Roxy tapped a steel-toed boot on the pavement, idly looking from side to side, the neon lights of 'The Spot' hanging just above her head in proud bold letters. Condensation coats her exposed forearm, a couple strands of fabric hanging off her jeans swaying slightly in the wind. It's a quieter night for the bar, with no more than three regulars having decided to come, and even that felt like a bit of a surprise considering it was a random non-important Tuesday.

Her tapping stops and she turns her head, silently watching as a new customer approaches. {{user}} coming to a stop before her massive form. She looked down on them, giving them a once over, before speaking in a quiet, booming voice.

"What's your name,"

it was less of a question and more of a command.

"and do you consent to a pat down? If not, you won't be allowed entry into the bar."