Kurai "Kitty" Pak // D3 // {WIP}
Sept 21, 2012 15:38:25 GMT -5
Post by southernbelle96 on Sept 21, 2012 15:38:25 GMT -5
Kur
[/font]ai "Kit[/color][/font]ty" Tenshi Pak[/center][/size]
Distri
[/font]ct 317[/color][/font]years old
One unruly young woman[/center][/size]
___________________
[/color]Appearance
[/font][/size]
EVERY GUY GIVES ME MAD ATTENTION, I'M ALWAYS UNDER INSPECTION, I'M BUILT LIKE THAT
[/color][/font][/size]I can't be tamed
I can't be blamed
I can't be, I can't be
[/color][/font][/size]I can't be blamed
I can't be, I can't be
"So," starts the interviewer who sits across from me with a playboy smirk dancing on his lips. His jawline is dotted with stubble, and he is not as attractive as he might like to think. He appears to be one of those guys who lets money do the talking. Usually, I'd walk away from these pigs unless they were filthy rich, but sadly, this pig is my ticket into a new job. A new life. "What professions have you had before this? Tell me about yourself, hon'."
I have to fight myself from rolling my eyes and laughing. Boys were pathetic human beings who were at women's mercy. And this guy was no different. I cross my legs, and inhale. This was the part that usually snatched every new job opportunity away from me. Being a former prostitute isn't really the nicest thing on a resume. But, then again, I'm trying to be a bar tender at a new club. Honestly, what's the difference?A bar tender can pick what guys she plays with. "Well, my names Kurai Tenshi Pak, but please, call me Kitty," I wink slightly, pretty sure that he gets the sexual hint of my nickname. "And I'm a former prostitute. But, before you go off judging, let me explain."
He nods with a playful smirk, and I glance down.Staring at cleavage pervert. That's all he is. I don't even bother to pull up my shirt. I sigh and continue. "I was born into a poor family. I never had much of anything. I had to fend for myself. Eventually I just packed up and left. Started realizing what power my looks held, and used them. Eventually I joined a hen-house, and became a professional prostitute. As close as you can get to being one, at least. And, well, I lived out most of my life there." As I tuck a strand of midnight black behind my ear, I begin to think back to one of the earlier days. I remember the first time. My vision blurs as I fly off to a flashback.
-
I was 12 at the time. I sat in a room full of other young ladies that resembled me. All of us had darker hair, pale skin, and certain features that grouped us together. The hen-house, as I always called it, that I joined had a certain way of doing things. When a man walked in he described what he wanted, was lead into a room of girls with that particular look, and he picked the one he wanted out of the lot. We had no say. I remember glancing around, still an innocent child at that time. Wondering if I had made a mistake to go out on my own. But honestly, how much worse could being a prostitute be than being a daughter of a dirt poor family? I guess some girls have different opinions on that..
I remember when one man walked in during the later hours of the day. Candle light shined in the dim room, illuminating the side of his face. He had winkles, and a scar traced one cheek. The head-lady pulled out a flash-light and shone it around. "See one you like?" she whispered softly. The man just kept glancing around, a pair of dark shades covering his prowling eyes.
After what felt like ages, his eyes fell on someone. Me. "Her," he whispered as he walked towards me. The head-lady started to follow him. Saying things about how I was new and inexperienced. But he didn't care. When he made his way to me he jerked the covers off my small form and gripped my chin. "She's perfect. Exactly what I wanted. Look at her eyes. So innocent, color like the brown of a child's chocolate candy bar. And her hair," he ran his knotty fingers through my long hair, "so black, so sleek. And her face," he gripped my chin harder and I winced, "so delicate, yet sharp. Acorn-shaped eyes, and small, slender lips. A small nose and arched 'brows. And she's a good size, too. Delicate, and small, like a porcelain doll. About 5'2 she seems, but she'll get taller. I'd say she'll be 5'6 by the end of it. Anyways, she's exactly what I want." He lets go of my chin, and caresses my cheek. "Aren't you, hon'?"
I was young, naive, and I never knew my innocence would be taken from me. There was a blush on my pale cheeks, even though tears were in my small eyes. He made me feel beautiful. Maybe being a prostitute wasn't so bad. I nodded gently as I smiled up at him. "Good," he growled as he gripped my arm and jerked me up. I squealed, and he shook me. "Hush," he then looked at the head-lady. "I'll have her back by daybreak."
Was this really happening? Was it? Before I knew it I was slung into a car. And he drove me to his house. And little did I know, I would never be innocent again. I would never blush again.
-
I was shot back into reality with a gasp, and I almost fell out of my chair. The interviewer, who apparently just took his first glance away from my cleavage, reaches out and steadies me. "Whoa, baby, don't get jittery. I'd say you're interviews going swell so far. And don't worry, I," he winks with a smirk," don't judge." I felt my skin crawl as I forced a scowl. All men were pigs. But, pig or not, I could handle him. I would get this job.
He continues on. "Now, how do you get along with others? Tell me about your personality, hon'."
[/color][/size][/font]I have to fight myself from rolling my eyes and laughing. Boys were pathetic human beings who were at women's mercy. And this guy was no different. I cross my legs, and inhale. This was the part that usually snatched every new job opportunity away from me. Being a former prostitute isn't really the nicest thing on a resume. But, then again, I'm trying to be a bar tender at a new club. Honestly, what's the difference?
He nods with a playful smirk, and I glance down.
-
I was 12 at the time. I sat in a room full of other young ladies that resembled me. All of us had darker hair, pale skin, and certain features that grouped us together. The hen-house, as I always called it, that I joined had a certain way of doing things. When a man walked in he described what he wanted, was lead into a room of girls with that particular look, and he picked the one he wanted out of the lot. We had no say. I remember glancing around, still an innocent child at that time. Wondering if I had made a mistake to go out on my own. But honestly, how much worse could being a prostitute be than being a daughter of a dirt poor family? I guess some girls have different opinions on that..
I remember when one man walked in during the later hours of the day. Candle light shined in the dim room, illuminating the side of his face. He had winkles, and a scar traced one cheek. The head-lady pulled out a flash-light and shone it around. "See one you like?" she whispered softly. The man just kept glancing around, a pair of dark shades covering his prowling eyes.
After what felt like ages, his eyes fell on someone. Me. "Her," he whispered as he walked towards me. The head-lady started to follow him. Saying things about how I was new and inexperienced. But he didn't care. When he made his way to me he jerked the covers off my small form and gripped my chin. "She's perfect. Exactly what I wanted. Look at her eyes. So innocent, color like the brown of a child's chocolate candy bar. And her hair," he ran his knotty fingers through my long hair, "so black, so sleek. And her face," he gripped my chin harder and I winced, "so delicate, yet sharp. Acorn-shaped eyes, and small, slender lips. A small nose and arched 'brows. And she's a good size, too. Delicate, and small, like a porcelain doll. About 5'2 she seems, but she'll get taller. I'd say she'll be 5'6 by the end of it. Anyways, she's exactly what I want." He lets go of my chin, and caresses my cheek. "Aren't you, hon'?"
I was young, naive, and I never knew my innocence would be taken from me. There was a blush on my pale cheeks, even though tears were in my small eyes. He made me feel beautiful. Maybe being a prostitute wasn't so bad. I nodded gently as I smiled up at him. "Good," he growled as he gripped my arm and jerked me up. I squealed, and he shook me. "Hush," he then looked at the head-lady. "I'll have her back by daybreak."
Was this really happening? Was it? Before I knew it I was slung into a car. And he drove me to his house. And little did I know, I would never be innocent again. I would never blush again.
-
I was shot back into reality with a gasp, and I almost fell out of my chair. The interviewer, who apparently just took his first glance away from my cleavage, reaches out and steadies me. "Whoa, baby, don't get jittery. I'd say you're interviews going swell so far. And don't worry, I," he winks with a smirk," don't judge." I felt my skin crawl as I forced a scowl. All men were pigs. But, pig or not, I could handle him. I would get this job.
He continues on. "Now, how do you get along with others? Tell me about your personality, hon'."
___________________
[/color]Personality
[/font][/size]
