Soleil considered this a good day. After a relatively peaceful walk around town, followed by a surprisingly welcoming friend who more than agreed to let her crash at his place for a few days, she had managed to flirt her way in to a nice, cool, dark bar and snatch herself a whole bottle of what-have-you while the bartender was looking the other way. Vodka. She bit her lip as the liquid burned down her throat, leaving a satisfying tingle in its wake. The label was printed directly onto the clear bottle in silver ink and she found her slender fingers tracing the letters as she sat slouched in a rather inconspicuous booth at the far end of the room. In the dim light she had to squint her green eyes to make out the lettering. Not exactly her drink of choice, but beggars can't be choosers and all that. Sol quietly set the bottle on the table and scooted up, crossing her legs Indian style, the short hem of her black dress riding dangerously high on her thighs.

This was why she disliked alcohol. In the darkness that spread over the room like a blanket she found her mind drifting, her thoughts sedated but deep, and she didn't like to think. Because thinking inevitably led to the question, "What next?" and she really had no answer for that yet. Sol paused mid-inner-monologue to take another swig from the three-quarters empty bottle, then picked up where she'd left off. She'd get out of Oxford eventually. There was no way in hell she would let this city eat her alive. Suddenly her pockets felt maddeningly light. Another gulp, larger than the last, a wince as the alcohol pierced her stomach. "Fuck," she said aloud, and someone from the opposite table looked up; Sol hardly noticed, her gaze fixed again on the label, her fingertips tracing the letters a third time. Back where she'd started. There was something binding about this city, and whether Wonderland and the White Rabbit had anything to do with it, she couldn't be sure. Looking up again, she fixed her eyes on the door, as if expecting someone to walk in. She could feel herself relaxing despite her alertness, and her shoulders sagging, she rested her head on the cool table, sighing as it made contact with her burning cheek.

It took Soleil a few seconds to register that someone had sat down across from her. She lifted her head from the table, feeling her warm breath as it rebounded against the surface. It smelled of vodka, and she swallowed as if she could wash the evidence away. Without thinking, she held the bottle out, though the figure of the girl looked suspiciously young to her. Who was she to judge, though? She had pulled the same thing as a "minor" after all. Besides, she was becoming a bit skeptical about whether or not she wanted to finish off the bottle herself. Did it count if you shared with someone? Her mind whirred, creating a few scenarios in which she was absolved of her guilt. All seemed rather fantastic. Which reminded her, she had company, and felt compelled to say something to her. Thanks to her demeanor, it wasn't often she had company outside of a bedroom. "It's all yours, hon," she said, her voice low and rich with a slight buzz. She could hold her liquor well, a trait she had earned through much practice. "What did you say your name was again?"

Leaning forward with her elbows balanced awkwardly on the table, she bit her lip, attempting to adjust her eyes to the lighting to get a better glimpse of her. She had dark messy hair and a pale face that stood out in the gloom, but apart from the obvious, nothing called much attention to her features. Satisfied, Sol slid back in her chair, running her fingers through her mess of blond hair and smiling timidly. She reached up and pulled her dress up a bit, as it had begun to slide down her chest rather indecently, and leaned her head back, waiting for the girl's response, though not feeling particularly rushed.

In the dim lighting of the bar Soleil did not notice the slight blush that colored Lucy's cheeks, but she could just about see her squirm slightly in embarrassment. She held back any comments, trying not appear as strung-out as she normally was. The vodka really was helping her relax, but she couldn't help but feel a bit forced in this place. At Lucy's next comment she quirked a brow in an almost accusatory way, but said nothing in return. It wasn't quite a lie if she didn't ask, and anyway, Soleil didn't feel comfortable telling anyone and everyone about her issues with cocaine. It wasn't an everyday thing she told most people, though it would be a helpful explanation for her insanity. Maybe she was just sub-consciously punishing herself. "Is that so?" she asked, as if she didn't want to know anymore. And she didn't.

"Or your spirit," she amended, laughing slightly as she defended her name. "I gave you a cute analogy, and you give me the stinky part of a show? Thanks." Her tone was dripping with a playful sarcasm, and the light-hearted banter eased the rest of her worries so that she could, for the first time, fully relax in Lucy's presence. "Shit, I'm so fucking tired," she murmured into her arms as Lucy debated whether or not to tell her her age. Sol had pin-pointed about nineteen, and although seventeen was a bit of a shell-shock, she wrote it off to the inconvenient lighting and lifted her head from it's resting place on her crossed arms. "Well, as long as you don't turn me in, hon, your secret is safe with me, for the most part." She smiled slightly, then stood, stretching her worn out limbs and getting a satisfying 'pop' in response. "D'you wanna get out of here? At least outside or something. I need some fresh air."

Soleil took the near empty bottle and downed the last few sips almost without thinking as Lucy seemed to gain a faraway look, as if she were thinking hard about something. Grasping the edge of the table for a little support, she looked at the girl and playfully waved a hand. "Don't think about it while drunk, it only makes it worse. Trust me." Though Sol didn't know exactly what the girl was pondering, she knew everyone around this part of the city had their particular tragic story, and she respected Lucy's privacy by not prying any further. With a yawn and a stretch, she began walking in the general direction of the door, the bottle hanging loosely from her hand. "By the way!" she called, though it wasn't very loud over the thrum of music and general hum of people in the vicinity, "I like Peanuts Lucy. She was my kind of bitch." That said, she held out a hand and beckoned for Lucy to follow, slipping out the door with a sly, innocent wink at the door-man she had "convinced" to let her in. He gave a sort of nervous smile and looked around, as if the manager would come right out and cuff him over the head.

The crisp, cool night air washed over her almost painfully as she stepped onto the icy cold sidewalk, her bare feet aching, but she reveled in the feeling of it piercing her lungs. Like clockwork, the haze that the vodka had settled over her brain seemed to lift slightly, and she closed her eyes, tilting her face upward toward the night sky. There were no visible stars, as the fluorescent city lights blinded them, but it was enough to know they were there. They seemed to anchor her in their ever-present way, and if anyone needed a little stability in their life, it was Soleil Reyes. She stood quietly, listening to the distant honk of car horns, the resolute beat of the club music muffled by the walls, the faint whisper of mingling people, the stir of the wind through the leaves of the lonely suburban landscaping trees, and sighed. Sol lifted the bottle and once more traced the lettering, this time with her eyes, then threw it across the road, where it landed on the opposite sidewalk with a satisfying crash. That taken care of, she dusted her hands off on her dress and leaned against the building, feeling the vibrations of the music shiver up and down her spine.