Emily slumps down over the table in the bar. Half-a-dozen beer bottles and more shot glasses surround her on the table. They're all hers, but even the closest she's gotten to drunk is a faint buzz, but that faded within minutes.
Sometimes I really HATE werewolf metabolism.
Is there something wrong with me?
* * * * *
A dark-haired guy with eyeliner shakes his head at the the blue-haired girl. "Look, Emily, you're really cool, but I'm just not feeling like this is working out."
Emily is stunned. "What? Really? C'mon, man. I thought everything was going okay...."
"Where's the dog, Emily?"
The werewolf balks. "The... dog? uh....I... I don't..."
"it's all over your apartment. Last week i woke up thinking i was going to suffocate. You lied to me!"
"No! I didn't! I... uh... well... it's complicated..."
* * * * *
I'm not bad. I just can't deal with that shit. I have needs just like anybody else!
Emily pulls out her phone and flicks through her photos. A picture from a few weeks ago - Her, Echo and Circe in a cocktail bar meeting up purely by chance. She drains another two shots, flicking to the next photos. Her and Echo. Drinking shots. Wrapped around each other. Echo and Circe, posing like models.
Emily sighs and looks at the next photo... It's one of Echo, doing her best 'come hither' look. Boy does that ever work.
The Ithaeur bites her lip, feeling different urges rise out of her meloncholy.
She chews her lip, pondering, her thumb hovering over the call button. I mean, is it so bad to go back to someone I know is gonna give me
a good time?
She presses the button.
"Hey, uh, Echo, babe? It's Emily.... Are you free tonight....?"