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"𝒾'𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷ℯ 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉ℴ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒻𝓁ℴℴ𝓇"
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An impatient Ophelia Stone takes a long sip out of her takeaway coffee cup as she strolls back towards the mechanic's garage where her car is currently being worked on.
Sadly, Jackson Whittemore (or Whittewhore as the girl had been using as of lately) had kept true to his word and indeed left her car in a similar state to the way she had demolished the silver Porsche.
Instead of coffee, the hybrid drinks a strong mixture of different spirits. Even though alcohol has little to no effect on a werewolf or vampire, it didn't take away her love for the taste of the liquid. Over the short span of her time being a vampire, Ophelia had come to realise that drinking alcohol did indeed dull the bloodlust; exactly like she had been told. She came to realise why Damon Salvatore had almost always had a glass of bourbon in his hand.
Although within the span of a few seconds she is snapped out of her relaxed state, her grip on the cup tightening as her eyes dart around. It's not anxiety or dread, something just doesn't feel right. Her green eyes narrow in scepticism and she quickly looks behind her shoulder, but shrugs when finding no one following her. Even though there isn't a visible presence trailing after the girl and her hearing doesn't pick up on anything out of the ordinary, she still has the thought ever present in her head.
