#bcbymaria

I have a bad feeling about this. A thought that had crossed Rika's mind so many times over that it threatened to border on parody. Yet, every single time, she was drawn into the heart of that doubt, like a moth to the flame. She'd always been a worrywart but she had always been terribly curious. Just when had one begun to outweigh the other? When had the promise of mystery become a siren's song? It had been Rika's own choice, after all, to follow along with the others when Daisy had decided to leave the Cupid's Arrow behind. Cautious though Rika seemed to believe she was (doubts growing, growing, growing...), leaving the others to walk into trouble alone was out of the question. After all, if Rika was the one who had doubts, if she was the one who was convinced there was danger on the horizon, did it not make sense for her to be the one to stand on-guard and keep watch?

The whole city was preparing to end the year, and the glitz and glamor of the neon signage outside the casino to promote the shit out of their "end-of-the-year prizes" and winnings out of slot machines was borderline obnoxious when she stepped through the entranceway. Grey hues darted about in search of a one Theodore Lémieux, with plans to meet up with the old friend, as reuniting had reminded her that someone else knew what it was like to suffer through the circumstances that she did, no matter how big and vapid that the city made itself out to bed.

She hovered in her ripped-up jeans and striped long-sleeved crop top, biting at sweater paws in a bad habit she had yet to break ( but it wasn't her fingernails, anyway, ) and lost in the throng of people. She couldn't recall whether he ran the poker tables or the blackjack, and inevitably, the only way to find out was to brave it and wander around, pushing and elbowing people out of the way who were too busy smoking their cigarettes to cinders and staring useless into screens, galvanized by the half-pint, sordid bitch that hissed impolite excuse me's.

At first glance, the tables were empty of her companion for the night's festivities, and instead, she could only descry a woman in a casino uniform, where a drunkard was arguing about a losing game, no doubt. Without thinking, she marched up to the table, promptly inserting herself between the two, cold hues locking on the customer and narrowing eyes. "Can you back off, unless you're actually going to play again? I'm kind of in need of assistance here, and there's no one on the fucking floor to help me. I'm sure the bartender will serve you another one."