Pretty Woman

How she got up on the bar was besides the point. Really, the important question was why had it taken her so long to do so? It was so much more illustrious to dance across the bar, well aware that the men could easily glance up the tightly clung skit if they so wished, as she prances around.

Reaching the end of the bar, she dropped down suddenly, bare legs straddling the person that was sitting at the end, her cleavage being pushed forward into his face.

"Can I bother you for a dance? I promise despite the appearance, I'm not going to ask a charge."

Bethany glanced up the bar at the girl who so prudently began to strut around on the counter just a few seconds ago. She leaned back in the stiff metal bar chair, rolling her eyes at the display, and wincing as her eternal hangover paid her back for it. Smirking at the guy next to her, she held up her bloody mary to him in a toast, her already unsure french slightly slurred, "Here's to insecure teenage girls. May they never cease to be slutty."

She set her glass back down at the table with a small laugh, raising an eyebrow at the girl who was now pressing herself against said guy, "Sweetie, aren't you a little young to be whoring yourself out? I mean, props to the sneaky cleavage and stuff but... come on. You're taking away all the thunder from the sororities. Those bitches earn their one-night-stands."

Her recent conquest was preoccupied with said "sneaky cleavage" that he hardly noticed, or particularly cared when Ninette's own focus was drawn out to the older woman's.

She looked her over slowly, expression, though a weak sort of disdain was flashing in her eyes. Had she appreciated the interruption? No. Did she really care enough to waste breath over it? Not really.

Instead she shrugged, slipping off the bar, and placing herself more securely in the complete strangers lap. She let her fingers trail enticingly over then man, while her gaze never broke from the woman.

"Age is just a number, don't you know? And I'm not stealing anything. If these sororities really worked for their amusements, then I wouldn't be getting them, now would I?"

"Okay, maybe, but you're missing the point," She turned around in her chair to face the girl, getting into the discussion as if it were some complex intellectual debate, "Girls like you get started way too early. You gotta stick with the guys at the school while they're still boring and stupid, so you can learn all their inner workings and stuff. You can't just jump into the big leagues and expect to be a master."

"And these chicks have it down to a science. They spend years devoted to wearing tube tops and getting drunk off their asses. After all that, they deserve it. I mean, the only level above them that I can think of is actual prostitutes, and only the really special ones get there." She took another sip of her drink, "You might have a knack enough for it, though."

The woman had a point, Ninette could see to that to be sure, but there was one thing that this woman was underestimating, that she didn't know.

She was Ninette Fontaine. Some rumors about her were wrong, but any pertaining to the boys, if they hadn't been true before this year, she had certainly endeavoured to amend that.

"You'd think I'd be here, darling if I hadn't already worked my way through my school?" She raised an eyebrow at her debate companion, before turning back to the man she was using as a seat, pressing her lips softly against his colour bone, "Been there and done that; anyone left is too young for even me to bother with, or Rousseau thanks but no thanks."

She hummed listening to the woman's reasoning. Despite the man's protests, she moved her lips away from him, and turned back to her, "There are things to be said for science, though I'd argue with the booze; lose your game. A little for luck, sure. Completely hammered, sure you get some, but its a sloppy mess. Hardly worth it, I'd say."