(no subject)
Who: Rose Bloom (THE UNGRATEFUL DWARF) and Gray Adams (BAGHEERA).
What: Gray requests to see her former pro-bono client. Rose is physically unable to turn down free food. And then possibly gets her ass handed to her.
When: Wednesday Afternoon, 5pm.
Where: The Waldorf. There are waiters, little cakes, and old ladies.
Rating: Rose comes with an automatic R. Sry2say.
Right. Well. So. Who knew you could ACTUALLY hang around outside in the winter months and not develop frost bite when you wore jeans? Absurdly tight jeans, but jeans none the less. You could even sit on things and NOT get ass-related-icicles. And reveling in this new feeling of being CLOTHED (though, we shan't go into her shirt and cleavage down to there), it wasn't like she was taking ORDERS from Gay Adams, of COURSE fucking not. NO ONE ordered HER about. Nope, she was here for the free food. That was all. Free food and the possibility of flashing some loaded old fart.
Cigarette in hand, it was fifty-three seconds past five as she casually strolled outside. She'd timed it. She'd arrived twelve minutes early by accident, and, naturally, that just wouldn't fucking do to WAIT for Gay or be SEEN waiting for Gay; thus, ending with her spending twelve minutes standing on a street corner out of sight from the Waldorf, and flicking ash at anyone in a suit that walked by. But now, fifty-eight seconds past the hour, a few puffs away from lung cancer, she'd arrived.
What: Gray requests to see her former pro-bono client. Rose is physically unable to turn down free food. And then possibly gets her ass handed to her.
When: Wednesday Afternoon, 5pm.
Where: The Waldorf. There are waiters, little cakes, and old ladies.
Rating: Rose comes with an automatic R. Sry2say.
Right. Well. So. Who knew you could ACTUALLY hang around outside in the winter months and not develop frost bite when you wore jeans? Absurdly tight jeans, but jeans none the less. You could even sit on things and NOT get ass-related-icicles. And reveling in this new feeling of being CLOTHED (though, we shan't go into her shirt and cleavage down to there), it wasn't like she was taking ORDERS from Gay Adams, of COURSE fucking not. NO ONE ordered HER about. Nope, she was here for the free food. That was all. Free food and the possibility of flashing some loaded old fart.
Cigarette in hand, it was fifty-three seconds past five as she casually strolled outside. She'd timed it. She'd arrived twelve minutes early by accident, and, naturally, that just wouldn't fucking do to WAIT for Gay or be SEEN waiting for Gay; thus, ending with her spending twelve minutes standing on a street corner out of sight from the Waldorf, and flicking ash at anyone in a suit that walked by. But now, fifty-eight seconds past the hour, a few puffs away from lung cancer, she'd arrived.