last call

If I hold up hell, will you take the blame?
Put the devil’s tongue on my middle name

She'd been in here every night this week and every night Cordelia has been her waitress. The woman doesn't sit at the bar. No, instead she takes a seat at one of the tables near the window, watching the rain drops chase each other down the panes of glass until one catches the other and they meld into each other, too heavy to stay in one spot. Every night she orders a water with lemon and a White Russian. Usually with a very late dinner. Miss Kaito stays until the last call each and every night. She always leaves with a murmured, "Thank you." A generous tip left behind on the table.

Every night Cordelia kicks herself for not saying anything more beyond the small talk. Never brave enough to ask anything more than how her day was or if the meetings went well. Cordelia knew she was here on business. A week long trip. Maybe longer if the deal went well. Not that the waitress really had any idea what it was that Ms. Kaito did. Other than it seemed really important if the way she was always checking her phone and answering emails was anything to go by.

Glancing up at the clock, Codelia sighs, watching as the minute hand ticks closer to one in the morning. Last call is coming up and with it Ms. Kaito will undoubtedly disappear into the elevator across the lobby, whisked away to the penthouse and out of reach again, leaving Cordelia to mourn another lost chance. "Might as well stop putting off the inevitable." She mutters to herself, grabbing her tray and slipping from around the bar, smiling as she approaches the table tucked into the corner. "Is there anything else I can get you, Ms. Kaito? It's almost last call." Cordelia's voice is quiet in the soft din of the bar, just audible over the classical music that filters through the hidden speakers, honey brown eyes shining in the low lighting.

Cordelia

Hotaru

The deal is going well.

Of course it is, she’s the one heading it. Ru’s ego is well-earned in many ways, but in this she knows there is no room for denial. That’s why she was the one chosen to fly out of course; Hotaru is simply the best her firm has. They don’t waste her time lightly. Ru would never entertain that. This club occupies her evenings on her firm’s dime, keeping her plied with her favorite drink and music that perfectly straddles the line between thumping bass and classier notes.

The views, of course, are merely an additional bonus.

Hotaru never takes a partner on these assignments. It’s in her contract, and it’s part of her pull at the company. She will get them the deal they want, and only rack up a bill equivalent to a singular person (even if that person does have expensive taste), but they must trust her to work her magic. And not complain about her proclivities, of course. Hotaru won’t suffer fools, and too many at headquarters fit the bill. Add that to being a single woman, and it means each evening is spent with only the company of a very, very beautiful bottle server sporadically popping in for conversation.

Good company, visually at least. Hotaru is normally not the type to flirt with staff - far too aware of the unfair advantage she has, as the person not only tipping them but a well-paying customer in the eyes of their employer - but Cordelia (as she’d introduced herself) makes her question her own normally strict integrity.

Ah, speak of the devil.

Cordeli arrives at the perfect time; as she always does. The rain outside is foreign to her, a rarity back home, and as such mesmerizing. It makes it easy to get whisked away in her own thoughts, and when she glances down at her glass it is tellingly empty. No wonder Cordelia has arrived. She is quite good at her job after all. Ru’s eyes slide over to her server, and she languidly stretches her legs, crossing them the other way and bouncing her heeled foot idly to the music’s beat. Heterochromatic eyes slide from Cordelia’s feet to her eyes, somehow both elegant and shameless in her perusal. “Ru, dearest, as I’ve told you before.” Reclining slightly, she pops the top button of her perfectly pressed white undershirt, shamelessly revealing her cleavage - and affording a little breathing room, warmed by the alcohol in her system. Stares at Cordelia a long moment, and sucks her tongue in a soft click of consideration. “When do you get off, Cordelia? Surely soon. You’ve been tending to me all night, and I’m one of the only ones remaining.” Refusing to reveal her hand too early, but wondering if tonight she might change the pattern.

Baby it's primal, I want you on all fours
before I let you walk, gotta show me how you crawl

If I hold up hell, will you take the blame?
Put the devil’s tongue on my middle name

And perhaps that's why Cordelia hasn't tried pressing her luck. The incredibly clear boundaries that Hotaru has set in place from the beginning. Always respectful and kind to her. Never wasting her time. Which is also why Cordelia doesn't pay much mind to the way the woman's mismatched gaze roves over her from head to toe. They take in one of the few pairs of heels she owns, a pair of red bottoms that she found in a thrift store that she got for a steal thanks to an employee's mistake with pricing, and the little black dress that's seen better days. A small apron tied tightly around her slender waist to hold her notepad and pens. A simple uniform. One that Hotaru has seen her in every night this week.

Yet the woman looks her over like she's brand new.

Her breath catches in her throat at the reminder and she feels her cheeks flush, the wash of color travelling down her neck, disappearing beneath the neckline of her dress. "Sorry, Ms. Kai-" She catches herself, bottom lip between her teeth at her fumble, "Sorry, Ru. It's a force of habit." Cordelia finally manages, reaching to clear her table, carefully placing the empty glass and dinner plate onto her tray. She stands there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do as her honeyed gaze follows Hotaru's hand, watching slender fingers pop the button of her blouse, revealing creamy skin and delicious cleavage. Her mind grinds to a halt and she barely hears what she says next.

The question catches her off guard, causing her to blink a few times before she's looking up at her with wide eyes, lips parting silently. There is a moment where it seems like she won't say anything. Simply too surprised to manage a word, but eventually her brain catches up and she clears her throat. "Yes ma'am. A little after one. I just have to help clean up and then I'm free to go home." And she doesn't let herself think it's anything more than simple curiosity. Small talk to be polite. Hotaru seems like the type who would ask those questions.

When do you get off? What do you do outside of work? Are you going to school? Surely they don't work you too hard, do they? All of these she's asked before in some way, shape or form, but tonight seems different. Maybe it's because when she walked up Hotaru had been lost in the rain outside or simply that it's late and she's tired. Whatever the reason, Cordelia refuses to let herself get her hopes up, knowing that tonight would end the way every night did. A long walk home to her little flat where nothing but a pitiful TV dinner and a cup of tea before bed waited for her.

Cordelia

Hotaru

The manner and quality of dress don’t bother Hotaru in the least. She’d worn much the same, and worse, in her younger years. Only being cutthroat and impeccably good at bending people around her fingers had changed that. It affords her clarity now as an adult, a vision that helps her see the diamond in the rough the younger woman is.

The flush is a perfect watercolor glaze on a priceless painting, ruined only by the ma’am that slips from Cordelia’s mouth. Ru conceals the displeased twist that tries to come to her lips. It’s the rules of the establishment, but ‘mistress’ would sound far prettier from that mouth than a title most men use to make her feel old and out of her league. As if.

If she had any reservations about breaking her own rule tonight, Cordelia’s starstruck, unblinking gaze is enough to wipe it away. She’s nervous - endearingly so - but it tempers the sharklike smirk Hotaru would normally employ after such a revealing slip. Her perfectly manicured nails tap the table in a slow cadence, considering. Then she reaches into her small clutch purse and retrieves her business card and her specialty fountain pen. On the back she writes her room number in perfect, flourishing cursive. Then she calmly caps her pen, replaces it, and turns to Cordelia. She tucks it into the apron pocket, careful not to actually touch the girl. There are limits, after all, and Ru lifts her eyes to meet Cordelia’s as she then pulls out her normal tip with intent. “Here’s the deal, dearest. My room number is on that card. I’m in the penthouse above; alone, of course. No surprises.” She’s not looking for a unicorn or someone to share with a lover. “You will not tell me now what your answer is. Your tip is the same, with a little extra as an apology if you’d prefer we forget this. If you show up tonight, you will be mine for the night. Nothing more, nothing less.” Smoothly looping her purse strap over her shoulder, Ru stands, her short stature still imposing even without the added height of her heels. Her eyes don’t waver from Cordelia’s. “If you decide to decline, you may find a different server to tend to me tomorrow night. There will be no repercussions, and no allusions to my offer.” Gathering her notepad next, the only times she breaks eye contact with Cordelia, Ru slides it into her work bag and then collects that as well. Turns to Cordelia, and lets her lips tilt into an invitingly coy expression. The offer is already made so what’s the harm? “Have a good night, Cordelia.” Howeber she chooses. And with that, Ru strides out as she has each night before, with a graceful wave of her fingers towards the hostess that seats her each night who bids her goodnight and a staunch focus that refuses to allow her to look away as she enters the elevator, and watches Cordelia from afar until the doors close to whisk her away to the top floor.

Baby it's primal, I want you on all fours
before I let you walk, gotta show me how you crawl

If I hold up hell, will you take the blame?
Put the devil’s tongue on my middle name

For the span of a breath she thinks she's done something wrong. The seconds ticking by as Ru seems to weigh her words. Her heart beats a staccato against her ribs, palms beginning to sweat as she holds on tightly to the tray, keeping it balanced and not daring to let it wobble now despite how weak her knees feel. She didn't think she could have it any worse for this woman, but she speaks again and the heat that seems to constantly curl in her stomach whenever Hotaru is within eyesight flares. Cordelia watches as Hotaru writes down her room number with a flourish. It wouldn't have been necessary. She already knew what room she was in, having to charge her meals and drinks to it every night, but the thought is appreciated none the less.

Her lips part to speak, but she's cut off, a strict instruction given and her mouth shuts quickly. Teeth clacking with the speed of it and she swallows thickly. As if she was going to say no. As if she could possibly turn her down. She couldn't. Not when every night she stared after her until the golden haired goddess disappeared behind sliding elevator doors. Much like she was doing now. Cordelia is still standing there, dumbstruck and silent, eyes never leaving Hotaru as she crosses the lobby and steps into the elevator. Only when the doors finally shut, forcing her to blink does she breathe again, weak in the knees and trembling.

The card burns in her pocket, shifting down further into the front of her apron, the corners pressing through the fabric against her thigh with each step she takes. There isn't much for her to do. She usually starts to clean about an hour before they close when there aren't many people inside. Much like it was tonight. She's grateful for that now, finishing up a full ten minutes early. More than enough time to rush into the back and freshen up a little bit.

"Okay.. Okay.. No big deal, Delia. Just- just a one night stand with the most beautiful women you've ever laid your eyes on. Yeah... It's fine. Absolutely fine." Cordelia mutters to herself as she looks herself over in the mirror, wincing at her smudged eyeliner and faded lipstick, trying her best to salvage what she can. She swipes a bit more color onto her lips, touches up her makeup and applies a spritz of perfume, hoping to cover up whatever lingering smell of alcohol hangs on her.

Forlornly she wishes that had the forethought to wear cuter underwear instead of the basic black cotton briefs that are under her dress. Sensible underwear. Bought in a five pack at the dollar store because she couldn't afford the fine scraps of lace that were sold in the boutiques scattered around downtown. God, what was she thinking? This was crazy. Stupid. Hotaru would take one look at her and laugh. What with her flat chest and ribs that poked out all funny because there wasn't enough meat on her bones. That woman could have anyone she wanted. Anyone at all. Yet she asked for Cordelia. It had to be a joke. A cruel trick of the universe, right?

All of this runs through her head as she clutches the strap of her bag, feet aching as she stands in the middle of the elevator, barely hearing the music inside over the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She's not even sure how she gets to the door, but suddenly she's there. Her knuckles poised over the wood to knock, hanging there for a moment too long before she summons all of the courage she can manage, rapping quickly on the thick wood. "I-It's me." Cordelia calls out, keeping her voice low as if being any louder would wake her up from what was surely a dream.

Cordelia