![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kapitanThere was no way in hell she was getting used to this place. She didn't want to, either. Not only had they kidnapped her expecting her to whore herself out for favour and status. Stuck her in a shitty hole in the wall in a place not much better than the worst parts of Roanapur. Not only was there no bloodshed to go with their supposed war. (War, she could've dealt with.)
No. This place had to be in the desert. Of all places, a desert.
She hadn't wanted to see another dune of sand in her life.
It wasn't hard to spot a place that sold alcohol. What was a little more difficult was finding a place that sold alcohol and stayed quiet. Stepping into the dark bar, she smelled of gunsmoke and cigars and the street dirt outside, carrying herself with the easy and certain confidence of one who is used to being obeyed. Despite her business suit and seemingly impractical high heeled shoes, Balalaika strode in like a soldier, seating herself at the bar.
Her scars seemed deterrent enough to anyone, as low-cut as her shirt and blazer were. She did not waste time with bullshit light drinks, instead, ordering a vodka almost sarcastically and finding herself surprised the man at the bar knew what she was talking about, but she drank slowly, nursing her drink feeling like she had all the time in the world. And hey, in a sense, she did.
No. This place had to be in the desert. Of all places, a desert.
She hadn't wanted to see another dune of sand in her life.
It wasn't hard to spot a place that sold alcohol. What was a little more difficult was finding a place that sold alcohol and stayed quiet. Stepping into the dark bar, she smelled of gunsmoke and cigars and the street dirt outside, carrying herself with the easy and certain confidence of one who is used to being obeyed. Despite her business suit and seemingly impractical high heeled shoes, Balalaika strode in like a soldier, seating herself at the bar.
Her scars seemed deterrent enough to anyone, as low-cut as her shirt and blazer were. She did not waste time with bullshit light drinks, instead, ordering a vodka almost sarcastically and finding herself surprised the man at the bar knew what she was talking about, but she drank slowly, nursing her drink feeling like she had all the time in the world. And hey, in a sense, she did.
