Zorah sat in the farthest corner of the bar, scribbling down notes a mile a minute with her pen and pad. This was last day she had to survey the entertainment areas for any signs of hazards and to get familiar with them so she would know where escape routes were, etc. in case of an emergency.
Dressed in the prerequesite little black dress, her hair was curled loosely and she looked dressed to the tee. Even if she wasn't out here to have fun, Z always felt the need to dress for "success". A few more scribbles of her pen and she asked the bartender for a shirley temple. Yes, she was that woman - you know, the one who had a perfectly good bar in front of her and instead orders a childs soda drink.