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Mcmolly
Altered Tundra
Supermaxx
Zeus23
Xaltwind
Lurking Krog
SONIC
Neziul
Not a Sayan
Obscene Symphony
Outside Streets > Building 1 Reception
Interacting with: @DragonydasTheria, @Crimson FlameKai
Kill. Me.
With a thin groan, Velvet plodded down the sidewalk. The early morning sun beat down on her like the most oppressive summer, and both her lethargy and her hunger were rapidly building. Her boss had asked her to stay for overtime at the bar (it was a twenty-four-hour special night) and she'd lost track of time in a blur of ice cubes, liquor bottles, and cocktail shakers. By the time she was off, it was already 6:30 AM, and rays of searing light were already peeking over the horizon. Teach her to not pay attention to the clock.
Consequently, it had been a hell of an unpleasant half an hour walk to get back, enough that she'd actually had to take a moment about ten minutes ago under an overhang to rest before she continued her sojourn. At least she had an excuse; anybody on the graveyard shift looked dead on their feet afterwards, so she fit right in.
When she finally passed the security and the doors of Building 1 and into the vestibule—out of the gentle for any other creature early morning sun—her relief was almost palpable. Flipping out a compact mirror, she took a look at good long herself; she looked awful. She had fiendish bags under her eyes, her skin was even paler than usual. And, most concerningly, her hair had grown a few shades lighter; that was a pretty good sign all on its down she would've been in danger if she'd stayed out in the sun much longer, and the paler it got the closer to ash she came. Her lipstick was just about gone too. She took a deep breath, and a moment to get herself in order; then she pushed open the inner doors, heaving a tremendous yawn, to be greeted with Theria and Kai. Still a little early for Max, so at least she wasn't salivating at the smell of warm human blood. Even if gorgon and merman blood were still wildly appetizing about then.
A heavy blink, a nod to acknowledge their presence. Slipping a case out of her pocket, she plucked the blue out of her eyes, leaving them their natural luminous red before snapping the contacts shut in their saline and pocketing it again. Another yawn, then she finally spoke; her voice dripped with exhaustion and a barely concealed predatory instinct, and she had to fight to stop from drooling.
"Mornin,' kiddos. Any volunteers for dinner? I'll pay and everything."
Yeah, sure, she had plenty stocked in her fridge, enough to last her a few weeks at least, and could get more at just about any time (she didn't question how they sourced it). But walking around in sunlight burnt blood like nobody's business, and it always tasted way better straight from the source.
Like those stupid fancy water bottles from Iceland. Or ice cream. Or rum.