[center][h1][color=82ca9d]"Emerald"[/color][/h1][/center]

[center][img]http://notable.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/tvqledytuustrip_club_title-600x400.jpg[/img][/center]

[center][h2][color=82ca9d]1:30 AM - Club Carousel, Manhattan[/color][/h2][/center]
	Friends, or she supposed people she was acquainted with as she didn't often bother with friends, occasionally asked her what drew her to the stage. Was it the money? Was it the attention? Was it a last ditch effort for hope in the kind of city that despite the lights, flash, and pomp still suffocates you slowly with its heady, heavy weight? It was always asked with a sick sort of superior sympathy, as if she was something to be pitied. Truth was, it was none of these things. She got on the stage because it felt like power. She could stand in a room filled wall to wall with authorities, mobsters, cops and anything in between and she could control the room with nothing more than the languid movement of her body.

	Tonight was no different. Emerald stared out at the sea of faces, directed at her or otherwise, and put on her best smile, pretending to hold no knowledge of the mighty web of crime being spun before her eyes in thick, black pitch.

	When it was over and she was backstage, she ignored the empty green eyes of a lost soul that gazed back at her from the lit up mirror and curled her painted lips into a private smile for the woman seated next to her. 
	
	“You were great out there Em, it seems like every night’s your best.” Emerald was two years Angel’s senior, but one would think ten by the looks of her. She was a lanky thing with pale skin, dark eyes and just enough to shake it on stage, her wispy blonde hair in a wild flight about her face.
	
	The day she walked into the club looking like a smear of white paint on a canvas of blood and grime she had caught Emerald’s fond eye. The girl was sweet and so Emerald allowed herself to take pity on her, and take her underneath her wing. “Why thanks, sweetheart, though I wouldn’t say it was my best. I’ve been dreadfully distracted lately.” 

	The small voice responded. “I’m sure no one noticed.” Angel fidgeted, twisting her hands into the frill of her own fluffy skirts with her lips pressed tightly together.

	“Spit it out dear, you look like you’ve swallowed a nasty bug.”

	“Well it’s just that… I saw you at the police station yesterday.” 

	Emerald resisted the urge to roll her eyes back with the flutter of her thick lashes before speaking. “A private call, I assure you. I’m a favorite among New York’s finest. Who would have thought?” She kept her eyes on her reflection, leaning forward to feign dalliance with her makeup.

	“Oh.” It was a moment before she spoke again. “I didn’t know that you—.”

	Emerald was quick to interrupt her. “—It’s none of your damn business if I do, sweetheart.” There were only a handful of ways a woman could make decent money in this city without working herself to the bone, so why not take full advantage of the gifts she’d been given?

	“Right.” Emerald’s gaze flickered to the girl to watch her tawny eyes drift to the side. “I just… this is the only job I have and if the club closes down because of the cops I don’t think I could ever…”

	Her guilt trips were easily overlooked and Emerald filed this conversation away for later inspection. Angel was pushing today and she was not truly sure why. The girl hardly ever questioned Emerald’s motives or actions. “It won’t close down because of my visits to the station— in fact if anything I’m securing our place in the heart of our dear protectors.”

	This finally got her a smile out of Angel, which were few and far between. She ignored the small swell in her heart and abruptly stood, shrugging into her trench coat and hefting her bag over her shoulder. “That was my last dance of the night, I’ll be making my way home. Stay out of trouble, dearest.” She tossed a wink in Angel’s direction and was out the door before she could hear the response.

[h2][center][color=82ca9d]2:21 AM[/color][/center][/h2]

	The rain and the crowd of people on the sidewalk that greeted her upon her exit did little to temper her foul mood. She shoved through men and women alike, focusing her gaze on the brilliant colors of red and purple emitting from the club’s signs and dancing upon the shiny puddles. She almost missed the girl at the bench. She stopped her brisk pace and looked the woman over. Her state and choice of clothing made Emerald’s first guess a tart, but a lowly one with poor taste in attractive colors.

	Emerald was intrigued, and that was really the only explanation she could think of when she later asked herself why the hell she didn’t just move on. “Mind if I sit, sugar?”