#sumireb

( sumireb )

Ah, the illusive Ladies Night at Black Lace. The only night Imogen actually bothered to go and greet her patrons. Something about seeing a bunch of horny old men just didn’t do it for her, but Ladies Night, a bunch of gorgeous women requesting to see her gorgeous women - she just liked it a whole lot more. They were more well-kept, she didn’t have to escort many out for being too drunk, and generally her girls were a lot more relaxed on this night.

But, she had someone in mind she needed to talk to, Bambi told her about her. A frequent customer with generous tips, someone Bambi actually doesn’t mind seeing. She was a shy girl, so to openly talk about a customer was new, and Imogen’s curiosity was piqued. Especially with anyone who brings in revenue and isn’t a slimy greaseball.

After Bambi pointed her out for her, Imogen approached her at the bar, sliding over a drink for her. A very expensive champagne, even. Anything for her .. richer customers. Flashing her a smile, once Imogen caught the woman’s attention, she was about to speak but took a moment to be taken aback by her face.

Imogen always knew she preferred women, but she never quite knew how much until she seen this person’s face. “Hello, I’m Black Lace’s owner, you can call me Imogen.” She said, her voice soft, as she reached to flip her own hair back.

It had been a while since Brodie had been by to bother his dearest oldest sister, but, he had just finished taking Cheska out for a joy-ride on his skateboard. He was determined to teach her to be on it, and she had finally mastered balancing on it, so at least that was a good part in his life. But it wasn’t long before he received a text to bring her back, as he had her in his backpack, her head sticking out, as he skateboarded to the guest house on their lot. He understood why his sister preferred the guest house to the main house - it was a pretty good size, and she didn’t have to deal with the constant drama going on in the main house. 

—  sumireb​

He had been committed to his jogging routine for the past few weeks or so, simply a quick few jogs around the neighborhood or through the few streets that he had driven on for far too long. Thirty minutes, no more and no less. Every once in a while, he would catch nuances that range from something far in left field to things that seem to be as familiar as home plate. It was the early morning, eight-thirty or so was when he had left his house. 

But only a good few minutes into his jog, he caught sight of a female figure and a loading truck. The cardboard boxes with messy scrawls that would be translated into destinations or general mentions of specific contents, it was much too familiar at this point. And he figured, as they were only a few houses apart — the start of two new neighbors couldn’t hurt at all.

“Do you want some help —” Keenan started as he stood but a few feet from the newcomer, who truly, was no newcomer. Sumire, no way. A sick joke, this is. Or maybe it’s legitimate, because his mouth hung open slightly in shock.