Regan glances down at the invitation nestled in her hands. The scroll an elegant form of calligraphy. You are cordially invited... Her eyes roam over the letters, her lips settling into a firm, displeased line. She thought moving half way across the world would set her free of these stupid, useless forms of propriety.

Now, here she was, seemingly back where she started. Being forced into doing something she had no interest or business doing. Fuck. With a giant sigh, she drops the invitation and watches as it flutters to land at her feet. A glaring reminder of her social obligations. Being new in town officially sucked ass.

Regan procrastinated. Then she procrastinated some more. She knew she needed to get ready, having spent the better part of 4 hours locating all the essentials she was going to need. Regan was a minimalist. Aside from the plethora of weapons stashed around her small apartment, she cared little for worldly possessions.

Yet here she was, standing among a violent eruption of girlie crap. Make-up lined her bathroom counter, shoes strewn across the floor. Her dress and mask lying haphazardly over the edge of her bed. With hands on her hips, she glared at it all scathingly. Whoever's grand idea this whole thing was, deserved a special place in hell...and Regan was more then willing to help them on their way.

Her hands rise and the heels of her palms press against her eyes. A silent, weary groan escaping her parted lips. The time had come.

"talks like this"

Elowen