Thoughts on a CL55
I parked the Benz two blocks away from the hotel, settin' the alarm. Truth was, though, that it might actually be the best thing for me if the thing got boosted or chopped up. Lookin' at the keys in my hand-- this weird hunk of plastic that was only kinda key-shaped and plugged into the steering column-- I remembered how I used to be so jealous of the whips some of the boys used to roll through the neighborhood with.
They usually weren't from my turf, though. Wasn't easy to keep a ride lookin' as hot as those did, what with all the vamps that had a tendency to love takin' joy rides. But those were still the shit-- chrome kits from headlight to taillight, pearlescent and metallic paint jobs, whitewall tires on spinnin' rims. Some of 'em got all the kids on the block runnin' after 'em by showin' off their hydraulics, cars bouncin' down the street.
Now that I was a little older, I could appreciate the classier, more subtle lines of a ride like the Benz.
And I could hate 'em, too, especially when I wondered what demon client's hourly rate had paid for this one.
Stuffin' the keys into my pocket, I headed back down to the Hyperion, my mouth hangin' open as I pushed the door aside. Where the hell had all these kids come from, I wondered, nearly out loud. Finally, I saw a couple of familiar faces, who filled me in on the situation with Anne's shelter and the big move of everybody to our humble little hotel.
Still didn't see any of the bigwigs around, and not Fred, either, so I knew I still needed to check in with someone. I made my way through the little groups of teenagers and ran up the stairs, finally findin' the room I wanted and knocked on the door.
"Yo, Cordy-- you there?"
((Open to Cordelia))
They usually weren't from my turf, though. Wasn't easy to keep a ride lookin' as hot as those did, what with all the vamps that had a tendency to love takin' joy rides. But those were still the shit-- chrome kits from headlight to taillight, pearlescent and metallic paint jobs, whitewall tires on spinnin' rims. Some of 'em got all the kids on the block runnin' after 'em by showin' off their hydraulics, cars bouncin' down the street.
Now that I was a little older, I could appreciate the classier, more subtle lines of a ride like the Benz.
And I could hate 'em, too, especially when I wondered what demon client's hourly rate had paid for this one.
Stuffin' the keys into my pocket, I headed back down to the Hyperion, my mouth hangin' open as I pushed the door aside. Where the hell had all these kids come from, I wondered, nearly out loud. Finally, I saw a couple of familiar faces, who filled me in on the situation with Anne's shelter and the big move of everybody to our humble little hotel.
Still didn't see any of the bigwigs around, and not Fred, either, so I knew I still needed to check in with someone. I made my way through the little groups of teenagers and ran up the stairs, finally findin' the room I wanted and knocked on the door.
"Yo, Cordy-- you there?"
((Open to Cordelia))