Amy had received the email too, walking in silence with the snake while thinking about it. And ordinarily, the idea of those she cared for coming to visit her wouldn't be that bad, after all...
The chemical plant had been one of the most depressing Amy'd ever been in for exactly that reason. The living quarters didn't have any indications of families or friends--really, anything beyond the bleck here and now of a chemical refining plant. Sure, there was a family picture here and there, but no one besides the workers seemed to ever actually live here. No misplaced toys, scent of perfume, old movie ticket stubs... Nothing. Though, to be entirely honest...
It wasn't the most depressing place she'd been to. That honor went squarely to...
She laughed, bending over and holding onto his arm. Her hair was done up, for once, and her lips were crimson instead of their normal soft pink. Simple, black dress, strapless, clung just enough to her lower body to make her waist seem slim, loose enough to leave just enough of her hips to the imagination to make everyone wonder if that was her dress, or if they really were that wide. Silver bracelet on her wrist, necklace around her neck that was short like a choker--but just long enough it slightly fell in her chest.
Honestly, she felt like she should have a degree in psychology at this point.
The bend over, so he got a good look at her cleavage, laughing like a schoolgirl--only at his better jokes--to seem like she was having an honestly good time--well, not exactly like a schoolgirl, her voice was a little too soft and pitched too low for that, but that lent it an element of authenticity and sensuality, a mature woman enthralled by his charms rather than a hussy he'd picked up on the street. Holding onto his arm for support, subliminally reminding him of her dependence. Little touches, little things that made it look to everyone watching like she wasn't an escort, that she honestly was his girl. Everyone watching... Including him, if she did her job right. Normally, he wouldn't have hired his arm candy. His parents had, or someone else who wanted him to look good. The roles were easier to play if only one person was aware they were acting.
To his credit, Arin Glint wasn't exactly the kind of person who normally hired her services. He was good-looking but older, his neatly trimmed hair flecked with grey, a pair of reading glasses on the platinum plated chain around his neck. That chain was the only marker of the wealth she knew he had--he'd paid up front and in cash without batting an eye and his suits were an expensive but non-gaudy brand, but otherwise he seemed to be a perfectly ordinary upper middle class man. Well, apart from his knowing look at her face whenever she'd lean over him or intentionally bend over.
Always her face. The star actor was aware of the stage. Still, he didn't seem to be upset at her manipulation. Rather, he seemed to be amused by it, and he'd certainly enjoyed having her on his arm at the extravagant party they'd just been to--the crimson-haired, feathered, thick Faunus stood out among the trophy wives like a wild rose amongst the petunias. Positively scandalous. If she had to take a guess, he meant every bit of the effect she had. He was obstinately modest but distinguished, sticking out happily in any crowd, deliberately poking finer sensibilities when he could.
And... Now they were heading somewhere. Probably to his home, judging by his public display of her. Awful lot of risk to only take her back to a covert location, like a hotel room.
***
Sure enough, the taxi let them off in front of a small but well-groomed house with a wrought iron fence, Arin opening the car and house door for her, escorting her inside. She turned, waiting for him to close the door, before she started what was generally the first step of the next section of the job: just embracing him, kissing him gently. Not overdoing it at first.
But she was beaten to him. A teenage blonde girl moved past her at near superhuman speed, nearly tackling Arin as he stepped into the house and kissing his cheek. She started talking up a storm immediately.
"Food's on the table, I made macaroni, I hope that's alright, it may be a little cold, you took longer than I thought--" she paused as suddenly as she started, following Arin's slight smirk over her shoulder and to Amy. For some unexplicable reason, Amy suddenly felt extremely embarrassed, moreso than any of the times she'd been found in situations far more incriminating than this one. Arin wasn't quite so disabled.
"Quina, it should be fine. I hope you set the table for 3?"
"No but I can I mean there's enough for everyone but dad who is she?"
Arin looked far happier than anyone had any right to be. "Amaranth, dear. My date for the night."
Quina--if that's what the girl's name was--blinked twice, then nodded and dashed off again. Arin's smile was as indecipherable as ever, his only readable signal a gesture for Amy to follow his daughter. It was an hour before she and Quina managed to relax enough to actually talk, but once they did... Amy still didn't know why he'd asked her there, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't appreciate it. The ride back to her apartment was like coming down from a high, drifting someplace out of the world she was used to, and... Subsequent dates went the same.
Then, after the fourth, she stood on the street outside, almost entirely confident Arin wasn't going to even try to come up to her room. And... he didn't. With a slow, deliberate air, he put his glasses on, pulling a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and handing it to her, a wide smile on his face. "Amy, I've got a proposal. Something of a longer term contract."
She looked down, reading quickly, her eyes getting wider as she did. "Why would you give me a recommendation for Beacon?"
"Quina's going," he said, shrugging slightly. "I want someone to keep an eye on her. And I do my research. Sleep on it. You have my number."
Amy slowly walked up her stairs, looking at the letter, then around her apartment. No pictures. No toys. Too much perfume to cover up smells, too many movie and gala tickets. An unmade king bed, the forgotten glasses and jewelry of at least five different people on the bedstand. Makeup, outfits strewn around. This was the most depressing place she'd ever been in.
Amy finally opened her eyes, looking over at the quiet girl next to her, responding in a slow and quiet voice.
"I'm not the person to ask about families. I don't like the real one I have and I've probably ruined the one that took me in."
She paused for another long silence, listening to the jangle of Sangue's chains and thinking back over the past few weeks with the band of misfits first known as BAST, then BASL, their idiosyncracies never preventing them from getting along or success, Lauren gluing them together, Ben's lazy leadership keeping things in the right direction... Sangue's quiet strength and kindness endearing her to them all.
Where did she fit...?
"But, Sangue..." she stated, taking a deep breath. "I'd say we are one. At least... What one is supposed to be like."
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