NAOMI ♥ [001] the conjuction of two washed up dead folks

[scientize]

Who: Naomi Hunter and Javert.
What: An evening out for the beautiful doctor leads to an unexpected reunion.
Where: Inside one of Aliunde's swag clubs.
When: The evening of June 10th
Rating: Nothing more than a PG-13!

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[chose_death]

It happened as if in a nightmare or a dream.

The bumping and grinding crowd gave way and parted. The lights strobed a glittering rainbow, the fog machine obscured the faces into one undulating pulsing mass of blurred eyes and mouths. A circular berth formed around the frail woman and her attacker on the floor. Alcohol sprayed from bottles and glasses, men cheered roughly, women shrieked and cackled in delight. They were either too drunk to realize something was wrong, or they frankly did not care.

The decisive moment reeled by in slow motion. The stranger held the frozen and helpless Naomi fast, his sausage fingers grasping at her top, his bad breath and crackled lips rasping something that might have rhymed with 'little runt.' She was to be his prize that night, and afterwards, he would surely return to his messy smelly apartment, scratch his hairy belly and pat himself on his fat-packed breast for a score well earned

[scientize]

A beat passed and Naomi found herself still frozen

[chose_death]

Naomi's preoccupation, so focused on the path of her attacker's unexpected exit, was once more shattered by the thrum of an abrupt, accented voice near her ear.

"Your admirer was removed. He is barred from entering again."

The new bouncer must have returned via the back door. He had made no sound and given no warning prior to his reappearance at her side. It was a wonder, too: he loomed so tall that he cast a shadow over the smaller woman, his silhouette blotting out the flickering club lights. It was his choice of position, intentional or simply the luck of the draw, that obscured the details of his lined face and expression from her. It was like attempting to draw out the craters of the moon during a solar eclipse.

Yet even through the unreadable, smoky darkness, he cast down at her an intent and probing stare.

He presented to her a small slip of card stock, his darkened eyes never straying from her face.

"Are you well, Madame?" he demanded in a brisk clip. "Do you require a physician?"

[scientize]

Naomi’s tiny hand whipped out to grasp at his wrist with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, the card he offered her by all means forgotten.

Though the low, authoritative voice in her ear had briefly startled the woman into near panic all over again after the events that had only just transpired in the darkened club, as her erratic heartbeat settled back down, Naomi realized that his behavior only strengthened her belief that this was him. Just as he stared down so intently at her thin, trembling frame, the woman was taking in his every movement and word, deciphering absolutely everything to find the hidden meaning within.

But there was one thing that struck her straight to the heart as Naomi stood peering up at the familiar stranger through the blinding and flashing lights of the club, trying to catch what she assumed would be a nearly unreadable grimace etched deeply into his aged face: his use of the word Madame in referring to her