Arrival
She's not the fastest of the group making their way down the stairs, being in pain isn't new. That's a given to most of life as she has known it. Or waking up disorientated, cut into, with some new piece attached to her body.

Using her legs, on the hand? That was like getting on a bicycle after years, and she was wobbly as a baby deer as she tried to make her way down the stairs. A little out of breath, both hands on the wall as she goes one after another until she enters the lobby.

All of it, the sights, the smells, the sounds, the simple act of just breathing like a normal person on normal lungs for the first time in years, is exhausting. Lost and tired, she reaches for the closest person, she knows what's coming almost predictably. Reaching to whoever is closest to tap them on the arm - and she is small, not that much over 5', all told, bare feet to the floor. A mix of healthy, not a cut, not a bruise or injury on her body, and yet she seems completely exhausted and overwhelmed.

"Sorry, I don't mean to bother you. I just... think I am going to throw up. Can you help me sit down?"

So far, she hadn't seen Jack. Which was good, and bad. She didn't exactly want to spend eternity with her asshole father, but she wanted more than anything, to know he was dead already.

Stand Your Ground
When had she last seen a carnival? Eden 2 on a field trip when she had been little with both her parents? Was that the sort of memory she dreamed up in her illusions in the emptiness of her life otherwise.

She isn't doing very much, managed to shuffle her way to a lemonade stand with bambi steps. With a glass of lemonade in hand, she swings her feet where she's too short of the seats, sipping it from a straw. Not up to the rides and kissing the demon had resulted in the shiest kiss on the cheek where she nearly panicked and ran away before it got anywhere, but she stuck to her guns, and now she sipped it in victory.

Instead, she offers a different sort of help.

Every so often she lets a demon come up and she closes her eyes and puts her hand on the machine he offers her. Faintly she hums with light that turns her blue full-body tattoos white, one, two, three, and then she opens her eyes again, the light dims. "You've got your calibrations set right, this time. Just make sure to tighten the bolt properly."

It seems to please her a lot, being useful with her powers. Just using them to help people do something fun. The demons as a concept seem.... normal, really, that all of this is a little, if she closes her eyes, like Pandora.

Reach Up High
What sin hasn't she committed? Greed maybe? It really takes a minute for her to speak, not because she doesn't think she's done wrong, but because... she's not sure where to start.

"Are we supposed to admit big things? Or everyday things? Because there is the torture, probably, but that's just something we all saw... or do you want the corporate manipulation and tax evasion...? Or murder? Does accidental murder count as a sin? What if the gun had an AI? Some of the Torgue AI's get really pushy when you don't give them someone to murder... uhm..."

She fiddles looking at her hands because this is just - Pandora. But having others speak, they aren't just used to cannibalism, it seems like.

Follow Me Down: I & II
This was certainly an outfit, white lace and sweet, the sort of thing she can't imagine anyone she knows wearing. Not even Moxxi. But that apparently was the theme for the night, and when in Hell, right? Especially since Jack still was not here.... then maybe... maybe she could just... cut back like everyone else did? Even if she was sure he would absolutely kill anyone for looking at her like this.

So dressed in the little lingerie outfit, she finds somewhere she can sit doing what she does best, just watching people. Though everything is on display, and that is terrifying. She is a siren, bought and sold and killers and goddesses, it becomes clear that the peak of blue tattoos from under her clothes otherwise, doesn't finish there. From toes to the back of her neck and across the entire left side of her body - there are blue lines. Curling over her breasts, up her thighs, on the flat of her hips.

And in her spine are metal rings of exposed cybernetics, like someone would hook another machine into her.

This is her first drink. Her first taste of alcohol. Doing what adults do. Not the enforced, endless emptiness Jack forced her into. She doesn't know where to start, so she does the only sensible thing she can think of: orders one of every drink there is and takes one quick mouthful, and then a longer sip.

It's not Eridium the flash of the system to hot, so sharp to her body. This was like sinking into a warm blanket that was a wash of a hundred new things. Before long, she was eating everything around her, a familiar haze of euphoria that simmered as her happiness made her light up. Literally. The tattoos pulse with her happiness and the way she feeds her powers into her emotions, that ripple the air about her like a static discharge.

Until it's all just wonderful to her, the pain and frustration of her weak body fades from her, and she is tilting her head back, laughing at something she finds hilarious.

"That's the thing, my name is Angel - and I'm in hell." It's not dignified how hard she laughs, a snort as she hiccups into her next glass.

Someone should probably take the alcohol off the girl whose never drunk anything before and weighs five pounds soaking wet.

Or worse, before the drunk girl crying starts.

network: 4N631

Hi,
Quick question,
Where are the gun vending machines?
I can't seem to find any.