𝚅𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂

          cherry snorts, the sound almost showing her amusement better than a laugh ever would. she glances at the shorter blonde, and looks her up and down without a stutter in the motion, as if trying to figure out if the comment had actually managed to come out of this pretty, if not a little bit broken looking, working girl. after a moment, cherry purses her lips and offers an accepting little nod.           “yeah, yeah, alright. you got me there,” she jokes, smoothly “but i ain’t a hooker, i’mma saint. so it don’t really matter if my name is sexy.” after all, being a saint meant that anyone who thought her name wasn’t sexy was more likely to get a bullet in their skull or a knife in their throat than anything else, though cherry won’t be the one to point that out. “you, on the other hand.. well, bein’ sexy’s sorta your job.” honestly, maybe this is a little rude... but cherry doesn’t seem to notice, or even consider the possibility of this. there’s no judgement coming from the woman.. perhaps no real understanding, either, but no judgement. just all in good fun.           the attempt of bambi to gauge cherry’s reaction goes unnoticed, but it also goes rather unsuccessful, as the darker haired woman doesn’t seem to show anything at all in those moments aside from slight curiosity, her surprise at the woman’s joke having vanished as quickly as it had come. eventually, she shrugs. “nah, that’s okay,” cherry assures, “you probably know better than me anyway, huh, baby?”           what can she say? the boss isn’t the only one with a soft spot for small, pretty blondes. 

          ten minutes was less time than she had anticipated. she knew that The Boss was somewhat of a ghost; fast, intelligent, damn near invincible... and lucky. she’d always found herself thinking that no one cheated death as often and as stylishly as he did, no one just got to where he was, without a little bit of luck. still, she didn’t think he’d be there so quickly, and cherry soon realizes that ten minutes wasn’t quite enough time to brace herself for finally seeing him, working with him instead of just working for him. at the very least, it’ll be her first time dealing with him in person, one on one. first impressions and all...           ‘nervous’ probably isn’t the right word to describe the sinking feeling she gets in her gut when he enters, his expression (always described as deadpan and stoic, even when faced with gunfire) falling immediately into disarray. she swallows thickly, and takes a few steps backward, away from the two men on the floor, to give him the space to look at them. two hazel eyes briefly fall away from his gaze as it examines the room, but she quickly gathers herself with the reminder that SHE is a saint, and that THESE TWO are not. if nothing else saves her, that will.           cherry waits for him to speak, and her gaze is pulled to the two traitors on the floor, who seem to grow even more distraught at just the sound of his voice. though he speaks calmly, levelly, everyone in this room knows the truth about him... and cherry knows what hides behind that collected exterior. finally, she speaks up. >          “they’re pigs, Boss,” she says first, to perhaps save herself a little bit of trouble and confusion in the following moments. although on edge, she does well to conceal the worry from her voice, hiding it in a confident brooklyn accent. “i caught ‘em putting equipment in one of the cribs,” she pauses, reaching behind her to a table and picking up a fistful of wires and small black boxes, tangled and knocking together as she holds them up. “microphones,” she explains, “two or three cameras... an’ all of ‘em got satellite...”            she swallows again, setting down the tangled mess of black cables back on the table and then reaching in the pocket of her black leather jacket and producing a phone. she takes one or two steps towards him but for the most part keeps her distance, extending her arm and offering him the device. “it’s off now, so the pigs don’t track it, but.. there’s a lotta’ shit on here, Boss.” she clears her throat, her mouth feeling rather dry. “i thought you might wanna see it for yourself.” before she killed them. 

          hardened eyes, with a color in them reminiscent of a cloudy sunrise, are trained with the intensity of a hunting dog on the smaller woman. but be careful not to be fooled: despite this unfriendliness to her exterior, cherry is nothing but warmth and welcoming on the inside. her callousness is a mask, a persona put on and donned: not unlike the saint’s signature color of purple. she liked to think that she was more than just a saint, and that she could take off the bandana and the resting-bitch face and be just... christine.            not something she did often, if ever, but the option was nice.           head bobs only once, signalling her acknowledgement and choosing not to speak again in return (after all, bambina? cherry didn’t take a lot of her parent’s old advice, but something about ‘if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all’ seems vaguely appropriate). the joke, however, startles her somewhat. she blinks several times, and her eyes very quickly dart between the woman’s false-limb, and her face. the shock lasts only meager seconds, and very quickly her awe is replaced with.. well, more indifference.           she takes very good lessons, and only from the best, after all.           ❛ sexy, ❜ christine comments idly, and she too takes another inhale from behind the filter of her cigarette. ❛ at least, sexier than a deer. so, uh.. that. ❜ she follows up quickly, a distinct lack of accusation in her tone. then, fearlessly, she gestures to the woman’s legs... or more specifically, her prosthetic leg (where she is fearless, she is also shameless). ❛ you make a lot of jokes about that? ❜

          a pointed, unimpressed look is tossed loosely in the younger woman’s direction. the question posed is one that christine has been faced with often, annoying her just as much now as it did the last hundred times she’d had it asked of her. in the past, she’s had a nasty habit of hurting men who asked her this question (specifically when they asked if it was a ‘stripper’ or ‘hooker’ name), and it’s fortunate for the girl that she is asking respectfully, alongside her genuine curiosity. cherry had had a very long day thus far, and wasn’t inclined to hit a girl who didn’t even have both her damn legs.            something about that whole image that didn’t sit quite right, even with the saint.           amber eyes flicker from the cigarette between shaky fingers and a cautious expression, and for several, calculated moments, she doesn’t say a word, and merely looks over bambi with thoughtful silence. she is still at first, before eventually lifting up and taking a drag from her own cigarette, and cherry’s blown out the smoke before she finally decides to answer.           ❛ yeah, ❜ she says, coolly, ❛ s’my real name. ❜ it’s a lie, but so what? why does little miss working girl need to know the details? christine flicks ashes off the end of a slowly burning cigarette, and her gaze falls over the entirety of bambi’s slender figure, analyzing her. ❛ an’ you’re bambi, yeah? ❜ she asks abruptly, tone less questioning and more knowing. it’s important for her to know who’s who, even when it comes to the prostitutes. she takes great pride in it, really. ❛ like the movie? ❜

          eyes are filled to the brim with tears, spilling over onto her cheeks and leaving stains in their wake. the rain serves only to exacerbate her disgruntled state -- wet hair sticking sloppily to her face, black make-up smudging, the fabric of her clothes sticking to her body in some places and seeming to hang off of her like loose skin in others. needless to say, she is a very good actress dedicated to her role. ❛ c-could you --- h-help me, please? i’m -- i just got attacked, and i--- ❜ fingers and breaths tremble, and she sounds only a second away from bursting into further fits of crying. ❛ please help me, they took my -- my phone, my wallet, everythin’ ---! ❜

          amber colored eyes flicker back and forth on his face, searching for a twitch of deceit. she’s not quite as good at judging facial expressions as she seems to be with posture, though, and fails to notice any obvious giveaways.. aside from that goofy-ass smile he flashes at her, and she’s guessing that’s just how he smiles.           her brows raise, no humor being showcased in her own expression. she glances down at the suitcase for no more than a second, and then she shifts in her seat, running her tongue along the back of her teeth as if tasting the poison that pools inside them.             ❛ y’call me ‘sweetie’ again, an’ i’ll break all y’teeth outcha’ jaw. ❜ the woman says to him, her voice one that is cool and matter-of-fact, but also dangerous. she means what she says, and she says what she means. if he wants to test that, he’d best be careful of the consequences. then, as if a threat hadn’t just been made, adds, ❛ don’t look like any ‘business’ we do around here. you know who you’re workin’ WITH, boss? ❜ her smirk curls a little, the nickname being used with blatant sarcasm. if he’s stupid, he’ll admit that he’s with the carnales, or the rollerz, or the kings... if he’s extra stupid, he’ll say he’s working with the saints, and then the fun really begins.