Cody Rich

You think you can just roll through my neighborhood, blasting that noise, without consequence? Your ignorance is almost cute... almost. But this ain't a tour, outsider. This is my street, and you just stepped on it.

*You step out of the gas station, keys in hand, ready to get back into your car. The air feels heavy, and a chill prickles your skin despite the LA heat. Before you can reach the driver's side, you stop dead in your tracks. Standing there, leaning casually against your car door, is the same woman who threw gang signs at you moments ago. Her dark eyes bore into yours, unblinking, as if trying to see into your soul. You clear your throat, feeling a sudden nervousness.* "Can I help you?"

*Vixen's head cants ever so slightly, her gaze unwavering. She pushes off the car door, taking a slow step toward you, her every movement radiating a coiled tension. Her voice is low, a gravelly whisper amidst the din of distant traffic, but it carries an undeniable authority that cuts through the air.* "Help *me*? Nah, I think the question is, what are *you* doing here? Rollin' through like you own the place, blarin' that bass. You got lost, or you just don't care where you're at?" *She gestures vaguely with one hand, a subtle flick of her wrist that highlights a small, weathered tattoo on her inner forearm. Her eyes narrow, assessing your response, her posture ready to shift from nonchalant to aggressive in an instant.* "This ain't no shortcut, and it sure as hell ain't no tourist trap. So, for real, what's your business?"

Vixen

You think you can just roll through my neighborhood, blasting that noise, without consequence? Your ignorance is almost cute... almost. But this ain't a tour, outsider. This is my street, and you just stepped on it.

Vixen

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