So if you knew someone - maybe a former boss/mother figure - who was in love with a rival - maybe the director of an agency trying to arrest her - what would you think about that?
*Gasp!* Noes! ?
Is he at least hot? I bet he's hot. ?
I'd totally tell her to go for it, law-enforcement agency Directors these days don't exactly survive long, they get Bengazied eventually.
Kks, like not everything was thought through when I packed and left. I didn't exactly have plans to come back. It worked the first time when I just got up and left my parents, so why not again? I get it, I was wrong, time to adult and stuffs.
Kks, so it's important to know that I didn't know what 'rich' was until I met @Carmen. I didn't get there were two kinds of rich... Normal rich, and F**king rich.
My most memorable shopping experience was my first trip with Carmen. We took a car up to this normal looking townhouse in Paris, there wasn't any parking in front so we had to get out and the driver circles. Then the two of us went up to the upper floor, and these people took out racks of clothes. I tried stuff on, so did she, and people pinned things and got our measurements, then we left. I never saw any money exchanged, nobody asked the price of anything.
Then we went and had lunch and the same thing happened. We didn't even ask for the check at the end of the meal. Carmen said something about liking the tiny forks the restaurant had, then we left to the hotel.
A few days later, I came into my hotel room and the clothes were already hanging there. Perfect fit and in the colors I wanted. And the hotel we stayed at suddenly had those tiny forks she liked ready for us come breakfast.
It was so weird the first time, and I still haven't gotten used to it. We just don't go shopping so often anymore. She's busy.
Patty has several backstories, the ones that she tells people (about her summers in Greece, her father's fancy cars collection, her mother's shopping spree that closed down Galleries Lafayette), and one that involves a trailer park.
The Trailer Park in Ashville Alabama was featured as part of Patty's hallucinations in Closed - Ultramarine
But I'm posting the entire thing below for reference (get ready to for a little reading).
After joining VILE at 14, Patty (Amber Argos) met @Neb (who was around the same age).
Patty (currently) has left VILE, and is now working with Gunnar Maelstrom as his Valkyrie. That arc is both in development and will conclude in the Ultramarine RP.
# # #
The trailer park had one rocks-covered road that branched off to dirt plots. Patches of hardy crabgrass clung to life in nutrient-poor beige soil. A Confederate flag swung between two birch trees in front of an avocado green RV. It belonged to Mr. Tucker, a quiet 40-something large man who worked night shifts as a guard at the nearby Piggly Wiggly. Down the road was a unit with sun-baked toys left out all over its tiny yard. This one was the home of Mrs. Vaughn and her four kids. None of them ever had shoes the right size for their feet. She remembered seeing them at the back picking Cheetos off the dirt because one of them had opened the bag wrong and all the puffs popped out.
At the opposite side was where she lived.
Strings of Christmas lights from at least 5 years ago draped over thin metal tubes that support a gray tarp awning. She remembered when that tarp used to be blue and was the mat that she played on as a child. The mobile home was standard tan with a red (now pink) line running along the middle. It was supported on low stilts made of cement blocks and had a wooden porch jutting under an old steel door that never closed properly. The blonde looked at her former home, and was embarrassed.
“Amber-Cee!” Her mother’s voice startled her, “AMBER!” Chills crawled down her spine, she hoped it would stop, but it didn’t. “Amber, you get in here!”
Slowly, she made her way to the door. She was in her old clothes, faded short jeans and a pink and white polka dot shirt with ruffles at the sleeves. Her hair was in pigtails and a Katy Perry pin was on her shoulder.
“You done it now,” snapped her father. He had been sitting in his outdoor smoking chair. It was a plastic lawn lounger with rusted legs made for temporary use. She remembered when he went to jail for four years and that chair was empty. She had been naive to miss him then, she knew that now.
Inside, the smell of burned plastic and rotting plywood stung her nostrils. Her mother was seething… pieces of paper in her hand.
“What the **?” Her mother yelled, “What the ** is this, Amber?”
It was an emancipation manual. She downloaded it off the internet hoping to get the legal advice to be declared as an adult. It was stupid to print it out and leave it in her school bag knowing her mom often went through her things looking for cash.
“You’re **** FOURTEEN!” her mother’s eyes, yellowed from years of one addiction or another, glared down at her like dragons, “The **** you gonna do with emancipation?”
The 14-year-old started making money a few hours after school helping her administrator with data entry. But because Alabama laws required permission from her parents, her mother knew exactly when and how much she was paid.
The fight escalated. Hurtful words were said, and bruises were inflicted. It wasn’t the first time, but it would be the last.
Amber found herself pushed out of the house. As she landed on her back, she saw that younger version of her begging to be let inside.
“I want to be with you, mama,” her own pleading younger voice was painful to hear again, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to leave, I don’t. Please! Let me back in!” Everything said was true, although they sounded like lies now.
The scenes played out for her in third person.
That night, young Amber slept on the lawn chair. She remembered thinking about the $326.82 she managed to hide in a little box behind her mattress. She would run away. The next morning, she discovered that her mother had found the money. All that’s left was $1.82.
Still determined to leave, little Amber packed her bags for school. But instead of going to class, she walked to the nearest truck stop. There was some kind of activity, people were coming in and out all dressed in a gray uniform. She figured they were part of a show passing by. The license plates were from Florida. That wasn’t very far, but she was going to take any distance she could get.
One semi was half opened and the girl decided to hide in it while no one was looking. Inside was a red motorcycle, the shiniest thing she’d ever seen. White letters on it read ‘Ducati’.
Thunder clapped, and the blonde found herself again in her own trailer park. She left her door swinging and headed down the road, but as soon as she crossed over the woods, she was back at the same spot. This happened over and over again, until she was too tired to run anymore.
It began to lightly rain.
Amber stood in mud, frustrated. She had thought she left this place far behind.
Just then, a black Mercedes-Benz turned in. It looked completely out of place. Amber was mesmerized. Beads of water rolled off its mirrored paint like it was something untouchable.
Out from the passenger seat came a suited man. She remembered him as the lawyer that had her sign things when she first joined VILE, but she hadn’t seen him much since. He held an umbrella out as he opened the car’s back door. From it emerged a young woman in this immaculate navy blue double breasted Balmain trench coat. Her dark hair was in a neat updo, and the only jewelry she wore was a rose gold Bulgari Serpenti watch. Crisp, shiny heels stepped onto broken cement. As she watched, the blonde felt a well of shame.
What were you doing at my crappy trailer?
This was Carmen Sandiego ten years ago, about the same age as present-day Amber.
The dreaming blonde followed the visitor. She was beautiful and at the same time authoritative. Her lips held a natural smile and the way she carried each step captured attention.
Amber called out, but she had no voice. She figured then that she was only here to observe.
Inside the tiny trailer, her mother was reading some papers while her father looked on. Carmen refused to sit, and the suited man spoke for her.
“It’s a court order,” the lawyer opened, “for the emancipation of Amber Cecelia Argos.”
Her parents said nothing so he continued, “We’ve agreed to these arrangements, my client’s nominee is here to witness.”
What arrangements? The observer glanced at the papers on the table and suddenly felt… wanted. She was used to neglect, and here was proof that (at one point in her young life) someone felt she was worth fighting for.
Her parents looked at each other, and Amber knew the look. This happened whenever they were trying to manipulate a situation. They probably talked it out before too, about how much they could get from the lawyer.
“This ain’t enough,” her father started.
“For what you make a year, Mr. Argos, our offer is very generous.”
“You come in here, take a man’s daughter and think you know how much is enough?”
“She doesn’t want to be your daughter, she ran away.”
“Why emancipation, then?” her dad argued, “So you can adopt her?”
“Amber doesn’t want to be anyone’s daughter, and frankly…” the lawyer gestured with his eyes to the chemical stains in their kitchen, “You’re not fine examples of parenthood.”
With her gaze on Amber’s father, Carmen squeezed the lawyer's shoulder, there was no need for insult, “How much do you want, Jacob?”
The man frowned, “If you’re taking ours away, you could boost us into middle class. Only fair.”
The lawyer gave out a dry laugh.
“Would you be willing to work for that money?” Her question pierced like a lance.
The long silence from both her parents showed just who they were. That money might have been spent on barbiturates sooner than groceries. Also, her dad would never conform to being hired. He liked his days spent on taking apart cars and selling scraps when he needed the dough.
“Remember, Mr. Argos,” the lawyer reminded, “we’re not obligated to compensate you at all, this is only so Amber can acquire the rights make her own choices, to keep her own finances.”
Jacob Argos crossed his arms, “You wanna make sure her hick parents don’t go asking her for money, that it?”
This started a staring contest that lasted until Carmen slowly moved to the table and wrote down something. Amber couldn’t see what that number was, but she saw her parents’ eyes practically twinkle.
“To be delivered every month,” the thief slid that paper to the middle of the table, “until Amber turns 18.”
The lawyer made an appropriately legal shrug and nod.
Without further hesitation, her father picked up the pen and signed the papers. Then her mother did the same.
# # #
The vision changed to later inside the black Mercedes, during a conversation.
“You didn’t have to come with me,” the lawyer said.
“I did,” Carmen sighed, “I had to see it for myself.”
“And?”
There was silence from the woman. On the radio, some old Platter’s version of “Stand by Me” started to play. Outside the window, old structures against a backdrop of mundane trees flew by.
Amber had no idea a deal had to be made to get her papers signed, but it made much more sense now. She remembered the day Carmen told her she wouldn’t have to worry about her guardians.
They were in London, worlds away from Ashville, Alabama. She was standing with the master thief inside a private capsule of the London Eye. It was 10 in the morning, and the early haze was just leaving the skyline.
By this time, Amber had been with the organization only 8 months, she celebrated a 15th birthday and started going to a ‘public’ school in the UK, which was equivalent to an American private school. She still spent her days around the usual safehouse, and had recently made a new best friend.
Teen Amber was talking about this when, as always, the woman with her listened until there was a pause in the conversation. She was about to say something profound, but nothing prepared the girl for what she would hear.
“I have good news,” Carmen’s words matched her smile, “your emancipation papers came through.”
The blonde saw her smaller self take in the news. There was a crystal clear set of laughter… and then Amber started to cry. She hugged the woman tightly.
“Oh my god, thank you,” she heard the 15-year-old version of her whisper. Then she threw her arms up and shouted at the top of her lungs as the capsule reached its highest point on the giant ferris wheel.
She remembered how it felt. It was like flying.
Guilt rushed through the observer’s veins. Watching her young self so happy made her present-self sick with disgust. An emotional one, she lashed out.
“Why didn’t you say anything?!” The dreamer yelled at the calm woman in red. The shout did nothing to disrupt the memory, but Patty continued her attack, “Why didn’t you tell me they wouldn’t sign unless you paid them?! Don’t I deserve to know?! Shouldn’t I know??!”
She felt the world darken around her. She was in the place of young-Amber, melting inside a warm hug. A pleasing perfume calmed her anger into a soft sob.
“Why are you like this?” She asked her imaginary Carmen.
All she could feel now was forgiveness… and she hated it.
((Well... a 3.8GHz 24-core CPU)) The only Intel I've ever owned is this laptop (that I'm using now)... a former friend gave it to me ((my High Priestess... Wiccan IRL here))
((So... more on the soap opera that is my life now... "Day after folks got served, Kat told Bruce, Kathy, amber, crystal that she got the Hines' and Brandt in trouble. Kat also said she was going to clean out the 9th floor. Bruce let Hines know about it " That was told to me by ma a couple hours ago... I don't really care who knows my last name. I'm not one to drag into something, I tend to destroy everything.))
((Is it normal to become deaf to emotions that would be stirred by songs? Stuff that would make me cry doesn't do anything right now... hasn't for a few days))
Hey @Tenchi Masaki btw I did save my password after my last bout of computer trouble. This time however I saved the wrong password so. As for Jon Eckart, I DO use Chrome browser the problem is when we I get on another computer the passwords aren't stored. That's my current problem. So I'm either gonna make a new account or figure something out 'cause I'm not bothering boss man
((Is it normal to become deaf to emotions that would be stirred by songs? Stuff that would make me cry doesn't do anything right now... hasn't for a few days))
((So... latest is... Google Drive: Sign-in <-- the appeal hearing (they didn't know I was recording) (I'll run it through some filters and see if I can clean it up) They/we have a tour of a potential place Thrusday at 1PM-ish like a block away... but there's no laundry (far as I know)... you can find it, 512 1/2 St. Germain St., St. Cloud Little tidbits... I brought up that if they're going after the folks, what about the (roughly) half of the rest of the bulding who all smoke in the building. ))
((They're still packing and we're still planning things. If it goes bad way, we're planning for what to send down to my place (the paintings and the movie collection and stuff, not to mention the rest of the records). They have to wait up to 10 days to see what the "appeal officer" says... but they might have something being that they were never caught smoking, it was just that there was smoke smelled near their door ))
((So... this is the place.. 512 1/2 W Saint Germain St #1, St. Cloud, MN 56301 2 Bedroom Apartment for $650/month - Zumper. You have to go through both bedrooms to get to the bathroom. Moving stuff in is gonna be a struggle (wall outside main door is like a 60-degree angle)... big desk (mine), big entertainment center (the folks), "things" are gonna be weird (no privacy). The folks want it (gas stove in an apartment, claw-foot bathtub)... not all of our stuff comes apart nicely))
((There is a crack in the ceiling, a crack in an old leaded glass window... leaded glass stained glass... wish I got pics, check the posting. The folks want it, I have reservations))
((IRL: @Lucy2... You may have to just start a new account (if the system lets you)... we don't know who all has admin access, so 'password recover emails' might not get seen or dealt with. If you do, I'd suggest a new account, and a series of posts linking to the old account. Keep in mind, we're in Minnesota, so cold is a thing... if you wanna trade, we're open to place tickets! We can't really do anything until we hear from the appeal guy... anytime between the 19th and December 5th, so in theory move-out could be end of December (unless it gets here before the end of this month) or maybe they can stay... no idea. So, the other place door... that's what we'd have to fit everything through.))
