Note; this is a re-upload of a pre-existing story
Penelope laughed as she and her friends left the gala hall. It was almost midnight, but they were still in high spirits. The dinner, as with all of the tennis society's dinners, was an unqualified success. The students all got drunk on wine bought for them by the alumni, the speakers were toasted raucously, and there was a venue deposit that most likely was not going to be returned.
They weren't done yet though. Though the dinner was over, the night was only just beginning. It would be on to a string of clubs next, likely until they all closed for the night. This was always how it went with all university society fundraiser dinners, but the tennis society prided themselves on having the most generous alumni, the most expensive events, and the latest nights.
In accordance with the prestige of the annual event, all of the attendees were dressed as finely as students could be. Many would have looked more in-place at a fancy wedding, or even an aristocratic ball. Penelope herself was dressed simply but elegantly. Her dress was royal blue and crushed velvet. It had spaghetti straps and a slit up to a little past the knee on one side. The rest of it fell to her ankles.
The dress looked good on her. She was small and slight, only a few inches over five feet tall. She had slim arms and legs and a small waist. Despite her diminutive size and narrow hips, her arse was very round and firm from her training. Her skin was pale, and her black hair came down just past her shoulders. She had straightened it for the occasion, and it fell in a single glossy sheet. Her breasts were a B cup, but didn't look too small against her scant frame.
The night was cool and crisp, and their small group left the gala hall for the clubs after almost everyone else had left. The city wasn't big, and even here in the centre it got very quiet at night. As a result, they felt like the owned the place. Just the ten of them, walking along the road shouting and laughing to where their Ubers would be ordered to.
Penelope was more often than not the one to order the Uber, but today she couldn't. She didn't have a bag that matched this dress, and had no pockets for her phone and wallet, so had elected to leave them at home. Presently, an argument was ringing out about who would take her place.
"I always get them," insisted Robert. "Claire let me in yours and I'll buy you a drink in the club."
"How many are we?" asked Claire.
"Ten, I think. So, an XL and a normal."
"I'll get the normal," said Claire, pulling out her phone.
"Ah fuck it," Said Tom, who had been quiet until then. "I'll get the XL, but you all have to send me the money." The insistence was rather half-hearted, but everyone assured him that they would.
"Who's going with who?" asked Penelope, who could get a bit anxious about these things.
"We'll just get in them as they come. Mine's two minutes away."
"So's mine."
They arrived outside of Constantinople kebabs, the traditional place to order an uber from when leaving the gala hall. Penelope always felt that it did a good job of setting the new, grubbier tone for the night at the clubs compared to the dinner, especially as the Kebab shop was closed and desolate.
They waited there alone. Claire was riding around on Clyde's back, and everyone laughed as they drunkenly raced an invisible adversary down the street together. The small city was quiet this time of night, and their footsteps echoed long and loud across the street.
Penelope, who had drunk far less than her friends, was less interested in the wild antics than the rest. The dinner served mostly wine, which she no longer drank after an unfortunate vomiting incident last year. Besides, she was never one for boisterousness anyway. She turned away, and looked down one of the long alleyways that ran between the shops. There was something about deserted places like this that she found oddly calming.
Something moved in the alleyway. A low, pale shape. She squinted, and saw that it was a cat. It sat there demurely, licking an outstretched leg.
"Hello," she crooned, in her best 'talking to a cat' voice. She moved slowly towards it, into the alley, getting down low and stretching out a hand slowly. The cat sniffed her tentatively, before licking her hand. The ruckus from the street sounded faint as she started to stroke the cat. It nuzzled its head into her hand and purred affectionately.
She crouched there a few moments, stroking the cat, scratching under its chin. Suddenly the cat bounced back, and ran off quickly into the back of the alley. It rounded a dark corner, and was out of sight. That was odd, thought Penelope. But stray cats are often skittish. Maybe one of her dangly earrings had jangled and frightened it. Ah well. It was about time she got back to her friends.
She stood, turned, and saw what made the cat run.
A huge wall of a man was standing behind her. He was six and a half feet tall, and almost as wide. Behind him in the distance she could see her friends on the street, laughing and oblivious.
"Wallet and phone. quickly please," He said. He seemed more bored than anything, as though this was as much hassle for him as it was for her. Something metallic glinted in his hand. Penelope's throat felt dry. She hated confrontation. When she spoke, her voice squeaked awkwardly.
"I don't have them. My phone or my wallet. I left them at home."
"Turn out your pockets."
"This dress doesn't have any." She sounded earnest. Her eyes were fixed on that metallic glinting from her hand. She had to make him believe she really didn't have anything to steal. If he thinks I'm lying to him, who knows what he'll do.
"Look, see?" she patted her pocketless thighs. "Please I don't have any pockets, please." There was panic in her voice, and a slight waver. She always teared up when under any stress, and now was no exception. Her vision was blurred by the tears, which only served to make that metallic glint all the more prominent.
