Stop; Sax Solo. Apr 5, 2014 21:15:24 GMT 9.5
Post by GINGER CREEPS on Apr 5, 2014 21:15:24 GMT 9.5
“Hey, woah, don’t touch,” chastised Gin calmly, as she slapped the pre-teen’s hand away from where he was about to grab at her in his anger “Give me what I asked for and then you get what you want.”
The boy frowned up at her from under mousy brown curls, the ripe acne on his nose caught in the absent crinkling of his frustration. He wrestled with the pockets of his jacket for a moment before pulling out a quarter ounce of coke in the form or two eight balls and holding them up toward her face. “Here, bitch. It’s all I could get. Now give me the goddamn bike.”
Gin grinned and snatched the coke from his hand before he had a chance to react, then snapped her fingers. A Grenade Flare BMX bike appeared in the spot before him, falling to hit his legs before he managed to catch it, causing him to hiss out loud in discomfort.
“That’s all you can afford, if you don’t like it then that’s too bad,” she stated matter-of-factly while occupying herself with a nail of coke “Tell your Daddy I said hello, alright?”
The kid, named Sam or something equally mundane, saluted her by flipping the bird in her face, before wheeling away. The kid was a little brat, but his father – Edward… Eddy – was a real piece of work, a dentist with salt and pepper hair and a discreet coke addiction. Ginger has seen him twice in the office before visiting him at home, which was where she had met Sam-what’s-his-name and discovered the rather obnoxious problem with her plans to woo Eddy. She could deal with children though, they were easy to buy, and that’s where the BMX came into play.
Despite his attitude toward her, Gin couldn’t help but swell with the happiness she felt when she could give someone something they really wanted. The feeling was only amplified when they managed to give her something that made her equally as happy to receive.
Tucking the coke in her bra, Gin sat back down on the deck chair a few feet from the open door of her beat up Winnebago. She leaned forward to start up a fire in the pit near her feet, vacantly wishing she were a flame elemental so it wouldn’t take quite as long, and then pulled out a kettle of fresh water to boil for once the fire was well lit.
Flicking on the chipped radio hanging from the arm of her chair, the chilled sounds of the Baker Street saxophone solo called out into the dim forest surrounding her.
She leaned back in her chair while the flames began to catch on the fresh kindling she had collected earlier in the day, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. Taking a drag, Gin began to sing loudly to the tune of the saxophone, her naturally quiet voice straining to hit the louder notes and cracking at pitches she couldn’t reach.
She wasn’t concerned about bothering strangers; she could handle herself just fine.