Nothing like writing a story at midnight when you haven't done anything creative for months and you have to be up in six hours. I don't know what this is. I'm just super interested in Trevor right now.
The one thing Eris enjoyed about Los Santos was how it felt like summer every day of the year. She could wear the clothing that made for an easy getaway.
She jumped out of her pick-up truck, worn out kicks inspiring a certain skip in her step as she headed towards the bar. With delicate fingers, Eris pulled the crumped pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her jean shorts, sticking one between her lips. With a light and a haul, she sucked in the sweet nicotine. Eris felt her jitters subside from her long, smokeless drive. Her wavy brown locks flowed majestically with the breeze as she took a moment to enjoy her new surroundings.
She stuffed the cigarettes back in her pocket and grabbed her cell phone from her back pocket. Eris dialed the numbers scribbled on a napkin, a satisfied smirk upon her lips when it began to ring.
"Hello?" A male voice barked into her ear.
"I heard you were the man to call if I was lookin' for a job." Eris grinned.
"Wrong number." He barked again. Eris let the moment drag out as she took a large haul off her smoke. He didn't hang up. With a sharp exhale, she chuckled in the back of her throat.
"Bullshit. They call you 'M', right? I know for a fact you did some stellar shit, the type of shit that got me into this line of work-"
"I'm out of the game, lady."
"I don't give a shit. Out of the game, in the middle of the game, on fucking half time. You know people. Give me the number of someone I can call."
Another silent moment, this time initiated by M. Eris smiled big; the bomb was dropping. She had heard M was a central hub for all that was crime. He knew all the good people, knew the good scores.
"People don't just get my number by accident. I'm going to assume someone reliable informed you on how to contact me. I'm in some deep shit here. If you want a job, I'll give you a fucking job. I need to see a resume though."
"Splendid. When and where do you want to meet? I'll show you my skill set." Eris laughed. To work with the enigma M had been her life-long dream; sitting three inches away from the bright television screen, watching the enigma M and his team of kickass motherfuckers get chased but never caught by the pigs.
"There's a little diner up the road from the ammu-nation on 92nd street. Meet me in an hour."
Eris received nothing else but a dial tone, but she couldn't be happier. She finished off her cigarette and tossed it behind her. She hopped back in her truck and fired up the engine, her heart racing. She cranked the radio as she drove, practically flying over the potholed streets without a care. It had been too long since she put her hands to field work; sitting at the top for so long, ordering others to do shit for you, kind of leaves you feeling out of practice.
Eris drove up the backstreets, a practice learned from years of experience. Not only is it safer, she preferred the solitude. She loved to drive… she loved the drive. She admired the backs of stores and long alleyways where the prostitutes claimed territory when the sun went down; the scummy parts of Los Santos they desperately tried to mask with their special water and cheap plastic surgery.
She didn't care people were getting work done, it was the half ass hack job everyone seemed to settle for she hated.
She was ten minutes away from the diner, ready to turn the corner into the final alley before the main streets. As her hand settled over the other to turn the wheel, someone yanked her car door open and grabbed her with a violently tight grip.
"Gonna need this vehicle, Trevor Phillips Industries confidentiality!" A gruff voice took her off guard. Eris yelled, not having time to grab her gun from the glove compartment. She hit the ground with a slight bounce, giving her a moment to look up at the piece of shit who was trying to jack her truck.
Scummy, grimy, scared, and disgusting. She snarled, yanking the knife from under the leg of her shorts.
"You're gonna need to go fuck yourself." Eris shanked the man in the leg who fell beside her with a growl. She pulled her knife out and tossed it aside, mounting the man with tightly curled fists.
"Hey, hey, hey! This shit ain't fair, I just want the goddamn fucking truck. I don't believe in hitting women." The stranger screamed at her, clearly more enraged than anything else. True to his word, however, he made no move to throw her away.
"Oh yeah? What a good Samaritan! Good thing I don't believe the same, you fuck." Eris dropped a fist to the man's jaw, not once, but three times. Her knuckles, weak from lack of use, were already cut from the connection of his teeth through his cheeks.
"Holy shit, lady, fuckin' cut it out! I fuckin' get it." The man coughed, blood spurting up onto her tank top. Eris grabbed her knife and held it to the man's throat.
"If you get up before I'm well out of your sight, I will put you in my fuckin' basement and kick the shit outta you daily until I grow bored of you, then I'll leave you to rot." She stood with a peppy jump, spitting in his general direction before jumping back into her favourite pick-up truck and leaving him far in her past.
The man known as Trevor watched her truck pull up and around the corner, fully out of his view before letting his head fall back onto the harsh pavement.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to break his rule on hitting women or falling in love.
Sorry if this sucks, like I said, haven't written anything in a very long time.