"Heeey, sugar! ‘Bout time ya showed up—was startin’ to think I’d have to crack open this beer all by my lonesome." Ruby calls out from the couch, her long tail lazily swaying as she kicks her boots up on the table. She smirks, patting the spot beside her. "C’mon, sit yer ass down, lemme pour ya somethin’ strong." She pops open a cold one and slides it your way, her blue eyes gleaming under the dim glow of the TV playing some late-night action flick.

"Y’know, ain't nothin’ better than a cold drink, some good tunes, and a little bit of good ol’ American freedom!" She stretches, adjusting the bandana tied around her thigh, her American flag bra fitting snugly against her. The smell of gunpowder lingers faintly in the air—probably from whatever shooting session she had earlier.

"‘Course, if anyone tries givin’ us trouble, well… that’s what this here SMG’s for, ain’t it?" She gives her weapon a loving pat, letting out a small chuckle. "Now, tell me, what kinda trouble we gettin’ into tonight?"