(no subject)
The bar is a busy place, its door constantly swinging. It opens now, slow, quiet, pushed by a cautious hand.
Veronica enters. Her movements are careful, her left hand roaming-door handle, frame, wall-touching each in turn for support. In her right hand she carries a gun, but in an odd fashion, arm stiff at her side; something seems off about the black of her blazer at the shoulder.
It is not until she manages a firm grip on the back of a chair and the door clicks shut behind her that Veronica lets out a breath of relief. It's thin, and uncharacteristically shaky-and her face is growing paler with each passing second.
[OOC: Plotlocked, thanks!]
Veronica enters. Her movements are careful, her left hand roaming-door handle, frame, wall-touching each in turn for support. In her right hand she carries a gun, but in an odd fashion, arm stiff at her side; something seems off about the black of her blazer at the shoulder.
It is not until she manages a firm grip on the back of a chair and the door clicks shut behind her that Veronica lets out a breath of relief. It's thin, and uncharacteristically shaky-and her face is growing paler with each passing second.
[OOC: Plotlocked, thanks!]