Welcome to the Creepshow {MICHAELA}

[MICHAELA GRAVES]

The Alleyway. Michaela's home away from home. About a month ago, the owner of the place had disappeared, vanished without a trace. They looked for him everywhere, dragged the Hudson, looked in every little nook and cranny. Eventually The Alleyway was put up for sale. And it was dying. Without their 'Boss' the men here stopped coming out. And as it was Mich's second favorite form of entertainment, she knew something had to be done. She bought the place, and took up the mantle as the keeper of the Fight Club. Every night, she was here, drinking and watching Men sort out their problems with good ol fashioned fisticuffs. It was barbaric, sure, but a small part of her enjoyed the violence. It was so different from the world she knew. The fae world had been riddled with simpering idiots who'd never raise a finger in confrontation, much less a wand. And the human world of her story, well. There were only room for heroes. The only confrontation she had ever been in was with a human male, and she had lost. Cheating bastard.

She stood at the edge of the ring, collecting bets, and drinking a Bud Light, watching the fighters with subdued interest. Suddenly, from behind her, she felt a twinge of power. Ah. Someone from a story, no doubt. She had grown accustomed to the twinge. Let's see. It was female. But it didn't ring of that 'good and true' thing that the heroines of stories often had. It was subdued, but not a secondary character, doomed to hide in the background. And it was evil. Cold. Ambitious. Mich liked her. She didn't turn around though, as dormant villains seemed to find her. No need to expend the effort.

Sure enough, mere minutes after she felt the presence, she felt someone's breath on her back. “Move. You’re in my way. I said move!” Mich smiled at the girls insolence. Oh, if she only knew who she was talking to. She turned around lazily, ignoring the spectators staring at whoever was ballsy enough to speak to Michaela like that. Her lips curled into a cruel smile, one that did not reach her black eyes. "All ways are my ways here, little girl. I own the place." If it had been anyone else, they would have been ripped to shreds. But Mich could use this one. Rage, and vanity boiled on the surface of this girl, just underneath her pretty face. Which happened to be just underneath about a pound and a half of makeup. This girl thought highly of her appearance, and (even if she wouldn't admit it) what other people thought of her. Which stands to wonder why she would come to a fight club.

Mich raised her eyebrow imperiously, her lips still turned upwards. "If the spot means that much to you, take it. But don't be surprised if one of my boys accidentally hits that pretty little face." The threat was almost intangible, but there still, lingering in the air. It was true. During the fighting, it was not uncommon for the drunk and almost concussed fighter to accidentally take a swing at someone in the crowd. "However, if you want a better view of the fight, without so many chances to get swung at, you could come stand with me up there." She gestured to the low balcony that hung above the floor. It was VIP access, and since nobody was very important to Michaela, visitors up there were few and far between. Without waiting for an answer, she shoved her way through the crowd, stomping her studded boots toward a small iron staircase, hidden in the shadows. The girl would follow, Michaela didn't doubt.

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outfit;; www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=33163844
words;; 627

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