Daddy's Little Deceptive Magical Little Girl

Realizing, leaving firm soft turf, relocating to the main track where mudslinging was a potential reality, a maiden who was a notorious claimer curiously watched a goose be removed from an eventful situation, waiting patiently for the ringing starting bell.

“I wonder if he is going to get cooked,” Ravenite, the deathly looking second in command mafia daughter dreamed being served a roasting meal when suddenly packed bags appeared, hinting departure time near.

Only a few weeks ago, Daddy’s prized possession used her well-choreographed athletic capabilities to score the winning shot, earning praise and star status in the family business show.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned the hunched over grooming fellow handling tactful issues, “I am getting off the grass, and no it was not horseplay that made me a winner.”

Finally, sitting behind the sports car wheel, luggage, backseat secured, Ravenite thought, “I could go for a Maggie’s Brew.” But her pocketbook answered back sarcastically, “you're out of the money and underage.”

Throughout the maturing years Poppa’s Italian self-acknowledged Princess always believed, she was her father’s favorite winning magical warrior, embracing battle born status, following claiming a souvenir wizard Serrat, the paternal matriarch purchased, despite being out of the money, hoping his offspring would show power, during their reunion diamond heist. Success brought biological padre pride especially when Ravenite decided Bronx Bomber would be an alias during the jewelry theft, lasting less than a second.

Due to a home school lifestyle, committed to performing, comfortably on a good track, receiving a starter allowance from some deep pocket character set the scene. Displaying luring teasing behavior, the eye candy convinced sugar daddy to travel, and the destination would be Catatumbo House of Thunder, where a lucrative merchandising annual conference show commenced. “Walk away Joe,” Ravenite told the annoying companion, stuffing her pockets with needed bread, “you’re out of the money. “

Grinning watching the gullible individual, take the hint Ravenite added salt asking, “did you catch the smoke in this place?”

“No, “Joe nervously responded.

“Wait a second,” Ravenite paused throwing a small device creating a distraction, “I used to date the King of Hollywood, he was a winner.”

Suddenly reappearing, Ravenite welcomed the new location, “check out this turf, Joe,” the young temptress exclaimed, soft or firm, make your pick.”

Ravenite watched Joe, sweat it out, “Ravenite,” he stuttered, “let me show you something, I’m on fire.”

Grabbing an extinguisher Ravenite continued talking, “you know one-time Willard, who was a winner had an allowance gave it to me and was in the same predicament you're in now and,” the young adult pulled the trigger putting out any flaming details.

“Fidelightcayut,” Joe screamed within a second feeling the cold substance all over him.

“So, are you ready to fly?” Ravenite inquired.

“You know that critical magic you perform, can put you out of the money,” Joe replied before Ravenite set his itinerary in motion.

Going back on the fast track the maiden who not only enjoyed claiming but also had the proper staging special weight, found herself inside the stormy city place. Seeing a marquee promoting a show, ‘Jettys Home’ Ravenite entered, listened, overhearing patron's gossip. “You know Dee’s on Dow?”

“The winner,”

“She is doing that chit chat thing first thing in the morning with Jones,” a third replied.

“Yeah, Dee is more than capable and able to do the Dowing, that early especially before the bell rings.”

Securely on the fast track Ravenite cordially accepted a program, taking a seat, relaxed, planted, letting the velvet padding massage her bones. “The star, our uptown girl,” a theater goer who had a starter option to claim spoke up, “is a winner.”

“Winner, huh,” Ravenite mumbled under her breath flipping the pages noticing the headliner’s promotional bio, “awesome pic,” she said about the show’s marketable talent.

When the extravaganza final curtain came down, Ravenite snuck backstage, and before entering the dressing room took a second, conjuring prescribed medicine called Tevin.

Walking in the private area she saw the delightful dramatic player, “Doc, wants you to take this,” Ravenite used her trusting accent, “they say it's better than getting goosed.”

Moments later Ravenite, found herself on the city street, “well, that was a nice production,” she told herself, “And for that uptown girl’s next role, shez an arctic queen, out of money.”

After the giggling laughter stopped, she flipped her cell phone, “Daddy I want a ride home,” pausing, “now!”