Disclaimer: I do not own Fright Night
Summary: Charlie gets a job at a Burlesque Club. Turns out though, his boss prefers blood rather than the risque alcohol and the men's favorite dancers.
A/N: Should I continue?
It was a very different place during the day than how it was at night. The lights were off, their wires humming sleepily, the bar closed and all the bottles bottled up, the floors and stages deserted because it was far to early to open up a night club. The one thing that remained the same during the day at the club and the club at night was that all the windows were blacked out, heavily veiled in tarnished soft linen and red rough velvet. Not one drop of sunlight shone its way in, and not one shadow slithered its way out. Charlie was surprised that he had gotten the job so easily. Turns out, not a lot of people apply for cleaning up nightclubs once they close. Guess he lucked out. Charlie never dreamed at getting a job with burlesque. He'd never been into such a classy and humble club before.
There weren't too many employees, just different girls coming in and out every night, all different, all lean and faces all dolled up with thick foundation and dark black eyeliner. They all came in at the given time, and left at closing. The dance numbers were different every night. There was one man that did work there, the bartender. He had tattoos covering every flush of skin, the ink swirling in weird sinister shapes. His hair was short but he sported a plenty of piercing and nails always-lathered ebony. Charlie remembered his name as Peter. He came off as a bit of a dick, but in the long run he'd be the type to have your back.
Charlie's boss was another story entirely.
Charlie had only heard his voice over the phone, asking him all the critical information one must ask to run a decent business. He said nothing unusual. It was all in his tone. It was slathered with the pretentious custody of ill fortune, of slippery sensual delicacies, and it made Charlie's heart sputter on and off like the lights on stage…
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