Fingers clutching an empty shot glass as wide brown eyes surveyed the rowdy crowd, the taste of her liquid courage still burning at the back of her throat, Astrid reached up to fiddle absently with the flower adorning her hair—part of her uniform for the evening. With her shift drawing to a close, a night of serving customers in her usual place of work behind her, she debated getting out on the dancefloor and joining in on the festivities for once. You'd think for someone that danced for a living (and much more scantily clad than she currently was), Astrid would be a little more comfortable with the idea of dancing to country music with strangers. But that was exactly her issue... they were strangers. And even though the brunette felt a vague sense of comfort, being in the club that she largely considered her home away from home, she was still horribly out of her comfort zone. Though she projected an easy confidence on stage, the picture of grace and charisma during her act, this was different. She didn't have a flashy stage persona to hide behind. There was no space between performer and audience to protect her. No, this was something she had to do as herself, not as Scarlet, a thought almost as horrifying as the recent string of misfortune that had befallen her. Because she didn't want to think about all the things that had gone horribly wrong lately—her unfortunate run-in with the law, a missing family friend, and a penchant for stumbling across body parts. She wanted a reprieve, even if it was something as trivial as dancing with the locals. So, with a steeling breath, the former ballerina slammed down her shot glass, marching right towards the dance floor, determined to approach the first available dance partner she found. That is, until she bumped into someone crossing her path, she shoulder colliding with them. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I was just hoping to join in. Are you okay?" came her automatic apology, nearly lost among the sound of lively fiddles, a flush of embarrassment creeping over her cheeks.