Welcome to Gaia! ::

The Red haired grasped the edge of the open Kia, ogled her with some interest, the gears were turning. She didn't look like that kind of girl, but then again there were a lot of desperate people in these parts, she had to want something.

"I'll pay you twenty credits, but that's all I have," he said, "Back room, right now."

"I'll pay ya fifty," said the bald man, as he inspected transmission shafts.

"Seventy-five!" the red haired man snapped.

Suddenly, the tall gangly man with the shaggy beard sat up from his desk, picked something up, and approached the office door. The others stopped arguing and quickly returned to work, the red haired man ducked underneith the Kia while while the bald man ducked behind the transmission case and pretended to open it.

The gangly man kicked the office door open and raised a sawed of 12 gauge at Stephanie, his eyes intense yet watery. His breathing was heavy, and his hands shook.

"Get lost and now," he growled, "This no place to play the harlot if you value your life. Now get lost before I take it for you myself."

From the look on the man's face, it was all too easy to tell what he thought she meant by work.

"Let me give you a peice of cold hard advice girl," he said, still shaken, sniffing to hold back the water and barely able to catch his breath now, "I knew a girl did the same thing you're doin' right now, and they found her cold naked body in a dumpster. Beat up badder than you'd ever hope to know. So if I fill your neck full of hot lead right now I'd consider it a mercy killing. Now go on, get your problems straightened out elsewhere. Cause I don't even want to look at you!"

"Are you calling my daughter a slut!" he screamed, spitting all over his weapon. Heaving and panting for breath

The man's finger squeezed the trigger, firing, but the projectiles would pass Stephanie harmlessly and scatter over the side of the Chevy Lumina as the other two men ducked for cover. In their haste to 'score' they had forgotten about the boss and his sensitivity to the subject of call girls completely.

The gangly man was shaking and sweating feircely now, and all of the sudden he fell to his hands and knees, dropped the gun, and busted out crying.

"What the hell did you have to come here for and remind me," he bawled.

The other two men stood, staring into space nervously.

No shirt regained his courage after the gun had been dropped.


"@#$%#" he said loudly, and proceeded to lay into Stephanie with a verbal barrage of the most vile curses he could think, "Look at this s**t, you need to get the @#$& out of here, #&@*#!"

No shirt went to slap her, but the owner swooped up his rifle and aimed it at the man.

"You lay one hand on her and I'll pump your a** full of lead," the owner growled.

"Gil," the big man said, "back off, okay!"

Gil took the warning as stormed out of the garage, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and chomping down upon it mercilously while grumbling curses.

The gangly man put the rifle down, according to the worn lapel on his uniform, his name was Ichiro, "I'll give you some honest work if you promise to keep out of trouble and stay away from the pimps, so do you want a job?"

"Stephanie," Ichiro said, pushing himself up and entering his office to sit at his desk, "You probably read the name tag, but I'm Ichiro. Could you come in here and have a seat. I need you to fill out some employment forms. Close the door behind you please."

The office was squat room at the side of the garage. The desk was against the wall and sat so that it's owner could face the dirty window to the outside. There was a chair to the other corner for a guest to sit on, but that was it. There was a small locked shelf to the back with a label that said 'receipts & records' on the door, there was also a safe stuck inside the wall. The greasy desk top was covered with boxes of autoparts and various detritus one might find at an autoshop. The trash can was overflowing with empty empty beer cans and cigarette butts. The room smelt strongly of smoke, and everything was stained deep yellow; including, the clock that hung on the wall; its numbers were barely visible. Ichiro opened the bottom dress drawer and fumbled around for forty seconds looking for the right papers before handing her a slew of employment forms. She'd need all kinds of info, birth certificate, social security, drivers or other I.D. Typical info to satisfy the IRS and the government, keeping everything legit.

"We're an autoshop, we fix cars," he said, "You'll start at seven credits an hour and if you work hard, I'll think of raising it to nine. Taxes and Social Security will be deducted from your pay. This is a small operation, work hard and listen to me and you'll have earned your pay. You can sleep in my office until you've earned enough to get an apartment. No one comes here at night, so you should be safe, but I'll be sure to lock up and leave you an office key."

The big bald man dipped his fingers in the open transmission case, feeling around the gears blindly.

"The big guy is Rizzo," he said, "He's not bad once you get to know him, but he's not the brightest bulb in Aekea. He's good enough mechanically though, why don't you give him a hand until I get these tax papers done. Then I'll round up some work for you."