Yowzah Oneshot Collection (1)

15(M)

Not that anyone here but you would understand

You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn

“We’re willing to pay you very highly for this.” The man across from her exudes a mysterious air, and she doesn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, but then again she’s frankly never met a client she has trusted so this is nothing new.

“Yes, but for what exactly? You’re not being very specific are you?” She points this out bluntly, folding her arms and staring across the table at him levelly. She is used to cloak and dagger, of course – though this client seems to be taking the cloak part of it all literally, his blue hood drawn over his head completely and hiding his face – but this vague attempt to hire her is a bit ridiculous. She’d have left long ago if not for the bag full of credits lying on the table.

“We need you to kidnap the target. Well, kidnap is a strong word. Detain.”

“I don’t do torture.” Her voice is terse and she uncrosses her arms, one hand moving down to the holster strapped to her bare thigh under the table. She unbuckles it silently, comforted by the cool metal of her plasma gun under her fingers.

“No of course not. We just need him distracted. Out of the picture for a twelve hour window. I don’t really care how you achieve that, Miss Song – whatever you feel is best.” His voice is low and implies so many things. She doesn’t whore herself out either, but she restrains from pointing that out. She has been known to do personal escorts a time or two for cash – petty thefts and some dancing. The occasional assault – but she did those only when times were desperate.

“Why twelve hours?”

“It’s my favourite number.” Sarcasm is evident in his tone and he continues, “I said no questions.” His answer is curt and she nods. He slides a picture across the table and she can’t help but let out a short bark of laughter.

“This is the man you need taken care of? He looks like he couldn’t even find his way in to a bar let alone cause trouble for you.” She studies the image – black and white and somewhat grainy but none of it hiding the youth, or the floppy hair or the ridiculous clothes the target is wearing.

“Do not judge by his appearance alone, Miss Song. He can be dangerous. Probably the most intelligent man in the universe. But he’ll be... distracted by you. This is a list of aliases he’s been known to use-” Another sheet is slid across the table and she scans it quickly, her eyes wide. There must be close to a hundred different names listed and she frowns. “-and remember Miss Song. Half now, half when the job is accomplished. This need not be painful or even unpleasant for you.” The bag of credits is pushed into her hands and she grasps it loosely, feeling the shape of the currency under the blue cloth. “He’ll be here, tomorrow. Seven in the evening. Your twelve hours begin then. Donot disappoint us, Miss Song. Consequences could be... unpleasant.” The bastard doesn’t even wait for her agreement before standing and striding through the dim bar, cloak wrapped around him protectively.

She pockets the money and stands, the photo still in her hand. It’s not a bad assignment really – just keep one bloke out of the way for one night. She can do that. And really he’s not unattractive, in a sort of gangly, childish way, she muses.

She exits the bar – grateful that she is able to look at the owner Dervo, and refuse his unasked question about the chances of her needing a job tonight. He likes to hire her to dance every now and then, when she needs the money. University is a lot more expensive than she would like – but she was determined to get her doctorate. She’d left the home at seventeen after earning her acceptance – and she’d no intention of ever letting a little thing like lack of funds get in the way of her goals.