Xiomara sighs. Dealing with her prospect is one thing. Having to deal with him when she’s meant to be enjoying herself is another. But of course, now that she’s spotted his distinct Camaro parked in obviously intended isolation from the other vehicles, she can’t let it slide. Approaching the car, she repeatedly slams her palm against the backseat window. “Get the fuck out,” Xio shouts, continuing to bang on the glass and not letting up until the door opens and the bane of her existence is standing in front of her. She’s not actually mad, not anymore. She just needs to give the impression that she is. “So you’re fine with being a fucking embarrassment?” Xiomara cuts to the chase right then and there with what she can only assume is one of the dancers in their midst, still in the backseat of his car. She gives him no time to actually answer. “I’m not fine with it. I don’t like being embarrassed, so imagine how I must feel putting my ass on the line for you, and I hear you don’t even show up for a simple job. A simple job. I’m not your fucking mom, dude. We shouldn’t even be having this discussion. Get it together,” Xio doesn’t bother saying the rest, because it should be obvious. Get your shit together, or getting a patch will be the least of your worries. But Xiomara hates this. Being Kasen Morrison’s sponsor is no walk in the park. He has a reputation that precedes him, and rightfully so, but so do a lot of the other prospects and members. It still wasn’t reason enough to give up on any of them. Kas, on the other hand, makes it very difficult not to, despite how much of a soft spot she actually holds for Morrison. Truth be told, she wants to see him succeed. She really does, but it’s not up to her. It’s up to him.