An inbox full of crap and then this...Tonq peered curiously at the e-mail through her glasses. Some rich dude had heard of her catering business and wanted to hire her to come and prepare three lunches and dinners with scope for left overs, and prep five breakfasts for him every week unless he was travelling. She scratched unconsciously at a mosquito bite on her tanned ankle, her slender hand belying the strength it could summon when kneading dough for a loaf of bread or tenderizing a side of beef.<br/><br/>She had the time right now, the holiday season had passed and people were in the throes of financial tummy aches after the excesses of the holidays, and hadn't yet given up on their new dietary resolutions. The guy said for three months, but he sounded loaded. She googled his address, and his name.... yes, definitely loaded. His letter said that he would ensure that all of her needs for equipment would be met in his state of the art kitchen, and that she would have an unlimited budget for a healthful meal plan. Tonq liked the sound of that. Before she googled him she had envisioned some pale, overweight, pasty guy, but was surprised to see that he didn't look like that one bit.<br/><br/>She typed up a quick reply and sent it off. There, six months minimum contract or it wasn't worth her time. As soon as she sent it, she wondered if she had pushed the envelope a bit too much. But then he had been to her website, had seen the photos, read the reviews, and seen her photo with Tony. Just thinking of it made her tear up, that big man had been the best day of her life, when he and his film crew had descended on her little catering kitchen. 'Damn, you Tony, why?' she thought angrily and wiped a tear off her cheek. She looked at the wood of her rough hewn wooden desk and saw where Tony had carved in his name. A.B, said his initials. Every time she needed inspiration, needed courage, she touched those initials. Her very own guardian angel now, and no one would talk her out of that conviction.<br/><br/>Tonya <<i>Tonq</i>> Michel, looked nothing like what one would expect a caterer to look like. She did have an assistant or two who helped with set up, and prep, but other than that did much on her own. At twenty-seven she still had the energy, although she knew she would need more help as the years passed. Uptil now, a few all nighters still worked if she indulged in energy drinks, sugar and caffeine, but sooner or later it would catch up with her. Her lean, and slender frame came in at five feet-six and she had a few tattoos, nothing major, a few piercings, and green and purple hair. One almost client had insisted she cover up the ink with makeup and remove the piercings on her daughter's wedding. It would have been a pretty big shindig but Tonq wished her good luck, and bowed out. She was who she was, and that wasn't about to change.<br/><br/>Food wasn't just her livelihood, it was a passion, and she believed that the passion of enjoying a fabulous meal was akin to the passion of good sex. She watched people when they had the first bites of her food. If they didn't close their eyes with bliss, she didn't consider it a success.<br/><a class="username" data-user-id="11" data-username="@Miren Baines" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/11/">@Miren Baines</a>