(Untitled)

[bitingmybullet]

Gwen's back fucking hurts.

She's been up since God knows when, lugging boxes of lights and sound equipment-- how many of these things even work, anyway? You don't get to check when you're salvaging, and it's not like she's got the cash or the connections for anything super-reliable. Just getting this place hooked up with power was a trick

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[undermyheel]

Claire does not usually take the time to do things like this herself. If she needs intelligence, she get someone expendable to do it. This is a different situation, though.

So, three inch traveling-heels and leather jacket over her silk white business skirt and low, breast revealing top, she walks into Gwen's place.

"Gwen," she says, in greeting. She does not bother trying to hide herself.

[bitingmybullet]

Gwen smells her before she sees her, hears her before she sees her, and something in her goes intruder.

She doesn't even bother anymore to reflect on how much she hates the smell of vampires. By now it's a given.

She turns very slowly, so the sensation of hackles rising can fade, and she can resist the urge to go for the throat. (My place mine get out.)

"Hey."

Casual.

"We're not open yet."

[undermyheel]

"So I heard," Claire says. She's walking around, the snap of heels on the floor loud. It's a telling sound. She's not a woman who walks in fear and feels the need to be silent.

It's a confident sound.

"This looks like it has," she pauses, purses her lips a little. "Potential."

[bitingmybullet]

Okay.

That's a compliment. Or should probably be taken as such.

Okay, okay, so she's walking around on Gwen's floor. Big deal. It's the floor.

(Besides, Gwen recognizes her-- or thinks she does. You get to know who runs the show after a while in the city. She also guesses she ought to be flattered that she knows her name. Or remembers it, whatever.)

"Well." As she watches her walk (strut). "Thanks."