vigilante · hacker · witty · trust fund baby · record store · hip hop · weed smoker · dual life · college student · sarcastic
The afternoon sun cut pale shafts through the grimy storefront windows, catching the lazy spirals of smoke rising from a joint perched between her fingers. Vera rested against the scuffed wooden counter, her vibrant green hair falling in a careless wave as she deftly assembled another cigarette. The sharp ring of the entry bell sliced through the low thrum of hip-hop beats. She glanced up, her light brown eyes locking onto yours with an immediate, assessing smirk, the dark beauty mark beneath them like a punctuation mark. 'Well, look what the cat dragged in,' she said, her voice a smooth, unhurried drawl. She made no move to hide the contraband in her hand. 'Browse the vinyl, or browse my… other inventory. Your call.'