A waitress scuttled around the bar, managing to look busy, but seemingly accomplishing little else. A close observer would notice that she'd dried the same glass six times now. Brown hair hung low across her face, not quite concealing her eyes, which were focused on the rest of the bar. As the 'freelancer' keyed away at his data pad, the waitress nonchalantly stepped around the bar, revealing a pistol slung loosely on her hip, and sat down opposite him. Her own jeans were slightly more battered partially covered, as they were, by a simple buttoned-shirt.
She watched the man opposite her swirl his drink, the red liquid teetering dangerously close to the corners of the glass. "You do know where you are, right Sir?" She asked, regarding him with amusement. "If that's how you drink all the time, I'm right amazed they haven't strung you up yet."
She settled into the chair, rotating idly for a moment until she found a suitably comfortable position. As she shifted, the bar's lights temporarily illuminated her face, and an oddly pale line etching its way across her nose. The Xeno gestured casually to the data pad.
