Who: Irene, Thirteen, and Peter (and anyone else that wants to stumble in?) What: Arrival When: Mid-afternoon, Irene's first day in town Where: Pancho's Bar Rating: Let's call it medium-ish since Irene is not wearing much in the way of clothing, but otherwise probably low
Irene was puzzled, but intrigued as she followed the helpful bartender's directions. Her life had been unusually marked by strange, fantastical things, but this was certainly the strangest. She still wasn't entirely sure she wasn't dreaming. She supposed the naughty Sultan of Brunei, with whom she'd been in a rather compromising position until she very suddenly wasn't, could have knocked her out somehow. Except that he had been rather tied up at the time, so it was a mystery.
Though at least it appeared that others were willing to help her solve. Even if the friendly doctor who'd texted her back appeared a bit mad, given her theories of other time periods, past and future. Still. Information was power, and she trusted that she could figure out for herself what was true and what was false. Her heels clicked pleasantly down the walkway to the bar, her lace dress swishing ever so slightly behind her as the door snapped closed.
She betrayed neither anxiety nor shame as she made her way to the bar, sliding fluidly onto one of its stools, and casually set her riding crop down on the bar. She met the bartender's eyes with a coy smile. "Mr. Parker, I presume," she said, proffering a delicately manicured hand. "Charmed. I'm Irene."