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New York winter was unlike anything else, Roy thinks. The chill biting through his layers of woolen clothing as he rubs the fabrics warmth into his skin, at least he has a reason to cover up more, finally getting less comments on his skin from asshole teens.
Flicking his eyes to the right of the bar line, he sees Victoria, bundled up in some kind of coat? A rich near pure-black with even darker rosettes, one of her hands strokes the opposite sleeve, clawed, painted lithe fingers sinking into the luxurious grain of hairs while she absent-mindedly smokes, ruby red lips wrapping around the tortoiseshell of her cigarette holder and inhaling, his stomach flushes as heavily-lidded crystal blue eyes stare back as she blows a ring of smoke right at him.
She looked every bit of a movie star, the side-swept obsidian hair and the dark makeup he somewhat helped with and that coat; looking straight out of a 1920's red carpet, sleek yet lush.
"By the way-" Victoria's eyes focus again. "-what animal did good ol' Henry get for that coat?" Roy's stomach drops at her smile, fitting the wearer completely with how cat-like she was, worthy of making the Cheshire cat proud.
"Why– you couldn't tell, Roy? It's panther."