VANTÉ. (D. SWING)

-Vanté

Knowing to not test JoJo, Tyrin quietly returned the mug. K-Ci carried on with finishing DeVante's statement. "She look about... one hunned'... shit, maybe one-twenty." K-Ci shrugs. "That's family though, De. You don't want do thaaaaaaat."

K-Ci had hit it right on the head with his guess of one hundred and twenty pounds, though DeVante would never believe it. She didn't weight as little as people, such as Tyrin, would assume. Understanding that all women carry weight differently, DeVante knew that it was a possibility that she was over one hundred and twenty pounds, if not one twenty solid. She wasn't all bone, as most people would say. She did her best to carry her weight nicely. She didn't have ass and she barely had any sort of breast. She had her little something, he was cool with it though. He could accept that it came with those long legs she always tried to hide in her longer skirts. She never was successful because he always did see them. She's got the legs of a model.

"Yeah, I do."

K-Ci shook his head. "No you don't!"

"If he wanna' bone the Naomi Campbell look alike, let him." JoJo shrugged when he stepped in. His reference to a supermodel was as close of a relation to her as he could possibly think of. It was not too far though. It was actually a pretty good comparison. Naomi's got a small bit of breast, very little ass, and legs for days. DeVante didn't trip. He thought Naomi was fly but, Sybil's apprentice was fine.

The woman of the hour could be heard laughing with Dalvin from where DeVante stood. She playfully smacked him upside the head as he exited the immediate area of the two designers. With a beaming grin on his face, Dalvin came strutting in direction of the group. DeVante's eyes had flown right past his brother and focused in on the woman of the hour. She'd stood with such elegance, enough elegance for him to take her to a party for one of these labels that he is shopping his artist tapes for any distribution deals. Check. Her backward cabby hat spoke of urban volumes, however. It looked just like the one Janet wore in Poetic Justive. She'd worn an off the shoulder top with a plaid hooded vest over. Her shirt was black and the plaid was gray and black. Her long black skirt with a side leg brought a balance to her femininity, along with her black open-toed platforms, though it was another attempt of hiding the legs that she's got for days. The slit dampened her success of keeping them hidden.

From head to toe, she was all woman. Hair done, make up set, jewels bracing her chest and ears, nails done too. Elegantly shaped clothes with an urban appeal had been the look for a minute now but, the way she wore them made you think the entire ideal was brand new. It turned DeVante's curious senses on to the highest level on inquiry sensitivity that they offered.

Baby was bad.

Dalvin stood before DeVante, ready to switch off seats, with his hands signaling back to Sybil and her apprentice. "Syb and Babygirl ready for you, De."

That's exactly what they called her too; Babygirl. It was the group's nickname for her. It wasn't because she was young and it wasn't because she was immature. Truthfully speaking, there was no real reason why. All four men passed by a thousand women a day and never knew how long they'd be around. To keep from messing up anybody's name they simply referred to everyone as a term of endearment. It kept the women feeling special and the boys out of hot-water. The ladies never realized that DeVante had a million sweeties, K-Ci had a million suga's, Dalvin had a million babys, and JoJo had a million honeys. The first one to refer to Babygirl as such was, in fact, JoJo. After that, it kind of just stuck. They knew her name, of course but, Babygirl became more fitting.

DeVante slid out of his chair and let Dalvin take over. When he stood he could already hear JoJo telling Dalvin to get his boy, his boy being Tyrin. DeVante wasn't tripping off of any of it. Everybody thought Babygirl was fly except Tyrin and DeVante knew that meant only one thing. Tyrin wasn't secure enough within himself to be with a woman who was less developed than anyone else he knew. He only said the things that he expected people to say to not feel like an outcast. When, in all actuality, most agreed with DeVante. They knew Babygirl was fine. They would never talk down on her name because she truly is beautiful. They just wouldn't date her... for obvious reasons. No harm done, that was just how the cookie grumbled.