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Hazel Angel

Don't be fooled, I'm not even close to being an angel.

0 · 791 views · located in The Bronx, New York

a character in “Untamed Things”, as played by Limepepper




Name:Hazel Lily Angel

Age: 21

Eye Color: Brown

Height: 5'8

Weight: 131

Occupation: Hazel works in an auto shop and makes extra money by competing in illegal street racing and motorcycle racing.


Hazel grew up with just enough to live off of, and nothing more. Her main enjoyment as a child was watching her dad ride his motorcycle. Every once and awhile he would take her to the motorcycle races that he made money from. He always told her not to tell her mother that he had taken Hazel to the races. Her two uncles and older cousin also raced, making Angel the legendary name in racing. Her uncles and cousins were much richer then them, so they could afford to street race with sports cars, which also put a family name there.

When Hazel was about 5, her dad took her on her first motorcycle ride, and she loved it so much her dad would take her on his motorcycle to school. Hazel would also help him out in the garage, and when she stayed over at her uncle's, she would get to help him with cars. She became very excited about it, and when she turned 10, her father scraped enough money together to pay for a dirt bike for her to ride on.

Hazel's mother always had a different opinion, that a girl her age should be into shopping, or dolls, or something that didn't involve her dealing with cars or motorcycles. Hazel was quick to argue, and her mother decided that she should sign her up for girl scouts so she could meet friends there, which backfired. Hazel didn't wear the uniform, yelled all the time and made fun of the other girls. They kicked her out quickly, which was just what Hazel wanted.

When Hazel turned about 12, her mother still wanted to shop for her, so Hazel took her credit card, went behind her back and brought a whole lot of stuff, mainly from punk type of stores. Hazel's mother was furious, but her father didn't mind much, after all, it was the same cost as a regular wardrobe. They got into a huge fight about it before her mother just picked up her stuff and disappeared.

The whole family went looking for her, but never found her. They gave up after police hadn't found a single piece of evidence. Every once and awhile, Hazel would get a letter without a return address from her mother. The letters always confused her, it didn't sound like her mother. But she kept them hidden in a safe place so no one else could look at them.

When Hazel turned 16, she got her first motorcycle. She practiced a lot, and every day. She took notes at the motorcycle races and street races her uncle competed in. Her cousin gave her a sleek sports car so she too could start racing. Hazel agreed and soon started to gain fame in the world of racing.

One fateful day, her father was in a high stake motorcycle race. One motorcycle crashed into his, and the accident resulted in the Angel family paying almost all their money to save him, yet he still died. Even worse, the people who he made the bet with demanded that they paid up, after a large fight, they only paid half of it, not having any more money left.

They were furious, and ended up shooting her uncles and cousins, while Hazel was away at a friend's house. When Hazel came back, she was horrified. Their whole house had been raided and her uncles and older cousin lie dead on the floor. Hazel called the police, but didn't tell them about the racing or who did it, otherwise she could be arrested. Hazel dove into the racing world and took her relative's spots.

Of course, just racing wasn't enough to make money, so she got a job at an auto shop and worked there during the day. She strived to make a living, yet have fun while doing it. She met a group of close friends at the auto shop and they raced together pretty often. Hazel felt at home, and felt like she had found people that really understood her. Of course, just as she turned 21, they introduced her to the night life. All the good clubs, and everything. Luckily, she didn't become a total train wreck, but she went there as often as she could.

Hazel felt proud, after all, she represented the Angels, who were amazing at almost everything. Hazel knew that her family name could really get her far, as long as she kept her skills refreshed. Hazel still lived in fear though, after all, the person who killed her relatives were still out there, probably trying to find her. She was freaked out, mainly after a note was left at her doorstep, demanding money. Hazel fulfilled it quickly and made sure to lock her doors at night.

So begins...

Hazel Angel's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hazel Angel Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins Character Portrait: Jaylene Sullivan
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Image"Jesus Christ, just forget it." Jaylene huffed with frustration beside a cramped clothes rack, snatching a hanger brandishing a bedazzled Model 5 dress from the new executive. Beyond the windows of the studio one could only see the pale blue sky, the droning of New York lifestyle only a faint static from the high-rise atelier. Flicking some flaxen hair away from her face and over her shoulder, then reaching to tug on the inadequate sleeve of the glittering frock, she snapped, "How hard is it to make a goddamn three quarter length sleeve? It was in the sketch."

The newly hired executive, a particularly slender and flamboyant man, let his hand flutter to his chest to tug at his collar a bit. It wasn't hard for anyone to be insulted by Jaylene, being that she was derisive about mostly anything that went wrong with a blueprint. And of course on his first day, the poor thing was just hoping to get the dress approved and shoved in a bag and shipped off to the next person without any trouble. But he was dealing with Jaylene Sullivan, and she hadn't let a detail slip yet. Raising her wrist to her face, she checked the time on her rather outdated Coach watch. Irritation was humming in the air almost as loudly as the buzz of scurrying personnel. Timidly stretching the fabric of the dress, Jaylene pursed her lips, the hollow of her cheeks drawing in slightly. She turned to face the fashion director, "Owen, I know you're new here. But you have to put your foot down on these tailors, they run away with their own image of what it should look like." With that, she pressed the fabric to his chest until he clutched it. Hugging her oversized scarf around her, she mumbled, "Goddamn divas. Don't have time for this."

She disappeared swiftly, the clicking of her heels leaving a daunting impression on Owen as he bewilderingly watched her vanish. As she made her way down the main hall, receptionists trotted beside her, clasping their cell phones and portfolios while begging for answers to rather simple questions. Jaylene sighed, occasionally giving a few orders and solutions before slipping into an elevator and promptly letting the door close on the clericals. With every floor she descended, a polite 'ding' interrupted the repetitive music. When she finally reached the ground floor she wasn't surprised to find a crowd anxiously waiting for the lift, making it uneasy for her to squeeze out of it in time.

The air hit her with a brisk force she wasn't prepared for as she opened the giant entrance glass door, making her groan with displeasure and hold a hand up to the wind, "Don't have time for this either." While wondering how it could be so cold in just the early days of autumn, her phone buzzed in her pocket to remind her she had a promotional event to get ready for. During the time that her hired hands were cleaning up a rather shabby venue, she had to get together business cards and an acceptable outfit. It looked to her like the hours were getting away from her, and it was nobody's fault but her own. Rather than take a cab, she decided to walk back to her apartment and reply to an ongoing list of unread texts. The first was from her boss, the second as well, the rest were of an endless variety, questions about the party, who was going, what to wear and so on. It was the inquiries about the event that she ignored.

They'd just have to find out when they got there, wouldn't they?

She was betting on more than half of the town coming. The place in question was a dive bar off the corner of High Street, unusually large for its type of business and favored by all ages. Generally speaking, promoting bands wasn't her preferred advocacy for expanding, but it did prove effective. It didn't take long to find a local band that needed the little extra help. Then again, Jaylene didn't look that hard either. It was almost like a game of 'eeny menu miny moe' that determined the musicians for these things. It was Jaylene's own personal way of getting back at her onerous boss that hated doing things for herself.

By the time she was arguing with the lock on her door (by her own mistake for juggling so many things in her hands), it was nearing seven. The band went on in an hour and a half and she was expected to be an hour early. With a disgruntled moan of irritation, she pushed the door open and ran to her bedroom immediately. Scaling the closet wasn't fun anymore. It was more of a chore. Feeling a little lazy, she slipped into a pair of high waisted button-top skinny jeans, accompanied with a plain gray button down and a leather jacket. Though her boss would scold her for it, she left her hair down to lay straight. There just wasn't time to get everything perfectly in order. She was shuffling through papers and folders on the counter top when her phone buzzed again.

Ironically enough, just as Jaylene was thinking of how many drinks she'd consume, Spitz texted her. What a blast from the past. He'd come a long way, and so had she. But they were both the same still, in ways she didn't care to disclose to anyone. The cocaine addiction was something she left in Belleville. Spitz was an enticing reminder. His message read something about party favors, whether it was joking or not, she wasn't sure. But she knew the type of party favors he had in mind were ones she had best stay away from. It was those messages, too, that got ignored.

Finally the blond-haired young woman rushed from her condo, a folio in hand and a shoulder bag hanging from her opposite arm.


Rolling out from under a car, Spitz tossed a wrench into the toolbox just adjacent to his body. His shop suit was open, the upper half rolled down to his waist in a bunched kind of way. Sitting up to rest his elbows on his knees, he rhythmically rolled back and forth on the mechanic's scooter. He rubbed the oil from his fingers off onto the tough, navy material of the suit. Mahogany eyes gazed over towards the next car, raised on the lift with its engine exposed. Hazel had been working on the BMW, its direct inject engine wasn't enough of a thrill for her so she was working on putting in the straight six turbocharge. He grinned his usual flawless white smile, chestnut eyes following as he blurted out, "You think the owner of that whip is gonna' know you played around with it a little more than you were asked to?"

They'd been friends for a year or so, give or take. He knew she was on the run from something, which was nothing new with New York tenants. He didn't pry on that aspect. But she was unusual in her ways, usually focused and fascinated with motor cycles more than the typical car. She proved to be a trustworthy friend. And damn, she knew her way around a motor and everything it encompassed. Spitz didn't see that a lot at the shop, in fact he laughed at most of the female applicants they got. As it stood, Hazel was the only one aside from a much older, butchy type named Dee that worked on strictly foreign cars.

Finally he got to his feet, closing up the toolbox and sending a friend or two a text about the supposed 'promotion' event at Mick's, the bar down the road. It was guaranteed to turn into a banger given the location and with fancy little Jaylene attending strictly for business, someone was sure to piss in her cornflakes at least by some point throughout the night. She didn't answer his texts which didn't shock him, so he nodded and muttered to himself, "Alright ma, I see you." After washing his hands he paced toward the BMW on the lift, glancing around for Hazel and calling out, "You gotta' ditch this ride, come on now girl. Got a party to get to, you coming or what? Plus I heard there might be a little turbo event afterwards and they're going for pink slips."

Menacingly he rubbed his hands together at the idea of them winning yet another race - more pinks, more stacks. He'd feel bad about it if there weren't so many amateurs showing up in their bonestock Audi's and barely altered Mitsubishi's. Honestly, most of them were jokes. It was like taking money from babies. Sometimes it was almost like Hazel and Spitz were cheating. But it was money, and it was a good time. The two spent a lot of time laughing to themselves and counting their way through Benjamin's. The second best thing about a race was the usual crowd that kept his pockets lined with their stimulant addictions. He hadn't gone hungry in years and didn't plan on it.

Turning his back on the BMW, he peeled off the jumpsuit and shook the dirt and grime from it before tossing it onto a desk near the wall. The wife beater he'd worn all day was caked in motor grits, suctioned to his abdominal muscles by the force of sweat. When he opened one of the garage doors he was relieved to feel a gust of brisk, fall air. He didn't know exactly what the night had in store for him. He had a fair idea, and what he was idealizing was nothing short of a good time. Tomorrow, Hazel and Scully would be laughing all the way to the bank.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hazel Angel Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins
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"Yeah yeah, he'll thank me later," Hazel laughed, brushing the motor oil off her wrist with a damp cloth. She brushed off her jeans and grinned. "I'll meet you there," Hazel declared, putting on her light blue helmet with the words Angel painted on the back. She had gotten it when she was 17 for her birthday. After all, advertising her name impressed people. Hazel mounted her motorcycle and put her key in the ignition and turned it. It revved to life.

"See ya there!" Hazel twisted the motorcycle's handles, moving it forward fast. Hazel could feel her ponytail hitting her back rapidly as the wind went through it. Hazel grinned as she stared at the speedometer as it reached up to 70. Reaching a red stoplight, she slowed down. She could feel the ground vibrating as a car stereo with loud bass rumbled to a stop in the lane beside her. She smiled at the familiar low rider as the tinted window rolled down.

"Yo Hazel!" Hazel smiled at one of her old racing buddies. She waved. "You goin' to the party?" Hazel lifted the helmet up. "You know it!" "Then you must be going to the, eh, after party so to speak?" "I wouldn't miss a race for anything!" Hazel grinned as the light turned green. She lowered her helmet and sped off.

After the accident with her father, she had always worn her helmet. After all, he hadn't been wearing his helmet, and skull fracture was the main cause of his death. She pretended to be over it, but she didn't take chances. Someone was still out there, looking for her.

Hazel pondered for a moment as she reached the event. She decreased her speed and lowered her foot as it came to a complete stop. She unmounted the motorcycle and put her bike lock on it and moved the kickstand with her foot. "Hazel!" A voice called out.

Hazel spun around and smiled at group of people from the auto shop. "Come have beer with us!" One of them invited. Hazel shrugged. "Sure, but a maximum of two, I've seen what happens when you race drunk, but buzzed, it's a much better experience," Hazel teased as she opened a beer and chugged about a quarter of it down. She grinned and moved her hair back so she could look around.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Hazel Angel Character Portrait: Juliet James Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins Character Portrait: Jaylene Sullivan
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Just like that, Hazel was off again. Belted up and took off. Spitz guessed it was up to him to close up the shop. So he heaved down all garage doors except one, bolted the hatches and shut down the lifts and the generators. The thud of his boots followed wherever he walked, but in any other way the carport was noiseless. Everyone usually knocked off early on weekends, and he was left to grunt and mumble to the silence about how he always got dicked into closing by himself. He paced along one wall, flicking switches. At long last, one flickering beam of light remained in the middle car pen. Below the swinging bulb, parked and polished, was a charcoal colored Dodge Challenger. Spitz preferred to keep it in the shop rather than off of the road he lived; he'd probably wake up with the windows bashed in or the car gone all together. Even if the car was briefly nearby, it never stayed overnight. He wasn't going to risk a Hemi slipping through his fingers like that. A few smug notions crossed his mind while he settled into the driver seat which was draped over by a towel so that he wouldn't damage the leather with work grunge.

The engine roared with pride and glory, rumbling the very concrete below. Jerking forward, the Charger surged for a moment, then screeched into park again so that Spitz could get out and lock up the last door. He gave his place of employment a mock salute before whipping the automobile out of sight.

Overhead the sky lowered and grew dim. Gray masses circled into view, the moon hatching over a dusky horizon. Spitz pulled up to a somber apartment complex, fifteen stories high and showing every bit of its age. It wasn't much, but it was home. The way Spitz saw things, he didn't need a nice crib anyway. He was barely around, usually on the go. Convenience was a key factor where his home was concerned, he was only on the second floor and never had to worry about taking too much time getting in or out. As he made his way down the main hall he could hear the electrical operation of flickering headlamps. "Things is a safety hazard, man," he snorted to himself as he unlocked a series of latches on his apartment door.

The keys from his car skittered across the surface of a small table in the living room, catching the edge of the burnished glass and nearly falling off of it. But they steadied to a stop as Spitz disappeared into his bedroom and tossed a pair of straight leg jeans, a black Obey hoodie and a white snapback onto his bed.

He was in the midst of showering the shop's grime from his body, grating a wash cloth against his muscles when his phone began buzzing from the sink parallel to the stall. Kicking off the faucet with his foot, he pulled the shower door open to let otherwise subdued steam erupt and coat the pale green bathroom walls in condensation. Droplets of water rolled down his torso. With a grunt, he wrapped a towel around his waist and seized the phone a few rings short of it going to voicemail. He didn't recognize the number - but he always had to risk it, there was almost always money potential at any given time, with any given caller.

ImageHer name was Alex. Bearing in mind the tone of her voice and her inquiry, she had a car problem and maybe a little drug lust on the side. She was perfect for his type of clientele, didn't sound too bad either. With a smooth reply, he told her, "Meet me at Mick's tonight ma, we'll get your shit all squared away. I got you."

The phone call was over quickly and he was blotting the towel down his abdomen before taking a once over in the mirror. To say the least, he definitely wasn't unsatisfied. With an arrogant, bright grin to the reflective surface, he nodded then walked back to his bedroom to throw on some clothes. He loosely laced a pair of black Ostrich Double Buckle Gucci boots onto his feet then snatched his keys off of the edge of the table once again.

He took his car to an off alley, just a street or two from Mick's. Figuring it was best to leave his product line in the car, he tucked his duffel bag under the driver seat before getting out of his Charger. When he walked into the bar, he carried himself with an heir of cockiness and shook a great deal of hands before finally sitting down by himself in a corner booth, lighting a CAO Bella Vanilla and ordering a drink. He figured if Jaylene was there she would roll her eyes at his bottle of Ciroc, but she couldn't fool anyone into thinking Mick's was a five star joint, no matter how many of her fashion slaves pinned banners and makeshift cloths to the tables. His jaw tightened as he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, then respired, letting it curl into the air with a smirk.


ImageNearly losing her feet, Jaylene spilled into Mick's with her arms full. It seemed like she was sped up to double time as she weaved between tables, topping them with precious party favors and mock-champagne center pieces bursting with bits of orchid and cherry blossoms. Anything she could to do to help the dreary atmosphere of the vast floor plan would be appreciated hopefully, by any attendants. She sighed at one point, rinding off her jacket and carrying over her shoulder as she made sure everything was in place. It was a pain in the ass, doing all the bullshittery that her boss was too lazy to do themselves.

Just as the clock struck eight, people were pouring through the doors. Soon-to-be-sloshed femmes squealed and cramped the bar, hoisting themselves up on stools and flicking their hair while they gossiped anxiously. They were all barely a day over twenty one which caused an anxious and exasperated Jaylene to glance them over with an eyeroll of disgust. She had to remind herself that they were all vital parts of her little occasion and she needed to treat them as such, at least while she was in seeing distance of anyone corporate. Once the final touches were in order, she slipped her leather jacket back on and pranced to a few tables to lean over coworkers and acquaintances, chatting about the night's events. As she was pulled away by another conversation, she caught an eyelock with Spitz from where he sat, blowing out billowy streams of smoke from his cigar and smiling smugly at her.

Aide-memoire came again. The thirst, a certain vacancy inside her. That he even forgave her for headbutting him and busting his nose a few years ago in Belleville was a miracle in itself - to see him now, still desirous of her company and hooking her up was just mind-blowing. She had to wonder if it was a blessing or a curse. Leaning off of a booth cushion, she stood and winked at him to signify she fully acknowledged his presence. Whether the curse was soon to come or the blessing, only time would tell.

Otherwise dark and ill-lit, Mick's was now sensational with lavender and turquoise lights dancing over the walls and dance floor. Custom-tailored table cloths streamed over the surfaces in a variance of deep purples and blue. The stage was wrapped in an extempore magnificence, accompanied perfectly with a glossy, new wooden floor Jaylene had placed very last minute. If the bands didn't look good, at least the stage would help them trump their appearance and performance. All wait and barstaff were donned in purpose-designed black outfits with petite white ties, with the exception of a rebellious bartender whose platinum tresses honestly made Jaylene a little envious. Poor girl would have her hands full with all of the babbling bimbos crowding the bar all night. The event was turning into everything Jaylene hadn't expected it to be, even with all her hope. The pout on her lips turned into a curvaceous, pleased smile as she walked towards the stage, a crowd slowly quieting in her wake.

ImageFor a second, her hands fumbled with the microphone as she tried to gather her mental notes and pull the device from its stand. In the fullness of time, she brought herself to smile her usual sultry simper as a spotlight focused on her. Idly pushing some hair from her face, the blond strands swimming through her fingers, she began, "Good evening. I have to say first of all, wow. I mean really, wow." She took a deep breath, trying not to let her stage fright get the best of her, "We really have to give it up for the event staff for making this dream a reality. And of course for Mick, his employees and the rest of the crowd, for really making a buzz about this function. So without further adieu, I'd like to welcome you all to Du Jour's eighth campaign party and introduce our first band hailing from a local record store." A thunderous applaud followed, the lights dimming a bit overhead and casting shadows over a drumset. Quietly Jaylene padded down the few side stairs to watch anxiously and help herself to a little champagne.

She made her way to Spitz' table, leaning against the seat where he was parked, one hand resting atop his shoulder as she sipped from her glass.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hazel Angel Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins
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Hazel chugged down a few drinks before her phone dinged loudly, so did almost everyone's else's. Hazel scrolled through the text. THere was a picture of a blue jay, a statue of Abraham Lincoln, a watermill, a windmill and a walnut. Hazel smiled. That meant that she was both in the race, and that the race would start on blue jay boulevard and go through Lincoln street, Watermill Ave, Windy Street and end at Walnut street. Hazel smiled as she got up. "I better go, it's start pretty soon. My car should be near there," Her racing buddies nodded as she wobbled towards her motorcycle. She put on her helmet and started off towards a garage that had her favorite car in it.

Once Hazel arrived in front of a large car storage area, she skidded to a stop and ran towards her car that she had played around with. She had found a crappy old 2004 Lamborghini with about part of an engine, no seats and rust all over it. She had spent months restoring it on her own time before she modified the engine specially. Hazel had also spray painted angel wings on the bumper. She got in and started the engine, making her smile. She drove off to Blue Jay Boulevard.

Hazel smiled as she pulled up to a large group of sports cars blasting their music loudly. Hazel grinned, her teeth were almost chattering because of the vibrations. She laughed as she stepped out, grinning as she slid over the hood. Hazel waved to Travis, the person who hosted most of these races and gatherings."Hazel!" He clapped her on the back, almost making her cough. Hazel smiled, still wobbling slightly from the beer. "You're up first," He annonced, pointing her towards another car. Hazel got in her car and pulled it forward next to the other car. She looked it over.

It was a 2006 Viper in a crappy red paint job. It was a nice vehicle, but the nervous guy behind the wheel was putting it to shame. "Alright, you know the rules, no bumping other cars, first to the finish line wins. In three, two, one..." Hazel hit the gas, making a sharp turn as her wheels squealed. Her opponent was handling his car like a virgin, he was going slow and straight. Hazel slowed down and stuck her head out the window. "HEY! YOU KNOW THAT OTHER PEADAL? IT'S CALLED THE ACCELERATOR, YOU SHOULD USE IT!" Hazel laughed, speeding ahead of him, leaving him flustered. Hazel smiled as she peeled to the finish line. She laughed, releasing her foot from the gas and went to the brake. She spun it around to show off. "WOO!" Hazel climbed out of her car, cheering.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kaleb Dean Sivaj Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Hazel Angel Character Portrait: Madigan Kennedy Character Portrait: Juliet James Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins
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An illustrious rivulet of fluorescent teal light cascaded over Jaylene, her legs crossed as she stood and her posture tilting towards Spitz. Smiling at him over the brim of her glass, she nipped at the champagne in slow swallows before finally uttering the words, "Thanks for coming." No sooner than the glass had reached its last bubbles, a diligent waiter with striking azure eyes politely took the empty ware from Jaylene's hand and scurried off towards the bar. Raising her brows, she puckered her supple lips, "Damn, they're good, huh?" She nudged Spitz with a playful jab, her hand even caressing the back of his head in a genteel way as the petite digits traced his braids.

Subdued lights turned the stage obscure. Even Jaylene was on the edge of her seat, so to speak. She'd never physically met the band or truthfully looked into them. Admittedly she was going into the entire thing blind with sky-reaching aspirations. A Du Jour collaborator almost passed Jaylene, shortly thereafter pausing and backtracking a bit to greet her with his ornate grin that stretched from ear to ear while he pocketed his wallet.

"Miss Sullivan, a divine pleasure," he exclaimed as he took his hand in hers.
"Thank you," she replied gracefully, "So good to finally meet another editor."
"I hear great things, honey - I just wanted to tell you that if you keep this kind of shit up," he gasped for a minute and clasped a hand over his mouth, "Excuse mwah French. Nothing will stop you from taking over corporate headquarters."
"I wish," she oscillated her head for a moment, "Thanks so much."
"Keep these little twinks prancing around in those waitstaff costumes and I'll be lubricated and ready within the next hour," he giggled, waved a wiggly-fingered hand at Jaylene and cavorted off, "By the way, there's an abundance of models in here dying to get on your line. Take a look, half of em' ain't bad lookin'! Ta-ta!"

ImageAn awkward expression traversed over Jaylene's face as she looked back at Spitz for some reassurance that the conversation actually did in fact occur. Pleadingly, he put both of his hands up as if to say 'beats me'. She laughed quietly, her olive eyes now trained on the stage where band mates were calling their bassist to the front. She would have trailed the spotlight with her sights if Spitz didn't nudge her, causing her to straighten and lean away from him upon the new arrival that was inevitably a customer of his. Her attention span shortened.

"…Everyone let's call Kale the male to the stage."

Kale? Her mind spun wildly out of control for a minute. A bottomless agony in her stomach writhed, the phantom of intimacy and secrecy existing within its amniotic sac. She could feel it coming to life again, coinciding with that ache for her vices. When she reminded herself that just because she didn't often hear the name, didn't mean Kaleb Sivaj was the only one with it, she was calm enough to divert her attention from the band and back to Spitz and his fittingly dressed, attractive new brunette friend. The time spent waiting to introduce herself was hacked open so that recollections could bleed in. She snatched another glass of champagne shamelessly from the drinks Spitz ordered.

She'd left them without a word. Her friends. What was worse was the night Kaleb and herself shared, unbeknownst to their friends or anyone except the housekeeper, for that matter. Funny, it was the night that she cracked the bridge of Spitz' nose with her head that everything got so wild and out of hand with Kaleb. His darkest secret followed them both all the way home, snubbed out by the fire they sparked while rediscovering each other in Jaylene's bed. She could clearly recall the splintering light coming through the window and the scorching inward pain that belonged to her, just evaporating into nothing. And she took his torture, made it her own. The frailty of the image in her mind would have made her quake if she didn't so soon take a big swig of champagne, the only memo of reality being the tinkering of her Tiffany and Co. charm bracelet against the glass.

At full speed she swung back into physical existence. In a robotic sort of way, her hand had come out to meet the brunette's without Jaylene being fully aware of it. A clandestine mood swallowed the pub, its front platform glowing a feeble orange before the band concluded their set. In its shadow only radiated the soft hues from center pieces, giving the bar a sort of enigmatic, underwater look. In the brief moment of darkness Jaylene established the composure she needed, introducing herself deferentially as a fashion editor of Du Jour, then thanking the femme for coming to the show. Whether it was drugs or cars, the Sullivan woman didn't really want to know. But she slipped away, respecting business.

Pinching and flattening herself through the audience, Jaylene clutched a petite briefcase under one arm, careful not to lose it in all the commotion. Before she dared have any more to drink, commerce and negotiations had to be handled. After she met a few models and paid the band, she was free to cut loose. And honestly she could hardly wait. The past few weeks had been long. Seemed like she never got a day off since relocating to The Bronx for Du Jour. For once in her life she felt herself working more than playing. Dismissing the notion or any potential regrets, she pushed her way through until her hips were bumping right against the platform where the musicians were almost done clearing away their equipment. She slunk off to the far side, a shadowy lower section of the stage where she cracked open the briefcase to retrieve an envelope full of cash haphazardly labeled 'Music'.

But what her jade eyes met next couldn't have been told in advance. Even with the pithy unsettling moment when she heard his name. For all that, now it was confirmed. He wasn't an apparition in preceding times. Burnt sienna eyes substantiated a homesickness and candor she wasn't ready to confront. Mick's self-made twilight surged between Kaleb and Jaylene, their words mutually retained by what she speculated as pain, bitterness, and bizarre recollection. A chain of desperate 'I'm sorry's arose in her throat but never made it all the way out. Instead she was speechless, her business-trained android mannerisms taking over again as she imposed the white envelope full of cash, thrusting it toward him wordlessly. Her perception ingested every detail of his handsome veneer, glossing what memories held of him and taking his appeal to a whole new level. But still she couldn't quite digest it. And she couldn't speak. Here she was face to face with Kale, her best friend, her unlooked-for lover whose very lasting impression even still brought chills to her skin to this day. She booked his band, and she didn't even know it. All at once she felt empty but unabridged. Stupid. Senseless.


Nothing surprised him or excited him much anymore. Well, except the skimpy outfits that looked like they were painted on half the girls that showed up and their willingness to be social and outgoing. That at least, made any event compelling. What kept him enlivened was the Ciroc and the incubating anticipated race that would come after-hours. Hazel wasn't anywhere to be seen just yet, and he wouldn't, for any chance in hell, use the Charger in a race should she decide not to show. But he wasn't surprised by Hazel's lateness, she had a habit of pregaming. He wasn't surprised either, to see Jaylene's lustrous silhouette tearing a path under the blinking lights, her likely issued clothes from Du Jour itself and her hands multitasking between placing business cards on tables and pointing in various directions. In between a drink, he texted Hazel asking where the fuck she was at.

He ashed out the cigar, its lasting smack of vanilla soaking into his tongue. Sepia eyes glanced back and forth, his complacent mien never changing even slightly. When he locked eyes with Jaylene, he sensed a familiar impression. He wasn't new to this; she desperately needed a fix. From the looks of her though, she was as clean as a whistle.

She took the stage, drifting towards the microphone with a certain uneasiness in her eyes that most wouldn't distinguish. But Spitz knew. He raised a glass as she spoke, a few following his cue. She had the throng of them cupped in her hands and she hardly knew it but, that was the splendor that came with her. Always did. Not shit changed, he thought to himself. Sometimes even he was dumbfounded by how much time could ameliorate and keep the same person all at once. A resounding ovation took the bar by force as Jaylene left her post, propping the microphone on its stand and letting the light fall dim in her aftermath. In a way, seeing her like that up on stage as a picture of health and glow before a crowd, he hoped she'd never go back to the drugs. She looked good. Made. Professional.

Spitz' vision trailed towards the bar where a unique blond was shuffling through alcohol. He recognized her - he wasn't a stranger to Mick's. She stood out among the rest of them, taut ivory lace wrapping her torso and a bold, small skirt. His best, wordless impression was that she was spewing confidence and frankly didn't give a fuck about much. He made a cognitive note to keep an eye on her and get a word and drink or two in with her before the end of the night. Maybe even invite her to the race, but it was all up in the air. He was known to leave with a few girls on many occasions. To the left of the bar came another doll-looking girl, eyes as wide as the moon. Just from the looks of her he could tell she was here to potentially get a place on a line. Du Jour's line. Maybe make a few connections. But shit, wasn't that what everyone was here for in some way or another?

His eyes were cast away from her when a gruff voice broke over the microphone and a bright beam dripped around the contour of none other but Kaleb Sivaj.

History sure had a tendency of making itself known and very present in Scully's life, but as far as Kaleb went, that shit was old news. They'd both been in New York long enough and Spitz was alert to Kaleb's existence and didn't bother to provoke or push at it. Man to man, neither of them cared for the other. The ebbing memory of the kid's conspicuous anger, jealousy and drug problem was enough to keep Spitz safely distanced from him. He didn't have time for that childish mess anymore - life was business, money, and the pleasure that came with all of the above. But the dude packed a solid group of females, so it was bizarre to see his band taking the bar by force without a gathering of groupies close in tow. And when Jaylene floated over to Spitz' booth, swathing the back of his head with her small-boned fingers and drinking her champagne, his inner deviant grinned with muted competition that so far, he'd won. Besides, out of all the times he'd seen Jaylene in the past few months, she didn't speak a word about Kaleb. Not even that crazy ass girl Summer.

Adios homie, he thought to himself spitefully.

He wrapped an arm around Jaylene's narrow waist, letting it stay loosely disassociated while he ordered a round of drinks. Nodding to her gratitude, he shrugged a little and said over the music, "Gotta' support my kins, right?"

What followed then was a confusing situation for Spitz who found the upcoming conversation nothing but hilarious and strange. His jaw jerked a few times as he gritted his teeth, attempting not to bust the fuck up at the blatant gay designer gushing at Jaylene and about the 'twinks' in the bar. When the man in the mint blazer straightened his collar and sauntered off, grabbing a drink from a tray, Jaylene looked at Spitz with utter comical disbelief in her eyes. In response, he put his hands up, surrendering himself to the hilarity. They were being as polite as what appeared to be business partners or comrades, and that suited Spitz just fine. She could dangle off of his arm like a charm all night if she wanted to. But she wasn't the type of merchandise he'd take home and fuck. He could find that mostly anywhere else.

On the thought of divine looking females, coincidentally the sultry tone of one before him spoke his name. His left hand was just about to raise another cigar to his lips when she arrived, simply dressed but drop dead to the last of inch of her. What embellished the young woman more than anything was her obscure hazel eyes and the dog tags hanging from her neck. A few years ago just the sight of dog tags would make Spitz cringe or squirm, but like most things in this world he came to find it wasn't always what it appeared. As the musicians on stage performed what was slowly becoming a crowd thriller, the noise roaring all about and shaking the very foundation of the bar, Spitz straightened his comportment and stuck the cigar between his teeth and flashed the chestnut-haired woman an angled, mischievous white grin, "Just Spitz is good with me."

He nodded to Jaylene whose blond tresses swayed from her waist as she stood in a more de rigueur fashion, extending a hand to the newcomer. In a gentlemanly manner Spitz motioned to the booth for the woman to take a seat. There was business to be talked or inaugurated. Having taken the hint, Jaylene set down her empty champagne glass and excused herself from the conversation. Spitz positioned himself in his seat so that he sat directly across from Alex, a playful inquisitive look riddling his face, like he had droves of questions about Alex herself. And what would have been expected to escape his mouth, didn't. Alternately, he breathed in the succinct silence of the band's finale, "So what can I do for you?"