"Caaaan I get you one? A shot?"

Please.

      She couldn't blame her gravitating towards the defensive on NYC; sure, it could make even the most abundant optimist critical and misanthropic on a bad day, but Ray was an exception. NYC made her buoyant. Her thunderous bad mood had to be due to Robin. While it could be said that Ray brought it upon herself--she made a habit to drag the girl out on the prowl with her while she was in the city--that still didn't alleviate the effect. Pathetic fallacy was evident in the weather that night, with rain bucketing down relentlessly from the heavens.          One poor gentleman made the shockingly ill-advised idea to continually catcall to the were-duo, one white-guy screech of, 'Let me holla den!' being the trigger to Ray's infamous rage. The setting for his brutalization was all too public and despite protests from Robin about that very fact--that she was going to get them caught, that she was going to get them killed--Ray was the only one who was doing the killing.           A sloppy, haphazard job that relieved her aggravation but only spurned her hunger. There was no finishing that meal there, in the street, in the pouring fucking rain with Gypsy cabs whizzing past and splashing at every moments interval. Soon as she was as finished as she could be, she stood, shoulders sagging as she returned to Robin's side. Impulse caused her to grab the blonde by the waist, vermillion streaming down her visage, and catch lips between her own as she so often did. This time, though, she made sure that Robin could taste the sharpness of the crimson-- a silent cacaphony sounding that they really ought to go and feed.

but it's not like she's gonna be like about the body IF YOU'RE NOT GONNA FINISH IT AT LEAST GIVE IT TO ME bc fuck y'all sucked out the good shit frickin vAMPS

she knows what's up

Good evening, I am The Countess and you are?