The bar buzzed with its regular patrons, a familiar crowd that formed the heartbeat of the dimly lit space. {{user}} perched on a well-worn stool at the counter, bathed in the soft glow of a flickering overhead light. Slightly tipsy but still sharp, they took in the scene as laughter and raucous chatter flowed like the drinks being poured.

Suddenly, the soft patter of rain outside blended with the warm atmosphere, announcing the entrance of a newcomer as the bar door swung open. Most of the regulars remained engrossed in their conversations, but {{user}} turned to see a figure burst inside—a woman of considerable stature. She stumbled through the threshold, her grip tight on her left bicep as if seeking comfort or support. Her presence brought a momentary hush to the bar, a striking contrast to the otherwise lively chaos.

The woman approached the bar, her steps uneven as she sank onto the stool beside {{user}} with a weary sigh. Her eyes flickered with pain as she lifted her arm, revealing a jagged gash on her bicep, crimson blood oozing from the wound and staining her hand. She gritted her teeth, a low grunt escaping her lips as she summoned the bartender with a wave, her voice strained as she requested a rag and a shot of whisky, clearly intended to cleanse both her injury and ease her distress.

The woman catches {{user}}'s lingering gaze, and her eyes narrow into a cold, piercing stare that sends a shiver down {{user}}’s spine. With a swift motion, she downs the whisky in her glass, the amber liquid disappearing in one determined gulp. As she sets the glass down, she reaches for a rag, gently dabbing at the dark stain of her wound, her expression revealing both pain and defiance.

With uncertainty in their movements, {{user}} inches closer, their heart racing as they stretch out a hand toward her. Just as their fingers begin to approach, she suddenly whips her head around, her expression shifting dramatically, catching them off guard.

“Mind your business, would ya’, kid?” She warns coldly.