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[b][u]Los Paraisos: The Bucking Bronco[/b][/u]

As the man droned on and on, Trixie continued to fumble her hands around her pockets. He admitted to not recognizing her friends - except for Amy. And she was... she was throwing gald at people? Ohhh boy, if Trixie had her guns, she would have definitely had them drawn by now.

"Whaaat! Amy wouldn't do that! I mean, I mean she gets kinda [i]funny[/i] if she drinks more than... like... seven glasses, but she's more tight about money than I am!" She backed away from the man who had crept awfully close to her before taking off to a different table, calling out more flaky nonsense. [i]"I'm[/i] the one that throws money, not her! You're [i]definitely[/i] lying!" After climbing atop its surface, nearly slipping off the edge, she gripped tightly onto the pole and hid behind it. She shivered all the while, that burning sensation of vomit stirring up her insides again.

But Freddie remained as calm as ever, and even offered to phone them! And then asked her to sit down and he would make [i]omelets[/i] for her. [i]Omelets.[/i] Trixie's shoulders dropped. Either this guy was playin' it nice so he could catch her off guard... or he really was just a nice guy.

Still atop the table, she slid down to her knees and puffed her cheeks at the man. "Only if you gots apple juice." She rattled her head a couple of times before speaking on. If the food was laced with poison, she'd know, oh she would [i]know.[/i] But theeeen there was the possibility that it... wasn't. And she was dizzy and hungry and lonely and without weapons and worst of all - she had uncouth, unsuperheroic asymmetrical hair. Totally uncool. That's probably what was making her feel so woozy.

"We're all stayin' at a place called the... Pelgo or something. Hey, do you know how to braid hair by the way?"

---

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[b][u]Los Paraisos: Pellagio Hotel - Moira's and Syed's Room[/u][/b]

By this point Amy had been fully dressed in her emerald dress, though her hair remained as unkempt as before. The lack of any towels whatsoever in the room was the only thing preventing her from hogging the shower.

She stood before the bathroom mirror, consistently dousing her face with sink water before staring at her own reflection, and dousing herself again. Her face had been completely cleaned of whatever tears and makeup had intermixed across her visage - though she looked startling even to herself without her striking red lips. They had calmed into a pale pink. Gods, never mind the pounding headache and how terrible she felt - she [i]looked[/i] like a fucking wreck. Amy doused her face again.

A bunch of shouts erupted from outside the bathroom. Now she was definitely not going out.