Re: Capital Rooftops: Cat & Sasha
Cat chuckled, because she knew Bruce. Bruce went half a year without talking to her before, back home, in each other's backyards, and with multiple people shared in lives interwoven since she could remember. They'd even had Hels to deal with then, and it hadn't made a bit of difference. Bruce? He was terrible at remembering. It wasn't that he didn't care; he just didn't remember, and Cat thought that might possibly be worse. "You are absolutely going to lose that bet, kitten. You might as well forfeit now."
Oh, Cat knew all about crime families. In her late teens, she'd been upgraded from small-time sex worker? To big-time spy. She didn't remember that first year in Russia, and she wasn't sure she ever wanted to remember that first year in Russia. She was positive the only reason they'd let her walk away? Was Uncle Sam, and at least the government had been good for something. "Sasha, you're here now. Be here. Survive here. Thrive here." Thriving? Living? That was all they had, and Cat didn't plan for the future. No one from home planned for the future. Life was hedonism, day-to-day, and she wanted Sasha to find whatever made Sasha happy. "This is a chance. No Families. A clean start, kitten, to do whatever you want." Perhaps it was slightly optimistic, but Cat was trying. She was trying very, very hard.
She scoffed. "You didn't ruin anything for me. I purposefully put myself front-and-center in town. The right fish will come along, and I'll make him bite." She meant it. Reece? Had been an easy con, but Cat knew she could get into that facility and find that scientist without him.
But Cat was Cat, and old habits died very hard. She looked down from their rooftop perch, and she smiled lush and wide and red. "I bet we can find a dealership with something candy red. I haven't stolen a car in a year." At least. "Unless you feel like doing it the legal way, in which case? Don't let me stop you." For Cat? A gambling den was the legal way.