At Your Leisure

And most certainly, there were a few cats about the area. A few were the late night pub-hoppers, if you could call it that, a few others coming to make a get away and enjoy a drink in their lonesome, and then there was another option, but she didn't exactly count as a sort of generalization. With a joint between her lips, not a cigarette nor cigar, and the lingering smell of cannabis on her fur, the rather leggy queen coughed in a manner that was beautifully unladylike. She wiped her mouth briskly and sniffed a bit before puffing out a small billow of smoke. It was almost as if she was well acquainted with the plant she was smoking--she let off few signs that she was inebriated at all. But then again, she was notoriously known for her generally 'always high' personality. She just went with the flow and had few worries to say the least. Or, more or less, that's what she liked people to believe. The silver queen, well into her 30's could pass for younger truthfully. Despite her unhealthy habits, she was very into her appearance and overall health. She was strong, no doubt physically. In fact, in such a dark area of town, she could be perceived as awfully intimidating--but this tom seemed pretty sturdy in his posture.

Essmerelda was more than considered an adult. She was a full grown woman. And with that authority over herself and her choices, she chose to spend her night wandering London, dropping into any parties she could, and getting drunk off her tail before returning to reality and actually having to be a useful member to society. But for now, it was her time. Well--'her time' as in time to lose herself and not remember anything the next morning. After all, that was the fun of being an adult with no rules.

Initially, she thought she'd been seeing things. So, squinting a bit, she realized the figure of a male and blew out a stream of smoke before licking her lips and flicking the joint to the ground. "Guess I ain't the only one 'round here that wants t'eh get in a quick smoke . . . " She trailed off into a raspy sounding chuckle and it seemed rather unclear if she were trying to make conversation with the tom or if she was just talking to herself and making observations. Essa, speaking in a raspy chuckle, continued on, "An' here I thought all them Brits were so classy." The Siberian's idea of personal space and the majority of the English felines in London's idea of personal space varied more than the dietary habits of an elephant and a mountain lion. Then again, Essa was just a personal woman all around. Even towards complete strangers, she always seemed so interested and curious about everyone. So, nudging the tabby, she smacked her lips and gestured with her head at the pub. "Y'eh catchin' a drink, man?" It was a funny notion to think that after only a few minutes in eachother's presences, that Essa seemed willing to talk over drinks with a tom she met smoking in an alleyway. But this was Essmerelda. She had nothing but time and zero responsibilities--what could talking with strangers hurt?