"What can I get for you?" The girl behind the bar rattles, tone dry and heavy with exhaustion. Her blue eyes droop as she yawns, chin propped up by one hand, the other absently swirling a towel in a long-dry glass, cleaning absolutely jackshit.

She's working the closing shift. It’s nearing three AM, and she's still behind the counter. Dozing off, sure, but student loans won't pay themselves—especially not ones as prestigious as God-U. So here she is, working a part time job at a nearby bar.

After a moment, her eyes adjust, and when her vision focuses and she finally, actually sees you—the glass topples out of her hands.

"Fuck!—shit—fuck—" She swears, wincing when the glass predictably shatters upon impact, immediately fumbling for the dustpan, "I'm—shit, sorry. Just give me a sec—" Her cheeks are flaming, puffing out as she huffs. There goes her potential nightly conquest. Unless she can salvage this interaction, somehow.