"Sorry, Lahey, but I'm more of a cat person."
Vera Pérez is no stranger to the supernatural. Growing up alongside the Hale family has kept her fairly well-informed about the creatures that lurk in the darkness. However, she didn't become one of thos...
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( illuminated, pt. ii )
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
THE LOFT IS alive in the dead of night. The black light fixtures illuminate everything bright enough to glow, dousing faces in darkness but causing their clothes to shine. Strobe lights flicker near the DJ stationed by the window, flashing into the hoard of dancing teenagers jumping to the beat of the electronic music. It's so loud that the floor shakes, pulsing under their feet, making the room feel alive and excited along with them. Empty plastic cups litter the floor while the sharp scent of alcohol taints the air.
Many of the partygoers are adorned in neon paint. You can see the designs on someone before you can actually see their face, swirling on chests and lips and across foreheads. Some people have worn bright wigs, clothing, or other miscellaneous accessories, proving that a blacked-out town can't stop them from being loud and radiant.
Vera is at the paint station with Isaac situated on the chair in front of her. She stands close enough to get the details on his face just right, meaning she has to be between his open legs, her face dangerously close to his as she drags a brush dipped in green paint across his cheekbone.
Her heart is well-aware of their close proximity. It pounds against her ribs, making her hands tremble ever-so-slightly, forcing her to grip the handle of the paintbrush tighter to prevent mistakes. She doesn't even care that Isaac can hear. She's sure his senses are overloaded anyway, what with the scent of her perfume and the deafening music in combination with the blinding neon colors plastered on everyone. It must be hell for a werewolf.
It doesn't help that Isaac is probably the worst person to be painting. He fidgets constantly, making her have to draw back before she can mess up, which becomes very annoying by the seventh time.
"Hold still," she commands as she grabs his chin and pulls him back into place. "You're gonna make me drag a stupid line across your face."
Isaac rubs at the back of his neck. "Argent's twenty-four hours are almost up. Shouldn't we tell Scott about the things that attacked me last night?"
"Scott isn't here." Vera takes an orange brush and swirls paint below his eye to contrast the blue hue of his iris.
"I know, but I just feel like we should tell him—"
"Isaac."
He looks at her for the first time since he'd sat down. She'd already done her own makeup prior to his arrival, covering the sides of her face in fluorescent pink sequins that travel down her temples and across her cheekbones like little stars. She'd applied glow-in-the-dark glitter to her collarbones, the lines of her neck, and the hollow of her throat, accentuating each feature, even the curves on her chest, but that part remains hidden under her black t-shirt. A leather mini skirt from Erica hugs her thighs and backside. Per Lydia's suggestion, she'd taken a pair of wide fishnet tights and spray-painted them bright green.
