Noa and Bishop
The fire’s still blazing high as it was when the party started. If satellites were still monitored Noa is certain their party could be seen from space, this rowdy group of Dogs and park residents.
She’s made her rounds around the fire a few times over since the sun set, and narrowly avoided walking into something with Sonny’s very drunk old lady. Not a new thing, but something Noa isn’t willing to address tonight of all nights. Or any nights, really. She doesn’t have the time for whatever feud that woman is trying to draw her in to. But she thinks eventually it might just be inevitable, with the woman’s lust to be at the very top.
Though the space around the fire is warm, the deepening cool of the night seeps in beneath her jeans and top, her leather left in her trailer in favor of not having some drunken partier spill a drink on it. It wouldn’t be easily replaced. But there was a cure to the cold that she knew of, the ‘shine that was abundant amongst the group. It’s maker easily spotted within a circle of bitches fawning for his attention. She only weighed whether she should step in for a few short seconds, he could always find the company again if the women scattered with her presence.
“Hey,” she interrupts, the conversation around her quieting. “Got any of this left for me?” she taps her fingers against a mason jar one of the bitches is holding, and ignores the look that she gets in return, eyes fixed on Bishop.