anew || umbrella academy

T W O

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While the streetlights shine down upon the night-darkened street, I slip narrowly through the shadows of buildings and pass rowdy groups passing. The night has gotten colder and colder as the summer humidity of Dallas slipped into a colder autumn. My breath swirls and dances in the cold, that being the only evidence of my passing through the dark.

The letter nestled in the pocket of my coat hits against my side with every move, reminding me of my task for the night. Three months of surviving Dallas, Texas while trying to find the Hargreeves had left me to seek less admirable ways of holding my own. But working for the Dallas Gang in 1963 honestly isn't as bad as one might think.

I roll my eyes as I reach my destination of tonight's message delivery Carousel Burlesque, the 60's version of a strip club. I sneak into the back entrance and quickly make my way into the main room. The heavy scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol lingers in the room, making me want to gag at the choking smell. Half of the places I'm sent are almost always like this.

I quietly weave around the booths, keeping my head down to hide my face and thus my still healing scar. My hand slips into my coat's inner pocket as I approach the booth that holds only one man who watches the woman on stage. His eyes remain on the entertainer as I slip into the booth across from him, only the table separating me from the older man.

Pulling out the envelope, I slide it across the table and the man's hand swiftly grabs it and places it into his suit's pocket. His cold, dark eyes move to me as I slouch against the booth, waiting for his response. The swing music and bright atmosphere greatly opposites the transaction between me and Ruby.

"I didn't realize that Johns would send you, Pigeon."

I glower at the table, hating the name that had so kindly been bestowed upon me when I refused to give the gang my real name. I'm seen as a carrier pigeon, carrying important info while looking small and defenseless. It feels like an insult every time I hear it.

"It's important, dickhead. He didn't want someone who would flake out on it." I scoff as my eyes peer out of the large crowd, annoyance with the conversation overwhelming me. Jack Ruby simply laughs at my words, as if they were the funniest thing he's heard.

"They were right when they said that you were mouthy. Where are your manners, little girl?," the man asks. His tone is joyful but his narrowed eyes give him away; the man is annoyed at my blatant disrespect.

I turn my head to stare at his narrowed eyes, hair moving to show my scarred face and grey, blank right eye. Remaining slouched against the booth, I give a shit-eating grin and shrug my shoulders. "Manners aren't shit if you treat me or anyone like we're lower than you."

"I can see why the boss likes you, Pigeon." The malice in the man's eyes disappears, leaving only fake joy and ill-intended curiosity. Ruby leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and I feel his eyes look over my face, like I'm some new discovery never seen before by human eyes. "How'd you get that scar?"

"Fuck off, old man," I scoff and roll my eyes. Sitting back up, I shift out of the booth and stand in front of it. "Johns says to burn it after you read it. Or don't, it's your ass on the line, not mine. Are we good here?"

"Sure, Pidgeon."

I remain standing for a second, looking over the packed crowd and inspecting. A certain energy surges, one I hadn't felt in three months since being dropped in 1963. As my frame stiffens I look quickly over the crowd, looking for the owner of the energy.