Magenta sized up the man standing in front of her. Broad shoulders, ebony hair and eyes, a bit pallid (has he just come out of jail, she thought), goth. Not really to her taste, but he was offering her a drink.
"Cointreau, thanks, on the rocks."
There was so much noise, she couldn't hear what he was saying properly, something about having a rise, oh, these men are all the same, but what the hell, the cointreau was delicious, and her partner, Rhymin Simon, was so high on something that he was busy spouting psychadelic poetry, and had forgotten to buy her a drink.
Out on the balcony, it was a little more difficult. His singing was strangely like the howling of a wolf.. or .. oh, I don't know. God, he was a bit ripe, hands everywhere and .. Magenta started to struggle. Suddenly she felt his hot breath on her neck, well, that always did feel good, and a sudden sharp STABBING pain, she SCREAMED AND FAINTED.