Bars were things the creature made of malice, Folly, would only go to when she needed to meet up with somebody from her “work.”

But this person? Was late. And she? Was livid.

Already in a horrible mood, her yellow iris darted around the bar, looking for the person she was supposed to meet. Her long, talon-like fingers that faded from black to red dug into the wooden table.

Fool…

She muttered.

Folly’s eyes stopped. What’s this?

Somebody talking to someone else. Well, she’s seen it before, what could be so different now?

One of them, you, was clearly uncomfortable.

Folly had no morals of kindness. She would never show it again, she had repeated to herself over and over again.

Yet she found herself needing to take her wrath out on something, someone. So, with that, she stood up, her one visible red eye glowing. Folly trudged over and looked down on the person who was bothering you.

What do you think you’re doing.

She drawled out, keeping some rage in to less avail than she liked.