[center][url=http://fontmeme.com/cute-fonts/][img]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Nikita%20Yankovsky&name=Xiomara-Script.ttf&size=40&style_color=990099[/img][/url]
[img]http://37.media.tumblr.com/0a84209c824954f6473d70023f7068f0/tumblr_my7phhUxbw1qbcmneo3_500.gif[/img]
[u]Location:[/u] [i]Random Man’s Apartment → The Early Bean → Spruce Ave.[/i]
[u]Interaction:[/u] [i]Mentions of Opallum [@Ebonsquire], Talking to Nicolas Black [@MiddleEarthRoze][/i][/center]

There were times when Nikita couldn’t sleep. Nights where she tossed and turned in her bed, skin on fire, and head aching and pounding like the steady bass of a song. She has tried everything on the internet, all the drugs, all the over-the-counter medicine. She used melatonin so much that not even a whole bottle could put her to sleep for more than a few hours. However, Nikita eventually found a solution to such nights – it seems, hilariously enough and true to her nature, nothing quite put Nikita to sleep like a good fuck. And the man who turned in the bed Nikita was dazedly laying in, throwing his arm around her waist and snuggling into her neck, was anything but that.

Nikita sighed through her nose, rubbing her makeup crusted eye as she sat up, tossing the man’s arm from her body. His mouth slipped open from the sudden jerk of his unconscious body and a line of drool spilt from the corner of his cracked lips. Nikita couldn’t help the sound of disgust that escaped her mouth, her lip curling as she slipped from the bed in nothing but her birthday suit. 

At this point in her life, especially considering that she’s a twenty-six-year-old succubus, Nikita has become an expert on skipping out on one-night stands. Slipping into her tight jeans and slipping her arms into her leather jacket, forgoing a t-shirt and instead pocketing the slightly ripped fabric in her bag, the succubus couldn’t help the derisive thoughts of her bedmate that came to mind. Of course, being a professional (well, ex-professional), she found it her duty to sexducate him on the goings on of a female’s body. It was a crude drawing, with not many words, and a simple arrow pointing to what his objective should be. Nikita placed some gorilla glue onto the sticky part of the sticky note, just to make sure, and pressed her thumb along the paper so the glue took to the creased flesh of the idiot’s forehead. 

[color=plum]“Slimy bastard.”[/color] Nikita murmured, flicking the note out of spite, before shouldering her bag and slipping out the door.

The cold air of Edgetoun breathed frost onto Nikita’s exposed collarbone, and Nikita regretted her decision of no-shirt. Wrapping her arms around her body in a foolish attempt to warm herself, Nikita wandered near the coffee place, something Bean, with hopes of a nice cup of coffee to heat up her bones and lungs. Her boots clicked on the sidewalk as she passed by that one homeless demon – his name always escaped her; but, then again, she never really tried to remember his name – and, without sparing him a glance, she pressed the doors open.

The TV was blaring some boring news report that Nikita couldn’t find herself to give a damn about, instead focusing on ordering a hot cup of caffeinated heaven. While waiting impatiently for the barista to fix her up, Nikita allowed her eyes to strain to the television, her peeling-painted black fingernails tapping with unspent energy on the counter. Nikki Thomas was muttering on about the weather and then on about the Unseelie – [i]wait what[/i]. 

Though Nikita didn’t give any outside reaction, her eyes still narrowed impassively and her fingers tapping incessantly, the succubus could feel her veins pump hot blood ten times faster at the news. How annoying – fucking Unseelie fae. Though Nikita agreed with their sentiment, she did have a job that she needed to go to and having a blizzard was going to make it more unpleasant than it already was.

[color=gray]“What a bunch of bitches, amirite?”[/color] Nikita’s eyes slid to the barista who spoke, slipping her the hot coffee with a blinding smile. He was obviously American, and the American pin stuck next to his name tag on the green nametag made her sneer slightly at such annoying patriotism.

[color=plum]“Right.”[/color] Nikita grunted in response, grabbing the coffee and exiting the place as quickly as possible. 

By the time she arrived at her home, the coffee was mostly gone and her mood was even more sour than it was that morning. There was a pent-up anger in her muscles and a tight exasperation at the whole situation roiling in her gut. Fucking werewolves, they were so messy. 

Nikita slammed the door shut behind her, slinking into the kitchen and ignoring the current werewolf that lived with her presently. She poured water into the Keurig and popped a coffee cup in place, pressing the button twice, as if it would make the machine pump out the stuff faster. Nikita would kill for a smoothie at that moment – strawberry, her favorite – but it was too cold and too much effort, so coffee would do. As she waited, she stalked to a chair at the table, across from Nicolas Black, and checked her phone for further updates.

[color=plum]“Have you seen the video?”[/color] Nikita mumbled, her voice raspy from lack of use, and her eyes glanced up to the Other across from her. As if to provide clarification, Nikita scratched her cheek as she said the stupidest name to ever exist for a fucking manifesto: [color=plum]"[i]Helsing[/i], that video."[/color]