<span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'"><span style="font-size: 15px">Jen rummaged through her closet with a huff of annoyance. Where were her damn pants? She stood with a hand on her hip, chewing at the fullness of her lower lip as she thought of where else they could have walked off to. With a cry of triumph, she noticed them neatly folded on a shelf at the back of the closet. She held them aloft with a grin for a moment before wiggling her hips into them. She had opted for sticking with her favored choice of color. Black. Why should she change who she was for a single night of festivities? The skin tight jeans hugged her like a second skin, looking practically painted on rather than draped on. They were tucked into knee high black leather boots that held no heel. If she was going to get plastered with the rest of them, she didn't want to wear heels and end up face planting the floor, or worse. The sweater she wore was similar to the one she had on earlier, only this one was purple. She unwound her braids from. Their pony tail and let them tumble freely down her back, jingling softly from the skull shaped metallic beads that were fastened to each end. She was, for a moment, contemplating makeup but decided against it. What was the point when drunken shinegans would undoubtedly ruin the effort?<br/>
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After a few moments, she returned back downstairs to join the men, the soft tap of her boots signaling her arrival. <br/>
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"I see that everything is still in tact." She stated with a smirk as she slid gracefully towards the kitchen to assemble the lasagna.</span></span>