Living Room - Edges of the Dance Floor
Val was a wreck. She looked bad and she felt worse, having seemingly been hit with every last possible symptom lately. She wasn't sleeping so there were dark circles under her eyes that she didn't bother concealing and the cravings were miserable. The mood swings, anxiety, hyperactivity...it was all driving her up one fucking wall and down the other so it was no surprise that she broke down and asked for a joint. It was probably one of the stupider ideas she had considering it left her without a friend and feeling like Jack didn't care about her. That was never a good way to head into a party, but Val didn't care. She just wanted her fucking joint.
Dressed in torn up jeans and a paint splattered tee, she didn't exactly look like she was ready for a party but apparently no one cared. The kitchen was her first stop, but there wasn't a nice little bowl full of drugs so it was off to the races trying to find someone who had a good joint she could grab a hit from. Unfortunately, it was really fucking obvious she was detoxing from something and addicts never liked to see someone trying to detox. People were flat out ignoring her and Val felt even more miserable. "Just give me a fucking hit," she muttered as she passed through a few smokers trying to be subtle about their smoking inside.