Author: Chronos Astral PM
What was it about that woman? Viola often asked herself that question. So did Kinzie. FemBossxViola FemBossxKinzie Mentions of FemBossxShaundi. M for swearing and possible sexual content.Rated: Fiction M - English - Humor - Chapters: 2 - Words: 6,743 - Reviews: 20 - Favs: 41 - Follows: 47 - Updated: 01-08-12 - Published: 12-27-11 - id: 7679659
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I do not own Saints Row: The Third
by Chronos Astral
If there was any advice Viola would take from the Boss among all of the ridiculousness that spewed from her mouth, it would be this: Showing a little skin could get you anything in this city.
Granted, Viola DeWynter was a woman of some dignity; she wasn't one to resort to such a lowly tactic that only pandered to the slutty stereotype label that she'd been trying to avoid her entire life. Yes, she wore a skintight turtleneck ensemble that showed off her generous curves. Yes, many a head would turn her way to appraise her very apparent assets. Yes, she was once in charge of a prostitution ring. That did not at all mean she intended herself to seem promiscuous, and she would deny any such claims. She found turtlenecks to be stylish, is all. Was it her fault that they accentuated her breasts?
Onto the point being made, it was a simple thing to get into the patient records of Image As Designed. Where bribery failed, a little feminine charm had a stuttering, red-faced intern that had been manning the counter at the time to acquiesce to her small favor. Not one of her proudest moments, but her once staggering power within the highest ranks of the Syndicate held little sway now that they were all but decimated by the Saints, so she had to resort to one shamefully effective tactic proposed by the Boss herself. It was only so ironic that same advice was being employed in order to do some digging on the elusive Boss of the 3rd Street Saints.
It didn't take long to discover the file of said gang leader amongst the patient documents, an image of her profile printed next to that of the STAG unit leader, Cyrus Temple, with humorously simplistic captions of "Before" and "After" on each image respectively. As printed, the patient name was 'Martha Fuckin Washington' (Viola would have considered this an alias if it weren't such blatant horseshit and couldn't resist rolling her eyes at the entry), with details on the nature of the operation and the intended result: to look and sound exactly like the STAG commander. This was amongst the woman's most recent operations in the facility, followed closely by another operation to undo the former. Previous records indicate more minor operations, ranging from changes in natural hair, eye color, and/or skin color , changes to her voice box (apparently, she once gave herself a Russian accent), amongst others (a breast reduction).
Sifting through each paper meticulously, Viola found little to no evidence that confirmed any of her suspicions. There have been no indications of drug abuse, no major alterations to the Boss's physical structure barring that of her aforementioned guise of Cyrus Temple, and not even any lasting scarring or signs of injury from the multitudes of otherwise lethal stunts she just so enjoyed to partake in. No matter how resilient a human being, nobody should be able to dive from a plane going at about 600 mph and practically jetison themselves onto the hull of another plane going at about the same velocity without effectively breaking every bone in their body. And yet, the Boss manages not only to do just that, but to infiltrate the plane and fuck shit up as per her modus operandi, and skydive from falling tank to another falling tank as she descends from an altitude of about 30,000 feet. When she finally hits the ground with only the equivalent of a giant metal box to cushion her fall, she comes home unscathed and with the smuggest grin on her face. She might not have as good a grasp of physics as she did with economics, but even Viola knew for a fact that any living being composed of flesh and bones would have been reduced to a bloody pancake after such an experience.
Therein lies the question: What the fuck? Who wouldn't die from that? Who in their right state of mind would even think of doing that? It was ludicrous, ridiculous, insane! – … and yet, compelling.
Viola DeWynter would deny that she was in any way curious about this mysterious and undoubtedly less-than-mentally stable leader of the 3rd Street Saints, thought that didn't make it any less true. How was it that she was so capable of these feats that were above and beyond the capacity of any living animal on this earth? -Surviving armed skirmishes against a paramilitary organization, wrestling with an internationally renowned luchador known for blatantly cheating and about twice her size, acting very nonchalant in the threat of a zombie apocalypse, participating in the game-show equivalent of a gladiator ring, driving top-down with a goddamned tiger in the passenger seat. How was it that she convinced hundreds of men and women to her cause so easily? – To take the purple mantle of the Saints and to (with only minimal protest among her closest followers) be at her beck and call? Hers was a natural charisma borne from an otherwise violent, sometimes unreasonable, and highly ambitious mind. Hers was a spirit and energy unmatched by even the greatest athletes.
What was it then that made the Boss tick? What was it that made her so strong and charismatic? Ever since the debacle with STAG and their attempt to kill Viola, Shaundi, and the mayor, these questions have nagged at the former for the better part of her time with the Saints. Even now that she was a (semi-)trusted member among their ranks, only she seemed to be the one to question how it was that their leader was so frighteningly extraordinary.
Unfortunately, her search has proven fruitless so far. Perhaps it was time to resort to other-
Viola raises her gun in alarm, aimed towards the source of the voice.
The janitor drops his broom in response, his arms raised . "I-I was just going to ask if you were done with the place so I could clean up! Please don't kill me!"
"... Fine. I'm done here," she remarks with a sigh, lowering her gun and tucking the folder into her arms. The woman struts over to the door, giving the janitor one last look and a wave of her gun. "I wasn't here. Understand?"
He nods vigorously and stutters a reply: "Y-yeah. Didn't see a thing!"
With a satisfied nod, Viola holsters her pistol and walks off without another word.
"Give it to me straight, my man."
Pierce looks up from today's newspaper, his thoughts on how the new "Gangstas in Space" movie ad mysteriously put in a few pounds to him while in his space suit, to meet with the pimped-out sunglasses of the Saints' personal prostitution ring leader. It was a slow day for the Saints, what with the remnants of dead gangs a minor issue, STAG out of the picture, and the filming of the movie done and in post-production, the higher-ups had little to do, perhaps with the exception of Shaundi who was out to endorse their movie. "What's up, Zimos?"
The pimp sits back on the plush sofa as if contemplating how to word his question, tapping his tell-tale pimp-cane/microphone to his chin, speaking in his mechanical, auto-tuned voice. "Does the Boss swing for the other team? Y'know... she a rug muncher?"
"You mean is she a lesbian?" Pierce replies nonchalantly, turning the page to the entertainment section and finding a stylized cartoon comic depiction of the Saints. When did he approve of that? There were some royalties to be made from that! "Does a bear shit in the woods?"
"How do you figure?" asks Zimos, leaning on his knees now in unconcealed interest.
"You mean apart from the strippers and the hos?" Pierce starts, a smug grin on his face as he puts down the paper. "Shaundi got drunk one night and invited the Boss over. The rest, you can figure for yourself."
"Oh hell, man," The pimp couldn't help a distorted laugh. "You ain't sayin' she and her...?"
"Got the video tape to prove it."
"Get out of here, motherfucker."
"I'm serious! The best part is that Shaundi was so shit-faced, she was the one that done and recorded it herself."
It was then that Viola had chosen to interrupt sauntering in from the penthouse elevator, the tell-tale clack of her expensive high-heels alerting the two men. "Forgive me for interrupting your 'important discussion', gentlemen."
Zimos turned to tip his hat to her from over the sofa. "Hey there, baby girl."
"Don't fucking call me that," she sneers in return.
"Shit, girl. Still sore about that time?" Because, really, was it his fault that he did the nasty with one of them and he couldn't tell which one of them it was?
Viola gives the pimp a scathing glare that promptly quiets him, (because, yes, it is his fault) now turning her attention towards Pierce. "Boss called me. She around?"
"Yeah. She's around back in the bedroom." He quirks a brow, curious. "What'd she call you for?"
"Beats me." she shrugs, though Viola dreads that the Boss might have gotten wind of her snooping around.
"Aww, hell..." Zimos's modulated timbre pipes in at the Saints lieutenant, a mischievous pitch to it in spite of the machinated tone. "You don't think the boss wants some o' that sweet DeWynter ass now, do ya?"
"Wouldn't be the first time Boss got a call girl over," Pierce chuckles. "-...or Shaundi."
Viola made a face, an exhasperated sigh passing between her glossy lips. "Grow up, both of you," she says before retreating towards the penthouse bedroom, shaking her head in disgust all the while Pierce just wolf whistles tauntingly in her direction.
"... So," Zimos looks to Pierce. "-about that video..."
Pierce grins, steepling his fingers. "What's your offer?"
Truthfully, Viola had been somewhat hesitant to answer the summons when she'd gotten the call from the Boss some number of hours after she'd just been attempting to gather intelligence on her. Granted, it wasn't as if it were full-on espionage on her part – a curious whim, one could argue, albeit one that involved threatening a hapless custodial worker at gunpoint, but that was slightly unintentional. If she were completely honest, Viola would admit that she was genuinely afraid to incur the wrath of the Boss, knowing that the Saints leader's preferred form of retribution often involved a hail of bullets and all manner of things either exploding or combusting into a firey inferno. Now, Viola wasn't cut from whatever alloy the Boss was, ergo, like any normal human being, liberal application of any aforementioned bullets and explosions upon her person would result in a gruesome, painful death for her and about fifty other unfortunates caught in ground zero. Simply speaking, not a good scenario.
Of course, an alternative brews in her mind, one brought to life by the discussion and suggestion that the two men had, which she promptly quashes and sweeps into the back of her mind. An utterly ridiculous notion to even believe that the Boss called her over just to have sex. Viola didn't doubt she was attractive, and more than once did she catch the attention of those of even the same sex, but really? She might admit to being curious in the past and maybe experimenting a little (more than just a little) with the same sex. As far as that went, she deemed it as simply a passing fancy, though she wouldn't say that she didn't actually enj- Why was she even thinking about this?
Vigorously, she shakes her head to clear it of her musings of homosexual experimentation and solicitations of sex (with minimal effect). A note to herself: inflict pain on the two gentlemen in the previous room when she has the freetime. This was the time to fear for her life, not to wonder if she was going to end up going down on the woman in the next room- Goddamnit.
"Boss?" she calls with a nervous(?) lilt in her tone as she knocked. Realizing her mistake, she clears her throat and attempts a more level voice. "It's Viola."
"Yeah, come in," was the muffled reply.
Viola nods to herself as a form of silent reassurement. With a turn of the knob, she crosses the threshold, entering the room in as relaxed and non-chalant a manner as possible. "You called for m- oh my god!"
To put into perspective, the undoubtedly attractive leader of the 3rd Street Saints was laying on her stomach on the plush bed, engrossed in something on her laptop, a bowl of half-finished licorice sticks on the side of the bed.
Also, she was in nothing but a flimsy, sleeveless shirt and a black thong, said latter undergarments prominently displayed for Viola to (ogle)see.
The Boss cranes her head in Viola's direction, full lips upturned into a grin. "What?"
The other woman only had her head turned away, fighting back a rather prominent blush. "Do you always meet with people with your ass displayed like that?"
"Naw," she swings her feet into the air a little, cradling her head onto the palm of her hand. "It's just comfy in these is all."
There was a wink, and it was completely uncalled for, in Viola's opinion. The DeWynter sister can only massage the bridge of her nose in response so that it distracts her from the sight of the Boss's otherwise attention-grabbing state of undress. "Please tell me you called me for something important."
"Well, about that," the scantily-clad woman replies with a playful smile. She rolls onto her back to sit up on the bed, swinging her legs over the edge so as to better face the other woman (with a deliberateness to her movements that served to make Viola more uncomfortable) leaning back on her arms, casually. "A little birdy told me you've been snooping around~"
Though the Boss might have said it without any underlying distrust or threat of punishment, it nonetheless served to have every muscle in Viola's body to tense, a sinking feeling in the pit of her gut. It was suddenly a little difficult to breathe, and the pistol in her back holster was starting to seem tempting.
"Oops?" the woman on the bed only laughs, a hint of something in her tone that makes her shiver. "The Saints own pretty much every Image As Designed here, if you don't recall."
An oversight, and Viola only realized then and there. Was she really so focused on getting information that she would make such a simple mistake? She was getting careless. This wouldn't do. It was clear now that the Boss had the advantage. Hot embarrassment touches her face, as well as apprehension and dread. "What then? Are you here to scold me? Kill me?"
She shrugs, the measely strap of her shirt slipping off her shoulder. "If I was going to kill you, I'd have already done it."
That much was true, and Viola had to begrudgingly admit that even if she were to manage getting her gun, the Boss would have just beat her to it and promptly throw her off the building through the penthouse window. "Then... what?"
The Boss stands and begins to saunter over to her, a smirk playing on her features like a hawk ready to sink its claws upon her prey. Her gaze is lidded, a glint in them that hinted at something unmentioned, misted in the tone of her voice, and to speculate on what only made Viola's head swim. The closer she got, the further Viola would back away, only to curse inwardly now that her back was literally to the wall. A hand went to press itself against the wall beside Viola's neck, effectively blocking the way to the door. The woman in nigh but flimsy sleepwear inches towards her, closing the distance that her breath could wash over her skin, and that her face would be shrouded from the light that only the faint glimmer in her eyes was telling and prominent, as was the gleam in her smirk as if a wolf's fangs in the moonlight. Breathing had become voluntary, urgent, the distance between them only so meager that it was stifling in her black turtleneck, her fingers twitching – trembling, words of defiance dying among sharp breaths. What was happening? What was she doing?
Her face is close, dangerously so, and Viola wanted to avoid staring at her eyes or lips, awkwardly shifting her gaze everywhere else (down at her chest, being an exception). The two were silent, moments passing without movement or sound save for the drum of Viola's hearbeat in her ears as they remained in their misleading(?) position. "W-what...?" she stutters against her will, the lack of action now maddening to her.
The Boss moves suddenly, so quickly that she would shut her eyes in fear of what was to come, be it pain or death or warmth or soft lips. Instead, there was nothing but the Boss's deep chuckle against her ear that further twisted at the tightness in her chest.
"I guess I just..." the Boss begins, her voice playing upon Viola's ear in its proximity. "-wanted to see you squirm? Or maybe I want to know why you're so curious?"
The woman backs away from her then, the heat abating just as the Boss renews the distance between them to more appropriate levels. Dazed, it took a few moments for Viola to register the words, the urge to sputter for the her indignance now too great to ignore. "What the fuck was that?" she spat, the shaking in her voice a little hard to hide.
"You really need to loosen up, Viola," The Boss only stretches in place, disregarding the imminent outburst with a simple yawn. "I think a massage would do you some good. Or sex."
"Massage. Or sex. Personally, I can do both, and-"
"No. Just... no."
"Why not? I'm pretty damned good at it, if I say so myself," and as if to prove her point, she flexes her fingers suggestively, her wink seemingly-less than innocent. It was anyone's guess if she was referring to the massage or the sex.
Viola seethes, her mind a mess of emotions that she chose to focus on the simplest to vent: anger. Screw her being the leader. Screw her inhuman knowledge and capability of inflicting pain and death. Screw her stupid, sexy thonged ass. (wait, no, scratch that last one) Everything be damned, Viola musters as much of her ire as she can to word two things from between grit teeth: "Fuck. You." She turns on her heel, then, heading out the door without another word and slamming the door shut.
"... Well, that was fun," the Boss grins to herself, plopping herself back on the bed to return to her laptop.
Do not let anyone tell you that college is a breeze and you'll have all the free time in the world to do what you want. They are LIARS.
Back to the fanfiction scene to post this story, because I've recently gotten addicted to Saint's Row: The Third. Hopefully, I'll be able to return to my other fics in time, but I'm already coping with a lot of crap from everything else. Do forgive my lack of activity for the past few years.
I'd like to say my writing has improved since my absence, though, but that's really up for debate. Haha.
I don't want to take too many liberties with the name and appearance of the Boss except for the fact that she's a girl in this fic and has the Female Voice 1 personality option from the game. (Laura Bailey's voice is so damned hot, and she's pretty fine looking too.) I figured it would be better if you guys thought up your own face and features for the Boss in this fic seeing as you all might have your own strong preferences as to how she should look. Personally, I went for the default character palette of the asian-looking girl with the black, anime-styled hair. Feel free to tell me if you prefer it still being vague on that matter or if you would like me to give her a definitive appearance.
I hope you all had a happy holidays!