Surprise Visit ((Rigel & Cherri/Private RP))

((Private RP with Ami/continuation of a thread from Tegs!))

Rigel did not know what to make of this. Had it been anyone else, he probably would have told them in no uncertain terms that he didn't want them there (and then inevitably would've let them in, anyway), but you did not exactly tell your boss to fuck off. Especially when she had pizza.

He didn't know what to say, though, since he hadn't been expecting anybody. He thanked his lucky stars that he'd been painting and not watching porn or something when she knocked. That still didn't save him from the embarrassment of her seeing the state of his apartment, though, which looked like it'd been inhabited by squatters after being hit with a tornado and abandoned for several years. If it'd been another guy, he wouldn't have cared, but with girls it was different--which begged the question of why he wasn't more prepared for this situation, given that the vast majority of his gangmates were female.

Stepping around the clutter in the doorway that he'd just tripped over moments before, he cautioned her, "Watch your step…" As if it wasn't obvious.

Leading the way into the living room, he rushed over to the couch, stumbling over some boxes on the way, and yanked a pair of jeans out of the pile of laundry on top of it. After hastily pulling them on, he swept the entire jumble of clothes onto the floor in one rough motion, freeing up space on the rather beaten-looking couch.

"You wanna sit down, or…?" He pulled a partially-broken, but still usable, wooden chair up from the floor where it'd been kicked over, in case she didn't want to sit on the battered sofa.

Despite being new to control of the gang, in comparison to her mother, she really was doing her best to get to know everyone. She'd personally recruited him, it'd only be appropriate to get to know him better. The other female members got plenty of attention. Cherri didn't want him falling by the wayside, even if she was sure a few of the girls had taken some sort of liking to him. So, pizza. Cheese pizza anyways. She remembered enough about his diet, she hoped anyways, to only get cheese. From the looks of it, he definitely could use some food not cooked in his apartment.

The woman wasn't sure how to react to it. Fortunately, she didn't have to. Her face told enough of a story. Cherri covered her mouth to hide the way her jaw had dropped in shock at just how bad the place was; her nose flared a bit, brow pinched together in disgust. Where they working him too hard? Weren't they paying him enough? Why was it like this? He couldn't possibly actually be this much of a slob.

She moved around carefully, half tempted to just kick things out of her way, but resisted. Her tails fanned up as she followed him through the apartment, doing what she could to avoid touching things. She eyed the couch as he cleaned it off, doing her best to ignore the thoughts of exactly what was or could be on the couch. "Uh--do you have a clean towel?" She half motioned for sitting.

"Do...we take good enough care of you?" She frowned, looking at him seriously," I mean most of our people are around Downtown Westside..." She knew he wasn't an addict. He didn't drink or smoke, which was usually what left members in this area. Then again, maybe it was going somewhere else just as bad. She'd have to remember to braid her tails up before coming over again.

The sad truth of it was, he really was that much of a slob. Or at least, he'd become that way when there was no one around to care--because he certainly didn't. Growing up, he'd always shared a room with his much more fastidious younger brother, and in his old gang, he'd lived in a communal setting, with flatmates who believed in the maxim that cleanliness was next to holiness. On his own, he had no one to impress and no one to keep him in check, coupled with a tendency to break things and not pick up, afterward.

That didn't stop him from looking extremely embarrassed, however. With an expression reminiscent of a kid who'd gotten caught by a parent or teacher in the midst of doing something they knew they weren't supposed to, he grimaced and looked around, "Uh..." He had piles for washed clothes and piles for dirty clothes, neither of which were stored in any sort of closet or bin. He had a feeling that wasn't what she meant when she asked for a 'clean' towel. "I got...paper towels...?" That probably wasn't what she meant, either.

And the whole state of the place in general was evidently giving her the wrong impression of things, "No-no-no," he denied loudly, shaking his head, "I don't live here 'cause of you guys, I'm just trying to save some money??" Crossing his arms and rocking on his heels defensively, he stared at the floor, trying (and failing) to not sound as self-conscious as he really was, "...'Cause, you know, before I joined this gang, I wasn't...doing so hot, so... I just wanna have a better savings plan, and that kind of shit, you know? And rent is cheaper here, and--it's not like I gotta live somewhere fancy! I mean, I've lived in worse places than this." Not as poorly-maintained, per say, but definitely worse, on the whole.

And then, of course, there was the other matter: the fact that the cost of going to college would forever be a dream that was light years away, if he didn't allocate his funds properly. He didn't reveal that tidbit of information, however, since it would no doubt come off as extremely ungrateful to already be thinking of his exit strategy, after all Bad Romance had done for him. Not to mention it usually wasn't that easy to just up and decide to leave a gang.

So...he wasn't lying. He was just excluding part of the truth. ...Right? After all, it was technically true that he was also trying to build up an emergency savings fund, just in case he found himself on his own again. "Destitute" did not even begin to describe how down on his luck he was, after the collapse of Al-Hilal, and that was not a phase of his life he ever wanted to re-experience. So...yeah. He reasoned that Cherri didn't need the whole truth, at least, not right now.

"Hey, uh..." He thrust his hands into his pockets, continuing to rock on his feet uncomfortably, "You wanna go outside, instead? I hang out on the roof of this place all the time..." It would still be a private area, and it would save her from having to eat in what even he would admit was a wholly unsanitary environment. And maybe it would deter her from asking anything about the paintings he had hung and strewn about the apartment, which he was hoping she hadn't already noticed, however unlikely that was.

Cherri herself had been desperate to escape a mess. After living in such a poor situation with her mother for half of her life, she was determined not to slip back into that again. Not to say she didn't sometimes leave her clothes thrown across the floor, but in general she tried to be clean. Her mother had made it clear to her they had to live somewhere nice, and it had to look nice now that they were in charge. People could tell a lot just by how you looked. If you had nice brands, you had money. If you had money, you had power. Those in charge didn't live in bad housing, and they couldn't afford to let their position seem weak.

That's partially why Rigels apartment shocked her so much. The only nice decoration she saw were paintings that she assumed could maybe be his mothers or sisters. At least he knew to dress well.

"That's alright," She started, rubbing behind her neck, trying to be polite. Cherri knew where he was coming from in terms of saving up. Living paycheck to paycheck was terrifying, she knew that for a fact. However, it sounded like there was something else behind that. The woman wasn't sure if she should press it or if it would come out eventually. It didn't stop her from having to ask the only question that mattered in that case," No one is after you, are they? You don't owe anyone money? We can take care of that."

It wouldn't be the first time a member may have owed a debt. Plenty of the girls had "owed" money to pimps they escaped from. If it were cheap enough, it could be paid out to avoid any members being injured, but more than a few times knees had been broken. Even if Rigel had gone gambling or something, it really wouldn't be any different. They took care of each other. It was different than the group her mother had imagined, but she considered it along the same lines. People who needed a safe haven. People that wouldn't have anywhere else to go. People who were in danger if they showed the truth about themselves.

Thinking on it, Rigel didn't really fit the bill for that, but he was good muscle. Strong as some members were, others were support attacks. They worked best together. Plus, it was rare to find someone who was clean. Her mother was suspicious of it, but she was just grateful. When he spoke again she snapped out of her train of thought, nodding at him with a grin," Yeah, yeah. Roof sounds cool."

"'Course not!" He protested, blushing slightly in embarrassment, "Who would I even owe? You know I don't do drugs and shit...what would I need to borrow money for?" There were, of course, a million other situations he could have been involved in that would've resulted in owing someone cash, but he was too unimaginative to think of any, in the moment. If she'd asked, though, he would have assured her that gambling was just as forbidden in his religion as was drugs and alcohol. Not that it meant anything in his case, considering that, for example, extramarital sex was forbidden as well, and he still indulged in that. But he liked to think he kept to most...or...some of the rules.

He was relieved when she took the option to go upstairs to the roof. She was visibly uncomfortable in there, which made him uncomfortable, in turn, knowing that it was entirely his own fault that his home was not fit for visitors. "Okay, yeah, lemme get on some shoes," he agreed, dashing to his bedroom to go dig up his favorite yellow sneakers from wherever he'd tossed them. Quickly yanking them on (they were worn to the point where he didn't have to untie them anymore; he could easily slip them on by jamming his foot in, which suited his impatient nature just fine), he rejoined her in the living room and gestured that he was ready to go.

Snatching his keys off of the same table he'd left his watercolors and brushes on, he went and held the front door open again. "Oh, uh...you want me to carry that?" He pointed to the box of pizza. Obviously, it wasn't as if it were heavy, but it felt wrong, somehow, for her to be carrying something and not him. She was his boss, after all.

She stared at him flatly when he objected. He had to know just as well as she did there were other debts that could be owed. There was no point in fighting though, and she shrugged it off after a second. He was a good guy, and she had come to trust him with her life. If whatever he was hiding was going to hurt him, or the gang, she'd like to believe he wouldn't hide it from them. So, for now she'd let it go.

"Yeah, sure I can't wait," She nodded, at least assuming it was safe to lean against an area of wall where she could. Even if she'd brought food, maybe she should've called to let him know. At least it wasn't too cold out, so eating on the roof wouldn't be so bad. But with his apartment like this, how often did he visit people? She sighed, staring at a particular painting across the room curiously as she thought. "Are these your mom or sisters paintings? They dont look store bought. They're pretty nice."

Once he came back out he had her attention again, and she glanced to see the paintbrushes and watercolors near the keys he had just grabbed. It took her a moment to put it together before her eyes met his and she shrugged, smiling again," No, it's not heavy, i got it. Plus, you gotta lead the way." The ninetails nodded, walking out in front of him.

Turning visibly pink when she inquired about the paintings, he grimaced, looking very much like he was fighting the urge to run over, tear the pictures down, and crumple them all up. As if that would make them and her memory of seeing them disappear. Worse yet, he could tell by the look on her face that she'd found the answer to her own question, without him even needing to answer.

"They're...they're not anything! Just...let's go," he mumbled, quickly slamming the door shut behind them and jamming the key into it, locking away his secrets.

Proceeding to lead the way as requested, he shuffled down the hallway, hands in his pockets and feeling rather like the string of embarrassments that had begun the second she'd knocked were never going to end. And now they had to take the elevator. He hated elevators. But he couldn't very well ask someone else to climb all the stairs, as he normally would have, had he been on his own. So, he ruefully punched the 'up' button and crossed his arms, already looking agitated.

"Stupid fuckin' elevator..." He grumbled, tapping his foot impatiently, "It's so goddamned slow." They'd been waiting a maximum total of five seconds.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't at least feel sort of guilty. He clearly wasn't appreciating all of the attention on him, and his mess of an apartment. Granted it wasn't very 'hardcore' to be painting, but everyone had side hobbies. It wasn't as if she always was doing work for the gang or going on heists. Granted it wasn't anything as eloquent as doing watercolor, but she really did enjoy goofing off with the grand piano in their living room.

"A'ight," She shrugged, trying to figure out how to calm him.

The blonde kept after him, looking from him to the elevator doors as she rolled on her heels back and forth while they waited. There was a bit of temptation to demand he relax, as she heard her mothers voice in her head. She was being too soft, too nice. Who would respect someone who was apologetic for visiting, when as a boss she had every right to? That wouldn't let her appear strong. Certainly not strong enough to make hard calls that were serious.

"It's fine. I'm not in a rush, so don't worry about it," She shrugged, hoping that was enough of a balance between what she wanted to say and felt she should.

If only Cherri knew: it was precisely because she knew how to maintain that balance that he was able to respect her, as a leader. He'd grown up with demands, with harshness, with the kind of 'strength' that riled him up, that escalated his already out-of-control temper. It had never inspired him to behave better, and it never would. He needed someone who cared--someone firm, but who cared. That was what he saw in her.

And if only she knew that it wasn't because he suspected anyone was in a hurry, that he appeared so agitated, now. In truth, anger was often a synonym…or rather, a word used to cover up a hidden truth. 'Angry', another word for 'afraid' and 'hurt'. 'Acting out', another way of saying 'protecting oneself'…in the only way one knows how.

Not that he thought about it quite so deeply. All he knew was that he was terrified by elevators, and that that was embarrassing, and he had to hide it. In the only way he knew how.

The rusted doors finally opened with a groaning creak, causing his stomach to sink, and he growled, "About time," before stomping in and punching the button to the uppermost floor. As the doors closed again, shutting them inside, they lurched upwards, and he held his breath, willing himself not to break out into a sweat or start shaking.

He didn't say anything. He couldn't.

She sighed a little, following him into the elevator and swinging the pizza back and forth slightly. From his reaction, it would probably be best to just let it be, and find something else to focus on. Maybe that would help. She knew his anger, she'd seen it before. He wasn't the only person to be so defensive and guarded. Whether it was her showing up, noticing the paintings, or something else, she'd leave it lie unless he wanted to say something.

"How was work the other night? I heard there was an interesting customer," She grinned, nudging him lightly,"Are you enjoying your position at the club? I mean I'm sure a few others you'd prefer."

She watched the lights slowly rise on the elevator. She'd taken it up only because he was on the top floors. Cherri didn't consider herself lazy, but she wasn't about climbing that much. Still, she tried not to make a face at the condition it was in. How much money did Rigel need to save? There had to be an alternative...

Swallowing, he cleared his throat, as if by doing so, he was clearing his nerves. He wasn't. But talking about something not related to the elevator did. It took his mind off of the fact that they were shut inside an enclosed metal box strung up in the air by a cable, with no way out. ...Or at least, that was how he saw it.

"Nn. Same old assholes as always," he grumbled, "Had to zap one a little when he started harassing one of the girls. Dunno what his problem was--sounded kinda like he was high or something." For his own part, Rigel didn't have a whole lot of patience for drunkards or druggies. Partly because of his religion, partly because he didn't accept intoxication as an excuse to abuse women, and partly because his own brother was a cokehead. And there was no one in the world whose stupid smug face he hated more than his older brother's.

Realizing that what he'd just said may have made it sound like he didn't actually appreciate his position, he quickly modified his tone, shuffling his feet with his hands in his pockets, "I like working at the club--the girls are nice, mostly..." And definitely nice to look at. They did like to tease him a lot, though (in more than one way); he was the darling of the strippers and prostitutes of Bad Romance. "And it feels like I'm doin' something actually useful, I guess...keepin' them safe and shit, I mean."

It was good that they had him on bodyguard duty, and not as an enforcer-type--someone who was sent to beat people up who owed money, or something along those lines. He had a low sense of self-worth as it was, without constantly questioning his own morality. When he was protecting people and not just hurting them, he could feel at least a bit at peace with himself.