Avé had gotten used to Dee's sudden panic attacks that sent the girl fusing into her. She stood, like an unshaken tree that had just received a baby bird to one of her branches. Her attention was on the unexplained loiterer. Avé's measurements of this "Ricardo" had her questioning Mr. H's choice in company. They both had a similar style, that was agreeable to the eye. For males and females alike. So in reality, it was believable that they could actually be friends, aside from business ventures.<br/><br/><em>Metrosexual</em>might have even been a statement teetering on the edge of a good description. But still too eccentric to describe how careful<em>they</em>stewed over their appearances. Or maybe even a word too dirty to describe their class of male. These men were Giorgio Armani stereotypes. The kind that liked to show off their money with the expensive cars they drove, and the young, plastic girls they spoiled. She could tell just by looking at them, that each drove a stick shift and claimed they had enough torque in their pants, to match their ride. The thought sent a devious grin across her face.<br/><br/>Her gaze couldn't help but lock on to Ricardo's moving form. Force of habit. His tattoos on the front of him were of the 'sea men' (I'm sorry-I love these innuendos. <3) variety. Her question was answered with a vague reply. She didn't want to know anything more. Whose business was it of hers? But then he went and offended her.<em>Grrr.</em>"Doll-face is what you call a cheap hooker standing on Tenth Avenue,<em>Ricardo</em>." She snidely murmured. Never wanting anyone to deign her such an offensive pet name. Her grin turned into a cold stare.<br/><br/>Just about ready to write him off without an introduction, considering she might never have to see him again, Avé's impulse shifted. Ricardo's turned back made random images of familiarity swarm back into her thoughts. The chaotic, bright  inklings covering the whole of Ricardo's back didn't have anything to do with service to the USA. It was Japanese. The kind you get when you make a deal with the devil, and he answers with spoils of organized crime. So familiar was his marking, because word on the street was that only<em>one</em>notorious man, outside of the Nippon race had the flattery of it burrowed into his skin.<br/><br/>"It's Avé." She curtly blurted. Knowing that he knew who<em>she</em>was, now that 'things' were clear. Whether or not Jeff could pick up on that was of no concern to the pimp. Avé was savoring the fact that she, out of the many people he supplied, finally had a face to put with the name. Fucking<em>Masterarm.</em>"Tonight's just full of nice surprises." She gave Jeff a smile of the sweet variety. Folding her arms across her body. The comment had so many meanings, all the men had to do was use their imaginations to feed their egos.<br/><br/>Avé lead Dee to two chairs placed in front of the office desk. Sitting. Her crossed leg wagging rhythmically to the bass thumping on the outside. The smile on her face too happy to mean anything chaste came of it. The revealing of things unseen was a glorious feeling. Avé was relishing in it.