Who: Adrianna and Raven Where: Some bar in the city When: Oh, Friday night works Rating: None right now, but there is bound to be language
The bouncy brunette pushed her way into the bar, more than relieved to have been given the night off. It was rare she was able to get away from her boss, but that was understandable. The gun shoved into the back of her pinstripe pants wasn’t there for fun; it was her job. But now was her time to have fun! And it was obvious in her very demeanor. Adrianna was always a fun girl, but work usually asked for her serious face more than real life did, and she loved her real life.
So, she walked into the bar with the sleeves of her white blouse rolled up to her elbows and the first few buttons undone to show off her collarbone (scandalous!). She had pulled the shirt out of the waistband of her pants to hide the gun, just so she didn’t get any problems from any of the patrons. Her hair had been let down from her bun and it hung in waves about her face, not tight ringlets, but not exactly straight either. Black bumps covered her feet and gave her a few more inches, the pinstripe pants hugging a body that told the room ‘Yes! I work out! The job requires it!’ The make-up on her face wasn’t heavy, but it was noticeable, a bit of mascara on her lashes, some eyeliner drawing attention to her bright brown eyes.
The bar was crowded, but that was typical. Without a moment’s hesitation she walked over to the counter and pushed her way in, ordering a rum and coke. She needed some liquor, and fast. Perhaps it was a bad idea, because her eyes caught a poker table that was about to be active. She was a sucker for gambling, and she knew that drinking usually didn’t mix well with it. Can anyone say lose money? But, she ordered the drink anyway, opened up a tab, no less, and wound her way through the crowd to take a seat at the table, reaching her hand into the front pocket of her pants (woman’s dress pants usually lacking a good sized back pocket) and pulled out a few bills, whatever was necessary for the buy-in. She preferred cash to plastic.
“Hello boys,” She said, her New York accent heavy on her words as she looked at the table, leaning back in the chair to cross her legs at the knee. She began to bob her foot up and down a bit as she reached forward and grabbed her drink, smiling around the rim as she looked at the competition. Perhaps she’d be going home a rich woman that night, or richer.