Bianca was positive that somewhere between the dive excuse of a bar and home, her feet have been turned into led. Walking up the steps towards her bedroom she found herself panting from the exertion. And considering what she was that was quite a praise of awesomeness at the altar of her fatigue. Ugh even her brain felt heavy. Surely the weight of it moving around in her head was what was triggering the poetic crap. Which was just as well. If there was someone in the hallway Bianca was running a high risk of stopping them and talking about "life man, ain't it a thing?" Luckily for everyone else they were tucked into their beds or puppy piles hours ago. Save for a lone night bird here and there Bianca was wholly alone in the hallway. Looking down the hall at her room she wondered how she was going to cover the distance without the loud "thump thump" of tired feet waking everyone up. What she needed was to wake up just a little. And maybe shed some of the weight. Pivoting on a heavy foot the werewolf headed for the shower, shedding her clothes on the floor along the way. No they didn't have a maid but she was going to pick up her shit on the way out of the shower. Like Hansel with polyester blend bread crumbs, looking for that damn Gingerbread. Mmmm speaking of Gingerbread, Bianca's stomach growled a little. And not in a "feed me way" more like in a "ugh...seek the Porcelain God!" kind of way. Which felt kind of nice. It had been a while since Radical B had gotten hammered, tonight after an insane amount of Jack and his friend Captain Morgan, B was positively buzzed.  Her metabolism however, did not like that shit at all and kept letting her know it with full body twinges. Shit, she was fast skipping past the buzzed zone and straight into prayer mode.

As the hot water came down to beat sense into her head and massage her shoulders, Bianca closed her eyes and leaned back into the stream. She left the cold water off for now, just letting the super hot water run over her skin. It hurt but it also felt kind of good when the sting of the heat hit every nerve in her back. The pink flush that bloomed there healed nearly as fast as it formed, and it was almost enough to warm that cold spot between her lungs. Looking down at herself, she watched the flush bloom on her chest, sending the outline of a small print there into stark relief. When she was hot or close to shifting (a rare event if she could help it) the small four finger/claw outline in her skin showed up as white. Like a pressure mark. Nearly invisible against her naturally pale epidermis, now it was right there. And if she tilted her head at the right angle Bianca could have sworn it was giving her the finger. Letting a light grin tug her tired lips upward Bianca lifted her hand and poked herself in the center of the palm print. Once, twice, ten times till she reached the count of ouch. Yup still there, still flipping her off in a way.

With a loud sigh she tilted her head back and closed her eyes as the water began to run down her face. Ouch that fucking hurt. Reaching back with her will she twisted the old water knob enough so that the scalding hot turned into bearable hot, which yanked a sight of contentment out of her. There were truly few things in the world that were as fantastic as a nice hot shower at the end of a long day. And her day was long. It started with the black mood when she woke up. The bad dreams that preceded it, and it just kind of went down the hill from there, gathering shit as it rolled. Maybe it was her imagination but when irritated everything seemed much worse than it was. To keep from snapping at anyone and everyone at the pack house Bianca hauled her ass into the city where she wondered every back alley in hopes of some action. Any action would do. A fight, a quick fuck with a stranger, or just fucking with someone for fuck's sake. She wasn't picky on the best of days. But what she ended up with was zip, zilch, nada. Just a quiet day of doing nothing. It kind of pissed her off more. And to make it worse she wasn't sure where the bad mood was coming from. Well, not true. She knew she just didn't want to admit it and that made it worse. Like salt crystals being rubbed slowly over a fresh cut. Slowly, back and forth, back and forth...mmmm, nice.

Shuddering under the water Bianca turned around and reached for the body wash. It smelled like peaches and made her stomach churn but it DID promise to leave her skin silky smooth and younger looking. Who didn't want silkier, smoother, younger looking skin? After squeezing a small amount onto a wash cloth, Bianca thought for a minute and then emptied about half a bottle. The foam would be insane but she had this need to get extra squeaky clean. The scent of the human male on her skin lingered and she didn't want to go to bed smelling like the dive bar she eventually found, or the bar tender who took tips in forms other than cash or free drinks. He was quick, he was fun, he was what she thought she needed. Anonymous sex with a stranger to scratch an itch and help her mood. It didn't do either it just wasted half an hour of her time and messed up her hair.

Speaking of hair, she had to get more dye. Looking at the wet mess that clung to the front of her shoulders, Bianca noticed that the red wasn't nearly as dark as it always was. Which meant her naturally brown roots were probably showing. The hair color blended with them nicely when she didn't  cover them up in time, but now she couldn't remember the last time she did. Which cemented the point that she needed to color her hair.   Once the shower was finished and she smelled of nothing but peaches, olive oil and mint and her own natural scent of burnt amber, Bianca headed back into the hallway to gather up her clothes. She left the wet towel behind in the bathroom, letting her skin air dry instead. Shame? What shame, she lived in a house with other shifters...there was no such thing as Shame. Well there was, a song on someone's play list, ha!.

Gooseflesh spread over her back and legs as she gathered her fallen clothes. Ugh they reeked of smoke and ... things. Yup, definatly laundry time. Bianca tossed the things in the corner that served as her hamper and added "laundry" to the little list of things to do that was nailed over the light switch inside her room. Its position guaranteed she was always aware of the things on her own to do list before she left her room. Quite a useful tip really. Thank you The Internet. Lifting her arms above her head she stretched, wincing as her vertebrae realigned with soft pops. Seriously bar stools were hard on a girl's back. Looking at the bed Bianca frowned. It was empty. The pillows propped against the wall instead of a headboard, the sheets pooled at the foot of the mattress. For a brief moment Bianca allowed herself to entertain the idea of sleeping with the others. Wrapped around warm bodies, safe and loved. And promptly scratched that thought from her head. Yeah, puppy piles were most defiantly not for her.  Looking away from the bed Bianca caught her reflection in the dresser mirror and winced. With her wet hair and makeup that didn't wash all the way off she looked like a ghost of herself. Kind of felt like one too, she also felt like total shit. The one night (even if it was only half an hour at the most) stand didn't do what it was supposed to. It didn't reaffirm that Bianca was her own person with no attachments. And yet beneath  that, somewhere she felt the stirrings of an emotion she hadn't felt in ages. Guilt. Because she fucked someone else? Not bloody likely.

Or was it.

Ugh, reaching up she pinched the bridge of her nose and fought the symptoms of a headache. No way in hell was she feeling guilty about having a little fun while Malcolm was in a coma. Because if that was the reason for the guilt like feelings then that meant something. Something she wasn't willing or wanted to deal with. So why then was she feeling so crappy?  Huffing loudly as she exhaled air through her mouth Bianca went to her bed and fell on the mattress, bouncing a couple of times before settling down. Lifting her head she punched the pillow into submission before resuming the prone pose. Sleep. She needed sleep, sleep would make it all better. Riiiggghttt.