#*bountiful

velvet skims her hips and the crimson lipstick slashed over her lips is a warrior’s paint, wielded with a smirk. she’s on the job and eager for it, having caught wind of a particularly atrocious up and coming young businessman, who seems to think his barely there nouveau riche status gives him a carte blanche when it comes to extra curricular activities. even in the midst of the blackout, she figures that afterlife will be a good place to check, as worthy a hunting ground as any other. 

but she’s underestimated, perhaps, the resilience of the community. with afterlife still lit up and flickering, the party seems still to continue, and it’s hard not to get drawn into that allure. after all, how much trouble is a little bit of darkness, anyway? surely they’ll get it all fixed in no time and until then, it makes for an interesting excuse to congregate in the last bright spot in a dark world. there’s so many people she thinks she might go mad with claustrophobia, a crush of bodies that extends even away from the dance floor. 

so she pushes towards the table instead, fumbling a grin towards the bartender and a smile on her lips as she requests a drink, adds it to the ever growing tab, and turns to survey the crowd, which seems intent on pressing in closer around her by the second. after a few sips of the liquid she’s got a friendlier disposition to her, perhaps disregarding her hunt for the time being, and she turns to a nearby figure, brow arcing as she lifts a drink in salute. “what a fucking night, right?” her head shakes, dark tresses shifting with the movement. “who knew a blackout would get the party going like this, huh?”