The door to the bar swings open. In the doorway stands a woman, perhaps thirty years of age. Her figure belies here excellent fitness, and her form-fitting jumpsuit looks Yeerk in design. The jumpsuit's color, however, is almost entirely black, trimmed in crimson- not the color of any Visser in the Empire. She wears a Dracon Beam at her hip, and a tiny, transparent display screen is held in front of her left eye by what looks like a half-pair of glasses. At the moment, the screen is blank.
In spite of regulations, the woman refuses to wear her hair down, its thick blonde curls cascading down past her shoulders. Her uniform is dirty, her hair is filled with dirt and leaves and burrs, and her stance is one of readiness, but she has not yet drawn her Dracon.
There are fewer locals around than there were last time. That can only be a good thing. She leans back, holding onto the doorframe, to take one last disbelieving look at the outside of the building, and then moves over to sit at one of the bar stools.
"Hey, handsome," she says to the bartender, trying and failing to keep her host's southern drawl in check. "How about a martini?"
<<It's the same place, all right>> she says wonderingly. <<We ended up at the same place again.>>
The bartender sets down something that resembles a martini on the bar next to her and takes a notebook from his pocket, which he opens to a well-worn page. He holds it out for her to read. When she looks, she sees CASH OR TAB written in a neat scrawl on the page.
"Start a tab for me, would you?" she says, her eyes roving down the bartender's form. Nothing she liked more in a man than the sense to stay quiet on occasion.
<<You have to talk to me eventually,>> she says to her host.
The only response, as usual, is <<**** off and die, Yeerk>>
