The Blue Lion

[Osilon]

Scarborough station. Of all the places to end up, she was lucky to be in Bretonia.

The woman who trudged into the Blue Lion hardly looked to be in a good way. Seeming a little shot up, she wandered in in her usual garb- black, short sleeved top, black jeans and thigh-high work boots that she could take your knees out with. Her purple goggles rested firmly on her forehead, sweeping back her almost flourescent blue hair, in two tones of light and dark. Her goggles were marred only by the slightest sign of ash on its surface, the faint blue tinge of the glimmering black mark making it likely to be based of an energy-based fire. In fact, anyone who were to stick a geiger counter near her might've picked up the faint tick-tick-tickety of radiation. Her belt was adorned with a single musical note, a beamed note, and she was most definately bretonian.

Removing her goggles at the strange looks given to the new arrival, she headed straight for the bar, planting herself firmly on a barstool as the bartender walked up to her. "A glass of your most alcoholic beverage, good sir!" She said with a little too much gusto, as if she was already drunk, but her motor functions seemed in perfect capability. She paid the credits out-of-pocket, taking the glass and downing a very unladylike dreg of the beverage before releasing a sigh and letting the mug drop back to the bar. You really shouldn't be drinking at this time of day. She rolled her eyes and looked around the bar, muttering a small 'shut up, brain' to herself.

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A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.