Just the compatriots- Cupid & Lexi. Blood Kin presumed dead.
Not too skinny, not too large- just right
Dark Brown-Almost Black
Tattoo in the middle of her back- Ginsu
A small assortment of very sharp, keepsake knives, including her prized Ginsu blade.
Sinclair Industries, Inc.
Never you mind...I'd hate to have to cut ya...
Ginsu wasn’t usually asked to handle the more…’distasteful’ aspects ofMr. Sinclair’s jobs, but in this case he wanted someone he perceived to be calm, cool-headed, quick handed and “good with cutlery,” as he called it. When he summoned her he'd casually said,
“Ginsu I need somebody that can butcher a hog with as little noise and mess as possible. You think you can handle that pretty lady?”
She just smiled that feral smile of hers and asked for the dossier on the target.
“No problem Mr. Sinclair.”
“When you figure you’ll be done Ginsu? Time is of the essence here.”
“Oh no worries Mr. Sinclair. Unless he’s a runner, I’ll have his heart on your desk by 7 pm Friday.”
She looked at the clock. It was noon on Wednesday. A tall order, but she’d had taller. She’d get to South Zagoria by midnight providing there was a direct flight. She’d find the asshole, carve him up real nice and be back home before you could say “lickety split.” No reason to stick around in Chernarus anyway. Even the shopping there was dismal at best.
She’d had no trouble finding her mark in Berezino. He was a gargantuan, sloppy pig, both in appearance and in how he managed his business dealings. Her brain calculated the situation with the astute sharpness of one of her prized Ginsu knives. Funny nickname “Ginsu.” She’d learned to be a knife expert on her grandparents' farm in the backwoods of Louisiana.
Her pedophile grandfather had taught her well. She could cut the buttons off a man’s shirt from neck to belly quicker than he could draw his gun. Her knife of choice was always the Ginsu, said to be one of the sharpest knives in the world. Sizing up the asshole in front of her, she figured he’d find out just how sharp she and her knives could be; especially with his guts cascading on the dirt floor of the old shack. He shouldn't have called her out of her name, that was for sure.
“Naughty, naughty fellow,” she cooed. “Who’s a bitch now?” she queried sweetly, as her hands flew lightening fast towards his fat belly.
He never even had time to reply…
"Special thanks to Alex (Pussy) my muse, my sister, and one of the few people Ivy (and Noche) can call a true friend.."