The morning was on an all-time high, the streets bustling as the door chime heeded toward Bronya's call as she entered the fine little cafe. In proportion, a living room placed at the middle-class anchor of the capitalist hierarchy many people state would just about fit this warm estate. The first thing that the woman notices is a tall figure, just about- if not a little shorter with long- messy hair, almost as if the term 'combing' didn't exist, nonetheless it asserted a rough style for the figure at the counter.

Her muscular intones tell that they are clearly fined in some type of athletic exercise, focused like her life dependant on it- soon figuring out that something had made the chime ring.

As if time stopped, her rough calluses on the brink of her hands opened for leeway of something- before a look of skepticism crossed her face.

"Oh it's you. The usual, I presume?"