you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared

It was a bad day for the witch. That anger that so constantly pooled into her blood threatened to explode in a wave of fire. She had learned to control it, barely, but there was still that rage that tore at her, something she was certain she would never be able to abandon unless Ivan was dead. Vhalla was sure she would find no happiness until he was dead, truly dead. She wanted to be the one to tear his head from his body and stake him through the heart, but their bond wouldn't allow it. He had given her the opportunity to travel the world for a few months, of course, she did his dirty work along the way. Slaughtering those who defied her master. She was nothing more than a tool, a weapon, to him and a good fuck when he needed it.

Quickly shoving the memories away, she seethes quietly to herself. Even the bartender was wary of her though he wasn't quite brave enough to draw her into conversation. Good. She didn't want to talk anyways. The bourbon before her was nearly empty and it takes only a moment more before she tips her head back and downs the rest of the amber liquid, enjoying the smoothness of the alcohol. She was on her third one for the evening and instead of getting rip roaring drunk like she intended, she found herself on that edge, not quite allowing herself to go over it, merely because she knew she was in a mood and anymore alcohol would have her rearing for a fight.

Still, she secretly wished for someone to approach her, to help push her over that edge she so wanted to fall over.

None did.

Disappointment laced her features, her brows drawn in a brooding expression as she plays with the empty glass before her. Her white hair tumbles down to her waist, her signature braid and leathery assassin suit absent for the night, instead she's merely dressed in her tight fitting black jeans and a simple white t-shirt, her leather jacket slung across the back of the chair. The assassin wasn't much for dressing up, she found it to be a waste of time. A lie, of course it was a lie. Vhalla enjoyed all those things that were pretty and shiny but even the thought of those pretty things couldn't wrench her from her mood. Not even the thought of Dorian and Sebastian's disappointed faces could get her to go home.

Vhalla didn't particularly want to drink with Sebastian when she was in this foul of a mood. He would make her feel bad and chase that anger away, she just wanted to hold onto it, at least for a little while longer. Shifting in her seat slightly, she crosses one leg over the other and waves down the bartender who stood a few steps away from the bar. Gesturing to her drink, it takes no time at all before he refills her glass, and she has it in hand again, swirling the delicious liquid inside. Vhalla doesn't have a moment before she notes someone settling in the seat next to her. Without looking at him, she tilts her head back and finishes the knuckle length of bourbon in her glass. She hardly notes the drink that's ordered, nor the way his gaze travels across the sea of faces, lingering on the distastefully clad woman.

No, she would have paid her bill and left but his gaze turns to her and stays there for a moment longer than neccsary. So, she turns in her seat, her icy blue eyes bored as she watches the man next to her, though there's a hint of venom in her voice when she speaks, "What are you looking at?" she drawls, her gaze giving him a once over as if she couldn't care less about his existence, "Take a picture, it'll last longer. That's about as close as you're going to get to scoring tonight," she offers a menacing smile, releasing the glass in her hand, "Only a trashy prick would come to a strip club to try and pick up someone," she gestures with her hand to the scantily clad women on stage, hardly noting the way the bartender takes a very large step away from them. Perhaps she would get that brawl she wanted.

Vhalla Solarn

To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered