He wasn't the only one looking for a way to buck the system even for a few hours or for a night. Rip had gained entry to the nightclub and was mingling, a drink that was surprisingly red in her hands and might have a coppery sent to it mixed with tequila of all things.

Despite the mark on her neck, Rip was confidant and smiling as she paused to talk to others or to dance until she bumped into someone else on accident and then heard what he said.

"Some of us don't need zhe mascara vhether it be for marks on our throats or our eyelashes." At least there was humor in her voice as she turned to face him.

"Zhough, think I'll pass on zhe drink. I haf to have mine special made."