Trinity's at a point in her career where she doesn’t do any of the dirty work. As in, she hasn’t planned her own vacation in years, she doesn’t book her own flights, she doesn’t schedule her conferences or her appearances, and when her manager pitches a partnership with a boxing apparel brand that makes her ass look good, all she has to do is say yes or no. So, of course she says yes, even if she hasn’t sparred since her Gallagher days. Her branding department said it would be a good idea to work with local studios around the states, get some publicity in and donate free equipment and products before launching her own line of fitness gear as her next business move. She’s already talked to Martina about designs, so as far as she’s concerned, this is just a small step in the process. She’ll visit a studio in her hometown in Florida, a studio in Cali, a studio here and there and firstly, a studio close to her alma mater, even if that was some eight years and change ago. Concepts like aging make Trinity real glad she can’t count.
Trinity inhales in a deep, dramatic way like she’s on a reunion set, but chokes at the smell of sweat and feet and nearly gags. Did DC always smell this bad? Even her expensive perfume is gasping for air. “Paul, you smell that?” Her trusted assistant scurries beside her, clutching his clipboard expectantly. “It smells like you gonna have to bring the car around.” Trinity’s brow perks, like, what the hell did you sign me up for? When Paul explains that they’ve already signed a contract, and that there’s a lot to be done, Trinity sighs and bumps her hip against his. “Loosen up, Paulie, acting like you need to put some laxatives in your coffee...” She cackles, that loud laugh that nearly made her famous, and her odd friend smiles in knowing her, before heading out to bring in some of her things. She fully steps into the studio, her out-of-place stilettos clicking against the floor as she takes it in skeptically, her petite frame circling, and raising her hands at potential changes. She talks to herself — “It’s a lil dingy but nothing we can’t put some lighting on. Maybe we can paint the walls? Or is that the look we’re going for...we could also...eh..” She trails off, one hand pressed to her hip as her marketing brain ignites, so that the back of her blazer’s pushed up. “Ooo, just needs my magic touch.” @dailygodmod