Pandora Montgomery (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} pandacharms) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} finnigans_rpg, |
Dora tilted back her glass and downed half of it in one easy drink, the unfortunate experience of someone who has gotten totally wasted as a habit for a while. She'd mostly kicked it as a habit, as she worked on her mental health. But she slid every month or two, when the nightmares kicked in, usually, or her stress levels became unbearable.
She only gave the guy who approached the bar a glance, initially. Surprisingly it wasn't a glance that far up -- in her three inch heels, she wasn't quite eye level, but close. It wasn't that she was being dismissive, but rather that she wanted her drink. Which should have been a warning to her, but in her mindset she didn't quite notice the flashing beacon.
She'd dressed nice, transfiguring an old dress into something she felt she could dance in. It'd last the night, at least, she'd always been good at Transfiguration. She didn't dress for anyone else but her tonight, trying to make herself feel better in hopes of patching her feelings for now.
Looking back over, she gave the man a polite smile. "Salsa," she agreed. "I'm not really here for the lesson, though one could always use a refresher, I suppose." She tilted her head. "Here for lessons?"