Nix Gordon, OC, Barways
A tall young woman walks into the bar. She's wearing pyjama bottoms and a spaghetti strap top, but her hands are filthy and her bare feet and the ends of her trousers are caked in blood which may or may not be her own and which clashes badly with the pale pink cotton. There are dark circles under her blue eyes, and right now her cobweb of scars shows up particularly clearly against her pale skin. Her shaven head isn't even covered by her customary top hat, but one Nix Gordon essential remains present: a gun.
She yawns hugely (without covering her mouth) when she sees where she is, relaxing a little as she slouches straight for the bar.
"Nice timing, luv." Nix sets the rifle on the bartop and hoists herself onto a stool. "Gimme tea, three sugars, will you? Anna English Breakfast, big as you like." The order appears, and Nix raises the first real smile in hours. "Cheers."
Come and try to stop her nodding off over her food; if you're feeling particularly brave, you could even suggest that she get herself cleaned up before she leaves more bloody footprints on the floor. She really is very unlikely to bite -- and even less likely to shoot.
(Even if only because her rifle's out of bullets.)
She yawns hugely (without covering her mouth) when she sees where she is, relaxing a little as she slouches straight for the bar.
"Nice timing, luv." Nix sets the rifle on the bartop and hoists herself onto a stool. "Gimme tea, three sugars, will you? Anna English Breakfast, big as you like." The order appears, and Nix raises the first real smile in hours. "Cheers."
Come and try to stop her nodding off over her food; if you're feeling particularly brave, you could even suggest that she get herself cleaned up before she leaves more bloody footprints on the floor. She really is very unlikely to bite -- and even less likely to shoot.
(Even if only because her rifle's out of bullets.)