She needs this, something to turn her mind into a flurry of nonsense, drowning out the sensation survival brings. Always full of adrenaline, a heart that skips a beat that she’s become to terminally ponder if it’s working properly anymore, if it at all. She sits further adjacent from those who gather, becoming drunk off the fabrication that liquor gives to them, temporary rest - maybe, she should have gone for iced coffee instead. There’s a wave goodbye, she needs to leave, find somewhere to rest for a bit or call to see if there is an open shift, something to pay the bills && home herself in that small apartment. Ruffled ghoul drinks, garnishes that were ghastly && gaudy, beautiful women that coo her title in saccharine sweetness; Alice, won’t you come back again? She’s started to believe that aliases are the reality nowadays. Humans are none the wiser to what lurks around them or maybe they know && just don’t care.
The certain thrill at knowing they’ve lost the hierarchy or flirting with death, she didn’t want to think deeply about it. There’s a comfort hiding underneath the bright lights, ignoring everything && everyone, she’s nameless without any knowledge that her family was an aristocratic lot, eager to marry for higher social standings. A few smile, others furrow their brows, those who pick for scraps don’t even pay attention, hunger is the bane of a ghoul, be it for anything than the mere sliver of life they were given. Exhaustion weighs in her bones, she wonders if Anteiku is still open at this hour? A place to crash that is warm, throwing her scent off from others that trail it, light meals && those weird cubes that keep her sanity from snapping. She’s lost in her mind, unaware of what surrounds her, then a chill crawls up her spine. A scent that is different, one that causes her to shriek, too close - Sayuri hates it. Who is this? An embrace that feels too intimate, goosebumps that shiver as her slender frame is embraced.
“Oh, sorry, lover boy - you got the wrong woman” a mocking voice that slips out like ice, there it’s that wretched sense of decay all beings like them possess, not even the cheapest most tackiest colognes could hide it. Whoever he remembers must be a specter, she oddly felt sympathetic, whatever happened must have been horrific or another tale of tragedy between lovers. Now, he understands that she was not who he desired, pulling back she grasps the fabric of her pale blue dress, hollow laughter as her head shakes. “It’s fine, don’t mention it, happens to the best of us” she’s used to it, the plenty who rest their head upon their lap, crying for a remnant that cannot return as she takes on the form of a bygone past && dream that ceases to be. A sense of panic washes over, she calmly removes the compact in her pocket, hues of red && black - he must have startled her enough to trigger a response from her kakugan. Now, they’re both humiliated as she clenches through her teeth.
“Usually someone buys me a drink before they start to think I’m their ex or wife, girlfriend, boyfriend even” a casual joke as her shoulders lift then drop.
“Are you looking for someone? Doubt they’d be in this region, it’s particularly unsavory even for people like us”