Go-Go pushed her way into the clubhouse. She was tired, run down and exhausted. Dragging her feet she sat at the stool closest to the door. She dropped her bag beside the stool and just collapsed. "Oh my head." She groaned. Her eyes twinkling with the last bit of sincerity she could muster for the day. Numbers, rambling jutting numbers blared through her mind. The song on the radio was before he Carrie Underwood's Before he cheats.
Number 52. on the Jukebox. The ambient temperature of the room was 73 degrees. There were 319 bottles of alcohol in the room. There were 26 sets of finger prints scattered around this bar alone at the present time. She could even see the individual prints and who they belonged too. For example this smudgy one on the railing in front of her belonged to Buster Fleetfoot. It was all smudged up, but his prints were always smudgy. Dude couldn't sit still for shit always moving moving moving.
There was Finger prints on the stripper pole in front of her... One set, judging from the pattern of the print belonged to Queenie. Another set surprisingly belonged to Mouse. That just almost made her burst out laughing right there. She sighed. Her mind was hyper focused and throbbing like a fucking son of a bitch. She needed something to smoke and dull out the noise. Drinking only did but so good. She could control her entire brain which meant she could lower her chemical levels she needed to lower so she would get drunk and fucked up faster, stay drunk longer, but she always got a little queasy when she was drunk.
She rather not vomit. Weed was so much more relaxing. It was like you turned an off switch on all this hyperactive smart girl shit and she could just be..... Chill. Go-Go's hair was raining over her face. Wild strands dancing this way and that, her face was pressed up against the bar counter as she looked and peeked through strands of brunette concealment. She was supposed to be the only one in the club. She thought she was anyways. All the actual members were out at the moment. She was the prospect sent back to guard the place.
She didn't understand what that was supposed to do. She didn't have any actual muscle. She could analyze and deduce like super computer. She wasn't Bruce fucking Lee. She heard thudding upstairs. She could tell by the sound of the footfalls that it was Draven. He was 6'2 and weighed 185 lbs. She didn't ask him that but she could tell by sound of the footfall his exact height and weight. It was just more numbers firing off in her rattling mind. She was sure he might have something she needed. Usually Kenny was her go to guy, but he wasn't here.
Go-Go wasn't a full member yet. She was just a prospect. She couldn't even afford to make ends meet. Prospects didn't make any actual money. They didn't get a cut of the profits they only got to help the club until they were MAYBE made full members. She couldn't pay her rent with empty promises and maybes so she worked part time as a clerk in an adult video store. It was a living. It was no less embarrassing than going to bat your eyes at a fellow member and hoping he had some pot for you, but that's what she was about to do.
Draven always struck her as interesting. He just seemed like a laid back guy. She was anything but laid back. She was a wild partying fiesty bitch with a thirst for life, and at the moment a migraine that could stop a fucking elephant. She slipped off her stool and headed upstairs moving quickly and quietly to see what Draven was up too.
