His lips are pierced and his eyes are painted, and the locks of his hair suspend in laces and bobbypins, tight, long curls in bow-tied pigtails reaching down to his curvy shoulders. The metal in his glossed, pink mouth tinkles quietly against his martini, an unheard noise over tipsy laughter and smoker's coughs throughout the darkened bar as far as the eye could see. The pressed black velvet dress is somewhat doll-like, white-lavender insets, bows, and fishnets much like his eyes snaking into every untouched space, making him up somewhat gothic and somewhat naïve. (But it is only Making Up.)
His nails are painted something dark, blending into the marble counter top every time the string of clicks as his fingers move break the silence around him, and the thick soled baby-doll shoes compliment the black and white stockings that only make him look curvier than he really is.
The belt of Kunai under the white petticoats of his skirt press into his inner thighs, and his eyes are rigid with his bloodline limit, veins inflamed and penetrating anything that dared come close, that dared to touch, or even really (-look.) He doesn't like being stared at. He takes a drink and the diamond in his tongue traps the alcohol between metal and gemstone, bitterly, a sting and raw flavor hitting his taste buds from the inside.
He sees Ibiki one-hundred and eighty feet before the man is ever standing behind him, placing a gloved hand almost mockingly on his shoulder and a scar-carved smirk on his mangled lips.
"You're out late."
Neji only ever dresses up for Ibiki.
--
DON'T. SHOOT. ME. ;;;;;;;;