#finalslay.

however large or small her findings were, there's a real sense of comfort in the exploration of every nook and cranny the hyperion hotel supplied. this newfound home which was never meant to enter her radar, a home she adored -- it also proved itself to be the most intriguing landscape to venture when sleep was unattainable. although, it didn't take long for her midnight wanderings to uncover the other resident typically alert at this time; often returning coated in some kind of mucky grime. or, if @finalslay wasn't out on a witching hour mission, then the light from the open crack of his door would inevitably draw her in. angel's presence became vastly more interesting than any amount of fancy wallpaper or history.

prying is not in his nature, nor is asking why she's awake instead of being tucked up tight; she appreciated him for that. she appreciated him even more when the invitation to join him -- after hearing footsteps linger outside his door -- was extended nearly every night. janessa rather enjoyed their shared silence as everyone else slumbered away, and this particular eve was no different. in possession of a vogue magazine provided by cordelia, her own version of bedtime stories, ( educational purposes, the seer said ), jane sinks to the floor, leaning against angel's bed, intending to look at the attractive people in the glossy pages until the sun rises.

his actions quickly prove much more compelling, though. for fifteen minutes she has watched the dance of fingers across a lone sheet of paper, bewitched by those simple movements, the concentrated furrow of his brow. she hauls herself up with an exaggerated grunt, abandoning reading material in favour for real talent. “ can i please see? ” she asks gently, gesturing to his secret art, but not fully approaching in case he doesn't wish to share just yet. “ are you drawing the girl again? the pretty one? who talks softly? ”

starter call - still accepting!

“aren’t  you  adorable,”  cassandra  purrs.  the  human  girl  is  pointing  a  shotgun  at  her,  but  cassandra  is  too  powerful  to  fear  such  mortal  instruments.  she  bats  the  gun  away  easily,  slipping  in  close  to  the  girl,  one  pointed  nail  tracing  the  edge  of  nancy’s  cheekbone,  too   light  to  draw  blood,  but  sharp  enough  to  PRICK.  her  other  arm,  she  drapes  around  the  girl’s  shoulders  --  as  if  they’re  close,  as  if  they’re  friends.  “don’t  take  your  death  for  granted,  sweet  thing.  you  could  always  win  our  little  chase,  after  all.”  but  the  smile  curving  her   knife-edged  lips  says  otherwise.  “it  all  depends  on  how  ENTERTAINING  i  find  you.”