(OOC: Not sure what's going to happen, but put that tag in there because language. Please only 1 or 2 people to respond, at most 3, excluding original poster)
Ishiki should have known. She should have fucking known. Yuki was a shit, and she knew that, but she'd gone and taken his suggestion anyway. She didn't know what the fuck she had been thinking. Three days on the island, she asked Yuki for a good place to get a drink for Ishiki's own personal celebration of the changing of the year, and Yuki sent her here. To fucking Gomorrah. To a bar. For fucking non-humans. Shit. Yuki Shiro was a fucking bastard.
Ishiki, after all, used to hunt and capture or kill magical creatures for a living. Or obtain magical goods through various methods not always quite so legal. Among other things. For twenty-five fucking years.
That way of life ended thirteen years ago, but a person might not know it by looking at Ishiki. She still only looked about twenty-six, even if her tattoos were a dead giveaway, especially the one in the center of her forehead. Naturally, that could be something very bad, if there was anybody who knew of her here. Still, Ishiki had come for one purpose: to drink and have a good time. Her past was her past. She may not be what she was, she may not have her old powers anymore, but anybody tried to strike up a grudge match with her here, and they'd found out she wasn't entirely defenseless, either.
She'd worn her black yoga pants, that ones that weren't so tight they framed everything, but did hug her frame a decent amount, and a red tubetop with straps under her brown leather jacket that was long enough to cover her butt, and for footwear she'd gone with a pair of flat black boots. She didn't wear makeup. She hadn't even when she'd had two hands. Her black hair was just loose and straight, and she'd had a white knit cap over her head and ears, which had to lie flat. She'd had to wear mittens, of course, since in her experience the only way to get six-fingered gloves was to have them custom-made. Her tail, she couldn't really wear anything over, though.
Getting into Gomorrah proper, she had absolutely no intention of heading into the upper-level floors. Ishiki just wanted to drink a little, not have a fucking experience. She knew she could have gone elsewhere, she knew she didn't have to be in Gomorrah to drink, but Ishiki also knew to leave without accomplishing her goal was to let Yuki win. Ishiki was by no means going to lose to Yuki Shiro. After getting her first drink of the night, a bottle of hard cider to start the night out easy, Ishiki made her way over to an empty table facing the dance floor so she could drink and people-watch. For the moment, she left her coat on, but put her hat and mittens in the pockets.
Ishiki should have known. She should have fucking known. Yuki was a shit, and she knew that, but she'd gone and taken his suggestion anyway. She didn't know what the fuck she had been thinking. Three days on the island, she asked Yuki for a good place to get a drink for Ishiki's own personal celebration of the changing of the year, and Yuki sent her here. To fucking Gomorrah. To a bar. For fucking non-humans. Shit. Yuki Shiro was a fucking bastard.
Ishiki, after all, used to hunt and capture or kill magical creatures for a living. Or obtain magical goods through various methods not always quite so legal. Among other things. For twenty-five fucking years.
That way of life ended thirteen years ago, but a person might not know it by looking at Ishiki. She still only looked about twenty-six, even if her tattoos were a dead giveaway, especially the one in the center of her forehead. Naturally, that could be something very bad, if there was anybody who knew of her here. Still, Ishiki had come for one purpose: to drink and have a good time. Her past was her past. She may not be what she was, she may not have her old powers anymore, but anybody tried to strike up a grudge match with her here, and they'd found out she wasn't entirely defenseless, either.
She'd worn her black yoga pants, that ones that weren't so tight they framed everything, but did hug her frame a decent amount, and a red tubetop with straps under her brown leather jacket that was long enough to cover her butt, and for footwear she'd gone with a pair of flat black boots. She didn't wear makeup. She hadn't even when she'd had two hands. Her black hair was just loose and straight, and she'd had a white knit cap over her head and ears, which had to lie flat. She'd had to wear mittens, of course, since in her experience the only way to get six-fingered gloves was to have them custom-made. Her tail, she couldn't really wear anything over, though.
Getting into Gomorrah proper, she had absolutely no intention of heading into the upper-level floors. Ishiki just wanted to drink a little, not have a fucking experience. She knew she could have gone elsewhere, she knew she didn't have to be in Gomorrah to drink, but Ishiki also knew to leave without accomplishing her goal was to let Yuki win. Ishiki was by no means going to lose to Yuki Shiro. After getting her first drink of the night, a bottle of hard cider to start the night out easy, Ishiki made her way over to an empty table facing the dance floor so she could drink and people-watch. For the moment, she left her coat on, but put her hat and mittens in the pockets.