[hider=Little Miss Fucking Sunshine][color=dimgray][h3][table][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Title[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][sup][sup]When her manager finally decides she isn’t worth the trouble, a disturbed child trafficker must grasp at every straw she finds to try to save herself and stay with her “kids.”[/sup][/sup][/cell][/row][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Face[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][sup][sup][img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/89/8a/91/898a91694585c8b3d46976864effe69b.jpg[/img][/sup][/sup][/cell][/row][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Name[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][sup][sup]Sunshine “Sunny”, aka Johannes “Jonni” Hautala[/sup][/sup][/cell][/row][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Age[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][sup][sup]27[/sup][/sup][/cell][/row][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Sex[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][sup][sup]Woman(***), *AMAB, **feminine-presenting, ***self-identified “Fairy Prince”  [/sup][/sup][/cell][/row][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Business[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][sup][sup]The only honest work Sunny’s ever had was her tour in Viet Nam. Before and since, she’s put in the hours in the only world she’s truly known. She was trafficked as a kid for sex, and while, make no mistake, she still “works for a living” as she’s called to, helps pick up stock as she happens upon it, and even dabbles in thuggery if an extra hand on a gun is what’s needed, most of her work is as the world’s best matron of the world’s worst combination orphanage-brothel. She keeps “her” kids fed, presentable, well-behaved, safe within reason, and ready to do their best for the lovely folks who pay the bills.[/sup][/sup][/cell][/row][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Savvy[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][sup][sup]Not just a talented love-bomber, Sunny also has an underappreciated ability to play bad cop with a smile. She’s no torture artist, but she knows a thing or two about waterboarding a POW into submission. War crimes aren’t the only thing she picked up in Viet Nam, though. She’s no gun nut, but she’s an impressively quick draw, and a respectable shot. She’s got the training for a real man who went to a real war, and even if she’s just a little thing in the end, it still counts for something if push comes to shove. If she ends up in the mud, she has a clue of how to get out. With her experience and admirable stamina from a lifetime of taking a beating from anyone who felt like giving her one, Sunny may be a doll, but she can handle more rough-and-tumble than first may seem. 
[/sup][/sup][/cell][/row][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Ruin[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][sup][sup]Born the third of four to an unassuming Finnish-American family in Minnesota, Sunny never did fulfill expectations. So the nancy boy became a runaway, and ended up running right into the arms of the Nadolny crime family. With her handlers’ keen interest, her miserably low bars, and then a whole lot of drugs to ease things along, Sunny dove harder and deeper into the life than anyone expected, in search of less than many even consider. All things must change, though, and Sunny thought she could get away and take the life she left behind for a spin. Desperate for any taste of approval from her long-abandoned family, Sunny followed her older brothers to war, recklessly jumping into the unknown with both feet, just as she always had. Sunny learned a valuable lesson during her tour—that even she still had limits. And so, as soon as she was discharged, Sunny came running back with her tail between her legs. No longer a little girl, Sunny had to actually grow up this time. And grownups share their knowledge and their lessons with the next generation. She can’t imagine anything more fulfilling than caring for, nurturing, and teaching the next generation how to squeeze sugar out of lemons.[/sup][/sup][hider=But don’t just take my word for it!][sup][sup]“Oh you’re serious, are ya? Yeah no for sure, I got time to chat. Awful sweet of you to ask. Just tell me to hush if you get bored. I dun mind, not at all.

So, guess I oughta start at the beginning, yeah? So I was born over in Esko. It’s a little town, bit outside-a Dulut’. Mama and Daddy got married when he came back from the War. They had my older brothers, then me, then my little brother, all that stuff. You know, nothin’ crazy or nothin’. Couldn’t say when the trouble with me started, really. I think I was just born wrong’r somethin’ like that. My older brothers used to beat me up for embarrassin’ them at school, ‘cause I just couldn’t stop “prancin’ around like a gosh darn fool,” they’d say. And then, Mama had locked up her closet by the time, oh, must’ve been when I was maybe five’r six? Anywho, you get the picture, dontcha? I was this little old disappointment back home, and I eventually got the message loud and clear. Shoot, Daddy stopped even spankin’ me about it. He’d say, “Well, what’s it gonna change?” to my Mama, and they’d just sigh and shake their heads. ‘Bout the only time they ever did smile at me was when I was up there in the church choir. I always had a pretty voice, you know. That for sure was the best time, singing in the church choir, wearing those pretty robes, lightin’ the candles, and all of that stuff. I remember hearing Mama and Daddy prayin’ one night, prayin’ I’d grow up and become a pastor. 

Never did work out for them, sad to say. Instead, when I was, oh—must’ve been nine?—I up and left. I still remember those couple-a days pretty well. That’s when I met my fairy godparents, so to speak. Anywho, that Sunday I’d gotten the idea that I’d steal a cassock. I hid it in my backpack and waited ‘till my brothers had gone out to play, thinkin’ I’d have some time to play dressup by myself. I fooled with it some, cut the collar, put on a belt to make the waist nice, and I tell you, for a nine year old, I think I made a pretty little dress out of it. I was havin’ a nice little time until Mama walked in on me and screamed to high heavens seein’ those pieces of the cassock on the ground and me in my little getup. I dunno what got into me, but I just ran. I slipped past her, kept on runnin’ into the woods, and followed the road into Dulut’. I slept alone, cold, and hungry in a ditch somewhere outside-a Dulut’ that night. The next day, I tried my best to clean myself up, but I was just a little mess, dontcha know. I thought about goin’ back, but what was I gonna do? Tell the pastor I’d stolen and messed up one of his nice cassocks? Face Daddy and my brothers after running around like I was, a little cryin’ mess? Yeah no I wasn’t up for that. 

But I guess I got lucky that day, because a nice man spotted me, asked if I needed help, and when he asked if I needed help getting home and I told him I couldn’t go home, he invited me to come with him, get me cleaned up, fed, and all that stuff. Mister Machij—he said his name was—was all smiles when he saw me, like he actually liked what he was lookin’ at. Of course, he thought I was a little girl, with the way he talked to me. Boy was he surprised when he got me stripped down to take my bath! I remember, he looked at me, asked me questions, and scratched his chin like I was sayin’ some interestin’ things. But he never got mad. 

Well, anywho, at some point, he was finished lookin’ me up and down, and just said “Okay then.” Then, while I was gettin’ dry and puttin’ on my towel, I heard him on the phone with someone. I dun remember all of it, but I remember he kept talkin’ about a “pretty boy,” speakin’a me, of course. And I dunno, I was just all smiles and blushes when I heard that! Me! Pretty! And he told the person on the other end of the line, “You’re gonna wanna see this one,” still speakin’ of me. So later that night, I had these two standing around me, arms crossed, nodding like they’d discovered something. I was a discovery! Mister Machij introduced me to his cousin, Missus Orta Nadolny. 

Really, they just had one big question for me. Did I like feeling pretty? Did I want to feel pretty—and be pretty—all-a the time? Of course I did! I still do! I was so enthusiastic, they made arrangements that night. Missus Orta got me all made up, put me in a pretty little getup, and then we got in Missus Orta’s car, and we drove down to Minninoona that night. And there, I got to meet the man who made me: Missus Orta’s husband, Mister Juro Nadolny.

Now, don’t you get me wrong, as excited as I was at first, the first year was hard. I’ve always been so little, you know, and earnin’ my keep took a whole lot of gettin’ used to, for sure. I still wasn’t supposed to cry, except when a visitor wanted it, and it’s hard not to cry when something hurts. But some of them, boy, they looked at me like they wanted me to be there. They wanted me there, bein’ pretty for them, and some of them would even tell me so. I started gettin’ little gifts sometimes—stuff I actually wanted, too! Y’know, I got in trouble one time for cryin’ and huggin’ a guy who brought me a little necklace! 

But, I did get spooked by a couple of things, though. There were other boys there; it wasn’t just me. My bunkie was a guy named, oh gee, it’s been so long. Cripes. Eh, his name was…well they called him Cookie, but his name was…Carl! I’m so sorry; it’s been over ten years since I seen him! Hope he’s doin’ okay. Anywho, where was I? Right, so Carl—Carl, he was a couple years older’n me, and he started growin’ up, y’know, as boys do. Golly, I was never so upset in my life than when I asked him why his voice was soundin’ so funny, and he explained that whole business about boys and girls to me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind men one bit; I just couldn’t wrap my head around becomin’ one. It felt like I was lookin’ at my death when he started showin’ off his whosit to me.

So of course, I went and got myself in trouble again. This time, it was for wakin’ Missus Orta up. But I s’ppose I was cryin’ my eyes out so hard that she needed to get the gist of what was goin’ on before she decided who was in trouble. It must’ve took…oh geez…it must’ve took ten minutes at least before she could get a real word outta me. But when I finally got it out, all that business about how I dint wanna grow up and become some awful hairy old man, how I wanted to stay a pretty little boy, how I wanted to be pretty forever, she finally stopped me and asked me, “Do you want to be a pretty boy? Boys have to turn into men.” Boy was that a thinker. I s’ppose I took too long to say something, ‘cause she stood up, put her hands on my shoulders, and asked me different. “How bad do you want to be pretty?” she said.

And as for me? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I was snotty and puffy in my face and she wiped me up, pointed me to the mirror, and told me to tell myself how much I wanted it. What can I say? I’d give the world and somethin’ more to be frozen even longer as a little pretty flower, just like Sleeping Beauty. So you betcha I begged her to let me stay pretty. Oh, I begged and begged. And then when I started gettin’ hysterical about it, she just put her finger on my mouth, and told me if I wanted to be pretty, I’d need to act the part too. If I wanted to be the prettiest little doll in the house, I’d need to act like the prettiest little doll. If I could do it, she could talk with Mister Juro and see about keeping me pretty. I dunno if my eyes have ever gone wider. I had to blink so hard to stop crying when she held my face and told me to keep the smile and hold the tears. She was so right. She said I could keep my little giggle though, within reason!

It wasn’t easy, though. Beauty hurts, no doubt about it. Missus Orta was clear about that. We’d already done all that business with plucking eyebrows and waxing peach fuzz off of every bit of me to make me smooth like a little dolly, sometimes even a bit of skin bleach in there to keep me perfect and porcelain. But anywho, we eventually had a talk about what else staying a little-bitty pretty thing involved. Now, I for sure missed getting as many sweets as Carl and the other boys, but as they got bigger and I stayed so little, I had to thank Missus Orta for telling the other boys they could take my desserts and dinners! I wonder sometimes if I could’ve done even better if I was real good and never gave Carl a hand with his whosit so he’d let me have a taste of his sweets. And lucky for me, the hunger pangs also helped distract me from the hard part of the next big step. 

I just kept on bein’ good, doin’ as I was told, givin’ everybody who walked in whatever they wanted with a big old smile on my face, and soon enough, they got a vet in to fix me for good. While he was givin’ me a look over before the surgery, he told me it wasn’t any different than what he’d do for a cat or a dog, or a little lamb. And cripes, those poor critters! It for sure did hurt like the dickens. But golly, wouldn’t ya know it, but I still dint just have the dumbest little grin even while my eyes teared up. They even took my pictures! I got to keep a copy of them, for keepsakes. Oh! I still have them in my purse! Lookie here! There’s me all prettied up in my little surgical gown. And, eh, ope! I’ll skip these; I dun think you wanna see the bloody part, do you? But then, isn’t that cute? We got one of me kissing the boys goodbye, and another of me thanking the doctor with a little kiss after he stitched me up! Wasn’t I just the cutest little thing back then?

Anywho, after that, since we dint wanna risk any infection or make a big old mess cauterizing it, I had to take a little longer of a break than we would’ve liked, and so instead of my normal stuff, Missus Orta put me to work counting money in Mister Juro’s office and other little odd jobs I could do while laying on the couch with a pack of frozen greens. I think that’s when he took a liking to me. He’d give me “homework” while he was out. I learned all sorts of songs to sing for him. He started calling me his pretty little jukebox! And then, by the time I got walking again, I guess Mister Juro really had taken a shine to me, so he kept me working for him during the day even when I went back to doing my normal nighttime stuff. Gosh, I guess it was around then that they had me start calling them Tata and Mamusha, yeah. 

So then, after that, Mamusha gave me another gift. We call them my pretty pills. There’s some proper fancy names for them, for sure, but, shoot, I can never remember them off the top of my head. Ope! Ah, eh. Geez Louise! I’ve went and gone red in the face, haven't I? Sorry, I’m just blushin’ like a gosh-darn schoolgirl thinkin’ about this part. Excuse me. I, uh, I always forget how it still gets me all giddy when I think about all those days. So I—I guess—Well, you know, I just ended up this hot little mess for years! So, back then, I got bonus pretty pills as treats when I volunteered to put in the extra hours, and boy, were they just a bucket of fun! I was totally freakin’ gone, for sure, but I had a blast. I got to feel all warm and fuzzy inside and full of butterflies whenever I got the extra ones, and all I had to do was be my wonderful self for whoever Mamusha and Tata introduced me to. Golly, it was like the best dream ever. Everyone was so groovy when I had all that stuff in me. I was showerin’ in sunshine, I tell you what! Golly, I never did understand why the others were always fussin’ for extra scratch for themselves when our people were so much happier to just pretty us up extra instead. The only thing that ever did get a bee in my bonnet was when the others were being downers like that. I always told them, if they’d just relax and enjoy being decked out and adored, they couldn’t help but to smile! Shoot, my bonus pretty pills had me feeling so pretty on the inside that nothing even hurt until the next day! What’s not to love?

Those were the good years, for sure. I still miss them every day! But it’s my fault, really. I got spooked and did something stupid and spoiled the good days for myself. You see, by the time I was gettin’ to be seventeen, we had to start talking about my future. For sure, I was fine for now, but who could say how long I’d stay in my prime? Once you’re grown, the clock is ticking, and you have to have that conversation about how nothing stays fresh forever, not even you. So for sure, there was a future for me somewhere, but Mamusha and Tata were moving on, hoping to move up on outta the childcare business. They were clear with me; they said nothing lasted forever, they sure did. And, well gosh darn it, but Mister Klimant and I just never have had that same special bond. I mean, dun get me wrong, I did my best for him, gave him a smile, rocked my hips how he told me—all that business. But everyone has their favorites, I guess. And it just broke my little heart knowing my days as the favorite were over. I just got that sinkin’ feelin’ I hadn’t felt since I was just a little thing, you know? And I dunno. I guess I was sobering up for real then, and havin’ a real bad time of it, and I got it in my head that I needed to go home, say I was sorry for causin’ that trouble, and to tell them that I found my place and not to worry about me. Close up all that sad kiddie business before movin’ on up to grown-up stuff, you know?

So like the dummy I was, I snuck out a bit after I turned eighteen. I hitchhiked back to Esko, found the family home, and who opens the door but one of my big brothers. He decked me when I went in to hug him, of course. Took less convincing than I thought for the family to believe it was me. Gosh, Daddy jumped out of his chair and swore like I’d never heard before when he saw me. Mama just couldn’t even make eye contact. Daddy told me he had three sons. That I was as good as dead. I begged him, you know, to give me a shot to prove I loved him. And he looked like he’d seen a ghost. He gave me an earful about how his oldest boy was a CO stuck in the jungles, about how his second boy had just gotten drafted, and asked me what the hell kinda man I thought I was. So I told him I’d do my best to do him proud for once, go out on a high note this time. He was so surprised he laughed. Said he’d never in a million years believe a fairy freak like me could even make it through the basic training. And dontcha know, we shook on it. He, eh, washed his hands afterwards, but he had this funny smile on his face like he couldn’t believe a bit of it. That I even felt a little bit bad for makin’ all that trouble and shame for him and everybody.

So then, Mama fished out my birth certificate and my documents, and then Daddy brought me to the enlistment office the very next day. My brother was fit to burst when the enlistment officer commented that I was enlisting and he was drafting. For sure, Daddy made it clear that this was “the last shot to straighten me out,” but the boys there thought the entire thing was so hilarious that I don’t imagine he ever heard the end of it from his platoon.

Shoot, I dunno how I managed it, but I did. Good golly, it was bad for my everything, but wouldn’t you know it, the only places I fell actual dead last in were the categories-a height, and weight. The couple of guys who did worse than me, boy, it must’ve been awful bad for them. But anywho, as long as we were on U.S. soil, things were rough, for sure, but I like to think I put on a brave face. The hardest part by far was being bare-faced and in those frumpy old uniforms. I could handle the yelling and hurtin’ all over after a hard day, even if the day was hard for different reasons than I was used to. But good golly, sometimes I looked in the mirror and just saw that same sad little boy I’d run away as. It always hurt my heart somethin’ terrible. And I really shouldn’t have run off without my pretty pills, let me tell you what. I had hot flashes like an old lady the whole darn time!

Well, eventually, deployment came. And…look. Here’s what I can say. I did my best. I did what I was told. I put on a smile every day, made sure not to cry—did all that same stuff I did back home to make everyone’s day a little better. And, well, I guess somewhere along the way I screwed up and some of the men figured me out. Well, enough so, anyway. I guess that’s when I realized I missed all the attention I used to get something terrible. I gotta hand it to the guys there—they ran a tight ship. Usually it’s tough for groups to keep a secret, but I guess they were so thrilled at not having to slum it in the Saigon brothels and having me right there whenever they felt like it that they kept their best behavior. Shoot, Glenn even got attached enough to treat me like a person. He gave me a real “date” and a gift now and again—something more than just jerking me around and dragging me into some quiet corner to get one out of their system. So, I mean, I guess it wasn’t all entirely unfamiliar. I mean, I won’t lie. It was awful. Everything hurt before the boys got onto me, and then it was everything inside and outside that hurt. But sometimes they’d mumble things while they were doing what they wanted, and maybe some of those words were more them pretending I was something I couldn’t be than anything genuine from their hearts. But sometimes, after a long day of that awful jungle, hearing I was seriously for-realsies good for something, hearing I sounded pretty, any-a that—cripes, sometimes even the less gentlemanly stuff felt like it was keepin’ my heart in one piece some days.

So I guess Viet Nam did set me straight, just maybe not in the same sorta way it was probably meant to. I’m no good anywhere else. I know that now. The one time I really tried to do my real blood family proud, I ended up back in the same shoes, but prancin’ around with that name they wanted to keep clean. So I just left them a letter sayin’ I was awful sorry for bein’ a whole bunch-a trouble, and came back to Minninoona as fast as I could. And gosh, I must’ve spent the next couple of years apologizing to everybody. But for old time’s sake, Mister Juro and Missus Orta did end up askin’ Mister Klimant to give me a second chance. I dunno how many times I’ve kissed them all to thank them. I mean, yeah, I was too old to work as a kid. I still had people who’d been missin’ me, don’t get me wrong, but this just wasn’t my woods anymore. So I had to pull my weight in other ways too. I never imagined I’d have a maternal bone in my body—how could I, right? But wouldn’t you know it, I found myself looking at all those little scared darlings and thinkin’, by golly, I could put some smiles on these little faces. Teach them how to be happy like I was, you know? I just can’t help it! I looked at those blank canvases and I knew I could help get some pretty smiles pasted all around. So that’s what I’ve been doing. We take in poor little rejects and make little angels of them, ready to be plucked out of the sky and loved. We grew up ignored. We grew up despised. But here? We can be the belles of the ball—the centres of attention. We can be adored! We can be desired! And every little darling I can teach to embrace these perfect years is an angel I’ve given wings.

Sure yeah, there have been bumps in the road. Mister Klimant says I’m too generous, that I spend too much “gussying up these little whores,” he says. So I have to compromise, really, a whole lot more than I’d like. I can only make real angels out of the very best of my kids. The rest, we just can’t afford to make them as perfect as I know they could be. It’s just plain hard times these days, you know? It hurts my heart to say, but we’ve had to cut back on who we can take in and how much we can do. Sometimes I just can’t help but to open my own purse and my boudoir when I catch a promising find. And you know, sometimes we pick wrong—we do; nobody’s perfect. I’ve had my share of tough little cookies. And when they won’t budge, what can you do? Sometimes you’ve just gotta break them down to build them back up. I’d rather not do it, for sure, but sometimes a wet rag is what you need to melt that hard shell they’ve made around their poor little hearts. 

I want this thing we’re doing to be growing. I want to make as many angels out of raggamuffins as I can. I’m sure we can do it. We just need to try harder.”[/sup][/sup][/hider][/cell][/row][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Cred[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][sup][sup]“Say what you will, but that thing’s been raising some damn good whores.”
“It’s the blind leading the blind over there. The little sluts want silk dresses? In this economy?”
“There’s a whole lot of things about that Sunny that’re hard to believe. It’s hard to believe someone who looks like that is a dude, and it’s hard to believe a chick that acts like a disney princess runs a fucking chomo ring.”
“Something ain’t right in that head of hers. I’ll bet they fried her back in the sixties and we’re just now seeing it.”
“No, seriously. [i]She[/i] was in the military.”
“You gotta wonder how an airhead like that keeps that operation running.”
“Fuck, I thought she was one of the kids!”
“I don’t care what the brats want. Tell that stupid blonde not to waste the good perfume on them unless the clients ask for it.”
“Seeing her with those kids, it’s like seeing fuckin’ Mary Poppins run a goddamned child brothel.” 
[/sup][/sup][/cell][/row][row][cell][right][sup][sup]Ilk[/sup][/sup][/right][/cell][cell][sup]☞[/sup][/cell][cell][table][row][cell][right][i][b][sup][sup]I STILL LOVE THE LIFE[/sup][/sup][/b][/i][/right][/cell][cell][sup][sup]Death by a thousand cuts. Gambling debts, drug habits, a need to impress, or plain-and-simple expensive tastes—something, or a combination of things, puts a continual drain on your resources, ever threatening your precious high-roller lifestyle. You don't simply [i]want[/i] the plan to succeed; it has to, or you can kiss the fast cars the slim girls the fat diamond rings goodbye (those and whatever else matters). This addiction will noseblind you to risks the others can smell from three miles off. And where they've hedged and folded and tactically retreated, you'll always—always—gather up your dice to triple down.[/sup][/sup][/cell][/row][/table]

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