J'aime Everleigh Cavanaugh | Meg Giry (ex_peepshows656) wrote in bellumlogs, @ 2010-02-16 21:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | meg giry |
Who: James & Riley.
What: Meeting for a walk down to the bar and some drinks and some OH-UM-HEY-AWKWARD.
Where: Lobby.
When: Evening. Proper young women don't drink before the sun goes down.
Warnings: Probably some cursing and hijinks.
Cute as a kitten and sharp as shark's teeth, James was examining her nails with a lean against the banister in the lobby. Five minutes early, thank you kindly. Not that you can rush this kind of celestial evolution, but James hadn't required very much to get ready for the impromptu meet-up between neighborly strangers. Just a wash of red across her mouth, and a pull of tripwired bobby pins from her crown. Letting waves of umber grain down in bloated curls that always smelled like sugar, & spice, & dominatrix leather. A faded blue t-shirt with a silkscreened Yankees emblem, bomber jacket zipped to half mast, and boots that scaled the treacherous landscape of secondskin denim and endless legs.
Getting out of the building was precisely what she needed on a night like this. Between the threats and the antagonizing bullshit from 601's girlfriend, a breath of fresh air was what the doctor ordered. James had a couple of days off of work, and if she wasn't twirling on brass, there just weren't that many healthy routes to distract herself from the reality of this hellscape she'd moved into. James wasn't one to sit at home, alone, double-checking her locks, after all.
She wondered momentarily about Lotte, but knew that the girl was probably busy. She had a real job, and real dates at coffee shops. A scowl flickered briefly, so minimal she might not have even known it came and went at all.