Chapter Text
“You’re back!” the bartender smacked the bar making Betty jump.
She turned to look at the Wyrm’s entrance through which Fangs and Sweet Pea had just entered, followed by a crowd of Serpents.
“The hell happened to Moon Dog?” Fangs chuckled, stepping over the prone figure.
“He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Betty wryly replied.
“You knocked him out?” Sweet Pea chortled as he took the barstool beside Betty.
“That was a side-effect of my turning him down,” she creatively answered.
“What’s the Northside Princess doing here?” Fangs asked, giving Betty a sharp look.
With a heavy sigh, Betty toyed with her beer bottle; “I’m done with my family. I’m done with the Northside. They’re all fake and it’s all bullshit.”
“You want to be a Serpent, Princess?” Fangs smirked.
“I don’t know…” Betty shrugged. “I wanted to ask if I could open up your garage – live and work there – for you guys?”
“We have new rules, Cooper. No more favors for civilians. Join up or get out,” Sweet Pea silkily replied, examining the fresh cuts and bruises across his knuckles.
Betty frowned, realizing they’d just come from a fight. A closer look at Sweet Pea and Fangs confirmed; Fangs had a nasty cut above his eye and SP had a split lip and swelling on the left side of his face that would probably darken into a black eye.
“Um, what do I have to do?”
“Show us your Serpent Dance, Princess…” SP purred, his dark eyes devoid of humor.
“Fine,” Betty agreed, getting up and heading for the small stage. She’d done it before. No big deal, right?
“You know the song, Jack,” she heard Sweet Pea prompt the bartender.
Betty immediately recognized the static and slow bass thump of Nine Inch Nails’ ‘Closer.’ The small crowd in the bar fell quiet as Betty moved to the center of the stage and rolled her neck, absorbing the sensuality of the music. She stomped her right leg in time to the beat, removed the elastic from her hair, and massaged it out.
Glad that she’d had a couple of beers, Betty sashayed to the stripper pole and leaned against it while she toed off her tennis shoes and kicked them away, one at a time. She slowly unbuttoned her top, mouthing the lyrics to focus on the song rather than the men watching her. Closing her eyes, Betty drew her hand down her chest, caressing herself the way she enjoyed.
A piercing whistle pulled her to the present and she gave a self-deprecating grin, as if her distraction was part of the show. Knowing laughter rippled through the young men and, buoyed by it, Betty popped the button of her jeans. More whistles made her lift her brow at them as she swung herself around the pole. When Betty let her shirt fall from her shoulders, she wished she was wearing anything but her white lace bra; the delicate lace left nothing to the imagination. Not that her audience minded... Their approving howls were like a chorus of dogs and it made her grin.
Encouraged and a little power drunk, Betty made a show of unzipping her jeans before she gave the audience her back. Remembering that she wore demure white panties with lace trim, Betty hoped the modest underwear didn’t detract from her performance. Using the beat of the song, she shimmied her tight jeans slowly down her legs, bending over in what she hoped was an attractive display. By the time she stepped out of the denim, the crowd was completely on her side, whistling and hollering.
When the music suddenly stopped, Betty went still, feeling awkward in just her bra, panties, and socks. She peered past the spotlight, towards the bar.
“How’d you knock out Moon Dog?”
“Show us how you fight, girlie!”
“Come on, Princess,” Fangs heckled, jumping onto the stage. “Show us how it’s done.”
Buzzing with the energy in the bar and eager to display exactly what happened to Moon Dog, Betty gestured for Fangs to move towards her. A fierce grin on her face, she leapt into a weighted spin, her right leg high. Betty felt the difference between Moon Dog’s skinny frame and Fangs’ barrel-chest but it didn’t matter; Fangs was top-heavy and her perfect roundhouse knocked him flat.
The applause and laughter was deafening.
Betty hurried to offer Fangs a hand up, relieved to see his shock melt into a chuckle.
“You okay?” she hissed as he took her hand and she pulled him to his feet.
“Elizabeth Cooper!”
Immediately, silence fell and Fangs backed away from her. All attention turned to Sweet Pea, still at the bar.
“What are the six laws of the Serpents?”
Growing chilly, Betty crossed her arms, chafing them a bit. She’d been around the Serpents often enough to hear a few. Luckily, she also remembered the list of laws tacked up in the bathroom.
“No Serpent stands alone,” she began. Confidently, she made her way down the short list.
“In unity, there is strength,” was collectively echoed back to her and Betty rocked with understanding. She was petitioning to join a patchwork family.
Suddenly, her impulsive decision felt right. Warmth flooded Betty. The Southside Serpents were going to accept her as one of their own.
“What do you think, Serpents? Is she good enough for us?”
Sweet Pea’s question was met with hollers and whistles.
“She’s got to pass the final test,” Fangs’ announcement from behind Betty cut through the noise.
“Come down here, Cooper,” Sweet Pea lazily beckoned.
Walking through the crowd in her underwear felt completely different than being above them on stage. Most of the men were taller than her and they all stared as they stepped aside for her.
“Grab the knife,” Sweet Pea said, nodding toward the large tank.
Betty had noticed the tank before; it held a rattlesnake. But she’d never noticed the wood-handled knife buried at least an inch into one of the branches at the bottom.
“Have its fangs been removed..?” Betty quietly murmured to Sweet Pea, unable to look away from the snake.
Smirking, Sweet Pea held his right hand in front of her face. Apart from his battered knuckles, Betty immediately noticed tiny scars, unmistakably from a snake bite.
At the touch of his hand on her bare hip, Betty’s breath caught. He leaned close and whispered, “You’ll be fine.”
Sensing the Serpents crowding close to watch, Betty climbed onto the barstool on her knees and leaned on the bar, her gaze fixed on the snake. It was in a loose coil near the water dish, its tongue darting out.
‘Every single Serpent has done this,’ she told herself.
Holding her breath, Betty reached her hand into the tank. The snake struck so quickly that she didn’t immediately feel the bite but gasped.
“Leave the knife – it’s glued in,” Sweet Pea told her.
Betty quickly let go and pulled her hand out. Jack snapped the tank’s cover into place and Betty felt a warm jacket settle across her shoulders.
“Welcome to the gang, Blondie,” Jack congratulated, setting a roll of gauze and bottle of whiskey in front of her.
“Someone get her clothes,” Sweet Pea tossed over the crowd.
“Already did,” Fangs said, setting them on the bar.
“Thanks,” Betty softly said, her head spinning while she held her bitten hand to her chest.
“We’ll get you your own jacket. Give mine back after you get dressed.”
“Yeah, of course,” Betty agreed, looking down at herself.
When Jack set a shot and then a beer in front of Betty, Fangs snorted; “Looks like your drinks are covered for the night.”
“Who’s buying my drinks?” Betty asked, bewildered.
“Your new family,” Fangs grinned, giving Betty’s arm a punch.
Holding up the shot in salute, Betty glanced down the length of the bar and then tossed it back. She exhaled hard as the alcohol stung her throat.
“Give me your hand,” Sweet Pea directed.
Still making a face from the tequila, Betty gave him her hand. He held her wrist and doused the punctures with whiskey, eliciting a pained hiss from Betty. Using a couple of napkins, Sweet Pea wiped the blood away and wound gauze around and around her hand.
“It’s starting to hurt,” she confessed as her hand gave a painful throb.
“Drink more, Princess,” Fangs suggested.
“Am I a Southside Princess now?” Betty teased him.
Fangs laughed; “Depends on where you live.”
“I live… In my car,” Betty replied and took a deep swig from her beer.
“In your car?” SP repeated, shooting Betty a dark glance.
Betty shrugged; “Hoping I could take the apartment above the garage.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Sweet Pea said slowly. “But stay at my place tonight.”
“Really?” Betty asked, relieved at the idea of staying in a house rather than her chilly car.
“Or you can bunk with me and Anders,” Fangs slyly offered, rubbing a hand across his chest where Betty had kicked him.
“No, you can have my sofa,” Sweet Pea scowled.
“Your sofa sounds perfect,” Betty giggled. “Temporarily...”
“We’ll talk business tomorrow. Tonight, celebrate. Welcome to the Serpents, Cooper,” Sweet Pea clinked his beer to hers.
The rest of the night blurred for Betty. She drank a lot and laughed a lot.