Summary: After all, at least insanity was dependable.
A sigh passed between her lips while circling her finger around the edge of the shot glass on the frequently slip-washed, but still spotty, bar before her. She'd lost count before this one. Before the last one. Before the set from the men who came and attempted to hit on her, with a lack of grace that a dog could have bested. Dripping the tip of her pointer finger into the liquor, she brought it to her lips while looking up at the television bracketed into the corner wall. You could pin your rose by the fact someone would always by crying, someone always dying, someone always taking advantage of the people who had less power than them.
Running her tongue across the tip of her finger in her mouth she sought even the last drops of the amaretto on her skin, oblivious to the men who watched her gulping as she did " or at least appearing to be. Her eyes narrowed watching the story of a simple women robbed and raped on the news, her blue eyes seeming to crackle with an energetic life all her own. Removing her finger from her mouth, she licked her lips where her skin had become dried due to the contact, her lips lifting at one edge almost temptingly, wickedly.
She looked at her hand a second later, expression slipping, seeing for a second the dappled redness spread across her skin, feeling the warm dessert wind wiped through her clothes. She could hear the screams, distant like whispers, and she shook her head suddenly. Tensing up and then relaxing, taking the shot up quickly and dropped it down, which earned her a quirk of amuse-ridden pity from the bar tender who raised an eye brow at her. She raised two fingers and he rolled his eyes but went back to the bottles.
Aurora knew her own metabolism, and wanted to be half way into the black before her demons or her old lady could speak up and tell her to stop these evil acts right now. Except that these were the most innocent acts compared to the ones she'd been doing. Though maybe it was a little evil since she could feel Jean-Paul thrifting through the world for her, trying to find her through their connection, in the way he'd almost always been able to find her before. If she wasn't working against it.
"You sure you're okay, sweetheart? Are you waitin' on someone?"
Blinking she looked up, blearily, at the man who set the drink before her. He had simple sweet brown eyes, was somewhere in his mid-twenties, with the look of someone who was trying but didn't know the world of things she did.
"No," she said, placing her hand around another shot glass and lifting it from the solid surface where it rested, without looking. Her blue eyes, the vibrant color of hard, dark Canada winters stared at him like voids as she downed the shot without looking away. "I've got enough company right here."
And then she bit back the urge to lean over the table and kiss him damn hard so that he might wipe that look of pity out of his eyes, might get freaked out or mad. Mad. Yes, mad she could handle. Mad made sense.
After all, at least insanity was dependable.