cha cha babinski
Bitchling. get to work.
“alright, little bitchling, listen up, because i heard you’ve been fucking up. i heard you said you don’t want to learn your cosmetics. you said it was whore craft.”
well, did i ever tell you that my momma was a streetwalker? oh, yes, i did know my momma, right up until one of her johns killed her. so what did i do? i put on a dress, and some of her make-up. i found the son of a bitch leaving a pub, and i lured him into an alley. and then i cut his fucking lungs out.
this was before i even came to the orphanage. before i was trained. so, you could say i was ahead of my time, which would be real sweet of you, but what i’m trying to tell you is that you’re just fine with a knife, and you know your poisons, but if you fuck up your cosmetics, you better hope you’re in a dark, dark alley, far from anyone who can hear, and you better hope you don’t feel your broken collar bone or your smashed cheek behind the white hot fury of facing the human shit that killed your momma, because i am telling you, bitchling, THAT. SHIT. MATTERS.
some people say that was the night when i stopped being charles, and became cha cha. but that’s bullshit. that, what you have there? that’s some charles shit. cha cha takes time, bitchling. get to work.