Member
kapuchu
Eventua
Sylvan
dwyer austin
Fading Memory
FourtyTwo
Shoe Thief
Tortoise
Keyguyperson
Apollosarcher
Lilith ambled absentmindedly through the front door of the bar, “The Cracked Glass” if she had read it correctly. She’d been wandering about the town aimlessly for a few hours how, paying the gunfire and commotion in the background little attention. She’d considered wandering off to investigate but eventually decided against it - while not stranger to gunfights, getting involved in one that didn’t involve her was generally a bad idea. Best case scenario, someone gave her a little bit of money for her trouble and she found herself with several shots fewer than she started, and worst case she got shot herself and barely escaped with her life - and then she would have a potential infection to contend with.
No, she had been quite content to fiddle with the sights on her rifle and to slowly work her way through her by now miniscule supply of whiskey and beer - she could hardly feel the effects of the alcohol as it was, besides a slight warm buzz.
So with little else to do to pass the time except go investigate random bursts of gunfire, she had grudgingly dragged herself to her feet and marched around until she found a bar that seemed suitable. Or, whatever bar she saw first. That bar was perfectly suitable.
She waved noncommitally to the other occupants of the building, slowly making her way over to where the bartender, or at least the man she figured was the bartender, stood. “What kinds of beer d’you have on tap?” She asked politely, taking a seat at the bar. “And since I’m at my wits’ end, do you know of any work in the area?”
No, she had been quite content to fiddle with the sights on her rifle and to slowly work her way through her by now miniscule supply of whiskey and beer - she could hardly feel the effects of the alcohol as it was, besides a slight warm buzz.
So with little else to do to pass the time except go investigate random bursts of gunfire, she had grudgingly dragged herself to her feet and marched around until she found a bar that seemed suitable. Or, whatever bar she saw first. That bar was perfectly suitable.
She waved noncommitally to the other occupants of the building, slowly making her way over to where the bartender, or at least the man she figured was the bartender, stood. “What kinds of beer d’you have on tap?” She asked politely, taking a seat at the bar. “And since I’m at my wits’ end, do you know of any work in the area?”