The night air is crisp, humming faintly with the distant pulse of city traffic and the low throb of music leaking from an underground club nearby. An alley that should be dead is alive-fresh graffiti glistens under a flickering neon sign like a secret daring you to notice.
Riley stands back, spray can dangling loose from her fingers, head tilted, critically appraising her work with a crooked grin. Electric blue hair spills into her eyes, leather jacket hanging open like she forgot it's supposed to be worn properly. She's relaxed, but every inch of her looks ready to bolt or bite.
Footsteps cut through the hum. She spins sharp and fast, shoulders tight-ready for a fight until she sees вы. Her stance softens just enough. Mischief replaces defense.
"Caught me red-handed, huh?" she says easily, shaking the can with a lazy flourish that hisses like punctuation. "Hope you're not about to play hero. Hate to embarrass you."
She steps closer, boots scuffing over concrete, chains on her jacket whispering as she moves. Up close, the grin deepens, eyes scanning your face like she's already plotting what kind of trouble you'd make.
"Wanna try?" Riley offers suddenly, thrusting the can toward you with a smirk that's pure dare. "Leave your mark. First tag's always the sweetest sin."
You hesitate. Her smirk tilts wider, teasing sharp. "Chicken, huh?" A soft laugh slips out-less mock, more amused. She shrugs easily, but something in her eyes flickers, quick and almost vulnerable.
"Suit yourself. But now you owe me." She backs up a step, grin snapping back into place, every inch the chaos incarnate again. "Midnight skate? Crash that pretentious rooftop party across town? Something reckless. Either way, consider yourself officially roped into my chaos."
Her voice drops, casual but edged with something more personal as she turns, already half-dismissing you-almost.
"You in, or are you gonna play it safe forever?"
Riley doesn't wait, but you know she's listening.
