Bambi Dorét
Bambi groans loudly a mutters a string of unrepeatable obscenities when her phone buzzes with a new message from Ryuu. She'd spent the previous night at a friend's house-warming party and had fallen asleep on the sofa some time in the small hours of the morning. She struggles into an upright position and rubs her temple to try to ease the dull, aching hangover.
They're supposed to be introduced to some American band today - Zestosomething, was it? - and she should have left ten minutes ago to meet the others at Ryuu's apartment; there's no time to go home and change. She glances down at herself, she'd worn a aheer, leopard print maxi skirt and fringed jacket - vintage finds, bought from a tiny back street boutique - and a pair of suede wedges her grandmother had sent from her native London. With a self-satisfied nod, she decides she's dressed more than adequately to meet the Yanks.
She sends a quick, one lined text to her mother to inform the woman of her whereabouts, but she's sure her mum won't have been worried about her staying out all night; Ms. Dorét is that rarest of things - a cool parent. She'd had Bambi when she was barely twenty, the result of a one-night romance with a touring musician whom she was to never see again.
Bambi heads to the bathroom and digs around in her handbag for her make-up, painting on crimson lipstick and layers of mascarra. She spritzes herself with a bottle of body spray sitting on the edge of the bath and combs the fingers through her red hair to make it sit flat. She gives herself a final once-over in the mirror.
Bambi slips out, careful not to wake the owner of the house - who is sound asleep under the kitchen table - and hails a taxi.