- Pronouns
- She/They
At first light, the sun arose over the pacific ocean, inching closer towards the beautiful City of Los Angeles. In the light, you could see the haze of pollution hanging above the skyline of the city of angels. Its citizens already accustomed to the smog that infinitely hung around like a smoker’s cough after decades of using a cancer stick. That was just the veil for what lay beneath the blanket. The interior of LA was far darker than what it portrayed on its exterior. Any local could claim stories of their own, of what they saw, heard, or even experienced at first-hand. Though the sprawling metropolis had its drawbacks, it is also one of the finest cities to ever exist in modern history; with its Mediterranean climate, ethnic diversity, and last, but not least, it’s entertainment industry.
The hub of infinite possibilities, if you worked hard for it, was endless. But with the metropolis ever aiming for the stars, others were always looking down. Survival was a common theme, especially for nearly half of the workforce that was the foundation of the city of angels. Los Angeles had been claimed for a long time, just not by its residents. A shadow society of crime families controlled large factions of the city. They respected one another if they weren’t peaking in one another’s business, that was. One of those crime families was the Delafontaine’s; a French crime family that established roots in this city after its founding in 1781; they were one of the oldest and present families who claimed a large faction. The Delafontaine’s were always recruiting members, since they were always running out of expended soldiers to do their dirty deeds. One of the many members recently inducted into their family was a woman of intellect, who was quite intricate with her hands, and was no stranger to getting them dirty. This woman who ditched her former name after being given the nickname, “Lemon.” Only those close to her knew the real reasoning behind the nickname, but rumours always speculated it had to do with her looks, and how she portrayed herself to the outside world.
Lemon was making her way back from the desert, driving an old 1969 Baldwin-Motion GT Corvette AKA “her baby.” It turns out having connections to the crime family wasn’t all bad, it came with a fat pay cheque, and with enough money to waste away on starting her own garage. Mostly as a front to operations that truly happened behind the name of, “The Sanguine Syndicate.” Having two flows of cash going towards her name, Lemon used a portion of it to donate to charities that helped research in cancer, and to help the homeless that plagued her city. After they released her from Prison, her grandmother died of terminal cancer. As the only kin remaining of the Keswick name, Noémie made her the sole heir to her estate and assets. But Lemon sold the manor in the Hills, and moved a sizeable portion of it into the Delafontaine’s name as a way of saying she was a part of the family now, and would give up her riches for the name if she had to.
Her destination was towards the city of angels. Last night’s rendezvous was short-lived as the guy was easy to crack. Her phone rang throughout the speakers of the car. She answered it, “Hello.” She greeted her windows rolled up, but the roaring of the engine prominent.
“Lemony, my sour fruit, how goes the deal?” Vitallo’s voice spoke. She was practically her new best friend—but with strings attached.
“It was retrieved hours ago. I’m bringing it to you now.” She retorts, shifting gears as she ramped up the speed.
Vitallo’s laughter could be heard fading away as if she walked away from the phone, the inaudible voices speaking fast, then the clicking of heels coming back towards the speaker, “You never disappoint.” She remarked.
“Well, I aim to please.” Lemon’s speedometer ticked higher as she sped down the interminable stretch of open road.
“Mr Delafontaine will be pleased, then.” The sounds of rustling paper could be heard, then a gasp sounding from Vitallo. ”Magnifica! You’ve outdone yourself this time, my sour lemon.”
“I should arrive within the hour. You know where to find me whenever you want your goodies. Ciao.” Lemon ended the call.
Lemon adjusted her shades. The sun was well high in the sky now and not sparing her from its glare. There was one thing she couldn’t help but wonder about, ‘Just who the hell was this Hydra person?’’
@Bygones
The hub of infinite possibilities, if you worked hard for it, was endless. But with the metropolis ever aiming for the stars, others were always looking down. Survival was a common theme, especially for nearly half of the workforce that was the foundation of the city of angels. Los Angeles had been claimed for a long time, just not by its residents. A shadow society of crime families controlled large factions of the city. They respected one another if they weren’t peaking in one another’s business, that was. One of those crime families was the Delafontaine’s; a French crime family that established roots in this city after its founding in 1781; they were one of the oldest and present families who claimed a large faction. The Delafontaine’s were always recruiting members, since they were always running out of expended soldiers to do their dirty deeds. One of the many members recently inducted into their family was a woman of intellect, who was quite intricate with her hands, and was no stranger to getting them dirty. This woman who ditched her former name after being given the nickname, “Lemon.” Only those close to her knew the real reasoning behind the nickname, but rumours always speculated it had to do with her looks, and how she portrayed herself to the outside world.
Lemon was making her way back from the desert, driving an old 1969 Baldwin-Motion GT Corvette AKA “her baby.” It turns out having connections to the crime family wasn’t all bad, it came with a fat pay cheque, and with enough money to waste away on starting her own garage. Mostly as a front to operations that truly happened behind the name of, “The Sanguine Syndicate.” Having two flows of cash going towards her name, Lemon used a portion of it to donate to charities that helped research in cancer, and to help the homeless that plagued her city. After they released her from Prison, her grandmother died of terminal cancer. As the only kin remaining of the Keswick name, Noémie made her the sole heir to her estate and assets. But Lemon sold the manor in the Hills, and moved a sizeable portion of it into the Delafontaine’s name as a way of saying she was a part of the family now, and would give up her riches for the name if she had to.
Her destination was towards the city of angels. Last night’s rendezvous was short-lived as the guy was easy to crack. Her phone rang throughout the speakers of the car. She answered it, “Hello.” She greeted her windows rolled up, but the roaring of the engine prominent.
“Lemony, my sour fruit, how goes the deal?” Vitallo’s voice spoke. She was practically her new best friend—but with strings attached.
“It was retrieved hours ago. I’m bringing it to you now.” She retorts, shifting gears as she ramped up the speed.
Vitallo’s laughter could be heard fading away as if she walked away from the phone, the inaudible voices speaking fast, then the clicking of heels coming back towards the speaker, “You never disappoint.” She remarked.
“Well, I aim to please.” Lemon’s speedometer ticked higher as she sped down the interminable stretch of open road.
“Mr Delafontaine will be pleased, then.” The sounds of rustling paper could be heard, then a gasp sounding from Vitallo. ”Magnifica! You’ve outdone yourself this time, my sour lemon.”
“I should arrive within the hour. You know where to find me whenever you want your goodies. Ciao.” Lemon ended the call.
Lemon adjusted her shades. The sun was well high in the sky now and not sparing her from its glare. There was one thing she couldn’t help but wonder about, ‘Just who the hell was this Hydra person?’’
@Bygones
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