@ajastor [ TAKE ]: aj takes a hit meant for flick.
It's hard to fill the hole left by old friends, especially when you feel responsible for the hole in the first place, but it isn't Felicity's first time feeling guilty, and it probably won't be the last. Atlas Jay may not be the kind of friend to cut a sentimental note about newfound camaraderie, but he is a rare human who can hold their liquors reasonably (somewhat) well and in terms of men she'd prefer chained up in a basement with her on a full moon, he only ranks a solid six or so which in terms of men in general, is tolerable.
Helps that he's easy on the eyes, as well.
So she's been showing him the best places to get a bit of hedonistic escapism on in the city. He's a scumball, but he's a forthright scumbag. There's honor in that, she supposes.
It's been a evening, and she's just come out of the bathroom from powdering her nose when she sees somebody very much dishonorable looking blocking the way back to the party. She pays no attention at first and tries to move past, but there's a snatch at her wrist, one where she feels the familiar pinching burn of silver where rings touch her skin. It panics her enough for her to wrench her arm free, and her acute hearing hones in on the tinkle of silver leaveing a cloth fold. Her arm goes up to defend herself from the snakebite of a silver knife, meant for silent murder, but then a shape swipes in front of her, and she falls back against the wall, eying the burns on her wrist before her eyes drift towards the scuffle, nose noting the scent of blood in the air, and not hers.
