[hider=𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕 𝚂𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎]
[centre]“𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚕’𝚜 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗, 𝚊 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚙𝚒𝚗’𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚡𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛, 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚢.”

𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕 “𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢” 𝚂𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎 

𝟹𝟻 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍 (𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 “𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝟹𝟶?” 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝟻 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜)

𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎[/centre]

☞ 𝙱𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

[sub] Pearly first felt a wedge of dollar bills between her barely-there breasts when she was just 14 years old. Mother Dearest made sure her one and only child, her “Precious Pearly”, knew the value of the dollar sign as soon as she was old enough to grip a bill in her podgy, dimpled hands. Daddy didn’t stick around. So it was just Pearly and her Mama for as long as she could remember. Formative years were spent watching her Madam Mama run a tight ship whilst vacuuming white lines from both sides of her pocket mirror and roughing up the edges of her “Girls” from darkened doorways. 

It was a “Family Business.” The Brothel operated out of the top 3 floors of 69 Greet Street, a collection of around 12 sparse bedrooms occupied by lost souls looking to bury themselves in the vacuous bodies of those desperate for an escape. An hour? 4 hours? 3 minutes? Patrons of the Brothel paid upfront for the pleasure of a lumpy mattress surrounded by nicotine-stained walls. The Basement got transformed into a “speakeasy bar” back in the 1920s. “Soirée” nowadays was a glorified dive bar cosplaying as something with more sophistication than it was able to claim - A breeding ground for debauchery, dodgy deals and Dolls secretly for sale. Soirée turns a blind eye to the deals under the table, signet ringed fists thrown in the alleyway and married men with their arms around anyone [i]but[/i] their wife. The Bar is the only legit leg of the business; An outlet to “clean” the whore’s earnings and a perfect marketing opportunity for a Madam’s working girls. Burlesque shows, Jazz singers and a mean Manhattan lure in those Johns looking for a good time not a long time. There’s rarely been an empty seat in the house for the last 10 years. Despite its desperate attempt at glitz and glamour, Soirée was the definition of mutton dressed as lamb. The Bar just couldn’t shake its grimy reputation that both helped and hindered the activities that took place wrapped in peeling wallpaper and atop liquor-soaked carpets. 

When 25 year old Pearly found her Mother face-down at her bureau desk, blood drying all crispy in her bleached blonde hair, she inherited it all. The Brothel, the Babydolls, the Bar, the Books, the debts… The good, the bad and the ugly. Pearly runs a tight ship and keeps the wolves at bay by plying them with intel extracted from the minds of her Girls: Confessionals from creepy Johns, the gloating of criminals, the whisper of every word on the street… Anything worth something to those useless pigs, Pearly hands over. Keeps them from sniffing at Madam’s back door. Let a select few run drugs through the gaff, let the mob bosses talk business over the best Old Fashioneds in the city… Dirty makes more money when it ain’t just in a martini.[/sub]

☞ 𝚂𝚊𝚟𝚟𝚢

[sub] A Madam ain’t for sale but if she were, Pearly’d still be a damned good ride. She may be on the bench, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten how to play. Manipulative, she’s a slippery spirit, always shimmying her way out of sticky situations with her smart mouth and fluttering eyelashes. 

Not that Pearly would ever be naive enough to disclose her earnings, bragging is what gets you killed in this game, but she’s got goods stashed in mattresses, loose floorboards and the banks. Her businesses are booming and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do to keep it that way. A puppeteer of a bookkeeper, she’s smarter than anyone gives her credit for. Thanks to those lessons from Mama’s old snake of an accountant, she knows just where to fiddle the books and payday’s always sweet. 

When you’re as deep in the game as she is, balancing the Brothel, the Bar and the Books, it’s a good job Pearly knows who’s worth their buck for brawn. She’s got guns-for-hire on speed dial, muscle ready to weigh in when she needs and a nose for the best powder in the city. There ain’t a gram of white that passes hands in Soirée she don’t know about. And if someone’s dumb enough to cross her? Well, she’s seen enough skeletons in closets to know [i]just[/i] the spot to apply pressure. Pearly’s been around enough violence to know a thing or two about torture, bribery and a quick snuff. When you’ve got everything to lose, you sure learn quick how to make sure you stay winning.

A Madam bears the responsibility of her Babydoll’s wellbeing. She must protect, exploit, control, nurture and stifle simultaneously. That level of duplicitousness mixed with unlimited liquor and a silver spoon piled with a powder that catalyses uncapped confidence? Pearly is a ticking time bomb. Inherently paranoid, she sees the ghosts of problems that may or may not be there. Betrayal is a compulsive fear the Madam continually checks over her shoulder for. Late nights, substance abuse and a childhood ripped from her starfish hands make for a woman riddled with insecurities. 

“What you looking at, girl? Does my blush need a top up?”

“She’s overcharging and keeping the spare change. I know it.”

“Pull up the CCTV, Biggie. I wanna watch every fucking frame, yeah? I know I saw her stuffing that wrap down her bra.”

“She’s been my biggest earner for the past 6 months! And she wants to turn her back on me? ME? After all I’ve done for that ungrateful lil hussy? I’m her goddamn [i]mother[/i]!”

“Pour me another, Daria. I’m sharper when I’ve thrown back some good bourbon. Don’t look at me like that, alright? I’ll be over that bar before you take ya next breath.”

A powerhouse like Pearly has many downfalls: That “last” line, “just another” drink, trusting a whore who flattered her way into Pearly’s good books… But her achilles heel? Her blinkered view of herself. It’s always everyone else’s problem. Always someone else’s fault. When everyone’s too scared to fracture Pearly’s selective memories, no one to challenge her paranoid ramblings, she’s left with no one to ground her when she’s flying high. Which is always, if you were wondering. 

More trivially, Pearly can tell a decent Burgundian Chardonnay with a good vintage by the bouquet alone. Ever more impressive considering her nose has been worn away from her love of good powder. Plus, she got an ear for the next big voice. The artists that grace the Soirée stage occasionally go on to become the next big thing… And promptly delete their stint at the underground bar from their history books. [/sub]

☞ 𝚁𝚞𝚒𝚗

[sub] “You seen this? Cuba’s finest. These taste like Italian leather, a damn good coffee and… What is that flavour catching the back of my throat, there?… Oh. Cedar. Come closer. Smell it. Beautiful, huh? God, I love ‘em but I sure wish they smoked as easy as cigarettes. Damn thing just goes on for too long, don’t it? 

Anyways. I suppose a formal introduction ain’t really necessary. You’re from round here. You’re in my house. You know your way around, don’t cha? Ain’t many asscheeks in the city that haven’t found their way into one of Madam Pearly’s chairs. And I love that. You know why? Boy, do I [i]love[/i] a party. And you know what makes a good party? People. But it’s not just the music, the martini glasses, the magic… I love it all. Think that’s my favourite part of this life, though, the people. Growing up just me and Mama started out real lonely. No other kids. No family. No Daddy. Could’ve been [i]real[/i] lonely if this house weren’t always full of visitors. Always coming and going. Might as well have had a revolving door installed, the rate those hinges were squeakin’. All kindsa people come round here. We had em all. Daddies, Doctors, Lawyers, Dealers, Gunrunners… You name it! We got it. And I learned quick how to chat with anyone and everyone. Helped me turn this tongue silver, it really did. Girls say I’ve got the gift of the gab.

But, well, I didn’t get the education most of these Johns got, that’s for certain sure. Could’ve wound out dumb as a post if I hadn’t begged some of the old Dolls to teach me to read and write. And well, I never did enjoy my own company too much. Never really had to learn how to, neither. Mama’s Dolls was always around, braiding my hair and painting my toes. Guess they felt sorry for me, in a way. I always heard them whisperin’ bout how Mama shouldn’t be making me trick so young. But look at me now! Wouldn’t think it, would ya? Folks livin’ straight would probably drop dead if they knew what little Pearly had to do to get through! But here I am in a silk gown, Chanel red on my lips and 9 carats in my lobes. Got my friends Smith & Wesson in my garter and a duster in my drawer so I don’t need your sympathy, okay? That shit tastes cheap as Carignan. I want respect on my name and Washington’s in my pretty lil hands. You got that?

A good Madam is kinda like a headmistress, an overbearing mother and a husband. In my position, you gotta know how to stroke an ego like a lil’ kitty. Make em purr. It’s real easy. The hard part is keeping these Dolls in line. Some of em know the score good and proper… Others? Like herding sheep, I tell ya. And I don’t like marking my prized mules. You wouldn’t buy a bruised peach, would ya? So you gotta get real creative with them. Packets of good white, jewellery, designer clothes… Some of these Girls ain’t got two brain cells to rub together so I just dangle a pretty carat for em and they soon do as they’re told. Couple of them though? Tough as old boots. And they take a lil longer to break in… They all break in the end, though. Shit’s inevitable. And Pearly’s Girls are the John’s favourites for reason. It’s cos I’ve trained em [i]good[/i], honey. They know how to do just about anything, for anyone. One stop shop. Then those Johns go crawlin’ back to their boring lives and their boring wives for some missionary and apple pies. I know where I’d rather be fuckin’ sittin’.

Some Madams? They just ain’t got the [i]balls[/i], you know? Too busy squeezin’ em for shit scratch. No, I’ve got a big ol’ set of my own right here in my lacies. So yeah, I handle myself pretty good… And I let the Boys do the rest. Don’t like getting dirt under my fingernails unless I fancy it, see. But sometimes I do fancy it. Depends on which side of the bed I’m waking up on.”[/sub]

☞ 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚍

[sub] • “You better not be keepin’ nothin’ back for yourself, baby. Madam finds out and she’ll take a toe. Know why she takes toes? So we still got ten fingers to grab dicks with.”

• “She’s got those Dogs wrapped round her pinky finger. God knows how much she’s paying em! Or maybe she’s blowin’ em good.” 

• “Madam in a good mood today? Or are we staying out of her way until she’s had a couple of lines to loosen up?”

• “Count it again. It can’t be short. We’ll be wrapped in tarpaulin if there’s a dime missin’”

• “No, not her. Can’t be her. She’s one of Pearly’s girls.”

• “I’m not going nowhere but Siorée. Everytime I try somewhere else the liquor and the pussy just don’t taste the same. I know, I know. Place is a shit heap. But it’s [i]our[/i] shit heap, right? Just keep your head on a swivel and don’t make direct eye contact with the Madam. Medusa bitch’ll turn ya to stone.”

• “There’s gotta be a break in this investigation. Get Pearly Sackville on the phone. Now.”

• “I heard every girl who’s flown P’s nest winds up dead or disappeared. We’re here for life, baby. Guess it’s better than a cell, right? Least there’s good blow here.”

• “How much do you reckon it’ll take to get Pearly off the bench? I know her titties are saggin but I bet she’s a goer.” “Doubt you could afford her, pal.”

• “You know when Madams got a meeting with a snitch. She puts her ash trays away. Says a snitches skin puts out her cigars just fine.”[/sub]

☞ 𝙸𝚕𝚔

𝙸 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎

𝙸 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸 𝚆𝚊𝚜 𝙾𝚞𝚝 
[/hider]



[hider= +]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019ccea9-49b6-7124-bdf3-a5da80f20fd2.webp[/img]

[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019ccea9-991d-71c7-a596-69a7819e255d.webp[/img]
[/hider]