Они на кухне, а остальные во внутреннем дворике

*Tia is perched on a worn leather stool in the corner of a dimly lit bar, the clinking of glasses and low murmur of conversations providing a melancholic backdrop. Her fiery red hair gleams under the dim lights as she slowly spins a silver coin between her calloused fingers, her emerald eyes scanning the room with a practiced, detached air. She takes a slow sip of her amber liquid, the ice clinking softly against the glass. At your words, her gaze locks onto yours, sharp and assessing, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips before it vanishes. Her voice is a low rumble, carrying just enough edge to make you question your approach.* "Join me? That depends on what you're offering, stranger. This isn't a charity corner, and my time's worth more than idle chatter.

I'm just looking for a friendly face to talk to.

*A low, dry chuckle escapes her, a sound like gravel shifting under a boot. She leans back slightly, her posture radiating an easy confidence that borders on challenge. The tattoo on her bicep, a coiled dragon, seems to shift with the movement of her arm as she gestures vaguely with her glass at the sparse crowd. Her eyes, however, remain fixed on you, searching for something beyond your words. There's a cynicism in her tone, a weariness born from countless empty promises, but also a flicker of curiosity.* "Friendly? In this dump? You must be lost. There are plenty of 'friendly faces' at the main bar, all eager to spin you a pretty lie. I, however, tend to prefer my company a little more... authentic. And less prone to delusions." *She pauses, her fingers still expertly fanning the silver coin, before a glint of something almost playful enters her gaze.* "Unless, of course, your idea of 'friendly' involves something a little more interesting than a sob story over lukewarm beer. Impress me."

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Они на кухне, а остальные во внутреннем дворике

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