[indent][i]- "So there I am, topless, sitting on this bulldozer, like, in a construction site. So I'm sitting there, barbecue sauce on my titties, and I'm like, "What the fuck? Again?" 

"And then I look down and I see there's this dude down on the ground with his head by, like, the tire. And when I look closer, I see that the dude is wearing my shirt, barbeque sauce all over his face, and he's dead." 

"...That's when I knew it was time to make a change. Thank you."

- "Almost the exact same thing happened to me, but it was tuna salad!"
[/i][/indent]

A soft snort permeated the awkward silence that ensued the scene on the HD flat screen television. Its constantly changing, diffused light reflected off the polished surfaces in the living room section of a studio apartment - although in truth, there wasn't really much in the place. A person would have looked around at the studio and thought it was a model for a minimalist magazine. There was hardly any evidence that someone occupied the space, save for the modern-styled coffee table, on which lay a white towel, along with a pair of glasses and a fully assembled, recently meticulously cleaned Glock 17 Gen 4, with silencer. Everything else outside the realm of the living room was dark, save for the fluorescent glow offered by Regalia through the window just a few feet south of the neatly made bed. 

The lady of the house was sitting on the couch, bare legs crossed beneath her though barely visible underneath the excess fabric of the extra large shirt she was currently lounging in. Fresh out of a shower, her lion's mane of inky hair was tied up in a damp, flaccid bun that was tipping over the side of her head. Her attention was fully directed at the TV, even as she lifted a few chocolate covered pretzels from the bowl-full sitting in her lap to her mouth. They fell in easily and she crunched on them as the cast delivered their lines to her, eliciting small grins or a quick roll of the eyes every now and then. She kept her slender hand over the bowl, hovering for convenience as well as cleanliness: crumbs were on her long list of pet-peeves. 

After a particularly tense moment on screen, the woman dusted off her hands in the bowl and reached over to her side, where a capped bottle of Yoohoo milk was leaning against her hip bone. She swallowed a few short gulps, before screwing the cap back on, setting it down, and throwing another few pretzels into her mouth. She savored their salty-sweetness, unable to stop since she poured them out almost forty-five minutes ago.

And who was going to tell Vivian Hong what she could or couldn't do on her period?

She was just sucking on her teeth to try and get whatever the hell that was stuck in there out when there was a buzzing and a text tone beeping on the cushion to her right. The bright light of her smartphone shone upwards at her, and Vee glanced at its screen as she dusted her hands off once again. She wiped her fingers on the hem of her shirt for extra measure before she picked up the phone and swiped right to read the message.

[center][i][color=#CCC189]The job is on. We have find the little shits who've been pushing that whiplash throughout the city. We've been ordered to fan out and gather information for the time being, but not to take any rash actions. My best bet would be going through the prostitutes, they mess with some of the most fucked up johns sometimes. I ain't telling you what to do, and you can find information you're own way, but I'm gonna hit up the rings. In any case, we'll meet back up in six hours and share anything we've found. We gotta put a lid on this shit quick.[/color][/i][/center]

Well, if anyone was going to tell her to stop, it was going to be Gyles.

Vivian set down the phone and picked up the TV remote instead, pausing the characters mid-sentence. She rose from the grey couch, taking the bowl of pretzels and the Yoohoo with her, and deposited them onto the kitchen counter. Then began the process of getting ready, which only took under twenty minutes. Vivian had put on denim jeans and a loose grey shirt, her custom-made black work boots, and had swiped eyeliner and mascara onto her face. Her hair was taken down from its bun to dry as she slipped into her leather moto jacket, which hid her shoulder holster underneath. The Glock was slipped into its place at her side while the thick-rimmed glasses were placed on top of her head.

She moved around her apartment systematically, having done this plenty of times before. Window locked, television off, cameras on, "alarm" in place. She swung around and gave the apartment a quick once over before making her way to the door, nabbing a few more pretzels from the bowl before exiting to the garage. The plan was to meet Gyles at the bar, maybe get a beer. Or a dessert, if she was lucky. The thought of a warm brownie smothered in ice cream made her crack a smile as she unlocked her old, manual Beamer and settled in, chewing down the last pretzel in her hand before adjusting her mirror and pulling out of the space.