Who: Lynea and Anais
When: Sunday night
Where: Anais' apartment
Before/After: After Lynea leaves the bar
Warnings: TBD

It was still early in the evening and Lynea walked into the apartment. That alone would be strange to anyone that lived with her. While Lynea did seem to be something of a freeloader, she usually stayed out until late in the evening, possibly not even then at times.

Yet here she was, stepping into the living room and sat herself down on the couch. No grand declarations of her appearance, no flirtatious laugh with a handsome or beautiful person in hand, not even a inebriated stumble.

Instead, the person that sat down was almost completely another person entirely. She sat there quietly on the couch, the one set of knuckles holding her chin up from the armrest, her muscles as still and tense as stone. Even her facial expression wasn't any sort of mask of amusement, but instead revealed a small frown complimented by the hollowed eyes of a long experienced killer.

The aura that hung over her was of what you expected from an assassin of her veterancy and Lynea didn't seem to care.

If her roommate ever decided, Lynea didn't bother to look at her or acknowledge her. She was far too much in a bad mood to even bother with that.