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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"Sounds a bit like our family business. 'Cept the boss is my mamma."
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