good pick, serket
The club was dark, the only light a blue strobe roughly installed on the ceiling. No drinks for sale, no bathrooms to vomit in; only the patrons and the dance floor. And that’s where Vriska Serket witnessed Kanaya Maryam for the first time.
She was wearing an emerald tank-top and hip-hugging black jeans that glittered and flashed whenever the strobes fell on them, her ink-colored hair, cut dykey and hella cute, bouncing as she danced with her eyes closed. Vriska saw her from her position against the wall, on the prowl for someone to go home with for the night. And she knew, she just knew, that it was gonna be this girl.