<div class="floatright"><div align="center">(https://cdn1.iconfinder.com/data/icons/user-interface-colorful/48/user-512.png)<br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Real Appearance</div><div class="spoiler_body">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/70/f3/3a/70f33a8233ff6c95064cad6dc7dd52ad.jpg)</div></div></div></div><strong>Name:</strong>Braynne Delaney<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>designer jeans, black spaghetti-strap tank, sandals<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Room, then pod<br/><strong>Date/Time of Day:</strong>June 1, 20201, mid-afternoon<br/><strong>Content/Trigger Warning:</strong>NA<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>Bryanne was late arriving, of course. Well, later than intended. A 'quick' video meeting for the new project she was on had spawned  bunch of ideas, which had become placeholder sketches, which she'd then started filling out until<em>ohcrapisthatthetime?</em>Business as usual.<br/><br/>The room a harried-looking assistant sort (cute; needed to do something with her hair, though) led her to, though, was decidedly not usual for her. It made her rethink her career- maybe there was an opening somewhere  for 'permanent reality TV drone'?  While not quite as much square footage as she rented in the city (for more money than she cared to ever tell anyone), it was brighter, newer, and, honestly, a lot better furnished. It helped, of course, that she didn't actually live there, so it wasn't full of her personal stuff and all the debris from her job. Still, she had to fight down an urge to just get into her sleep sweats and turtle up for the duration of the show. What could they do- call the cops?  Come after her with cattle prods/ Maybe pump sleeping gas through the AC, and dump her outside?<br/><br/>OK, clearly she'd spent too much time working on video games. It'd be a waste of the time she'd insisted on taking off, too, if she didn't at least try to get something out of it. Even if it was only a heightened sense of inadequacy.<br/><br/>So he stowed her clothes and reading material (and her tablet, since or her, 'time off' wasn't really a full-time thing) in some of the excessive drawer and closet space, and dove into the bathroom to scrub her teeth real quick. Silly, really, since she wasn't going to be face-to-face with anyone for a bit. If ever. Flipping a wave towards the corner of the ceiling she thought most likely to hide a camera (they wouldn't really, though, right? Not in the bedrooms?), she headed across the hall and looked for an open pod.<br/><br/>Pod people, pod people. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. She couldn't help giggling as she slipped into the small space that was, damn, nicer than most of the clubs she frequented- if much, much smaller. Someone had spent serious bucks on this setup, and it made her think of Every Horror Film Ever, where the nice hotel is the hangout of some tentacle monster, or the friendly old man down the street is a chainsaw-wielding anti-vaxer, or whatever.  Feeling nervous for the first time, she dug around the the minibar for a beer, took a quick swallow, and then said, to no one in particular. "OK, then. Single queer female, in the hawse."