[ So there's one Yulia Bostova, standing around by the bar at Haven. She could be seen looking at her Vice phone every now and then (where the fuck are you, Josh?!), frowning with a glass of vodka (or whatever alcoholic drink that she could get her hands on, anyway). She's seated at the bar, back to the dance floor, and generally looking like she wants to bail.
By now, she's turned down five strangers who'd come by offering her drinks and asking for her number. To be fair, the skirt was short and the sheer tights didn't really do much to hide her legs. She's been told they were very nice legs. More than once. By different people.
It's probably a good thing she hasn't thrown a knife at someone yet. ]
May 26th, with whoever, whenever.
By now, she's turned down five strangers who'd come by offering her drinks and asking for her number. To be fair, the skirt was short and the sheer tights didn't really do much to hide her legs. She's been told they were very nice legs. More than once. By different people.
It's probably a good thing she hasn't thrown a knife at someone yet. ]