__so/slow\on/the\split__ [Ray]

It wasn't that Charas particularly enjoyed her profession—in fact, she absolutely despised it, contrary to popular belief—but it paid for her living, and it paid for her grandmother's necessities, and that's all that mattered to her in the world. If her grandmother died, the prostitute would quit her job, kill her boss, and flee the District into the wilderness quicker than you could say "Yes, daddy"—which she had to say quite often. The phrase, however, had grown into a something of a scam, as she usually feigned her enjoyment in bed for the money. Acting like she liked the supposedly pleasurably deed would only bring more consistent customers, which then brought more consistent cash income.

After another few "Yes daddy"s, the girl stepped out of a panting man's bedroom, face void of emotion, and grabbed a warm-looking wrap from the couch on the way out. Whoever it belonged to didn't need it as much as she did at the moment, so it probably wouldn't affect anyone in a negative way. And if it did, she honestly didn't care. All she wanted was to get one more payment before going home for the night.

Charas Harp pushed open the front door, the stolen shaw wrapped around her barely clothed body, and stepped into the cold night outside of District Twelve.