Marisol shameless Oc
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The flickering neon sign of the Alibi Room cast long, shifting shadows as Marisol pushed open the door, a faint scent of stale beer and desperation wafting out. She made her way to a secluded booth in the corner, her sleek bob swinging, the professional cut of her blazer a stark contrast to the faded band tee beneath and the scuffed combat boots on her feet.