Alright for a white girl

Who: Zania and D
Where: The Ballroom
When: Late Morning

Zania was wandering in conjunction with her mind, feet taking her places without paying much attention while she pondered the changes she wanted to make to her life. First and foremost, there would be no more sleeping in boxes, and not just because of the note. It's a childish inclination and it needs to stop, she told herself. Second, she needed to stop relying on other people to keep her safe. When did that happen? I spent a year on the street, relying on no one but myself, but then... there'd been no one else to lean on. It has to stop, she decided. Gavin had been bad enough, but keeping Dorian in the box with her had been worse. Running to Lina that morning had been the breaking point. What was the point in that? No one can protect you but yourself. Suck it up. Make a change. These things she thought as she stepped into the ballroom, her bare feet quiet on the floor. It sounded as if she were alone, at least in the second.

She wasn't quite, but her company was unaware of her presence for the moment. D had gotten up late as per usual, and felt just ... restless. He'd done the bit of what he could the day before, but it hadn't actually done any good. Not that he cared much, it just seemed to inspire some nervous energy for some reason. So his aimless wandering with a bottle of orange juice had landed him in the ballroom, and currently he was fiddling with buttons and dials on the sound system that was there. This? Could be a badass room for some parties. ... if anybody actually ever felt like parties again. He couldn't help but feel like he'd missed out on the fun honeymoon stage of the house. He hit a button and a bassline kicked in, piped through all the speakers in the room, loud as all get-out. He laughed, delighted, and turned it down a notch or two.

Zania just about jumped out of her skin, giving out a little shriek as the music started. As soon as she realized that's just what it was, she rolled her eyes at herself. Really, music isn't going to kill you. And if something did, it would probably sneak up, not loudly blast me away. The music turned down and she looked around, wondering where the main switch for the sound system was. "Hello?" she called, turning in a small circle. She knew someone was there, somewhere.

He was off toward the back of the ballroom, in the little dj booth they had set up. D looked up as she called out; the shriek had been drowned out in music, but her tentative greeting got through. He recognized her immediately as the Snake Girl. "Yo," he called back, looking back down to readjusting this level and that. He didn't really know what he was doing, but it was fun to fuck around with. "Any requests?"

"Anything with a beat is good," Zania said with a lop-sided smile, heading towards him. She recognized D as the guy who'd killed the snake in her bed. She hadn't seen him since, but anyone willing to kill a giant snake for her was good in her opinion. "You know how to work this stuff?" she asked, coming around to the back of the booth. One of the guy's she used to work with had run it at the club, but all she'd ever done was watch him fiddle with it. She'd always considered big pieces of electronic equipment to be out of her league.

"All a matter of 'sperimentation," D drawled with a little smirk. With the CDs he'd brought down, he could give her something with a beat. Not that he was really there for her entertainment or anything. He didn't know her outside of cutting the snake off of her, but she had an accent, which made her a little more acceptable in his mind for some reason. She didn't feel like a princess. Wetting his lips, he made a couple more adjustments and the ballroom was filled with the thudding bass of some club rap. D bobbed his head; yeah, he could put on a fuckin' party in this bitch. He wondered if that little white-girl-Morgan was still thinking of throwing one.

Zania's hand tapped against her thigh in time with the beat, her eyes shutting momentarily as her head began to bob as well. That'll work, she thought, and opened her eyes again with a small smile. "I didn't realize we had this nice a sound system in here," she said. "It'd be awesome for a party." If I can make it to one, that is. She was still annoyed that she'd missed the masquerade. The luau had been fun, but it'd been outside and completely different from the sort of party that could be put on in the ballroom.

"S' what I been thinkin', girl," D agreed, head still bobbing as he continued to fiddle with dials and switches. "Just dunno if many 'a these peoples know how t'throw a good one, know what I'm sayin?" He smirked a bit and cranked the well-balanced music up a notch or two, then flopped back into the chair back there and slouched comfortably. It'd be easy just to sit and vibe, and close his eyes and pretend he was back home, away from at least most of the crazy crackers.

"I don't know myself," she told him. "I've been here almost a month, I think. There was one that I was sick for, and another that was a luau, which was fun, but not really a party party, you know?" As he slouched down in the chair, she took a seat on the floor, stretching her legs out in front of her. "So, what's your name? I can't keep thinking of you as the guy that saved me from a snake. It's too much at once," she smiled.

D chortled a bit of a chuckle. He personally didn't think a party-party was quite possible considering what he'd seen of the majority of the house, but ... it couldn't hurt anything to try sometime, could it? "D's what I go by," he answered. That was good enough to go on for now. "You?"

She thought to ask him what D stood for, but then decided that if he wanted her to know, he'd have added that in. "Zania," she answered, quite aware that her name was unusual. She blamed her parents for that. With an older brother named Justin, she had to wonder what they were smoking with they got to her. At least she liked being unique.

D grew up around girls with names like Lexus and Shaniqua -- Zania wasn't so odd. So he just nodded and tucked it away as something he may or may not really remember. His lips pursed as though he had remembered something and D patted the breast pocket of his over-sized bright-orange button down shirt. He pulled out a slim rolled joint and a lighter, glancing at her with a faint smirk and an arched eyebrow. "You smoke, girl?" he asked.

"Sometimes," she answered, lips turning up in a half smirk. She had a bit of pot stashed away herself, but it wasn't something she got into every day. It was the only drug she permitted herself, seeing as how it didn't come with a raging addiction. That wasn't something she'd ever been able to afford, and then once she saw the effects on others, it wasn't something she'd ever wanted period. "You willing to share?"

He grinned lazily and tucked the joint between his lips, flicking the lighter to life. "Am I willin' t'share," he repeated in a lightly incredulous tone. He dragged in the first hit off of it deep and held it, watching the way the paper blazed up. "Girl, sharin's what I do." D leaned over to pass the joint to her. He sat back again and let out his lungful slowly into the air above him.

Okay, so she thought he was cool. He killed snakes and shared joints and, thus far, hadn't called her any names, and that was good enough in her book. "Thanks," she said, taking the joint from him between two fingers. Her eyes shut slowly as she took a drag, smoke filling her lungs for as long as she could hold it. Zania exhaled with a quiet sigh and a smile. "So, where are you from?" she asked, making easy small talk.

Well, at least she seemed to know what she was doing. D hated it when he had to teach people. He slouched further, letting her hold onto it if she wanted. Wasn't like he didn't have more. "Atlanta," he said, but it slurred in a way that made it sound more like 'Alanna', as always. "You?" She had a weird accent, which oddly put her more on the Possibly Likeable side of his thinking.

She would have to look that up. Zania remembered a bit of her world history from school, but she couldn't even recall if they'd gone over the capitals of all the states in the United States. Even if the had, she wasn't sure she would have cared. Now, with half the house being American, she wished she knew a bit more about the country. "Originally Venice, but I've been in London the past three years," she said, taking another drag and then handing it back to him.

D wasn't sure where Venice was -- in France, maybe -- but he knew of London and wasn't surprised to hear she was from ... Over There. Which seemed like a whole different planet to him. He took the joint back and took another couple of slow hits off of it. It was good stuff, because he only ever smoked the good stuff himself. His veins were starting to thrum pleasantly. He should've brought some sweet tea with him or something. "Word," he said belatedly. Nobody ever accused him of being good at small talk.

It didn't take much for Zania to realize that D's shit was good. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, pleased with the ability to completely relax. Zania smiled at his belated answer, eyes opening halfway to look at him. She didn't have much to say herself. "Think things will be calm tomorrow?" she asked. Today wouldn't have been quite so bad, except for the note in her box. Bastards. She'd been scared at first, but the more she thought about it, it pissed her off.

One of D's hands lifted up off his leg to bounce slightly with the beat of the music. This was what he dug: getting smoked up and just vibing. "Never can tell, babydoll, never can tell," he said, taking a couple of little sippy hits off of the joint between his fingers. Yeah. His thoughts were slowing down, every one of her facial features becoming more and more interesting, time was starting to drift. "M' hopin' so ... gettin' tired of this early-mornin' shit."

"I'm more of a night person," she chuckled, quite aware that drama at night really wouldn't be any better. It just wouldn't be woken up to, which changed the effect a touch. "You kind of lose track of time here. Some days, there's nothing to do. Some days, there's things to do that you don't want to do." Laying back on the ground, she pondered the next day's unknown events, twisting a piece of hair between her fingers as her toe tapped to the beat.

It kind of sounded like prison, to him. Granted, he'd never done more than a couple of months for petty bullshit, but he understood how days could bleed together and seem like one long eternity. D's head bobbed slowly and his eyes drifted mostly closed. He thought he could make it, if he could combat chaos with ... this. Just chillin'. "Ain' gonna get any easier, I'm thinkin'," he murmured quietly, though he didn't sound like he had a problem with that.

Zania had never done time. She didn't have a record and she intended to keep it that way. If she'd been thrown into prison, she thought she'd never get out. There was no way she was going to waste away like that. "I think we just need to find ways to pass the time," she said, watching as she twisted her hair quickly between her fingers, ratting it up. She smiled to herself in amusement, then looked up at him. "Silly question, but did you braid your own hair?"

He shook his head, making sure the joint had burned out completely before he tucked it away in his pocket again. "My sister did this one," he said with a faint smirk. He watched the way she played with her hair. Now that would be a way to pass the time. "But I know how, if that's what you're askin'."

"You have a sister?" she asked, head tilting slightly to the side. Odd thing about living in this house-- she forgot others had people waiting for them back home. Zania did not. Or, at least, no one that still considered her family. "I want to do something different. Braids. Or dreadlocks. I thought about dying it, but I like the color," she said. Occasionally she made it different shades of red, but she almost always kept to red of some sort, her natural hair color.

D made a 'psh' sort of noise and chuckled. "Honey, I got three," he said, looking amused. That knee just kept on bouncing. He eyed her for a minute, that long red hair. "Need t'do braids first," he concluded, propping his head up with one hand. "Dreads is a lotta work, lotta not washin' your head. Do braids first, see if y'like 'em, then you can maybe move up to dreads." And that was his quasi-professional opinion. White-people dreads were even more difficult to get to come out right.

"Three," she said, smiling to herself. She thought it would have been nice to have a sister, someone who could maybe relate to her. But maybe she'd have lost her as well. She'd been close to her brother, until he'd disowned her. Zania blinked away such thoughts, focusing on the conversation. She wondered if he had any clue about how long she'd once gone without washing her hair. "Okay, braids first," she said, then leaned up on her elbows. "Could I talk you into doing them for me?" she asked. "I could try, but it'd end up a mess."

Well hell. He should've seen that coming, of course, but his thought processes were nicely fuzzed. But what the hell else was he doing? He flashed her a little grin. "S'gonna take all fuckin' day, with that head a'your's, but aiight. You gonna owe me a favor, though. I don't do nothin' for free, dig? Nothin' personal." What that favor might be, he hadn't a clue yet. It was just always good policy for people to owe you, especially in a situation like this, it would seem.

"I don't mind owing favors," Zania said, sitting herself back up. "It's all we've got around here anyways, since money's pretty much worthless." She probably owed him twice, considering the snake massacre he'd performed for her. She wouldn't mention it now though, as she didn't know what kind of favors he'd call in.

That was a good enough agreement for D, and after a minute of psyching himself up for it, he stood up and offered her a hand. So maybe the little foreign redhead was alright. He'd just have to see how tender-headed she was. "C'mon then. S'get started." He'd take her back to his room, since that's where his comb set was. That and patience was all he needed. Which was a lot easier with the THC in his blood like it was.

"Thanks," she said, taking his hand and standing up. It was a little snap decision, but Zania doubted she'd be regretting it. Already she was excited about something different, a physical change to go with the emotional one. She needed his help on this, but it wasn't the same as dependence, and the fact that she owed him made it fair. She had no idea how long it would take, but they really had all the time in the world.