~you're such a pretty little thing, and men are such pigs~

He hit her ass.

Never mind that he was tipsy, verging on the stupor of drunkenness. Never mind that he was stuffing twenties down her g-string or that he smelled like expensive cologne. Never mind that she was making enough to cover her rent and was able to pay for some much needed groceries.

He hit her ass.

She stares at him, with deep, deep blue eyes. They are still new to the whole 'show.' Still preserved by the hands of innocence

He's smiling through his greasy moustache and shaved stubble. Sleek, slicked back, hair, and his eyes are a regular shade of maroon.

"Come over to papa," his teeth are sharp and venomous; they reek of the stench of corruption.

But she stays by the safety of her pole, deep blue eyes are being pocked and scarred by the stench of his breathe. He digs through the pocket of his expensive red and blue jumpsuit; a hideous combination of overalls and a red vinyl shirt.

He pulls out a hundred dollar bill from a coat pocket, and waves it over her face. She takes the bait; sinuous, fair skinned body walks right into the jaws of the lion.

She's standing hesitantly over the edge of the stage, while the man uses an erotically calloused finger to urge her forward.

She jumps lightly, then sits on the lap of the new customer. The man is smiling, and she's suddenly drowning in the stench of his perfumed sweat. He nuzzles his heavy moustache into the neck of her skin, and she's trying not to quiver and shake with disgust at its greasy trail. She's eyeing the bill he's holding over head, wanting so bad to be rid of this man.

"Got a name, honey?" he's got a heavy accent, and he is using his free hand to travel across the valleys of her fair skin. Her scarring blue eyes lit up with the process of thinking for a second, remembering Zelda's piece of advice. Never give a customer your true name.

Her bright blue eyes close, and the immerse imagination of her mind comes up with a single word.

"Peach," her ruby red lips stagger, then pronounce it again. The man's smile widens as he shrugs; he knows it's not a real name.

"Okay, Peach," the man brings the bill up close to her face, waves it in front of her, "How did a pretty little thing like you get in a profession like this?"

Just as she's going to grab it, the man instantly pulls it out of her vicinity.

Peach knows he's teasing, and she can't stand it. But that bill is pulling her strings like a marionette. She shrugs prettily, looking into his maroon eyes.

"What's your name, handsome?" She was taught by her friend Samus how to use her hands, eyes, mouth. How to tell a man what he wants to hear.

The man shrugs, and his face is tainted with darkness. Peach almost fears he's going to shove her off his lap. But eventually a shady smile pulls out of his thinning lips.

"People out on the streets know me as Bowser," his eyes focus away from her, and onto the neon signs hanging over the entrance, "But my inner circle of friends call me Mario."

She believes him, and asks him of his profession.

"I… help run some of the joints over here," he smiles dreamily over the fog machines and scent of sweat, "I help your boss… is what I guess I can say."

His maroon eyes take on a light of what she senses might be kindness, before it is engulfed in the darkness of liquor.

Mario hands her the bill, but as she fingers the bill to take it, his grip hardens.

"I want to see you again," His accent is venomous through his demand, and her eyes suddenly harden. He snatches the bill away, and tears it in half. Peach gasps before the reaction of anger courses through her veins. She quickly rids herself of his lap.

He fishes through his coat pocket and pulls out a business card.

"I want to see you again," sweet, sweet venom drips from his voice, dripping and corroding the skin under his lips, as he folds half the bill into the card. He hands it to her, and she stares at it with disgust. Disgust doesn't stop her from taking it.

"Come on over, and you'll get your other half," he smiles as he rises his barrel-chested body from a plastic chair. He's a big man, she realizes as he turns his back to her. Peach watches as he silently walks through the foggy miasma of the club, disappearing under the signs of neon lights.

She sighs as she unfolds the card and stares down at the address. Anger rises in her as she stuff the half-bill and business card between the space God provided for all women. There's a treasure horde in there, and she decides that she doesn't really need the man's money.

Peach climbs back on stage when she notices the eyes of a pretty boy eyeing her. Blue eyes and long teal hair, and she's dancing again to lure him in.

disclaimer(Title named for cage the elephant song)
concrit greatly appreciated