[Gomorrah] A Taste Of Home

Nadia liked Gomorrah, she decided as she sat at the far end of the bar, sipping lightly at a drink that didn't have a name outside of the language of her father's domain. It had a burn to it like no beverage from Earth did, almost as if it were trying to roast the one consuming it from the inside out. She'd requested the drink half as a joke, and had been pleasantly surprised that they not only had the ingredients, but could competently mix the literally Hellish concoction. A few sips in, someone could almost say that Nadia's nigh-perpetually terrible mood had been lightened, just a little.

That didn't mean that she looked overly friendly as she sat there, mind, which was likely the reason she had been left to her own devices so far. One of her bat-like wings was covering two seats to one side of her, as if she were trying to save them for somebody--she wasn't, at all; she had no friends on Manta Carlos, and no intention of making any--while the other, lacking seats on that side to monopolize, instead draped loosely over her shoulder like a strange cloak. A tiny woman, wearing grey and black clothing at least two sizes too big, she glared through her disheveled mop of blonde hair, a thin tail lashing quietly below her, its very sharp spaded tip occasionally catching the light.

Nadia hated Earth. Hated, hated, hated. There was a part of her that had immediately wanted to engage in a bout of rampant arson upon setting foot on the island, just to get some of the rage out, but another part didn't want to give her father the satisfaction of having been responsible for her going on a rampage by kicking her out of Hell in the first place. This club, though, wasn't so bad, with its music, decor, and even scent that evoked something much more comfortable to her, and a general lack of humans to find a way to ruin her day even more than it already had been.

No, Nadia was not in a friendly mood tonight, but she'd found something to cling to for a little stability, and she was grateful for it. Gratitude meant that she was going to behave, and not do anything violent to the other patrons unless they really deserved it.

Nadia's wing tensed when Matilda sat down, and she subconsciously gripped the claimed seats with it in anticipation of resisting an attempt at removing it. She turned her head to look at the intruder, but didn't return the wave, merely narrowing her eyes slightly before her tensed wing let go and she pulled it back toward herself. It wasn't an invitation, but a withdrawal, something underscored by the fact that it and its partner proceeded to wrap themselves around Nadia's body protectively, like a bat would before falling asleep.

A Nadia before her demonic features came in would be blushing furiously at the sight of an attractive woman in lingerie, and may have even fled her seat in a fit of flustered nervousness. Now, she was no longer so easy to shock. As it was, the attire established that she was being bothered by an employee, rather than a patron. At least, it was a safe assumption; it wasn't as if she had the money to go throwing it away on the second floor and definitively confirm who the establishment's strippers were.

An employee meant that she should be extra-behaving right now.

Extra-behaving consisted of an irritated growl at the greeting and question, which morphed into a huff as she purposefully looked away to glare out at the crowd. Nadia didn't believe that friendly tone for a second. Her tail lashed more violently behind her as she grumbled out an, "It's fine." Not extra-behaving would have had the two chosen words be go away instead.

Nadia brought said drink to her mouth and took an almost violent gulp from it, narrowly avoiding choking. She caught a stray drop that tried to escape her lips with her tongue, her desire not to miss any of it outweighing her morbid curiosity regarding whether it would have sizzled and eaten through the floor if she'd let it fall. The glass it'd been served in hadn't melted, so she doubted it.

Another glance at Matilda, and Nadia's irritated, suspicious look shifted into something closer to the realm of curiosity. While well aware of the whole 'all myths, legends, and a bunch of ridiculous anime is totally real' thing, she didn't actually have much practical experience with anyone but humans (who could all die horribly in a fire) and demons. Most of Manta Carlos' residents were a mystery to her.

Maybe extra-behaving could involve a few more words.

"I wasn't expecting to find a club this demon-friendly." The tone of her admission wasn't welcoming, but it wasn't openly hostile either. Flat, mostly, as if she'd forgotten to give it any emotional inflection. The true depth of her gratitude would be kept to herself.