<br/><div class="floatleft">(http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/88/2b/7a/882b7a8e5773e2ce3bc7f8b7dcefca89.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Eiryn Grim<br/><strong>Location:</strong>At da Partay, finally.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Isis and anyone with a sweet tooth<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Trying to be social, and refusing to sing in public!<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Something Witchy This Way Comes. (http://41.media.tumblr.com/efec81c4668d854e1713032a3930c8e0/tumblr_nd9bf43l9x1tsaz7eo1_1280.jpg)<br/><hr/>"Seriously?"<em>Girlfriend. Ex. Good. Means I'm not totally SOL...focus, Grim.</em>Eiryn chuckled and finally flipped down her heavy velvet hood, uncovering her streak-dyed hair, and the large dangle (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=121427075) in her left ear. The motion also revealed the  Victorian choker (https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/shopping?q=tbn:ANd9GcQq61W2nyzcjlOqKFQb3AVIeQRZJvvawrK_BApXWVme7GMwQ5DrpXqYtt_cTdKiF4Z6vUXN7wqO&usqp=CAE) around her neck, which had sort of blended in with the unrelieved black of her outfit. "Well, happy fuckin' birthday, Isis. Who's spanking you tonight?"  Inwardly, she winced. It was a joke she could have made with any of her queer friends- but with a total stranger, it came across as a terrible pickup line. "Sorry. Mouth before brain, as always. Anyway- I got ten years on you. But the hair dye means it doesn't show."<br/><br/>She followed the goddess' glance, saw Frankie, tried not to grimace.  It wasn't that she didn't<em> like</em>the girl- they saw each other every few months when the artist dropped by for new working music- Eiryn just figured she had enough crazy in her own damn head without adding other folks'. On the other hand, today seemed to be a good day so far for not being a bitch, so snubbing her neighbor would really suck. Third hand (in case you needed one, and some times she did), Isis seemed to want to hang, soooo...she shrugged. "Sure. Let me find a drink- an' for the record, there is no such fuckin' thing as too much coffee. Any time of day. For me, morning starts when I stop sleeping. Assuming I ever got to sleep in the first place." A light, hopefully neutral touch on Isis' arm encouraged her to wait a second while the Goth hunted up a beer, or a glass of lemonade, or a fire hose...anything to slow down her pulse.