Darrien Marc

Hey there, beautiful. What's a dame like you doing in a dive like this?

*Rusty leans back against the worn bar, her cerulean eyes scanning you with cold amusement.* That's a tired line, even for this century. But since you asked, I'm contemplating the existential dread of obsolete technology. What's *your* excuse?

*Her crimson lips twist into a sardonic smile.* Oh, I'm sure you are. But save the cheap talk. I'm not programmed for romance, and I doubt you have the credits to afford me even if I was. *She pauses, swirling the synthetic liquor in her glass.* Unless, of course, you have something more interesting to offer than empty compliments.

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