Her bangs were a deep plum today, making a rigid marquee over pounds of eyeliner.

Roxie instinctively ducked her head beneath copious amounts of jet black hair as something pink whizzed past her, scowling so deeply it looked painful. That's all I need--some pansy of a woman running me around. A plaintive thud thud drummed a heavy bassline against the innocent floor---Roxie's age-old, way-past-vintage combat boots. Cinder blocks would have been lighter, but optimist Roxie saw them as an anger management course with soles. Plus, not a bad thing to chuck at someone's head,she mused, with clear amusement as she glared down at Reason and Persuasion---almost---affectionately. Bleary eyes snapped up to the vulture-like creature that stomped her way through the maze of cubicles and Formica, a scene out of her vilest, most bile churning horror movies. "Get back to misfiling your reports, mates," she growled, the head's door reflecting challengingly in her galvanized metal eyes. It too seemed to recoil at the astounding apathy the going-on-21 exuded...or didn't exude. Flicking back the flowy chiffon sleeve of a peasant sort of top that ended in a chokehold black corset, Roxie cooly checked the time; the glittering bone of the skull on the read-out pointed out that she had five minutes to make herself decent before the department head. The punk smirked, looping a pearl-white hand into the spiky loops of her belt.Should've shopped at some place like Jane's or Lacey's then. Good thing I wore the eyebrow rings this morning. And the tongue bar. Bobbleheads and other personal momentos rocked and ruffled; she clunked the homestretch toward Teal Andrus's name. Even better; he's got a doting mother. C'mon, who else'd name their kid Teal? Bloke got off easy, come to think. Could've named him Ecru or Vermillion. Eh, mebbeh she'll bring by brownies. Roxie uttered a bark-like laugh at Chief of Coyness, pressing her pale rose lips firmly as she kept the chest convulsion at bay. The thorny, onyx crucifix 'round her neck dangled ominously. Christmas early! Maybe he still wears a cape and Dumbledore pajamas! Bless! Tilting her head to the right to reveal multiple piercings, Roxie hinted at a black smile, a fingerless gloved hand snatching eagerly toward the door with bullets of highest mocking caliber loaded in that machine gun mouth. Wait! The black-haired crow paused, recalling the few manners her otherwise unfit 'mother' taught her, amongst: Don't smart off to the dodgy ones after dark...and don't laugh when an attempted murder misses you... Roxie did learn the fundamentals of 'please' and 'thank you'. Poising her wrist over the shiiiiiny plaque, the door tremored slightly as Roxanne's manly knock made contact a trio of times. It was a good thing wood didn't bruise. The new addition to Dragon Research pivoted gracelessly and slouched her emaciated back against the wall, staring down a cow-eyed blonde who toughness cracked before Roxie could even snap her jaws. Yeah, that's right, get to writing your will. Because I'm soooo dangerous. Honestly, people. A bit of black and you're suddenly Voldemort.