in the crowded, sultry atmosphere of headquarters, ani’s found a good vantage point of the club floor. the lights pulse neon over the room, music thrumming in her chest, an animal sort of bassline that makes her bones purr. she lands on a face at the bar. one she likes. she’s grown complacent with the regulars, has a lil’ mental catalogue of them —- she’s seen you around once or twice, likes your face (~and, yes, your wallet~), and you seem to like her too. so, she saunters over with a strut that would embarrass a runway model; her hips swivel and sway, like waves rolling forward, pleasers clacking against the floor. “hey baby,” ani’s glossed lips hook up into a come-hither smirk. her lashes are long and thick, heavy with mascara and lids dusted in blue. her dress is a deep purple with a cowl neck, plunging well into her cleavage, matching the purple butterfly decal that adorns the index finger of her acrylic nails. she leans against the bar next to you, tucking an ashtray tuft of black hair behind her ear, giving you a pretty view of her profile. “you alone tonight?”