<strong>Name:</strong>Zed<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Marc<br/><br/>At the tap on her shoulder Zed's hand went to the little bag that adorned her waist. It hung at her hip, set slightly back, not quite visible from the front, not particularly important if looked at. It looked, really, like an accessory, a purse. Of course, with Faeries you really never could tell, because inside it were three glocks, her Five-Seven and a P90, and a half dozen of her pixies. Needless to say, the little bag was bigger on the inside.<br/><br/>She was used to being approached, but not so much by a tap on the shoulder. Usually by a drunk, or a client, which usually fell on either side of the tap on the shoulder, groping, or awkward flirting, either of which she wouldn't responded to much more comfortably.<br/><br/>She saw where she was to go, and shifted upright, as though she was about to stand, but her feet never touched the floor. Her wings sprung into motion, and she glided up toward the VIP deck.<br/><br/>She drifted over into the VIP area, looking around suspiciously. Seeing the...person, sitting at the back booth, she made her way over, bare feet not touching the floor before she sat down in her seat. Sitting, especially in the booth, her somewhat diminutive stature was more obvious. She didn't mind, though it generally gave people a better vantage point to look down at her quite effectively presented breasts, the corset not really needing to force them into position, given her quite magical body.<br/><br/>"I'm Zed," she said, smiling. She had no idea how to approach the situation. Getting called up wasn't particularly normal for her. She also didn't know him, which meant she had no idea how to act, if he wanted her more personal services. After all, she could go straight from innocent girl needing a lesson, to queen bitch dominatrix in a thin minute. On the other hand, if he wanted her, still personal, but less, pleasant, services, she was expecting to hear a short story about someone who would be needing a closed casket.