Post by Leila Rodriguez on Apr 19, 2010 16:10:18 GMT -5
I ain't really the kinda girl that would
say that I'm a bad girl
t h o u g h I s h o u l d[/center]
[/color][/blockquote][/font][/size]A dance club, really? In such a calm, quaint little town like this? Thank god. The sense of relief that showed its presence was almost instantaneous, breaking loose the second Leila's eyes ran their gaze over the flashing sign that hung in all its glory on the exterior of the building. A soft, muted sigh escaped her--almost as if she didn't want anyone to take note of her sudden change in emotions. She quickly made her way across the street, hardly looking both ways before she did so. What was there to look for? Horses? A carriage?
Not that she didn't appreciate the safety and cozy feeling of the small town, but she hardly recognized any danger that might lurk in the shadows of the night. She'd most likely seen worse, therefore making it hard for anything to really break through the stone-like personality that life had plastered onto her.
She made her way to the bouncers with a swift stride, confidence shimmering in the depths of her facial expression.
It didn't take a second thought for them to let her in. She didn't look that young, and with that daredevil streak, who would think that she was just eighteen?
A soft smirk washed across her lips as she made her way into the club, glancing back to take a second confirmation that the employees at the door hadn't taken back their decision, which they hadn't. Good.
The night was hers for the taking.
She wasn't much of a drinker--no, despite the troubles and experiences in her past, she'd hardly dabbled into drugs and alcohol other than to deal and distribute them. However, now? She could definitely use a drink. One tequila shot, maybe seven.
She just wanted to forget. Forget that she'd even faltered, for one second, to fight her parents' decision to move.
Sure, this town was nice, it was close and knitted like the ones in old movies. But that wasn't what she wanted, it wasn't how she'd been raised.
The troubled thoughts could be clearly seen on the girl's expressions, deep-rooted in her slightly narrowed eyes as she finally reached the bar. She flicked her bangs lightly, the curls falling to the side with a soft bounce as she gave a wave to the bartender.
"Two tequila shots, please." she said, leaning against the edge and forking over a fake ID, which she'd most likely used countless times before. It still had the California design on it--and so did her real ID, so that wasn't much of a difference.
"Ahh, Californian. What are you doing all the way down here?" He asked, arching an eyebrow before returning it, sending the two glasses sliding over across the bar counter.
"It's a very long story..." she muttered, an annoyed look washing over her face for a few seconds, though quickly blocked out by a generic smile. She put the ID away quickly, reaching for the first shot and downing it without a second's hesitation.
The tequila's alcohol-induced warmth was sharp to take so suddenly, but she could hardly care less right now. Amber eyes closed slowly as she lifted her arm to rest on the bar, also supporting her head. She wasn't a drinker, but right now this was as close to euphoria as she was going to get--unless someone had pot, or something.
She wanted to be home. Old thoughts rushed through her head, visions of what used to be flashing through her closed eyes like a dream. She could still remember it all, the smell was still fresh in her memory. The gunshots, the yelling, car screeches, and the cop sirens which she'd heard so often that by age 5, she hardly recognized their existence anymore. They'd blended into the background..
A huff left her quickly, almost as if to quickly express her less-than-pleased view on the sudden change. Light brown eyes opened once again, scanning the area around her before reaching for the other shot, doing as she'd done with the first and downing it without hesitation.
More memories followed soon after, she was practically walking down nostalgia lane, if there was such a thing. Soon, the alcohol--what little she'd had--started to blend with her already anxious feelings. She needed to do something. Something that spelled out trouble, something that practically showcased her nature. Spray-paint something, get into a fight, stir up some trouble maybe. But there was hardly anything available that could fuel her desire for thrill and adrenaline.
What could she do in a city so dead..?
