Backstory: A Beautiful Night of Antics

It was a beautiful day at the mafia headquarters. X twisted a bit of spiked red hair between her fingers, gazing at herself in the mirror as she reveled in the rain pounding against the windows of her quarters. Ah, the bliss of utter solitude!

"Must you stare in the mirror for hours every day, or is it just when I'm waiting impatiently?"

Well, almost utter solitude. She spared Y a withering glance in the mirror. He was sprawled across her chair, forehead resting on a single finger, looking very bored.

"If you don't like it," said X, "you're welcome to leave."

Y grunted derisively and then stopped talking. But the silence didn't last long.

"Are you a black hole?"

X spun around. "What?"

"You never wear anything but black," he responded, looking satisfied that she was looking at him now, as opposed to his reflection. "Colour is your friend."

"Yes," X responded. "I only wear black. I also don't wear pants."

"I know," Y answered unthinkingly. "... We know each other too well."

"It's a little disturbing."

"But only a little."

"Oh, yes. But you have to admit, the dark recesses of your soul are very... well... dark."

"As are yours," said Y as he rose, straightening the lapels of his black snakeskin jacket - hypocrite, X thought, absolute hypocrite. He opened the door and X walked through it, the black silk of her gown fluttering about her ankles.

"My soul is not dark! It's spotless. Not a mark on it."

Y laughed. "You cannot be a mingler and maintain your innocence."

X gasped dramatically and laid a hand on her chest, trying her best to be innocent and unassuming. "You mean to say that you can't corrupt, murder and steal while maintaining your spotless soul?"

"Precisely," Y answered, falling into step beside her. "Nor do I see why such a situation is desirable."

"Oh, that's easy. With a spotless soul, my smile - you know, the one that always gets us what we want - is very easy to maintain."

Y looked contemplative. "I see your point. Though with the proper training, one could feign such innocence."

Ah, Y. Always the prince of having your cake and eating it, too. X smiled. "How do you think I got so good at what I do?"

Y turned his gaze to her, and she saw a dark smile creep slowly onto his face before he turned forward again. "Good. this is why I keep you around, X."

X nodded. "That and my effervescent beauty. Now." She stopped and grabbed his shoulders, turning him toward her and fussily fixing his lapels, collar and cuffs. He rolled his eyes.

"It's the Boss's birthday, so be on your best behaviour. Be your ever charismatic self, don't stand in the corner the whole time, and for God's sake, don't shoot anyone. Do you understand?"

"Jrflweh..."

"Hmm. We're getting too accustomed to communicating using non-words. This has to stop."

"Agreed," said Y, looking equally disturbed. "Can we go in now?"

X placed a hand on one of the large ebony double doors they faced, and gestured to the other. Then, they pushed them forcefully and entered.

The noise seemed corporeal, a thing that crawled inside your brain and camped there. It sounded like demons screeching rhythmically to a deafening bass. Absurdly, X enjoyed it.

The Boss sat on her huge black throne at the far wall, surrounded by a fairly sized entourage of servants and mafia members, including the On-Call Girl and the French Connection. She saw them enter. X curtseyed low, and smirked her birthday wishes across the room. The Boss nodded back, the corners of her mouth twisting upward briefly in what one may have called a smile, then turned her attention toward her nearer companions.

X's eyes scanned the room. A sea of humanity swelled before her, violently thrashing like so many waves tossed about in a hurricane. To her left, she could see a staircase turning upward to a balcony. Wordlessly, knowing Y would have also seen it, she moved toward the staircase, moving away from the fray as quickly as possible.

On the balcony, people were lounging on couches, sipping on expensive drinks and talking. X sighed, gazing upon the partygoers downstairs from her superior vantage point. She saw gyrating bodies, but no faces. It was mildly depressing.

"I liked to eat mice," she commented, looking at Y.

"... I'm sorry, what?" Y replied, looking genuinely concerned for her sanity.

"That was then. I was ten," she went on, looking back at the mass of flesh below her. "Now it's men. They're not as nice."

Y rolled his eyes for what must have been the hundredth time that day. "True Shakespeare," he said sarcastically.

"R. D. Laing, as a matter of fact," X corrected. "One of the most brilliant British minds of the twentieth century."

"In your opinion," Y specified.

X bristled. Her spine seemed to extend with her defensiveness. "If you can't appreciate Dr. Laing's brilliance, then maybe you should stick to Meg Cabot and Stephanie Meyer and stay out of the realm of intelligent literature."

Y narrowed his eyes. "Well, maybe if you weren't so bloody brooding from all that mediocre poetry you read, you would wear something that wasn't a shade."

X inhaled sharply and turned away, refusing to look at Y's big, stupid, unappreciative head.

"X," Y said. "Come on." She didn't move. "X..." he repeated coaxingly. Still nothing. "Fleuwghrt," he said, poking her.

Slowly - very slowly - X's head turned. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, feeling like the bringer of death. Y's eyes widened.

"I didn't say that!" he said. "Don't hit me!"

"We talked about this," X said, her tone icy.

"I know. It just... slipped out!"

That did not make it any better. X produced a semi-automatic from the holster strapped to her thigh. Immediately, Y produced his own pistol. At this, the lights came back on, and the screeching music ceased. Suddenly, Y twirled toward a pair of curtains on the wall.

"That's the last time you eavesdrop on us, foul beast!" With that, he fired a single shot and a large ogre fell from the heavy fabric.

X stood there, unmoving, staring open-mouthedly. "Y!" she finally shrieked. "I specifically told you not to shoot anyone." Then to the Boss, "I specifically told him not to shoot anyone!"

With that same cool smirk on her face, the Boss clapped once and a lackey appeared to roll the ogre up in a convenient carpet. She clapped twice, and the strobe lights and demonic screamo continued.

X replaced her pistol and moved toward Y, lacing her arm into his and looking forward.

"So, it would probably be inappropriate to stay, yeah?" she commented, bobbing her head awkwardly to the noise, trying to seem nonchalant. How did people dance to this?

"Yeah," Y answered.

"So do you want to go back home and watch Cougartown and Mean Girls in our pajamas again?"

"... Yeah."

"Okay. Let's go."

They walked downstairs, and made an easy go of getting through the crowds. They had learned long ago that shooting someone made moving through large groups of people a non-issue. "So what did you think of my solution?" Y said conversationally.

"Well, it wasn't very elegant. But I did appreciate the deus ex machina. That being said, you better not have gotten any blood on my new shoes. Foo'."

"It was the beast's doing!"

"Hmm. Well, don't think this made me forget the gibberish. You still owe me some exquisite exposition and/or dialogue."

Y patted her hand. "Just let Regina George take care of that, X..."

So they walked through the doors of their quarters, got into their pjs, fetched ice cream and mini pizzas, and thusly began a beautiful night of antics.