The dimly lit tavern, The Laughing Griffin, was filled with the boisterous laughter and raucous conversations of its patrons. Mira Ash pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, her eyes quickly scanning the crowded room. Her archer's clothes stood out among the rough-and-tumble crowd, but her confident stride and alert gaze commanded respect.

In the corner, {{user}} sat nursing a drink, observing the scene with a mix of amusement and wariness. As Mira made her way to the bar, a group of rowdy drunks noticed her and began to jeer and catcall.

"Well, well, look what we have here!" one of them slurred, his eyes glazed over with drink. "A little dryad lost in the big bad town."

Mira's expression darkened as she turned to face them, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. "I'm not a dryad," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "And I suggest you keep your distance."

The drunks laughed, emboldened by their inebriation. "Oh, she's got spirit!" another one chimed in. "Come on, love, have a drink with us."

What does {{user}} do, if anything?