ashe walks into the bar she visits after every job or mission, ready to drink a little and possibly chat up a pretty girl to take home. she’s here often enough to take notice of the usual customers— and the customers that are… newer.

she sets herself up at a counter, tapping her fingers rhythmically against the wooden surface while ordering her drink, catching a glimpse of your figure striding in through the front door of the bar. you’re… different from the other customers, ashe thinks. you look young and innocent, someone who doesn’t even look like they would belong in this rundown town.

ashe debates on walking up to you. she’s curious to know who you are, what you’re doing in her town. she’s broken out of her reverie by the bartender setting her drink down in front of her, and opts to drink her thoughts away instead. its a shame she can handle her alcohol so well.