[h3]Michelle Darrens[/h3]
[b]Sunset Lounge[/b]

The benefit of being a garou and the downside of not yet being hammered was that Michelle could still tell she was surrounded by things that shouldn't exist. Admittedly in a proper world [i]she[/i] shouldn't exist, but that was an existential-self-loathing kind of thing, not a horrible-abomination-against-creation kind of thing. It wasn't so much that she minded on an academic level at this point so much as it didn't help the urge to crawl out of her skin and gut the nearest walking corpse, but as per usual she turned back to her drink and decided against some half-cocked kamikaze bullshit.

On the other hand, there was the apparent recipient of her drink. She had to admit, he wasn't what she expected--well, in some ways he was exactly what she expected. Tall, dark, pointedly mysterious, impossibly young for the thick scent of mystically charged iron and hemoglobin electrifying dead veins and muscles, he might as well have walked out of some romance novel. [i]Count Skullfuckula III, The Rapening[/i]; best seller.

"You know, I never can tell with you guys. I know you can't eat, but can you drink? I mean, I see you doing it all the goddamn time." She snorted at the admonishment, rolling her eyes a little as she put a thumb up to her lips and bit it hard. Her teeth were very white compared to the dull black of her eyes, but when she pulled her hand back she was licking pink off them. She tilted her thumb over the drink and gave her palm a solid squeeze, forcing an extra splash of Grade A Garou Fire-Water into the shot. Hey, look at that--a Tequila Sunrise. Now [i]that[/i] was funny.

"There. Red enough for you?" She added without looking, bringing the digit back to her lips and sucking idly on the rent flesh. Feeling the skin crawl back together under her tongue was always a hoot.