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
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"We had that problem at the shop once. Creatures everywhere. We had to fumigate to get rid of them. Impervious to your standard rat trap."
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She starts on the small mountain of mushrooms on her plate, but not before half drowning them in vinegar. "T'be honest, I'm not that bothered s'long as he keeps feedin' me."
(She's slightly skinnier than she should be: a long way from starving, to be sure, but there's a suggestion of more than the odd missed meal about her.)
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It's probably worth mentioning that their previous landlord was a cat.
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"Fair enough!"
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"I don't think I would."
Enhanced senses, however slightly enhanced, can be a real bitch.
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