Noa and Zhenya
Her joy is so bubbly that she might as well be a firecracker. She's got the right colour for it, all red on top and sparkly everywhere else from the jewellery she's never without. But there's something special about Zhenya tonight, some extra bit of energy that has been held in reserve. This is a time to celebrate, a time when the future seems a little less bleak.
She's had a couple of the Jell-O shots, but not enough to get her anything more than pleasantly buzzed. She flits from person to person, finding a new victim to pull into her brilliant and over-the-top enthusiasm. But it isn't so over the top, is it?
After all: Sarge survived.
The crowd of people that makes up the Hellhound party is full of faces Zhenya knows. She waves to some, makes funny faces at others, but her flitting seems almost targeted, like she's got a plan for the night of who she intends to bestow with her particular brand of crazy happy. And it is crazy happy, make no mistake.
She spots Noa Bellamy and is on her in seconds, slinging an arm around the other woman's shoulders. Zhenya is a toucher, but she usually exhibits a bit more restraint--asks first. Not tonight.
"Noa!" she says, in her thick Russian accent that never quits. "What do you think of the party?"