[sub][sub][i][h3] [b]Jezebel Wintergerald[/b][/h3][/i][/sub][/sub][hr]


If you mingled with the right circles, chances were you’d heard of Del Tawfeek; Loan Shark, bookkeeper for the Knife Posse, and proprietor of Crimson and Clover. Tawfeek had the good sense to keep his nose out of other people’s business, and over the years had managed to accumulate one of the most impressive treasure troves of contraband and stolen goods in all of Justice. He projected the false persona of a bumbling immigrant, over-looked by most, but could acquire almost anything for the right price. He had connections. Connections which made him valuable to Jezebel Wintergerald.

“Oh good, it's you.” The Middle-Eastern man greeted Jezebel with a sour look as she strode into Crimson and Clover, past a set of large glass cabinets which held white gold rings and silver watches. 

“Top of the morning to you,” she replied, casting a quick glance at a mannequin which was dressed up like your typical girly barbie doll, complete with handbag that looked like it could happily house a chihuahua “How’s business?” 
 
“You’re smart enough not to ask questions like that.” Del frowned, creasing his dark skin.

“Just making conversation, old timer.” She shot back.

“Don’t.” He snapped “Buy something or take your lard ass elsewhere.” 

“Alright, you don’t gotta be such a caramel Nazi about everything,” she reached into her jacket pocket, fishing out a rubber band-bound wad of cash “We gave you guys your shitty country back, what’s your beef with me?” 

“You realize I’m from Bahrain, right?” 

“Then you can stop playing the victim and show me the goods, you infidel.” 

“I hope you were bullied as a child.” The shopkeeper muttered, slowly rising out of his chair and making his way out from behind the counter. 

“We got something which I think will take your fancy,” he explained, leading Jezebel over to a small black box, which he opened with a quick flick of some clasps “looks like the sort of thing you might wear.” 

Inside the box was a thick silver bracelet, glimmering softly beneath the shop’s dull lights, which was carved to take on the image of a pair of snakes; their steely bodies woven together. The mouths of the snakes formed the bracelet’s clasps, and it looked to be crafted from proper materials. 

“What’s the asking price?” The young woman raised an eyebrow, scoping the bracelet out of its box and fastening it around her thick wrist.  

“Fifty dollars.” Del said firmly. 

“Come on, man, this is me we’re talking about.” Jessie said with a slick smile.

“Sixty dollars.” 

“You’re an arse.” 

“Seventy dollars.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“Keep running your mouth and I’ll keep raising the price.” 

“I’m not paying fifty dollars for a bracelet.” 

“Correct. You’re paying seventy.” 

“I’m putting my foot down, Tawfeek.” 

“Then go put it down in some other store.” 

Jezebel glowered at him, crossing her arms into a tense knot. 

“Stop with this holier than thou, bullshit,” she snarled “people like me keep your shop from closing, then when you get our business your treat us like shit. You’re not some connoisseur of fine wares, you’re a scumbag like the rest of us. Half the stuff you’re selling is stolen, and this bracelet probably came from the corpse of a dead hooker.”

Jezebel squared up to him, flexing her impressive bulk as she got right in his face.

“Now take my [b]forty[/b] dollars, and quit being such a little bitch about it.” 

Tawfeek snatched the money from Jezebel’s out-stretched hand, keeping his eyes locked on her the entire time.

“Anything else, miss?” He said coldly. 

“Nothing right now,” she grinned “I’ve got a party to get to.”