So I wasn't gonna continue with this dumb thing but then I was going for a run and only had my really old middle school iPad with me. This song by Chris Brown came on (ironically enough) and I was like DANG 2/3 of my best friends irl are/were "dancers." Frick it I'll add some more. I can use my own by-proxy life experiences as the token prude loser in every group to write a relatively telling account as to why I'm probably better off repressed. You know what they say about religious bitches and BDSM, right? If you don't, just look it up. Point being they probably are more screwed up than not. So, here's the next part. There will be three. Stay tuned if I already haven't offended ye. Nah, I mean most of my stuff involves demons so I MeAn....

OH AND YEAH, If I never mentioned this I totally speak Spanish. Finally my degree in History/Language/Politics/Pre-Law can be put to a good, cost-effective use. Ha!
(Well, since I got a scholarship it was free but... okay enough peacocking. TO THE CLUB!)

________________________

-Ten years later-

Sometime in the early 1950s

Buenos Aires

________________________

"{Y/N}, they're ready for you now."

"Are you sure Ola can't go on for me tonight? I think I'm getting too old for this."

"You're like what, 26?"

"Yeah...that's not...yeah." You were about a decade older, minus a few years. You didn't make a point to let people know.

"Well, tough break. You're popular here. It's not ever night these lost souls get to see a beautiful German girl with tetas the size of tapirs."

"Wow that's not crude at all." You sighed. "Could I take rain check just this once?"

"Not a chance. You're our top girl. Now get out there and shake your money-maker, little miss Berlin. I'd fire you, but we'd go under."

"You're a terrible friend, Chel."

"I'm your boss during business hours." She wiggled her hips, at the moment less covered than yours. "Now go make us rich." She pulled you to your feet and slapped your ass, not asking permission before adjusting your skimpy bra.

You started to slump away before putting on your game face, but an angry man dressed to the nines stormed in, cursing furiously in Spanish. You exhaled, relieved and hopeful that the night might have taken an unexpectedly sour turn and you'd close early.

You swore in German when you found out you were terribly wrong.

"Chel! Are you a total idiot? Today we have extremely important clients coming from overseas! I want her out and dressed, just like the rest of you! Every girl we have! We're doing the persona thing!"

You and Chel both groaned. "Not the persona thing!"

"It's such a cliche!"

"Horny, drunk businessmen like cliches. The more frivolous the better. We'll take all their money before they realise how stupid they were." He rubbed his hands together and twirled his moustache like a cartoonish evil villain. Chel leaned over and whispered in awfully executed German to you, but thankfully your big-boss didn't speak anything but the variant of Spanish specifically used in Argentina.

"Yeesssss yesss beautiful moneyyyy."

"He's a cliche."

"What?"

"Damn." She didn't know much outside the confines of the local tongue herself.

"Stop conspiring. Chel. You know your thing?"

She sighed exasperatedly. "Si, Papi." You winced. It actually pained you to hear anyone call anyone that in any language. "I'm a nurse. Oh, sir, do you need a shot?"

She held up a tray of tiny sparkly cups. You snickered at her apathy.

"And your alter ego?"

Chel leered and bent over. Her tetas nearly tumbled out of her top. "You're not going home before you pay your bills. I'll poison you." Chel was fucking hot as fuck. Her weird Jekyll and Hyde thing made very little sense when she wasn't prostrated over drunk guys but it didn't mater. She was sexy and sex appeal is what sold at a strip club.

You'd never tell anyone there you were a virgin or you'd get even more money, but you'd be selling your soul along with your body.

'Papi' turned to place hand on your shoulder. "And you, my ride or die? Do you know yours?"

You'd cursed God only a handful of times in your life, and the first time they'd told you of your stage name there, it was the worst blasphemy yet.

"Yes, Antonio." You'd never call him or anyone else Papi.

"Ohhh no love for daddy?"

"Chingate."

"Oho! There's the side of you that doesn't even have to act. I don't know what they did to you over in Alemania but you've got some baggage you forgot to leave at the gate." He placed his hand on your chin. "Now, my darling, give us a little sneak peak of your personality."

You relented solely because they paid you so well. You twirled your finger in your hair, and while you weren't yet dressed in your barely-there maid outfit, it was easy to picture you all dolled up. You were a terrific actress. "I'm here to service your linens, monsieur. Do you want to stay in bed or would you like me to just work around you? I don't mind. I'm used to keeping my head down."

He laughed. "Now, where's your sister?"

You tugged your hair out of the already haphazard bun it'd been in, and it tumbled down past your shoulders as your real accent came out. You licked your lips and kicked your leg up, splitting in half a nearby cheap promotional table everyone had wanted to get rid of but were too afraid to actually throw it out.

"Here." Chel's eyes lit up as much as Antonio's. There wasn't a shortage of women where you worked who swung for both teams. In another life you'd have gladly engaged with her, but this wasn't that one. You wanted to be in love, as dumb as that sounded for a high class dancer. "Women in France might be domesticated, but we lost the war. Where done servicing men. It's time you learned your place like we did. Get on your knees and beg me to let you leave this place."

"Ohhhhhhhhh God. You are definitely doing the last vestiges of your homeland a favour. By the time these Krauts stagger back home they'll have forgotten all about Berlin and it's crappy wall."

You stopped your embarrassing routine that you hated. "Wait, they're from Germany?!?!"

"Of course, {Y/N}, and just between us, I think they just escaped the gallows in Nuremberg."

You swallowed. You hadn't thought about the life you left behind in years. You were afraid to perform that night, and you weren't sure why.

_________________________

Cheers erupted throughout the bar as Chel thanked everyone inside, blazing though the curtains, her black doctor's coat billowing around her in the sticky hot breeze coming from the mostly unhelpful reeds of fans slowly rotating overhead.

"I'm going home with a white guy! This is the first time this has happened!" You laughed at your friend (now that business hours were over).

"Leave it to a Nazi to go home with a Spanish girl the minute they leave Bavaria."

"Watch it, {Y/N}. I'm not Spanish. I'm Argentinian. That's like me saying you're French."

"I am for the next half-hour." You rolled your eyes as Chel stuck out her tongue. You rose to go outside, to greet your thirsty and inebriated public. "Oh, Chel. You briefly turned back around to see her putting on a dark shade of lipstick. "What was his name?"

"I don't know!" She grinned. You snorted and strutted out, black heels clicking on polished plexiglass.

The lights were so bright that you strained to see the faces of any of the men inside. You heard whooping, the clanking of glass and the pouring of drinks, the music doing very little to cover the many voices of the throngs of patrons casting several sexualised innuendos your way. You started your lame French Maid routine before an even louder voice bellowed from the back.

"Do the DOMINATRIX ONE! Do the GERMANER ONE."

"Are all of you German?"

The uproar in the bar was enough. They were. You could tell they'd had a powerful past they'd lost with the war, too. Anyone could.

"Fine! Fine." You twirled your prop, a riding crop, in your hand, slapping your palm repeatedly. "I'll need a volunteer from the audience for this, though. I can't do it alone."

You couldn't see well enough to identify any one person, so you leaned down to the closest face you could find. "What about you, Sir, do you want me to show you who's boss?"

"Only if you call me God."

"AHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHGH! CHEEEELLLLLL!"

You forgot your personality, your stupid quasi-Nazi-tamer thing and bolted for the exit to the stage, but several other girls pushed you back out. You staggered back into place as a man you never ever thought you'd see again, least of all halfway across the world stood before you, after you unwittingly singled him out from a crowd of human wolves. "Come on, {Y/N}, I thought you'd be happy to see me again."

"How?" You slapped him with your prop, which actually worked pretty well, and he raised a hand to his face. You leaned in and whispered, while the other men were too boisterous to hear what you were saying. They thought it was part of the act. "How the fuck are you here?"

"Hit him again!"

"Yeahhhhhhhh! Show the kid who's in charge." You heard muttering. "Damn it Otto, you spilled your beer on me again."

"Kid?" You laughed. "How old are you, Herr Commandant?"

"Same age as you, more than likely." You raised your hand again, and he caught the stick in his hand.

"Uh-uh. Try a new trick."

You leaned down and yanked him up by his collar. "I can't do what I want to you in public." You turned to the rest of the customers inside the club. "You'll have to pay extra if you want a closer look. I'm done here." You tossed him back down.

"Goodbye, Light. I'm going home early." You turned on your heels and stalked away.

______________________

"{Y/N}." You groaned and opened your eyes, straining to adjust to the sunlight. "Hey, I don't know how you did it but all of our VIP rooms were booked before ten! We made more than we've ever had in one night!"

"Oh. Good." You sat up and rubbed your eyes. "How'd your date go?"

Chel dodged your question by asking one of her own. "Marisa said you were really into this one guy. She didn't see him again after you left. Did you go somewhere together? She said he was cute. Well, she said something far more vulgar. A lot of us agree, though. He was probably the youngest person there, and he was pretty sweet in comparison to everyone else."

You wanted to vomit. "Sweet? As in kind? Nice?"

"Duh. What else would I mean? Tasty? Like a cake?"

You flipped back over and told Chel to go away before someone knocked on the door.

"Go away Antonio. We're sleeping. Chel and I finally consummated our common law marriage last night and I'm very sore."

"Ayyyy yes. We had a fun night. Come back later, Papi, and we'll see if we can pencil you in for a three way."

"Chel!" You nudged her. "Don't encourage him." She giggled.

An awkward pause followed before another man spoke, his voice muffled by the thick curtains covering the screen door. "Uh, is the right address? I'm looking for a woman named {F/N, L/N}. Does she live here?"

Chel bounded up and nearly ripped the frame off its hinges. "You must be the handsome foreigner from last night! Welcome to our home, my dear. She's right over there."

You could've killed her.

"Hey, {Y/N}. I think we left on a bad note." He walked toward you as Chel practically squeaked with glee. He knelt down and offered you his hand. "Do you remember what you told me before I let you go?"

"Vaguely." You lied. You remembered everything.

"I don't care if God forgives me." You scoffed. He hadn't changed at all. "I care if you do. You were right about me."

"How?" You shoved his hand away. "What was I right about?"

"I'm irredeemable." You weren't sure where he was going with this.

"What does that mean now?"

"I want you to help me out with something."

"What? " You laughed without mirth. "Why would I help you with anything?"

"They didn't hang me, and quite frankly I'm offended. I was looking forward to being choked. You hate me. Would you do it? Punish me? Hurt me like I deserve?"

"Not if you want me to." You flopped over and tried to go back to sleep. Chel watched him go, before she turned to you and raised an eyebrow.

"What the fuck is wrong with German people?"

"God cursed us for being so racist." You talked into the pillow.

"You are the least racist person I know." She sat beside you, stroking your head and you wished more than anything else you could just turn gay right then and there. "He seemed serious about you. Alma said she saw him embarrassing himself tying to speak Spanish all over town to get here."

You sat up. "You knew?" She shrugged. "Chel! You don't know what he did, why he's here, who he was!"

"I know who they all were. They're still alive. Give them a chance to atone for wat they did. Repentance only works if one wants to be forgiven."

"Fine." You held a hand to your head. "I'll go find him."

"You won't need to go very far. I'm sure he'll be waiting up. It's not like he's got anything else to do." She winked.

__________________________

She was right. You only had to turn the nearest corner before you found him, sitting at an outside table beside another crappy bar, downing yet another drink. Regardless of the moral scruples where you resided, the commonly held belief there was that no respectable man would be pounding so many just after the sun rose. He was alone.

"Hey..." you slowed your pace as you approached him. "I thought I'd come find you."

"Piss off." He leaned over the table, whispering, clearly drunk. "You don't want me to be here. No one does. Leave me alone."

"You definitely deserve to be alone." You crossed your arms and laughed. "You killed people. You ran a concentration camp!"

"Shhhhhhh" he shushed you, which was probably a smart move. In spite of his clouded judgment, he remained pretty clever. "Keep your voice down."

You agreed solely because you didn't want to bring anyone else into this. "Fine." You called to the waiter, who you knew from your job, and after a brief and perfectly executed conversation that involved insulting the alcoholic before you in Spanish, you'd gotten your own drink and were sitting across form him. He swayed in his seat, and you reached out a hand to steady him, laying yours over his.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I'm not." You ripped your hand away. "I'd be this basically cordial to anybody." You sipped your drink. "Why did you come here, Light?"

He tried to drink more of his own beverage, but it didn't work all that well. A light red liquid stained his shirt and he cursed in what sounded like Japanese.

"Hey! I didn't know you spoke that!"

"You didn't? Everyone knew I wasn't fully German. Plus, you never asked. Also, I didn't know you spoke Spanish."

"I've been living in South America for the last ten years. I had to learn it."

"Did you have to be a stripper?" You seriously considered staking him with the adjacent butter knife but thought it best not to.

"I didn't have a lot of other options!"

"So... are you....do you get paid for like....other.....stuff....?" you exhaled slowly.

"No. In fact, I've never done anything like that. I'm, well, what I was before. You were actually the last man to see me fully undressed."

"Fully? Really?" He smiled a little. "So, why not? You'd make more money, wouldn't you?"

"For the low low price of my eternal soul. I want to at least try to go to Heaven after living in Hell for the totality of my life."

"Oh. He peered down into his drink. "About that."

You sensed he knew something you didn't. "What?"

"Well, remember when you killed Ralph Müller?"

"Using your murder paper!"

"Death Note, yeah." He was able to drink right that time. "When you write someone's name down, it more or less means you can't go to Heaven."

You did lift the knife then, and you brought it down, right between his fingers as his left hand rested against the top of the table. "WHAT?!? DID YOU DO THAT ON PURPOSE?!?!?!?!?!?"

"No." He snickered. "To be fair, though, you can't go to Hell either."

You blinked. "So, you just die?"

"I think you go somewhere, but exactly where, I'm not sure."

"That's not a new concept." You sighed. "So, if I'm not going to Heaven nor Hell, then what are my options?"

"I have no idea."

"Don't you consider yourself God?"

"I do." He was sobering up surprisingly fast.

"Then shouldn't you be a lot smarter?"

He grinned. "You're going to regret saying that."

"Oh am I now?" You raised your hand, and your acquaintance jogged over. You went to hand him a bill but Light beat you to it. He laid down double what your one and his seven or eight drinks were worth and silently stood, tugging you behind him as he left the younger man both elated and flabbergasted. "Unhand me!" He only made you follow more closely. "Lay off! Get. Your. Filthy. Hands. OFF ME!" You'd turned down a side-street, where no one was around to hear you. He shoved you up against the wall of an abandoned building as an alley cat hissed and skittered away.

"You listen to me, and you listen good, okay, {Y/N}?" You couldn't do anything. He'd completely overpowered you. He looked stronger than he did before. "You can't make a scene here. I don't want you to get hurt."

"No one here would dare hurt me!" You hissed back. "This town is my home! These people are my friends!"

"I'm not talking about the townsfolk in this particular village. I mean the men who I came with. They think I killed you, remember?"

"They can't possibly remember me." You laughed. "I look completely different."

"You do. You're not starving to death anymore." He looked down, and you blushed despite your completely absent desire to do anything other than get away from him or kill him. If he had changed you could one day forgive him, even find it possible to like or love him, because you wanted nothing more than for people to change, but he clearly hadn't changed at all.

Or at least, that's what you thought.

"Don't you remember what you did? Who you were? Forget about me. You led a coup, {Y/N}. You tried to kill me, to kill all of the officers at that camp. Do you think we'd just forget about that?"

"Oh yeah, that's right." You laughed again. "I forgot I did that." You smiled. "It was indirectly, though. I never would kill you with my own hands. It'd be an order for someone else to follow."

"I like that." He smiled, too. "An order is an order, right?"

You nodded as he let you go a little. "Luckily, your name isn't something everyone knows like the back of their hand." He raised his, and you anticipated a repetition of one of his earlier harshly physically accentuated jokes, but instead he even more awkwardly brushed your face with it. "I want you to be safe." You blinked, for one moment innocence seemed possible for him until he leaned back in, slamming his hand once more against the wall behind you.

"If anyone is going to hurt you, make you pay for your crimes, it's gonna be me." He grabbed your hand. "Come."

"Where?"

"You'll see."

You had no choice but to follow.