[color=2e3192][h1][center]Alison Fitzpatrick[/center][/h1][/color]
[color=2e3192][h2][center]Club Carousel, Nighttime[/center][/h2][/color]

Alison shivered against the damp bench. Various creatures of the night pranced past her – businessmen, finally letting loose the penned horrors that rested inside them; sirens, who were no doubt here to craft said horrors into profit; and the onlooking spectators, who wished more than anything that they could leave the day behind and join the carnival themselves. There was a nightlife back at home, sure – but never like this. People went out to take the edge off, not completely lose themselves and viciously toss their cash at self-gratification. 

A siren brushed past the crowd. She looked different than the others. Her mind did not seem to be warped by an agenda. Instead, she looked the part of a wanderer; this was anything but profitable, but Alison understood. What Alison could not quite decipher was the sudden shift in gaze by this spectacle of a girl. The siren’s eyes pierced her gaze and dominated their mutual eye-contact. Before Alison could make anything of it, the woman walked over to her personal space and immediately set it ablaze.
	
“Mind if I sit, sugar?”

Huh. What the hell would a lady of the night want from her? Alison shivered and slightly nodded. “S-sure.”