12Ā Ā Ā playful
// MOOD MEME
She doesn't even smoke.
Well, typically, of course-- but 'typical' isn't quite so 'typical' with Arienette, now, is it? The 'blood' swipes on her cheeks aren't the typical sort of blush ladies around here wore either. Thankfully, though, she wasn't looking to accent her features any more than she was looking to wipe the remainder of it off her face. It was fine.
"And then it's--" fingertips tippy-tippy-tap at the bar top, playing imaginary keys as she: 'DUM DUM DUUUUM, DA DA DA DUUUUMMM DUMS' to a song only she can hear in her own head. At least the notes are accurate, good pitch, decent rhythm, even if her musical number is being mumbled around a cigarette burning out between her lips. "Before it goes--" DAH DAHHHHHH DA DA DUHMMMM, hips roll her stool onto two legs and she comes drastically close to a tumble before somehow settling to all fours once more.
There's 'blood' on the counter, now. Well, corn syrup dyed as red as the lipstick stains all over the butt of her smoke, and it's also managed to make a bit of a murderous handprint about the pint glass she'd been drinking from. Smashing.
Satisfied with herself, apparently, our bloodied pianist throws arms victoriously up in the air, even drops that smoke off to the side when smile forms. Doesn't matter: she doesn't even smoke, but now she's out of breath and staring brightly at poor Ron as if she should have earned herself a round of applause instead of a one-way-ticket to the psyche ward.
"Had you heard it before!? It's MOZART!" and she now has a burn hole the size of her cigarette's cherry in her 'bloodied' skirt.

















