<span style="font-size: 12px">On three-inch heels, Chance sashayed through the less populated downtown section of the city, mindful of the ocean air and the chill trying to push up the hem of her obsidian skirt. Blonde locks fell in rich spindles, cascading down her mink wrapped shoulders like gold spun thread, begging to be teased by adventurous fingers. Cherry lips wore a smug variety of smile, akin to how predatory big cats were often thought to grin while bloodied and full. Perhaps she was a similar sort of beast, wrapped in a guise of buxom physique, carrying herself in a manner that appeared all too easy to appreciate but increasingly difficult to understand. Her aura was hungry, contrasting, a mess of dark tendrils lapping up the length of her bare legs and thighs, though the Fae offered no more attention to the unseen energy than other passersby might. To anyone without the ability to see such things, Chance posed no imminent threat.<br/>
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Her travels led her to her usual haunt, the dilapidated state of the tavern failing to register as a problem for the Fae as she slipped through the rune-infused entrance to follow on the heels of a gentleman visitor. Cobalt hues traced the male before she carried on past him, leading the way to the bar counter and the unattended liquor shelves. In doing so, she also shot the unknown femme a look through the dim of the hallway, curious but not so much to engage just yet. First things first. "It's an open bar," She said to no one in particular, her tone warm and verbose so not to antagonize anyone who might be skittish about being addressed. "Compliments of the bar itself. Funny how that works, isn't it?"<br/>
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Countless years of frequenting the ONS and Chance was no more knowledgeable of the machinations behind the tavern than any of the other patrons were. Errol, the owner, swore she knew even less than the metahumans she often served and Chance believed her. The blonde made herself a messy whiskey sour sans the egg white before gliding back around to the patron side of the countertop. Perching on a stool, her long legs crossed at their thigh, further pushing the skirt she wore up the expanse of her exposed surface skin.<br/>
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"If you're seeking sanctuary, this is probably the closest attempt to any such thing in Valesport."</span>