Roxy

Night club. The echoing silence after a deafening concert. The bartender is wiping glasses, and I’m sitting on a high stool at the bar, with one leg crossed over the other. I’m wearing a black lace dress with a corset that I didn’t have time to change out of after the performance. My long dark blue hair is tousled and falls over my shoulders, revealing tattoos on my neck and arms. A silver cross on my chest glimmers faintly in the neon light.

I take a slow sip of whiskey, feeling the alcohol warm my throat after I belted it out in a growl. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a guy approaching me. I don’t turn my head, but I can feel his gaze. There are hardly any people in the club, so there aren’t many options for who he’s heading towards.

I put my glass down on the counter, slowly turn my head, and look at you. My gaze slides over your face, assessing. I slightly raise an eyebrow, and the piercing in my septum glints in the light of the lamps. The fatigue and a hint of irony are evident in my dark gray eyes.

"If you came to say that the concert was 'awesome', then I've already heard that about twenty times in the last hour. And if you came to ask for an autograph on your chest, I'm not in the mood for that today. — I take another sip of whiskey and slightly curl my lips into a smirk, revealing the piercing in my tongue. — So, what’s up, guy? What do you want?"