Something I wrote on a whim after completing the Decker arc.
"A clothing store? Boss, if you wanted to buy clothes, you should have gone to Planet Saints. What the hell are we doing here?"
The leader of the Third Street Saints, the Butcher of Stilwater, and currently the resident fashionista, spun on her heel to face her partner in crime. "This place has designer brands, Pierce. That's why we're here," she said.
"And you know as well as I do that Planet Saints might as well be a designer brand," Pierce replied with a knowing look.
"All we sell are t-shirts with our catchphrases on it. And maybe a couple of trenchcoats. And the jacket I'm wearing—hell, basically everything down to my bra and panties is sold by Planet Saints," the Boss let out a frustrated grunt and spun back around to face the shop. She spread her arms out wide. "But I want some variety."
"Some variety won't get no cash in our pockets."
"That's my cash in your pocket."
"Same thing."
The woman rolled her eyes and made a dismissive shooing motion to the butt monkey of the Third Street Saints. Pierce returned her eye roll with an exaggerated head roll and waltzed out of the shop as he muttered a few curses under his breath. Happy with her accomplishment, the Boss strutted her way further into the shop as if she owned it (and she could, if she wanted to).
"Can I help you, sir?" one of the store clerks asked a customer nearby.
"Oh! I'm… I'm, uh, looking for the Bleak Line," a familiar British accent reached her ears. The Boss raised a surprised eyebrow before she turned around to see the signature neon blue lines of the Decker gang and a mop of somewhat greasy black hair.
"By who?" the clerk asked.
"Christoph Valkerie," the Boss answered smoothly as she made her way over to the two. The presence of the leader of the Saints made the clerk stutter and fumble around the vicinity for a pen as she asked the Boss for an autograph. The Boss shrugged and signed the clerk's arm to her utter excitement.
"I-I'll be back wi-with your request s-soon!" the clerk said as she sped away, knocking over a display in the process. The Saint's leader cringed as a loud crash resounded soon after.
"The publicity may be good for the money, but don't you ever just want to kill things without a rabid fan every once in a while?" she asked nonchalantly as she placed a hand on the British teen's shoulder. He visibly stiffened and mirrored the clerk's stuttering.
"I-It's nice to… see you," he chose his words carefully. The woman grinned and mentally contemplated on whether or not to remove the hand from his shoulder as it was obviously making him uncomfortable. She decided not to, just to let him suffer a bit more.
"It's surprising to see you, Matt," she went on as if they were old friends. She put some of her weight on him and he stumbled a little bit as she leaned on him. "Didn't take you one for high end fashion, you know. Although on the other hand, the Deckers are pretty stylish. Probably the most stylish gang out there."
"Thank you…?" he answered uneasily. Matt adjusted his stance so that he could support her weight without too much trouble, but it was well known that the leader of the Deckers did not get out from behind his keyboard much. "I didn't think you… knew about Christoph."
"I'm a huge fan," she admitted as her mind flashed quickly over to Burt Reynolds. "I like his designs. You know, if you didn't happen to be such a pain in the ass, I would have taken you back to my bedroom."
"Ex-Excuse me?" the forwardness of her statement made him almost crash to the floor, but the Boss could think on her feet and grabbed his sleeve before he met the carpet. The neon blue Tron lines seemed to emit heat under her hand.
"Are these things actual lights?" she asked as she suddenly took a profound interest in his clothing. Matt regained his balance only to have the female gang leader pick and prod at his clothes. He wanted to tell her to stop and leave him alone, but the fact that she almost killed him once and his own social awkwardness outside of the virtual world made him clam up.
"Holy shit, they are. Man, these are cool," she continued. Matt finally found the courage to swat her hands away, much to her dismay. He hurriedly smoothed out his clothing.
"Yeah, they're… specially designed," he replied with a little bit of arrogance in his voice. The Boss clicked her tongue in approval and his ego inflated just a bit.
"I like a man with style," she shot another pass at him as easily as she shot a bullet from a gun. Matt tried not to let her get to him and just nodded at her compliment. As if on cue, the clerk from earlier ran in with a box containing the newest designs from the Bleak Line.
"Here they are," she said quickly as her eyes darted over to the Boss in-between intervals. "Would you like anything else?"
"No, uh, these will do fine," he answered and took the box out of his hands. The clerk shot him a fake smile and turned to fawn over the Boss only to find that the Saint's leader had disappeared into thin air. She pursed her lips in disappointment and walked away to handle another customer.
"Is she gone? Oh good," the said leader popped her head up from behind a clothing rack and maneuvered her way back to the teen hacker. The Boss peered into the box held firmly in Matt's hands and whistled. "Hello, Prince Charming."
"I suppose I might as well, uh, check out now," the Decker quickly said and made his way over to the counter in an attempt to get away from the Saint.
"And I suppose I might join you," she retaliated with an amused grin. She enjoyed his stuttering and nervousness around her a little too much. "How much is that?"
"… About a thousand?"
"Good, I'll pay for it. Hey, shopkeep, put his tab on me!" she shouted at the person behind the register who nodded.
"What are you—" Matt asked in surprise.
"I do what I want. Come on, you get your clothes for free. Where's my thanks?" the Boss raised an eyebrow and looked at him. Matt stuttered nonsense at the sheer intensity of the woman in front of him. If he thought she was scary when she held him at gun point, it did not match to the confusion he felt now.
The leader of the Third Street Saints was an interesting woman, indeed.
"No thanks? Are all kids so rude?" she continued as he was snapped back to reality.
"I-I'm not a kid!" he just about shouted. If there was one thing he hated besides losing, it was being called a kid. "I'm sixteen!"
"And I'm five years your senior, so you're a kid," she waved him off dismissively. The Boss took out her phone and dialed a number as Matt watched in angry silence. "Pierce? Yeah, I got other plans today, go to Zimos without me. You don't want to? Take your balls out of your purse before I shoot them."
An argument full of swears and curses later, the Boss shoved her phone into her jacket pocket. She walked over to Matt until she was face to face with the Brit. He felt his rage dissolve into fear again.
"Do they glow in the dark?" she asked out of the blue.
"What?" he replied.
"The clothes. Do they glow in the dark?"
"Well, they could if I—"
"Good. You're coming with me."
"What is going—" he was interrupted as the Boss grabbed his jacket and pulled him out of the store. They made it out just in time to see Pierce turn the corner and disappear out of sight. "What is wrong with you—?"
"You know, they say that an hour of sex burns off a box of chocolates."
"What does that have to do with anything?!"
"We're going to get chocolate."