freak ࿂ suicide squad

2 ࿂ stem from stardust

     EXHAUSTION WAS PYRAMIDING inside of Zolita, tiredness stabbing her eyes, creating temporary lightning bolts of darkness. The woman was still at the strip club, despite it being nearly four in the morning and the club having closed an hour before. Dark wisps of hair were spread limply over the beige couch, the Mexican's eyes fluttering shut, stardust spewing from under her eyelids, colors dancing around the dark canvas. For a moment, she was asleep, her chest heavy with an untraceable form of misery and her teeth hungry for revenge. Then, she was awake, temporarily forgetting who she was. She heard the sound of gunshots outside, and for a second, she embodies a bullet, a hot shell puncturing leather skin. But no, she wasn't a bullet, she was the cool air that warped itself around her body, freely dancing around the room. No, she wasn't the breeze either, she was made of skin, tight plastic suffocating her insides. She was a woman, a brutally miserable one at that, hell being the dark flashes beneath her shut eyes.

     "Zolita?" A voice questioned, making the woman jump, her body sinking into the couch as she quickly scanned the room, silence suffocating her ears, the only sound being that of her pulse.

Barney, the manager of the club, who worked under the Joker, was the one to speak. The man's lanky frame lingered in the doorway, his posture awkward as his fingers gently tapped against the doorknob.

"Sí. ¿Qué deseas?" Questioned the stripper, exhaustion muddling her thought before she realized she was speaking in her native tongue, correctly herself immediately after. "What do you want?"

"You have to go home." Barney muttered, glancing at the watch that framed his thin wrist. Zolita never questioned why he kneeled to the Joker; it was obvious. He was an awkward man with no physical strength, and the promise of prosperity and protection appealed to him. However, Barney and the villain scarcely interacted, mostly due to how the Joker was barely interested in the manager, rather extremely intrigued by Zolita. Barney cleared his throat briefly, glancing at the specks of blood that littered the Mexican woman's skin. She had cleaned herself off earlier, watching crimson regret tsunami down the pearl sink, but blood still found its way to creep in every crevice of her skin. "Its late, I need to close."

The exotic dancer stood, briefly stretching. Her manager could not help but glance at her bulging breasts, peeking over the edge of her bra, bouncing with every drastic movement. Once he realized he was staring, Barney quickly glanced away, awkwardly kicking his feet against the ground, realizing that some blood had also stained the tile.

"I need to get home anyways, Barney, it's fine." Zolita reassured the man, noticing his nervousness with feeding orders to the ruthless Latina. The woman turned around, grabbing her jacket to shrug over her exposed breasts. The stripper had put on pants hours before, the leggings sticking to her thighs, the outline of money evident within the waistband.

"You can take a day off, you know? To take care of-"

"It's fine, Barney." Zolita interrupts, using the man's name more as a warning than a means of identification.

"Ok, ma'am." Barney mumbled, pressing his spine against the metal door and allowing Zolita to brush by, the fur dusting her shoulders briefly rubbing against the man's torso. He closed the door behind them, briefly turning around to properly lock the door. However, when he whipped his body around, ready to wish his employee a good night, she had vanished into the darkness, imitating shame that lives in shadows.

The woman had already began to make her way home; an apartment that rested on what can be referred to as the safer side of Gotham, though it was impossible to deem it free of danger. The stripper shrugged the fur closer to her body, shivering slightly under the cool air as she cautiously walked down the street, eager for somebody to test her patience.