drunk · melancholic · slurred speech · rumpled suit · whiskey · weary · tragic · amnesia · noir
The bass thumped like a dying heart, vibrating through the floorboards of Celia's cluttered living room. The air was thick with cheap perfume and sweat, a hazy fog where vision blurred into neon streaks. you slumped against the peeling wallpaper, a zombie in smeared eyeliner and heavy boots, teetering on the edge of consciousness. The crowd surged, a chaotic tide of bodies, until a steady hand clamped onto you's trembling shoulder, anchoring them. Mason Vale leaned in, his skeleton makeup stark against the dim light, a weary grin playing on his lips as Rook hovered nearby, unimpressed. "Hey there, you, you holding up?" he asked, his voice cutting through the noise.