the doctor's in.

inspectorlayton:

    “What a lil’ cutie!” She leans forward, palms pressed just above her knees. She reaches out, giving his hair a tussle. “No, no. I’m not a serial killer.” Her brow quizzically draws together. The kid was sharp. “This is jus’ some paint,” she lies through her pearly white grin. She crouches down beside the boy, lacing her fingers together. “Y’know, this alley ain’t too safe. Where’s your parents, tiger?”

mrqvinn

@mrqvinn ; starter call. 

     “We’re closed.” She stands behind the man who had no business being in the bar that shut its doors an hour ago. The lamplight shining through the blinds eerily casts over her red-rimmed eyes. “You lose somethin’ or what?” A curt smile dares to cross her lips.

hebled

   Her gum lets out a solid pop! as she furls her brow together. “Hey now! No need to get snippy with me.” She tips back her flask, swallowing the last of its amber contents. “You get snippy with me, I’ll get snippy with you.” She wraps her fingers around her medical scissors. “Hah!” She thinks her joke was beyond hilarious. “Alright, now siddown.” 

transparentbutimpenetrable

claytoncleaver

   Violet watches him for a moment, taking a long drag on her cigarette. “Kid.” She exhales a trail of smoke. “Kid.” She approaches him, heels clicking against the linoleum. She gently grabs his shoulder, turning him around to face her. She flicks her cigarette to the side. “You. Out. Now.”

leftread

    Violet stared at him for a long while, eyes unreadable. Then, suddenly, her red lips crack open to let out a nasal cackle. “Ohh! Well, in that case, welcome to the team, champ!” She approaches him swiftly, slapping a palm to his shoulder while shaking his hand eagerly. “Y’know, I’ve been asking the manager, Keith, to get me a new assistant or y’know pair of hands or somethin’ around here for a lawwwwng time.”

@finclegirlsx ; starter call. 

“I’m kiiiiinda gettin’ this vibe that you don’t like me.” She leans in close, squinting one eye with a cocked brow at the person sitting opposite her. She sways back, arms taught, shoulders shrugging. “I get it. My ma said I was always a real irritatin’ kid to be around.” She smacks her gum with a chipper smile. “Guess some things ya just can’t grow out of!”

@tunnelvisionss ; starter call.

    “Sorry! Did I scare you?” She’s standing ever so eerily in the tempest with a dull rain coat and rain boots, holding a rabbit’s leg in one hand. The mass of dark clouds above let out a foreboding strike of lightning. “My bad! Didn’t mean to, my dude!”

@leftread ; starter call.

“Uhhhhh       yoohoo!” She waves a limp paw at the other loitering in the back hallway of the bar. If they got too close to the basement stairwell, surely they would smell the blood. She flashes them a cocky, half smile. “Only employees are allowed back here.”

@ncwandyke ; starter call. 

    “Relaaaaaaax. I know what I’m doing.” She smiles cordially and places a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to sit down. “Just breathe calmly and we’re gonna getcha fixed right up.” The young lady snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Scattered among the room were rusty medical tools, a metal slab, and rows of metal cabinets full of illegal documents, money, and drugs. “Now, where exactly didja get hit?”

@hebled  ・ ・ﾟﾟ・｡ starter call.

“No worries whatsoever!” She snapping her gum between her molars like some happy-go-lucky girl from the Valley. “I can get your wound fixed up in no time!”

@claytoncleaver 

     “...You’re not supposed to be back here,” the girl replies in the South doorway to the EMPLOYEES ONLY section of the bar. The overhead bulb flickers. For a moment, the splotches of red are pointed out in the sudden burst and shrink of light. “Jeez, are you even OLD enough to be here?”

Sing a happy song, sing a happy song Why don't you sing along, sing a happy song? You don't have to dance, sing a happy song Come on, clap your hands, sing a happy song

goxinsane

    “You’re gonna find out,” she grins before giving her companion a sly wink. She parts the velvet and exposes a smaller room with dimmer lights and only three dancers. Four doors lay on the other side of the room     presumably for a much more ‘private’, one on one experience. The room is full of smoke and idle, rich men with lit cigars. Red rimmed gazes are momentarily thrown their way. They won’t look too long at Violet. They know better. Piss off the bar’s doctor, and you piss off the mob. “That’s Zelda, Gilda, and Penny,” Violet explains to Veronique, a swift thumb pointing out each individual dancer on the silver trimmed stage. “Best dancers in this joint.” A waitress passes with a tray of champagne and Violet successfully swipes a full flute. “Libations, m’lady?”