Fall, 1937

Lynn

 

The booze Dijon brought was rotgut, to say the least. It was hardly worth the choice words she’d gotten from him when he’d found her asleep on the box. 

 

He’d brought a musty glass with the rank bottle, the whole thing covered in a thin coat of yellow grime. 

 

She hadn’t cared much about the quality of the booze at the moment, nor what horrible thing the glass may have been coated in after so many years of sitting in this place, but the moment the liquid met her tongue she struggled to swallow.

 

The stuff shared more qualities with paint thinner than liquor, and the burn as it coursed down her throat was stronger than anything she’d ever had before. Even minutes after she’d taken the sip she felt little solid flecks of whatever the hell they’d used to make the stuff stuck in her throat.

 

Must’ve been prohibition stuff. Wouldn’t have been surprising, seemed like if you looked anywhere hard enough you could find some booze a moonshiner had hurriedly stashed away years ago.

 

Either way, booze was booze. It’d have to do.

 

She’d drunk around half the grody bottle by the time five in the morning rolled around.

 

Dijon knocked on her door before opening it, greeting her with a cold look.

 

“It’s five, Deadeye. You can go home now.”

 

She gripped the bottle, holding it up to her mouth.

 

“Thank god for that.”

 

She took another swig.

 

Dijon looked at her with a scowl, letting out a breathy sigh.

 

“See you tomorrow, crumb.”

 

By the time she’d put the bottle back down the imp had already left, leaving the door open in his wake.

 

Quick bastard.

 

Lynn propped herself up, pushing off of the box and landing on her feet. She left the bottle where it was on the crate as she headed for the door, shooting it a light grimace as she passed it. Shitty moonshine had a way of sticking with you, whether you liked it or not. She could’ve sworn the little bits of solid still lingered in her throat.

 

I’ll have to stop by Mia’s work on the way home, help wash the rotgut down.

 

Lynn snatched her coat and hat once she’d reached the door, sliding both on as she casually strolled out of the room. She headed through the hallway on her right, passing by the man who’d been looking at her as she talked to Dijon earlier. 

 

He let out a sigh as she passed. No one liked being on guard duty.

 

As she strolled further and further down the hallway she could hear quiet murmurs from the closed doors around her, goons stationed together making idle chatter as the night passed. There was little to nothing to do in this place, small talk was the best you could manage for the most part. The voices faded as she left the hallway, making another right to the entrance of the building.

 

A small group of people mulled around the doors leading out of the place. A larger group of guards, usually four to five, were always stationed at the entrance. They were meant to be the main line of defense, the end all be all for stopping any attackers coming through the front.

 

In practice, though, most of the time this did little more than bolster their egos.

 

Rule of thumb, most entrance guards are shitheads.

 

All the goons turned as Lynn approached, eying her with a snooty air. One in particular let out a snicker as she headed for the door, shifting out of his lean against the wall to begin walking towards her.

 

Christ, I do not need this right now.

 

Lynn picked up her pace, heading towards the exit at an increased speed, but the man only quickened with her. He nearly ran towards her, coming to a sudden halt to bodyblock her a few yards from the door.

 

She knocked into him fairly quickly, but kept her balance, stumbling back a bit before straightening up. The man, a human, mockingly stumbled back in tandem, smiling as he spoke.

 

“Easy there, Deadeye! You’re really gunnin’ for the door, ain’tcha?” 

 

She met his gaze with a glare, but he seemed to shrug it off, reacting to the hostility with nothing but a sneer.

 

“We heard’ja earlier, butterin’ up Dijon for some booze, ain’t you a hotshot!”

 

The figures around them quietly laughed at that, smug smiles smeared across their faces much like the schmuck in front of her.

 

“You think you’re so much better than us, just cause you know the big man, think that just cause you talk to Greed you can get whatever you want!” He leaned in, moving his head near her face if only to mock her further. “Well guess what, doll? Things don’t work like that down here! You’ve been stationed at other dumps, I’m sure, but you’ve never been down here! We do things a little-”

 

CRACK!

 

Lynn was by no means a short woman, but she wasn't very tall. Alongside that, her large trench coat had a habit of hiding her stocky frame. She really couldn’t blame people for assuming she wasn’t much of a fighter when they sized her up.

 

In fact, she didn’t mind proving them wrong much at all.

 

Lynn’s fist met the man’s nose, and with it came a sickening crunch. The man hadn’t expected much of a physical altercation this soon into the provocation, so it was very much to his surprise as he fell back, blood spewing out of his broken nose. He crashed onto the floor, eyes wide as both hands went to clutch and protect his face.

 

Lynn paid him no mind, simply moving past his prone body, making her way towards the door. 

 

“You phuckin’ arshehole!” the man said between deep breaths, his damaged nose making his voice nasal, “whut is whong wiff you!?”

 

Always the goddamn entrance guards.

 

Seemed like every Joe who wanted a little ego boost went out of there way to join Septem ranks. She saw them constantly, and tonight was no exception. Young twenty-somethings with a death wish and a narcissistic quirk about them.

 

Lynn ignored the man’s pained whining and continued on her way, opening the door as the surrounding guards stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do. 

 

The sounds of the man’s muttering stopped as the door closed, and was quickly replaced by the quiet downpour still taking its course. Lynn took a moment to pull her hat down, fastening it to her head. It was a long way home, and cabbies usually didn’t come to this part of town. 

 

She’d walk to the bar, have a drink or two, and chat with Mia for a bit if she wasn’t too busy. There was sure to be a taxi over there. 

 

Lynn started off down the slick sidewalk, rife with puddles made blood red by the moonlight overhead, headlights and street lamps lighting her path.