{.oh the pain you do so cause me.} //open

It's a moment before you realize you're being watched. The eery flicker of a florescent light brings you back to reality, where you sit on a padded stool, leaning on a wooden bar, a now-warm drink grasped between your hands. Your daydream must have lasted a bit longer than you had expected, for there is now a crink in your neck, which refuses to fade even after you swivel your neck. You recall entering the tavern, though memories stop there. And, though you don't much care, you wonder what has happened, for already the clock has struck twelve, and the peaceful daylight you left outside has now turned into a deep black, the night faintly illuminated by a dash of stars.

The bartender strolls over, a dirty rag in one hand and a grimy glass in the other. He has food caked on the edges of his moustache, and his goatee has become mangy and tangles, though he wears clean clothes, only his cooking apron soiled by the greases of food and the taint of spilled drink. "We're getting ready to close, girly. Either rent a room or get 'ta steppin'." After only a breif hesitation, you decide it unwise to walk home alone, at this time of night, plus the state of your intoxication. Reaching into your pocket, you rummage around, coming up with a few coins after several moments of searching. Handing the currency over, the man places a solitary key in your hand, and points in the direction of the stairs. Giving a deep sigh, you manage to stand, and make your way up.

From a long line of doors, yours happens to be the one at the far end, where the single lantern's light refuses to reach, where only darkness awaits you. Shaking your head, you dismiss these silly omens, and place the key in the door's lock, which, after quite a bit of jiggling and twisting, opens at your touch, making an audible creak as it swings wide. Though half of the room is obscured from your view, you can make out a single bed, comforter and sheets already made for your indulgence. An endtable next to the headrest, a lamp (with no lightbulb by the looks of it), and a dusty book standing alone. You feel a sense of emptiness, as if there is something wrong about the air, but you manage to shake it off and continue over the threshold. Placing your small handbag on the bed, you jerk your jacket off, throwing on an arm chair before flicking the lightswitch, illuminating the room.

Turning, you gasp as a figure comes into view, lingering just along your peripheral vision, as if waiting for you to turn and see them. When you do, you realize s/he is no alcohol-induced hallucination, but a living, breathing human being. Snatching the useless lamp from beside the bed, you ready yourself, fear clenching your chest, alcohol giving you a sense of courage. Of fearlessness. "Who the fuck are you?"

ooc-same ol', same ol'. doesn't have to make sense, it just has to... make sense, ya know? weapons are whatever your character has brought with you, or whatever you can find in the room. be realistic, i doubt someone walking through the streets with a battleax would go unnoticed amongst the peacekeepers... please make an intro post before attacking, thanks!