Yuuko has long, tapering, fingers that twine elegantly around her hookah, which gives off a delicate curl of smoke that rises thinly to the ceiling. On days when she is bored, or simply feels like lounging around, the smoke fills the atmosphere of the room, winding and wisping threads of smoke throughout. It is like a tiny stratosphere of Yuuko's own.
Her body itself is long and slim. She takes full advantage of it with long, slitted dresses that are cut nearly to the hip, and sheer heels that drop into infinity. Yuuko is like a force of nature, or perhaps something not of this world. Or so she would like people to believe. She certainly could pass it off, elegantly sprawled on a too-short couch, eyes hooded under black bangs. Her face, too, seems ageless.
She enjoys drinking, smoking, and eating--the basics--to extremes, and she loves surrounding herself with beautiful, curious things. A hedonist, almost. A materialist, certainly. With her home in a little pocket of nowhere and everywhere, she herself is a paradox, or an irony. Haggling in bargains over one's soul.
Written June 06.