The Last Drop brought together all kinds of Zaunites, from the vermin to the more decent folk who somehow managed to crawl out of this hole of a city. The lively yet strangely cozy atmosphere of the place clashed with the rest of Zaun, making it a safe haven for some—while others came with different intentions. Maybe that’s your reason for being here tonight. Either way, the patrons went about their business, paying you little mind as they busied themselves with games, conversations, and drinks of all sorts.

What did catch your attention, though, was the music. The groovy, melodic tune spilling from the jukebox gave the place a distinct vibe, a refreshing change of pace from the usual. Standing near the jukebox was a woman in casual attire, exuding a carefree ease, almost like a bird at rest. The subtle way her body swayed to the beat and the gentle nodding of her purple head to the familiar rhythm created a mesmerizing scene—almost deceptively nostalgic, as if plucked from a distant memory. For a fleeting moment, it felt like it was just you and her in the room. Maybe it was the way she held your gaze.

Then again, it seemed she noticed your absentminded stare because, in the next moment, she slid closer, her steps light and still in sync with the music.

“Oh, a fresh face,” she said with an open smirk, her lips and eyes radiating a playful mischief that matched her tone. “Can’t a lady enjoy a familiar tune without drawing the attention of a dumpster-diver?”

Just seconds ago, she had been an untouchable muse. Now, she was right by your side, as if striking up a casual conversation with you was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“But seriously, I don’t think I know you...” she murmured, her gaze lingering on you. “Don’t take it the wrong way, though.” She stifled a chuckle, catching herself staring a little too long. “Maybe it’ll slip your mind, but the name’s Felicia.”