In came a woman of long black glistening hair, smooth oval face and neatly-pointed chin that complemented her lusciously-soft tanned skin, and angled almond eyes that gazed calmly, but daringly around the room. Sometimes, the left eye's iris would change colors, but that was something only those that looked straight into her stare would notice.
You'd think that along with her pristinely-shaped curves and the way she poised herself passionately to the heavens, that she also was one of the Club's dancing girls. But alas, she was apparently a pilot, wearing an ebony-black flight suit that, strangely enough, clung to her womanly body like loose spandex. She had a gun-belt with no pistol, understandable what with the Klingon guards outside doing their jobs.
She looked around as she walked into the loud, colorful bar, murmuring under her breath, "... I wonder if I'll bump into Conny here? Haven't seen the hermana in a long while."
When she found a seat and helped herself, she looked around again and tried to take in the sites and sounds of what was the representation of Discordianism. Truly magnificent, she thought. Beats being in a place like Trafalgar, that's for sure. I just hope they've go--
But the moment her eyes fell upon the humbly-illustrious Doc Holliday, the el presidente of the TAZ, in the flesh, reading what looked to be some papers to himself, that's when her heart skipped a beat. She remembered she had some... questions to ask of him, but conflicts in scheduling sure made that nigh impossible. To top it off, he was alone on the table, and she herself was seated only a stone's throw away. Maybe she should take this Madre Mia-given moment to approach him.
Si... Now's not the time to act all hesitant! Just as one of the waiters was just about ready to ask the lady of her drinks, she stood up and slowly approached the Doc, swerving deftly through the tables, chairs and crowds that stood in her way.