@endlesshvnger
The annoyingly wealthy are always painfully bored. Clients would reveal their own sordid appetites even while laid out on a bed, vulnerable, as Mori twisted knots out of them.
‘I saw one of those Essex folks at the Crimson Veil—you know the place?’ 'I know of it.’ ‘The one who spoke for the clown, whatshisname?’ ‘Jack?’ ‘Jack! On the door— ow! Fuck!’ ‘It always hurts right before it gets good.’
Curiosity was one of Mori’s greater sins. They head out, in that general direction, sticking to alleyways, to the sort of places they know a mutant in-semi-hiding would choose. When they do, finally, spot Jack it’s a cliched move. Stepping back, sending out feelers with their ability to see exactly how close around the corner he is... Jack steps forward and so does Mori. Looking down, adjusting their grip on their portable table’s bag, they knock right into him, drop the table and nearly lose their grip on their second bag of oils and other such shit.
Remnants of their louder, more outgoing self in a slightly higher pitched voice, an easier smile. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry!” Is he the sort who’d appreciate this person? Affable, congenial. They damn well hope so or this could get boring fast. “Shit timing, huh?