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Tarot needed a drink. Quite badly. She'd needed one an hour before, too. And the hour before that and, well, she was a few mojitos in now. Arrggh absinthe, fresh lemon verbana and organic spearmint...! Yeah, there was no place like a paranormal bar. Vampires got their blood, werewolves got wolfsbane and fairies got their organically grown herbs, fruits and vegetables- as well as basement-brewed alcohol.
She shook a few strands of bright crimson hair out of her eyes, shrugging off her ruffled gray cardigan to bare her starlight pale shoulders. She had thrown on a charcoal black tank before she'd left, but it wasn't very substantial- your standard tanktop affair- thick straps, skintight, cleavage revealing. Oh, and the usual stilettos. If she loved anything, it was her shoe collection.
Both shoes had been abandoned to the ground hours prior, however. So there she sat, bared down to a camisole, a pair of tight jeans and a lot of silver jewelery. Thankfully, on a Tuesday night, the place was more or less empty. She'd only been harassed by one or two passing shape-shifters, the usual legion of succubi and about four other fae- all of whom had demanded she show some modesty.
Tarot had felt inclined to disagree- as shown by the small puddle of vodka on the floor around her barstool. Yeah, drink tossing. It's my thing. Get used to it, m'kay? She rubbed at her eyes once more, smearing glittery silver eyeliner across her temples.
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