Or that's what she would say -- underneath the exterior, the dangling earrings and the long, blonde hair and the freckles and the way she snarls and scowls, Jaye is still a scared sixteen year-old-girl, holding her little brother's hand and watching everything they've ever known burn. She's still the girl who ran that day, who whisked Scott away and who never reconciled with her parents. Eleven years later and she still avoids that part of Detroit like the plague. ]
I'm a personal assistant who hits people.
[ There's some evidence of that, bruising around her knuckles, faint scars (though many are from before she met Coyote, too), but for someone who's half bodyguard, the evidence is pretty low. Maybe that means she doesn't run into trouble, or maybe that means she doesn't always use her fists.
It does, but she doesn't use a gun, either -- even if that is often the default assumption. ]
Edited (i can close html tags i promise) 2012-05-12 22:55 (UTC)
[ Karl is snapping on his gloves, one after the other, though that motion slows when she says the phrase 'who hits people' because fucking christ, what's today — fucking Christmas? A girl with that kind of bone structure and tits that are just asking for it and it's a shame she isn't a brunette because you know, sweetheart, you remind me of my wife; and I fucking loved my wife. He doesn't look at her straight away, just continues ripping open packets and threading needles, though he's got to shift his weight cause just the thought makes him hard and this isn't the time or the place.
(—bet the bitch is frigid; bet she'll laugh if I ask; bet she thinks she's too good for my kind of fuck—)
When he eventually looks up, gauze in hand, he gives her a brief little smile (neutral, like this is no big deal). ] Well that 's definitely a first. And I've seen a lotta shit. But you don't look the type — no offense.
[ There are a lot of men who don't get excited about that kind of thing and Jaye doesn't think anything of the motion slowing either, just sort of absently glances around the room. She's in the middle of cracking her knuckles when he shifts and she looks back at him, head tilting to the side, hair falling down her neck.
Truth is, Jaye doesn't have a lot of standards when it comes to who she fucks. She just has tastes. Men who are a little rough around the edges, who look like they can take it, are her first pick. A good roll in bed would be a nice reward for going to the fucking hospital and putting up with stitches, but of course, that all depends on what his type of fuck actually is.
She laughs, showing her teeth. ] I get that a lot. It's an advantage. [ No one expects the tall blonde to turn into a grizzly bear and rip their fucking throat out. ]
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Or that's what she would say -- underneath the exterior, the dangling earrings and the long, blonde hair and the freckles and the way she snarls and scowls, Jaye is still a scared sixteen year-old-girl, holding her little brother's hand and watching everything they've ever known burn. She's still the girl who ran that day, who whisked Scott away and who never reconciled with her parents. Eleven years later and she still avoids that part of Detroit like the plague. ]
I'm a personal assistant who hits people.
[ There's some evidence of that, bruising around her knuckles, faint scars (though many are from before she met Coyote, too), but for someone who's half bodyguard, the evidence is pretty low. Maybe that means she doesn't run into trouble, or maybe that means she doesn't always use her fists.
It does, but she doesn't use a gun, either -- even if that is often the default assumption. ]
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(—bet the bitch is frigid; bet she'll laugh if I ask; bet she thinks she's too good for my kind of fuck—)
When he eventually looks up, gauze in hand, he gives her a brief little smile (neutral, like this is no big deal). ] Well that 's definitely a first. And I've seen a lotta shit. But you don't look the type — no offense.
no subject
Truth is, Jaye doesn't have a lot of standards when it comes to who she fucks. She just has tastes. Men who are a little rough around the edges, who look like they can take it, are her first pick. A good roll in bed would be a nice reward for going to the fucking hospital and putting up with stitches, but of course, that all depends on what his type of fuck actually is.
She laughs, showing her teeth. ] I get that a lot. It's an advantage. [ No one expects the tall blonde to turn into a grizzly bear and rip their fucking throat out. ]