⚠️Warning: set in times of gang war and mobs, so obvious mentions of murder and a mention of sexual assault as well as implications of stalking /predatory behaviours. Repeated use of innuendo. Please proceed with caution!⚠️

Patton ran a hand through his pretty looking hair once more, adjusting the flower in his hair and making himself look all the more sexual in the process. That's all he was in this sleazy greaseball that called itself a city; an object for men and women to stare at, a pair of chocolatey eyes and a nice looking rear for men to dream of wrecking and women to dream of being wrecked by. He hated it. The pianist in this particular joint was one of the best in the area, but Patton hated him. He was one of those assholes. The ones who looked you up and down and said you were either a slut, rich, or unimportant and nothing else. Patton had been dubbed a slut by this prick because he wore a cute light blue dress that revealed a little more skin than he was comfortable with. Something had to please the crowds.

Speaking of the asshole pianist, he was stood at the curtain, spreading them as far as he could get someone to spread their legs. Patton rolled his eyes and walked over, shoving the other's head out of the way to see what he was gawking at.

Patton's eyes widened in shock. There, in the back of this sleazy, shady, rundown bar in a poor district with poorer people, was the local kingpin. But that old git didn't catch Patton's eye nearly as much as the two men sat to his left. Both pale, one healthily toned and the other lanky -swamped in his suit jacket- but both glancing at Patton, making direct eye contact with him. And they all stared at one another, except the two in the audience. They had eyes only for Patton. Patton swallowed, and backed away.

On the other side of the curtain, the thinner of the two had a cigar between his lips, but the smoke was as purple as it was acrid. The more muscular man had his more for show, it made an impression when you smoked and the smoke came out blue. He'd occasionally put it to his lips, but it spent more time over the ashtray, wisps of bluish smoke floating up from the tip.

Patton looked at the pianist, who had been staring at his thighs, the strip of skin just below the hem of the skirt and above the stockings that reached the middle of his thighs. "I wasn't touchin, there ain't a law against lookin."

"Tch, well ya might wanna focus a little. Word says you ain't the cream of the crop when it comes to playing that thing." Patton gave the man a look of disgust. It was a lie of course, Patton knew nothing about this pervert, but that wouldn't stop him from smirking in satisfaction as the guy's face went from cocky to enraged.

Patton sighed as the curtains opened and he walked out on stage, pulling that award-winning smile and swaying his hips. He didn't need make-up at this point, the red colour of his embarrassment would have been more than enough. The pianist started to play and Patton cursed in his mind as he sang. The man was good, even if he was an asshole and a pervert.

The two men in the audience were watching Patton intensely, and it made Patton a little uncomfortable. Especially considering they were sat with the boss. And that meant they were just like the boss. Patton could see them, but he had left his glasses in the bathroom so the crowd at the front was blurry to him.

The songs flew by and Patton was due offstage in a minute. So he decided to try and have some kind of impression on the bastard, even if it was a bad one. "I would like to personally thank one particular member of the audience tonight -he knows who he is- for honouring me with his presence... and tolerating what I like to call singing." Applause and laughter followed and the fat fuck waved to the audience, almost as if he were humbled.

Forcing back the vomit, Patton blew a kiss to the man that had killed more people than he'd ever talked to.

Patton made his way to his dressing room, leaving the door ajar as he slipped into something a little more comfortable; a longer, dark blue dress that went down to his knees, with a hem that splayed outwards, baby blue knee-length stockings and cute flats. He washed the excess of make-up from his face and brushed his hair. "There, back to myself again." Patton mumbled.

Then, the door creaked open. Patton wheeled around. The two men who had sat with the Don. "W-what are y' doing here? These are the dressing rooms, y' can't be here." Patton demanded. He retreated into the wall. The men smirked. Well, the one with the glasses remained stoic and the other smirked. He approached, and Patton suddenly found himself wishing there was an emergency exit.

The only reason two men would ever end up in a dressing room with someone who had been on stage that night was less than savoury. Patton had learned that the hard way before, and those men would have done much worse had some woman not mistaken his dressing room for her own. They were escorted out, meaning they were beaten and thrown out painfully, one of them to the point of temporary paralysis.

The man reached in his inside pocket. Patton had been wrong; they weren't going to rape him, they were going to kill him. Patton raised his hands in terror, hoping to peacefully escape with all of his limbs. "Look, sirs, maybe we could come to a compromise..?" The man whipped something out from his pocket and Patton dodged, whimpering.

"Don't like smokes, sweetheart? Understandable, they're bad for you." The guy chuckled, and the other man stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The guy put the cigar to his lips. "I'm gonna die long before you, what with the shit they put in these." He leaned against Patton's dresser, picking up the lipstick he had worn on stage that night. "Not like a pretty thing like you needs all of this junk. You're gorgeous enough on your own."

Patton hissed an insult under his breath. "God damn perverts." He mumbled, tying the bow at the back of his skirt. "Get outta here! I have another stage to get to!" Patton picked up a fan from his desk and hit one of them with it. The man scowled, bristling as he gripped the front of his dress.

"Listen, sweetcheeks, y' lucky we're gentl'manly to a pretty thing like y'rself. Y' clearly know what we're capable of, so don' go testing us. Besides, lil' lady, y' might be seein' a lot more of us from now on."

The taller of the two had leaned in close, Patton pushing weakly against the Italian silk shirt the guy wore. It was blue, and reeked of tobacco. Patton could feel his head spinning at the smell.

"Get offa him, Lo. Yer gonna clip him at this rate. Look at the doll's poor face."

"Y' seen his eyes though, prettier than that Ice we could'a got if Grayson wa'nt a peaching stool-pigeon."

"I fuckin' know what you're talkin' about, I won't hesitate to finger you to the coppers. Lemme go, an' I won't tell a soul what you do. Proper though, no followin' me home." He hissed. The two seemed startled. But the stoic one piped up, tilting his hat to Patton a small amount.

"Lil' lady, we got a question for ya. Back when you was on stage, doin' yer lil' routine... you was looking us up quite a bit. I mean, no problems had there, I know for a fact we was both eyeing y' too. So lemme ask you a question, sugar. D'you like whatcha see?"

The two flashed their white teeth, the purple-clothed one flaunting that he wore silvery rings on every one of his fingers except his ring fingers. The other flashed his gold watch and the cross around his neck. Pretending to be righteous, pretending to be a man who believed in higher power, that pissed him off.

Patton was a crowd-pleaser. He knew what these men wanted. He knew all too well what they wanted -no, expected- him to say. He knew what he had to say. Every brain cell he had was aware of the danger of not playing along with these two men; but by god did they annoy him.

They'd been eyeing him up on stage, fair enough, but now they were still looking at him like he was a piece of meat. Not only were they looking ready to devour him, but these obnoxious assholes had the goddamned nerve to ask him if he liked what he saw? He most certainly did not like what he was seeing, but that was not something he wanted to say aloud; lest his head be separated from his body.

But these assholes- they deserved to be taken down a peg or two.

"No."

"No?" The taller growled, ringed fingers clenching together. That hand would hurt if Patton didn't play his cards right, but he'd wiped the shit-eating grins off of their faces now. He'd taken them back to earth and now he was feeling cocky.

"No. And I'm not just some eye-candy for y' to ogle and smirk at. I ain't enticed by yer rings or your white smiles, or your watches. I don't like y', and y' can't make me jus' because you got a full wallet or a loaded gun. I was staring at y' cause you was sat with the Don. People who sit with that sack o' shit gotta be like 'im too. I'm surprised tha' there's more than one disgustin', power hungry toddler in the area. So, thank y' for yer offer, but sometimes people's gonna reject y' and yer gonna have to ge' used to it."

Patton marched out, past both of them and onto the empty streets. He needed to get to his next show before he headed home for the night to sleep. He glanced back at the club door nervously. No, they wouldn't follow him. They were probably still standing in the dressing room, shell shocked from their first rejection. By the time they left to find him, he'd be long gone; that was the plan anyway.

Part 2? Anyone want one of those?