The night wind raised goose pimples on pale flesh as the tiny shape moved through the shadows. Her crimson eyes darted this way and that as she approached the bar with her slender arms wrapped around herself. The black turtleneck she'd been wearing was torn and her jeans were scuffed with dust from the small fight she'd been in. "I knew I should have worn my fucking usual clothes." She cursed, pulling her long black braid over a small shoulder. Footsteps startled her and she turned in a flash with her daggers out, pointed at the figure of someone she knew fairly well. "Max?"
A patron of the bloodlust she'd known for years, he had never been in her closest circle of friends, but she liked him well enough anyway. His brown eyes seemed almost to bare her to the soul and she shivered under their gaze. A lustful look in the eyes of the saint, a contradiction in itself, was directed at her.
"Maxmilian?" She asked again, using his full name this time. The saint smiled, almost a leer and she tilted her head confused. "Are you alright?" Her voice was soft and she stepped closer, approaching the tall man slowly.