Zhari had been buffing tumbler glasses with a towel, polishing them up before the regulars came in and started downing whiskey sours and old fashions and talking to her about their day to day activities when she heard the jingle of the bell on the door. Most of the babble was mundane, most of the people were harmless. Most of them she could identify by name. The bar was the sort of place where people frequented for the quiet atmosphere and the friendly faces.
She didn't recognize the woman that walked in.
Which wasn't an altogether uncommon event, but enough so that Zhari made sure to finish the glass she was working on and find out what the woman wanted. Usually when the sort looking as physically polished as she did came in, they wanted something. And that something wasn't usually a brandy old fashioned sweet.
What caught the red-head off guard most was that the woman was speaking to her in Russian. A language Zhari understood as that was where she had been born, raised and lived during her first lifetime -Russia. That coupled with what the woman had said left the phoenix setting a coaster carefully on the bar in front of her. She was a bit leery.
“Hello, what can I get you” she asked in Russian as well. Which came out a bit clumsy even if it was done on instinct. This life, this body, was not accustomed to speaking the heavier tongue regardless of how ingrained it was in her memory.