The door creaks open a little bit, then shuts back, swinging a little on its hinges.
Cautiously, a young woman with scraggly brown hair that might be curly when it's brushed steps into the bar. A shiny black and red gun sits at her side in a holster, and she keeps her right hand on it. Very tightly.
She eyes the room and shuts the door behind her. Judging from her tight lipped expression she's surprised to see anyone here, and that makes her paranoid.
Her attire is a mixture of old jeans, black combat boots, a torn Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a used black jacket with lots of pockets. Stuff that would be at home in the dumpster of a Hot Topic.
The woman swallows and steps up to the bar, nodding at the bartender.
"Redin," she exhales quietly, tossing him a couple of crumpled U.S. twenties. "Leave the bottle." She taps her fingers on the scratched bar counter and looks over at the bar denizens, some of whom she had already recognized on the way in.
She smiles wryly at Shalner and Ronny, wriggling torn-gloved fingers. "Well, well. Long time no see," says the woman, taking the bottle of red liquor and pouring a glass. "Shalner, and Ronny-Alleron-Esgarth. Heh. I guess we're still alive, huh?" Idly she glances at the other visitors again. Newcomers were dangerous.
