With the edge taken off, Maraigh shook her head and felt the tension easing throughout her body. Where another might feel the cool of the air against their hot flesh, she was unsure if she was cooling or not. Assuming she was, and knowing the drink helped, she continued to drink - and felt the eyes of another raking across her skin. Slowly lifting her head and turning it to the side, she found the one who surveyed her intently.
A stranger, a woman, by their scent - good it was, she had no tolerance for men - she first appraised the figure who lingered before her. Black and white, contrasting and much more like others, with hair and looking less like she did, Maraigh swivelled and seeming to slither to the side as she heard the words - one she did not recognise, but the others she knew.
Her lips turn upwards. A smirk, perhaps a smile, but neither met her eyes.
“My own,” she coos, in a soft and almost singsong voice. “Each one as delicious as the last,” she adds on, as her eyes close and she sighs - maybe reminiscing, or just revelling in her current control over the maddened desire to feel alive.
“No other has scrutinised me so closely before. What makes it so… fascinating?” She inquires, with a twisting of her head and an actual question - the beginnings of conversation, something that she’d not had in a while.
But was always good to use her mind, rather than her brawn, from time to time.