Of Resistance Fighters and Prostitutes

I spent a good chunk of my lunch hour today working out what the next scene in my revision has to be. Prostitutes. Gotta be. I happen to have just the girl. She’s made herself rich on hard work and government contracts. Oh. And she’s a resistance fighter. I do have to mention that.

I used to run into hookers from time to time (when I was living in the degenerate city) and by and large, I liked them. I can only think of one exception. (crack whore. We’ll call that a story for another time.)

My neighborhood–I’m sure you’ve seen one like it–was an up and coming(ish) artistic enclave. By the time I was there, it had risen high enough to be safe(ish), but not so high that the bistros had pushed out the old dive bars and sex shops. Three sex shops, to be precise. Gay, Straight, and Geriatric/Kink. (Because, once you start selling hoists… you might as well.)

The personality type interests me. That half chatty neighbor, half-used car salesman approach. The pure likeability. After all, they’re paid to be nice, and being nice keeps the complaints from neighboring businesses to a minimum.

That sense that if circumstances were different, they’d be able to really make a mark in the world. Get things done.

Circumstances are different for my character. In the first place, her profession is more respected in her world. And in the second place… she has government contracts to exercise the soldiers. She’s making real money.

And she has her causes to work toward.

She wants to overthrow the government, not just whore her way to Burning Man. She has power. She has accomplices. Minions, even.

Unfortunately, I just killed off her last known accomplice, and I’m not sure what’s left in the conspiracy.


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