- Invitation Status
- Not accepting invites at this time
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- 1-3 posts per week
- Online Availability
- 17:00 - 20:00 +2GMT
- Writing Levels
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- No Preferences
- Genres
- Post-apocalyptic, Sci-fi, Fantasy, Real Life, Comedy, Mistery and Horror
K. C. Pelt
(Cheshire Cat)
K.C. understood. There was no point in asking Maisie any, potentially dumb and pointless, questions. She felt they both had enough of the major amount of shit they went through today. She only nodded and winked approvingly to Maisie that was going to bed. "Sleep tight." She said lightly, before Maisie closed the door. She should be comfortable in there, K.C. tended to keep tidy everything that she doesn't use. That included kitchen. She couldn't remember the last time she tried to cook something. It was probably a year ago. That god damn year ago she would rather not involve in everything any more. She wasn't one of those desperate whining bitches, and she preferred to stay that way. Stretching out, she got up, ignoring some dumb TV commercial, and gathered all the empty beer bottles, tossing them into the garbage disposer. "Return bottles my ass." If she can gain hundreds of bucks easily, she for sure won't humiliate herself and carry around a bunch of bottles for few cents. (Cheshire Cat)
She got to the bathroom and washed her face before looking up in the mirror. Flawless face, even with no make up. Not like she put it on much, but others seemed to think that. "Well hey there, sexy." She chuckled. At that point she noticed that the deep scratch she got started to bleed again. She probably scratched over it, and now the tiny line of blood ran down her cheek. "Son of a bitch got me better than I thought." By the time the scratch stopped bleeding, she wasn't so tired any more. TV provided no fun whatsoever, so she turned it off once she was back in the living room, boring her guts out. She grabbed the keys and her jacket, and walked out quietly, locking the doors. Maisie was firmly asleep, and the last thing she wanted was a rookie burglar in her apartment. She would be back soon enough anyway.
Once she was outside, she instantly noticed the black Chevy parked in front of the entrance, and she recognised it at once. Why wouldn't she? The driver was a scumbag of his own kind. He was a drug dealer that owned a strip club in the Downtown center, and he acted like he owned the world. Even worse, he lived in a same building. Sometimes the entire building had to suffer the consequences of his orgy parties and high trips. And the worst thing of all, she had to cope with his constant sexist shout outs towards her, and all those immoral offers that were pointless and disgusted her. K.C. wasn't a feminist, but to motherfuckers like he was, she would gladly give a good fist in a face for every time he even looked at her. Yes, she tried it once, but then she was forced to visit the station once more. That one was not on Bigby. She knew he hated that kind of scumbags as much as she did, and he would react in her advantage but Crane...yeah he was an ass on his own. The guy is a mundi somehow allowed to live and work there. All Crane. All of it! She, and not to mention Bigby, wasn't allowed to lay a finger on bastard, as long as he was, for some reason, sucked up deep into the Crane's snobby ass.
But, Crane or Bigby never said anything about his car. K.C. stopped and turned to Chevy with the true Cheshire grin on her face. She shrugged off. "Well, sorry "Daddy" boy. They should have been more precise." She approached the car making sure no one was around. Of course she wasn't stupid to do anything that will turn on the alarm, so she took her keys and mercilessly started making deep scratches over the car's flawlessly black hood. She enjoyed the pleading and squealing sound it made, while she grinned wider. When she was done, deep scratches over the hood formed: "Fuck you very much! <3". And then underneath it was: "P.S. I got bored. Your windshield is spared...this time."
Pleased by the way her masterpiece turned out, K.C. headed to the center of the Downtown, with hands in her short leather jacket and whistling. Once there, she made sure to buy a decent sized sandwich that was not stuffed with the dog food, and a six-pack. She sat on top of the park bench, across one of many casinos there. Putting her feet on the part where normal people are supposed to sit, and a six-pack beside, she bit into her sandwich. It was only now she realised how hungry she was. The sandwich was dry and old, but still good to eat unlike many others she used to get at those early morning hours when she would went out to wander or get her mind straight. She chuckled, chewing, when one of younger idiots got kicked out of the casino and beaten up by their gorillas. "Looooser.", she stated as she took another bite.
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