Velvety Vodka
#1
OOC: Set in modernized 'Souls time. Basically meaning our present day world, but in 'Souls. So no humans, of course.
AU where Vladi is the owner of the Kalashnikov business but got shipped to work in 'Souls anyway. xD

IC:
The bright neon signs and rushing crowds were beginning to cause havoc in her mind.

It was in all honesty too much for her mind to take right now, what with the blaring street lights, loud people chatting away on their cellphones, honking car horns and worst of all that foul, horrid stench of industrial waste from the factory nearby. Vladi had been living in this city for a long time, but really, it could become too much for her sometimes.

As she wandered the streets aimlessly, smoothly dodging the ever flowing crowd of people in her way, she glanced up at a sign in flashing red letters: Bar. She paused near the entrance, hearing soft rock coming from within the building, and blinked. Hmm... Perhaps some vodka or beer could clear her mind. She hadn't had alcohol in a long while, not ever since her parents shipped her and her brother Nikolai away to these lands. Besides, she wasn't a heavy drinker by any means, but back in Russia, a small flask never hurt...

The dark wolfess, clad in her everyday faded jeans and forest green shirt, pushed open the door to the bar, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dimly lit area. It was crowed, of course, but not overly so. On stage near the farthest wall away from her was a four-man band—one Luperci on bass, the other on guitar, the third on piano, and the forth as the singer. The vocalist serenaded slowly and softly, telling a story of his he found true love and lost it all the same, and Vladislava felt a rush of relief wash over her as she sighed deeply. Ah, the homey feeling of a non-violent bar. So pleasant.

Calmly and quietly she strode over to the actual bar itself and took a seat, waving over the bartender with her pink-pawed hand. "Stoli Elit?" she asked hopefully as he came over, and received a curt but courteous nod as her responce. As he went off to fetch her drink of choice, the Russian lady propped her elbows on the bar, resting her muzzle on her knuckles. She reflected on how her day had gone—she and Nikolai had worked on a few tasks they needed to complete for the business, as well as taking care of a few job interviews for spots in working for the Kalashnikovs. Vladislava still really couldn't grasp how she had wanted to abandon her place as heiress to such a wealthy company not too long ago—it was a wonderful job, to say the least. She was respected, first and foremost, but she could somehow still serve others. Nikolai especially, as she had provided him with the job as her personal assistant, but she often just let him do as he so pleased instead of actually help her. She didn't really want others to service her, as she'd much rather help others than others help her.

As the bartender returned with her drink, she took a small sip, tasting the rich, velvety vodka run down her throat. She nodded approvingly to him, a soft smile on her muzzle, before taking another gulp, until she turned her eyes to see the band again, feeling her thoughts fade with the music.


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