She had to pull the car over to throw up. Having borrowed it from her friend Mina, the only other female in the Chicago branch of the Soldiers of the Sun, Julianna didn't want to pay her back by getting puke all over the seats. So she pulled over to the side of the road, opened the door and leaned over, heaving onto the curb. After a few moments of this, the brunette sat up straight again and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her black hooded sweatshirt. She grabbed a bottle of warm Coca-Cola that was sitting in the cup holder, took a swig of the soda and spit it out onto the sidewalk to rid her mouth of the vile, acidic taste.
She checked her face in the vanity mirror and frowned. This was no way to meet a dealer, when one was a young female and had very little cash. Julianna let her hair out of her ponytail, shook it out and unzipped her sweatshirt. She was wearing a red athletic tank top underneath. That would have to do. She wasn't going to slut herself out, no matter how desperate she was. And she was desperate. The Fellowship wouldn't give her another dose of V until her next patrol, and that wouldn't be for awhile. She had to have two more bullshit counseling sessions, a prayer circle and 'self-reflection' time before she was let back out on the street again. That fuckwit Craig had to go die on her.
No matter. She was resourceful, and she had found another way. She clicked the mirror back into place and pulled out the slip of crinkled paper from her pocket with the dealer's name and address. He called himself Fox, and he lived about three houses away from where she had pulled over, so she decided to get out there and walk. Julianna was never unarmed, and she had her trusty revolver tucked into the waistband of her jeans and a knife strapped under her tank top. Once she reached the dealer's door, she knocked twice quickly, then once more, the way she had been instructed to.
( How Bad Do You Want It )
[NPC Fox written by Jeff]
|truesin_rpg (posted by tiny_dancer87)
|On The Stroll
|Tina Toledo's Street Walkin' Blues - Ryan Adams|
Even without a mirror, Theresa knows what she looks like.
Tonight its a demure skirt and white button-up blouse, plain white socks and brand new tennis shoes. Preppy without being too Catholic-schoolgirl. The last thing she needs tonight is to attract some do-gooder who just wants to save her soul. One ankle crossed over the other, she drinks her second Coke in between pauses to fiddle with the plastic straw. She looks young and fresh-faced, like she just got off the bus. Innocent.
Chicago is a dirty city. Dirtier even than Hollywood, but maybe that's just the cold. Early October now and the wind pealing off the lake has a definite bite to it. Not that Theresa cares. She'd seen worse when she was still living in California, and at least the place where she sleeps during the day is private and she can draw the curtains against the day. The ice cubes rattle in her nearly empty glass. She abandons the straw. There's a guy in the booth near the door, and he's been watching her. Outwardly he's twice her age or even more, and the way he keeps pulling his eyes away from her when she glances his way would have been enough to make her snicker if she wasn't keeping up the act. Hookers come in here all the time to pick up guys, it isn't like she's the first to try it. She's just a little....different than the average girl. If he knew the truth, it'd probably just make him harder.
It's one in the morning. Dawn comes later now that it's fall, which means she won't have to rush home. There have been three clients already, but all of them were pretty quick on the trigger. Theresa doesn't care about that either. If time is money, the quicker the job gets done, the faster she gets paid. Money or blood. As the old saying used to go, 'grass. gas, or ass, no one rides for free.' That goes double for her now.
There's a newspaper on the counter next to her. Theresa looks at the headline. Something about the Fellowship of the Sun, she doesn't read the whole thing. Pious fuckers, worse than any Jimmy Swaggart wanna-be. It used to be easier to be a vampire. Zealots ruin everything.
She slips off of the stool, looks at her watch. The overhead lights reflect off of Booth Guy's eyeglasses. If she squints, he looks a little like her dad used to look. Kinky. Adopting a faintly nervous expression, Theresa sidles towards the door, stopping only because he half-rises from his seat to get her attention. He beckons her over hesitantly, and she lets a puzzled frown crease her brow before taking that first step nearer. Like she couldn't possibly know what he wants.
This one's going to pay with blood, she's just decided it for him.