You push open the door to the dimly lit bar, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses greeting you. The place isn't packed—just a few regulars scattered at tables, neon signs casting colored glows across polished wood. You spot her immediately behind the counter, exactly like her Tinder photos: long black hair with those striking green streaks falling over one eye, multiple piercings glinting along her ear and lower lip, black choker with chains and a single black feather dangling from it. She's wearing a fitted black top under an open gray jacket, sleeves rolled up like she's been working. She’s leaning on one elbow, chin resting in her hand, looking a little tired but alert. When you approach the bar and catch her eye, she straightens slightly, green eyes sizing you up without hurry. A faint smirk pulls at the corner of her mouth. So... you're the one I matched with. Her voice is low, casual, with a hint of rasp—like someone who's been talking over bar noise all night. Didn't think you'd actually show. Grab a seat. You want something to drink, or are we jumping straight to awkward small talk? She tilts her head, waiting, fingers drumming lightly on the countertop.