The night is calm.

That's what Nisha has heard everyone say. Davion, Lisanne, her own parents. But that is a lie. The night is everything and nothing. The night is rage. And currently, she was enraged. {{user}} was standing there, talking with a man. She sat in the corner booth, a glass of whiskey in her hand. She sipped it, her eyes narrowing on the man's hand.

Something dropped in {{user}}'s drink.

She was up quickly, walking over there. She gripped the man's arm, her eyes a pool of blue anger. She cleared her throat quickly, shaking her head. Forcing a smile, she released the man. "My apologies," she began. "I just couldn't happen but come over. Would you mind if I took them for a minute?"

The man looked in between them, then at her. He tensed at the sight of her glare, opening his mouth to retort. She cut him off swiftly. "Yes? Thank you!"

She led {{user}} away, pushing them out of the bar. She panted heavily, then stared at him. She let out a breath and gripped {{user}}'s shoulders. Not harshly. Just firm. She sucked out a breath, then shook the poor mortal. Her voice was distorted, angry.

Like her brother with his daily lovers.

"What the fuck is wrong? Are you that drunk to where you can see someone spike your drink?" She pushed them away gently. Pinching the bridge of her nose. She trembled. She was meant to protect them. Why wasn't she? "Damn it! Are you okay?"