Dirty Dealings: A Day in the Life CO-WRITTEN BY X!!!!!

Just a little throwback to when X and Y were minglers. A day in the life, you know, one of those type-things.
It's and old short that I have revived and revised (kind of. Laziness is a b#@!%), so there maaaay be a few contextual errors and whatnot. I havent reeeeally checked.

Enjoy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Damn these business deals," he huffed. "I swear, they think I've got nothing better to do."

The loud music rattled Y. He liked it, but had no time to enjoy it. The casual wear made him stand out in the semi-formal establishment. (Establishment? Ha! The place was a glorified dive.) A vibration startled him - it came from his pocket. A cell phone?

“You know, I don't bring my phone with me for a reason," he snarled.

“Then how am I to keep in touch with you?" Mingler X replied sarcastically.

“That doesn't matter. I still don't see how you manage to get in my pocket without my knowledge."

"Well, that’s for me to know."

“And for me to find out?”

“No. Not really.”

“Either way, I’m right outside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He chuckled and snapped the phone shut, pulling up the hood on his pitch black sweater and continuing toward the back of the crowded club. He found the lights and smoke to be irritating now; even the bar at the back lit up obnoxiously through bluish glass panels. But maybe this was just what he needed.

“What’ll you have?" The bartender excused his obvious lack of semi formal wear, but not without a snide glance - Y would hear about it later. Who owned semi-formal wear these days, anyway? Not the people who count, apparently.

"The appletinis are really good," the barkeep said. "But I'm a scotch man myself. Sometimes I'll go for a straight-up Grey Goose after a long day..."

Y couldn't handle his babble. Gun to the chest time.

The barkeep looked down at the pistol touching his chest, looked back up at Y, seemed to evaluate his options, and then reached under the bar. There was a buzz-click, and the back wall rolled open to reveal the hidden room in which his partner was making her illegal deals. Success.

Y hopped over the bar in one fluid motion. It seemed as if the entire place was empty now. The Mingler chuckled, rolling back the sleeves of his hoodie and grabbing a bottle of vodka as he walked casually into the secret room.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you really expect us to make such a steep investment?" yelled a man in a gruff voice that sort of made Y want to gouge out his eyes with a toothbrush.

The fiery redhead he was yelling at looked over at Y, flashing him a quick smile. She was clearly having fun. The man seemed to get even angrier at the sight of her smile. She looked back at him and shook her head. "Don't worry," she said in a comforting tone. "I know this is very frustrating. But look on the bright side - I'm going to kill you soon anyway. Not right away, of course, but... Well, if you've got anything terribly important to do, you should probably get started now, is what I'm driving at."

He stopped midrant, and smiled apprehensively. He was probably trying to convince himself that she was joking. She probably wasn't.

"I thought I was going to do the talking?" Y walked to her side, her pale skin in deep contrast to his own. So was her attire - much more formal. She had managed to pull off a black lace dress, after having cut off a significant portion of the skirt so that it fell mid-thigh.

X noticed a chair in the far corner. “Do you mind?" she asked, wide-eyed. She intended it to be more of a statement than a question, as she often did.

Y sat and X perched herself on the arm, leaning into him. He posed uncomfortably in the chair and donned an especially imposing expression, immediately feeling less irritable.

“So," X said to him in a cutesy voice, one that would make even the most strong-willed man coo. "Where do we begin?”

Y pulled a cell phone out of X's purse, flipped it open, and dialed the Boss's number.

“Hey, Boss," said X, leaning into the cellular.

“We’ve got," Y continued.

"A fighter," they stated in unison. They didn’t usually do this type of thing, but it scared the crap out of people when they referenced the Boss. She wasn't on the line, of course. She had better things to do than to help them with their job - Y didn't know exactly what, but he was sure she had something.

"No!" the man pleaded. “If you would just lower your prices..."

Y smiled.

"We don't lower."

"Our offers."

Mingler Y stood up abruptly and stalked towards the man, having somewhere in that short amount of time pulled out a hunting knife. He stabbed the man gingerly in the jugular and smashed his head against a rectangular glass coffee table, shattering it almost instantly.

X, on the other hand, whipped out a pistol (she didn’t pay attention to weapon names, so long as they got the job done), and shot the man's companion, who was huddled in the corner, probably hoping to be forgotten. Or at least for a quick death. “Can’t forget you, now can we?" X said, her voice still sweet as honey.

Y retrieved the bottle of vodka from beside his – well, now it was his – chair.

“Here’s to a job well done,” he said, taking a rather large swig from the dingy glass bottle. When he drank, he drank to get drunk. X stole the bottle from him, spilling most of its contents on the floor in the process, then drank some herself.

“A little messy, but that’s all right. Not much in the way of clean dealings these days, I guess.”