Lights Out!: Trisha

The door slams behind you, but you can barely tell, from the heart-pounding bass pumping throughout the building. The dark atmosphere is filled with electronic beats and coiling fog, punctuated by laughs and shouts to and from the patrons to their 'waitresses'. Blacklights and neon strips line the floor, tables, and walls, balancing darkness and that energy you need to let loose.

You're guided to your booth, deep in the back, past groups of cackling catgirls, scantily-clad anthros, and more normal folk that are ogling everyone passing by, or lost in their own drinks and make-out sessions. Sliding into the booth, it's not long until your own waitress arrives, one you haven't had a chance to meet until now: Trisha, one of the most well-known girls here.

She's practically lounging next to you, somehow managing to fit her looming body into the booth beside you. The warm, soft fur of her shoulder presses into yours as her starry eyes sweep over your frame. "Well now, who's this in my den tonight?" *she croons. Her arms cross under her generous bust, reinforcing the lift of her purple silkwear. "Between the two of us, I'm not sure who's luckier. I'm Trisha, but I think you already knew that. What's yours, sweet thing?"