some time where the rather. . erm, scantily-clad woman would be able to . . .get sleep or something? Or would that be worse? She didn't know, Gwenog fuck it, what did someone do? in this situation? in general?
fuck it all, fuck it all, she didn't fucking know, and what sort of position was she putting the other woman in with her own uncomfortably?

Maybe she ought to--

An instinctual flinch as the arm was slung around her shoulders. She knew who it was, of course-- the peculiar American and southern drawl even not halfway tamed under so many years in Britain, and was well used to the easy, casual comradeship of Quidditch. Flinch was only the sudden half-unexpectedness with nerves, before the relaxing back down.

After all, tt was such a physical sport, though those who'd never played often questioned that. Physical to play, to practice, and so of course things were often physical off-pitch, in any way the term might be considered. Whenever she'd fought with Lady, her team had said they'd go physical, with bets safely wagered on both sides. They'd tamped them down, keeping them only verbal in situations even less than half an inch from each other's faces, spitting words in a fury.

And the player in question? He had little idea of personal space in terms of how he did physicality. With some to begin with, 'Melza might have been bothered, but Jaxon Jameson Cole was different. He was like that with everyone, casually comfortable enough and lounging. To have kicked it away to begin with and especially now would be like crossing some line.

"You're lucky I cut my hair," she returned, shaking her head at her teammate. As his accent was one of his trademarks, her omnivorous hair was her most visible. Jaxon was well-used to Demelza hurling away helmets at the end of practices after finding her hair had had at it, and eaten away the inside protection, had more than a few times found her pulling half-destroyed insects and very small rodent bones from it.

"Me? I mean, can't make a claim on a person." She took her eyes off him, moving to @tamara . "I'm good with whatever you'd prefer."

This was never supposed to be her job. It had just sort of happened, and she hadn’t been in a position to deny it when it was a good way for her to make money. Before this had happened, she had been homeless. She had lost her mum’s house trying to pay her hospital bills, and she hadn’t had anywhere else to go. This had been an accident that had turned into the best way she could think to make money, and it was. With her insomnia and the other problems that had sprung up since Jack had died, she hadn’t had a lot of options. But this left her with more than enough money to spare. She got to live at the hotel for free, which meant that she could save all the money that she made--save it, and spend it how she liked. She had very few expenses so that meant that she could buy nice clothes, or chocolate, or bottles of champagne. It was the simple pleasures, and she was doing well enough to have no complaints.

It was still never supposed to be like this. But her life had changed. She had changed. Jack was gone, and she had to try to pick up the pieces the best way that she could. Without being able to get much sleep at night, a traditional job just hadn’t been an option. She had lost that traditional job, after all. This was something that worked for her. It had her up most nights anyway, and she could try to get some sleep when she could manage it. Tamara had to admit that it just… worked. It was simple. It wasn’t… easy, but after a couple of drinks to take the edge off, the night got easier. She couldn’t actually tell clients that, but that was just the truth. She was very rarely entirely sober. It wasn’t anything personal--it was just her these days. She stuck with what worked and she found that she was better at all of this when she had a couple of drinks. It made it all easier.

Sometimes she saw people that she knew, and sometimes she saw people that she’d heard of. The woman was of the second group. She had never met her before--but she knew who she was. She played for the Harpies. Tamara wasn’t the most up to date with Quidditch, it was never something that had interested her too much, but popular players on the most popular teams were usually easy enough to spot out in a crowd. They were all over the tabloids and the magazines. Usually she could know enough about their reputation and be either surprised or unsurprised that they were at Fleur de Lis. In this case, she thought the woman was not a frequenter of places like this one--and that didn’t necessarily mean good things for her wallet. A woman here alone either meant good money or… not good money, depending on if they were there for curiosity or for something more specific. The latter usually meant that she’d make a good amount of galleons, and former didn’t.

It didn’t mean that she was going to walk away because it didn’t really work like that. Tamara just thought that there were probably people in here tonight that she would make more money from. And even as the thought crossed her mind, someone else was approaching--another familiar face but this one… for more reasons than one. He was someone that she recognized from Quidditch, once again, but also Hogwarts--and that was never a good thing for her. Jaxon had been a Hufflepuff as well, and she had only been a year older than him. There was a good chance that he would recognize her, and she didn’t go by her name here. She didn’t like it when people knew who she was from… before her life got complicated. But he also probably knew so many people that a girl he knew from Hogwarts years ago now might be someone that he couldn’t place. “That actually is kind of how it works here.” She explained, with a small smile. It wasn’t an insult or demeaning or anything like that, it was just… how it worked. You came here and picked who you wanted, simple as that.