Subject: On the job: 13 years ago. Who: Vivian Thorpe. Where: A street in London. Warnings: Fruity language. Otherwise TBC. Open to: Harry Fisher. Backdated 13 years. Vivian is 16, Harry is 18.
It was fucking freezing, and Vivian had already been out here for a good two hours. She'd had one punter, and that was it so far. Hardly enough for supper. Anyway, it was getting late, so there was no supper at all at this rate. She'd have to work through the night, and perhaps beg. Oh, and poor Lil and Benny and the others, they being looked after by Trish, and they'd no doubt be starving...
She forced thoughts of her siblings from her mind as she rubbed her hands together, wandering along the pavement for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Fucking cold. As it got later, it would get colder, and she'd no doubt be able to see her breath soon, and she needed to keep her mind on the task in hand. Her family were Trish's responsibility now, as the second oldest, and Viv had left home to work, which she was currently trying to do. It was important, and not just for the money; more work meant more physical excertion which meant heat. Body heat.
Not to mention, in a sad way, company. For a sixteen-year-old, slight like she was, walking the streets at night wasn't just lonely. It was dangerous.