|tiny_dancer87 (tiny_dancer87) wrote in truesin_rpg,|
@ 2009-10-07 16:38:00
|Current music:||Tina Toledo's Street Walkin' Blues - Ryan Adams|
On The Stroll
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.