To begin, Piano Man played on the radio and a vague idea developed in my mind. So later I spent like 30 repetitions of the song writing it out. I haven't done anything like this in a long long time. Also, don't know what the rules are about swearing so I apologize if it's frowned upon - oh, it's just censored. Cool. This is "based" on my pet Renaitre and the story is more developed than the actual character. Character is more a product of the excerpt than the other way around.

Name: René Age: 24 Occupation: Stripper, Wendy Darling.

Description: 5'4, petite, nice curves. Black lightly curled hair past the shoulders. Her eyes are the only real physical anomaly, they are like embers. They actually seem to "glow" (although do not actually) and change colors like an ember would, as well as be brighter or darker depending on mood/health. She usually wears well-fitting dark skinny jeans, a dark top and a leather jacket. Sometimes a maroon overcoat. Scarves and hats if it's cold. Wears boots of many kinds.

Personality (pretty underdeveloped): Few strong thoughts on her job, but isn't ashamed. Very contemptuous of most people, although she will hold a conversation if approached. Intelligent. Has strong opinions but doesn't care to discuss them because she finds it frivolous. Has little fear of anything. Sarcastic, can be antagonistic, careless, lacks empathy, doesn't hold on to relationships well. (Don't have any idea in what direction the drugs will go.)

"So, Wendy, what's the money for? College?" He asked as he laid a fifty into her hand.
"Oh honey, I just come every night hoping you'll be here," she answered, returning his shit eating grin with an alluring smile of her own. He sat in the mauve armchair and she straddled him, moving her hips like a queen. On the other side of the curtain a loud song played and Danielle, she knew, was dancing while men smoked and drank scotch and gin. Her eyes blazed when the man put his hand on her ass, but her smile didn't quaver. He was a good regular, and he'd never given her trouble before. Soon another song had begun in the club, and she heard Paul's voice above it.
"Gentleman, prepare yourselves for our very own Wendy Darling, ready to give you lost boys quite a show."
"That's my cue, honey," she said, firmly removing his hand and slipping out from behind the curtain. 



Hours and two more dances later René slid out the back door with a thick fold of cash in her bra. The click of her boots accompanied her down the long dark street. Without slowing her stride she took out a Marlboro, cupped a hand against the wind, and lit it. She walked quickly and with little regard, the street lights passed her one by one. It had rained that afternoon and the pavement was still wet, but the sky was cloudless and the air crisp. René hazarded a glance at the sky yet cloudless or not the city lights drowned out the stars almost completely. She didn't mind, she had little use for stars. A car slowly weaved its way up the street from behind her, the lights causing black shadows to leap out and quickly recede. From the car came a half-hearted drunken cat call. She guessed it was a john on his way home from the club and wondered fleetingly what trouble awaited him there. 

The cigarette didn't last long and soon found itself smoldering in the gutter. The car had disappeared around a corner a few blocks away, and René quickened her pace. She also had somewhere to be and she knew exactly what trouble waited there. With deft movements she had another lit cigarette between her lips. Soon she stopped before a metal door with flaking green paint. She pulled it open and began to climb the narrow stairs. The stairwell smelled like old buildings do when they never really get dry, and the carpet was most certainly a different color than it had been new. After the third flight she went through another door into a gray corridor. René quickly walked to the third door on the left and knocked four quick, concise knocks. She waited patiently until a tall redhead with milky skin and a rash of freckles opened the door. His slightly sunken eyes looked into the hallway blankly for a second before the focused on her face and a languid smile crept onto his face. She did not greet him and she did not smile but instead ducked beneath his arm and shouldered her way into the apartment.

Inside it smelled like pot and how a building smells when it never really gets dry. To her left was a TV playing the Cosby Show in front of a threadbare couch on which two more guys sat looking at the table in front of them instead of the television. One turned to look at her and continued to watch her even after it became clear that the dazed unrecognizing look would be staying. To her right was the wide entrance into the kitchen where dishes sat in the drainer by the sink, beside and inside the sink, and in the dishwasher that was cracked open. A towel lay on the floor halfway on the kitchen linoleum and the living room carpet. There was a circular table in the corner of the kitchen at which sat Ryan. René still stood near the door, which the redhead had shut before returning to the couch with the other two. No one had spoken yet until Ryan said, "How was work today... Darling?" Her face remained impassive as she walked into the kitchen and stood across from him at the table. Ryan was much more alert than the others and he watched her intently.

"You know what I want and it isn't to fuck around." She said as she took the fold of bills from her bra. Ryan's smile left as the look of business entered his eyes. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second before he got up and headed through the other room to his bedroom. René waited and counted out a few bills from the rest and placed them on the table. He returned a few minutes later with a baggie of fine brown powder. René took it from him and walked towards the door. 

"Don't be a stranger," Ryan called while he stood by the table and counted her money. René folded the bag into the rest of her bills and returned them to her bra. She left without acknowledging him. Down the corridor, out the door, down the stairs, into the street. She left unhurriedly and resumed her quick pace outside. The click of her boots returned out on the sidewalk and they continued into the night together.