Faye didn’t want to follow him in, but her good senses told her to as he feet moved forward and into the apartment. The furniture was dark, Gothic looking with the deep colors of the woods, and cushions. This couple seemed odd, and it calmed her down a bit as she stopped in the living room as he shoved a violet handkerchief in her face. He was grimacing, and all Faye wanted to do was bolt out of there. Looking at him with large, doe-like eyes, Faye hesitated before reaching for the violet piece of cloth, avoiding any contact with his hand. “Th-Thank you,” she muttered out before taking a few steps back, and closer to the door. 

“I-I really d-don’t want to impose on you anymore,” Faye’s voice threatened to crack again as she felt her heart flutter. She was going to pass out, she knew it. Everything felt like it was spinning, and it didn’t help the apartment smelled faintly of cherries and cigarette smoke. She stumbled a bit, bumping into their coffee table. “Shit,” the world was low and hushed as she closed her eyes again and stood stock still, handkerchief still clenched at her side. Blood trickled as she covered her nose with it, reminding herself to clean and and fix it when she got home. Opening her eyes again, Faye sighed lightly, finally tasting the blood trickling into her mouth. 

Faye bit back the tears as she fumbled in her bag some more, trying to find her card. Blood dripped onto her shirt as she finally found one. Her name read back to her in plain black, neat, lettering. This was the worse, she didn’t want to do this again. It was everything she hated about leaving her house and talking to people she didn’t know. Every word they’d say weighed on her as she thought of twenty other things she could’v said or done. But that was her social anxiety, and it made it hard for her to even smile at the man before her, the tears in her eyes threatening to break as she meekly handed him the card, her hand shaking as she did do.

“I-I won’t bother you g-guys again,” Faye stuttered out, blinking away the tears. This was harder than she thought, but probably because he was attractive. Her heart wanted to give out as she looked back at her shoes, the tissue giving out a bit, her having to pinch her nose to stop the bleeding. “J-Just have her c-call me, and I can meet h-her some where else,” she squeaked out, turning to leave. Her foot caught in her jeans as she tripped herself up, stumbling again. Her face was a dangerous shade of red as she bit her lip and closed her eyes shut, squinting the tears away as she grabbed her bearings. It was terrible. This was not happening. “Sorry,” she muttered out once more, looking at her feet. 

Faye tried her damnedest not to look up at him, her frame shaking a bit from nerves. Awesome, married, wife not home, it’s like everything about her social anxiety was smacking her in the face. Letting out a labored breathe, Faye’s blue-green eyed peeked from behind her flaming hair, getting a better look at the guy. He was young, probably younger than her by a few years, and he worked out. His sick posture took nothing away from his arms and legs, that were obviously toned. Her blush deepened as she fumbled for her purse, the flyer falling out of her hands. “Shit!” she squeaked as she bent down to grab it, forgetting about her bag. The paper slid half between his legs, and before she could bring herself up from her crouch, Faye’s bag tripped her up.

SMACK. The door frame met with her face as she lay against it stunned. This wasn’t happening. It took her a few seconds to recuperate from the sheer embarrassment, grabbing the flyer sheepishly and standing up, taking at least three steps back. “S-Sorry,” he muttered out as she held her nose, stifling the noose bleed she felt coming on. Faye rummaged through her purse again, finding a tissue to hold her nose with instead. Tears welled in her eyes as she felt the fleeting heartbeats quicken, making everything around her spin dully. 

Looking up from the flyer, after practicing what she was going to say, Faye let out a squeak, tensing up at the man who teared the door open. Her eyes widened to the point that she probably looked more scared than shocked, her hands clenched onto anything they were holding. The slight crumpling of the flyer made her remember to breathe. She wasn’t sure if the squeak that left her lips was from fear, nerves, or being confronted by a gorgeous man. He was not well, that much was evident, and he stood a few inches taller than her with shaggy blonde hair. Her cheeks burned as another squeak left her mouth, words drying desperately to replace the mousy squeaks. 

Stuttering a bit, Faye ripped her eyes off the man, and looked back at the crinkled flyer. “I-I am looking f-for an A-Alaizabel,” her alto voice piqued out, cracking a but as she looked down at her shoes, red hair falling in front of her face like a curtain to hide her blush. This wasn’t happening. The first time she tries to be sociable in Florence, and she is harshly greeted by an attractive man in his boxers. Her heart fluttered dangerously in her chest as Faye stifled the wheezing of her labored breathing. This was going to end bad, and her passed out in the elevator until she either woke up, or someone found her and smacked her useless body awake. 

Faye played with the ends of her hair, the red of the tips clashing with the different colored manicured nails. With flyer in her pocket, she walked up to the apartment complex, the smell of the salt water more evident now than at her home. Converse sneakers padded against the tiles of the floor as she let herself in, and crossed the main lobby to the elevator. She was curious as to how the studio owner looked, Alaizabel. It was a gorgeous name, maybe a name she could give a character in an fantasy based roleplaying game. Licking her lips, the elevator binged dully around her as she grabbed the flyer from her jeans pocket, the slightly over sized ‘Nerdvana’ shirt hanging off her shoulders as she fixed the glasses that perched on her nose.

Finally the doors opened and she stepped out, trying to find the apartment number. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor, blue green eyes scanning the doors until she found the right number. Clearing her throat from nerves, Faye pushed back the urge to run off. Her hands shook as she knocked on the door lightly, scared to even speak. If no one answered in a minute, she was going to bolt away. Her social anxiety did this to her often enough, making her fear confrontation with people, even if it was simple questions. The hand holding the flier shook violently as she took a few deep breathes, trying to calm her nerves.