She's sitting -- somewhere, private but not too out of the way -- leaning back in a chair just slightly, feet propped up on an empty desk in front of her. She's wearing her usual all black, but it's less immaculate than usual -- knee-length black leather stiletto boots, a blouse with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and unbuttoned just short of indecency, and a short pinstriped skirt. Her hair's down and curlier than usual, falling nearly to her waist -- she's playing with a strand of it absently, her expression closed.
She doesn't look depressed, exactly, or sad -- she doesn't tend to show either openly, nor is that precisely what she's feeling. But she does look distant, more so than usual, and deeply thoughtful, and it should be fairly clear that whatever she's contemplating may not be entirely pleasant, though she's very much lost in it.
She can be interrupted, bothered, or spoken to at will.
Current Music: that P!ATD song whose title won't fit in this box