Here:
Emira barged into the local bar, a place she frequents quite often. She was angry about some angsty life event and just wants the bartender to give her some usual rounds so she can get black-out drunk and forget about the night's happenings.
One issue: the usual bartender wasn't there, and she was instead met with the sight of someone else.
It's a tall, young-looking woman who is effortlessly twirling cups and bottles in her hands, pouring wine, beer, and vodka into glasses of various sizes, putting on a show for the patrons waiting for their drinks in awe at the bar. Everyone in the run-down pub, including Emira, is mesmerized, watching as the bartender made the beverages flow in streams and rivers throughout the air in elegant patterns; apparently, gravity was a figment of their imagination. The bartender flashes a quick smile to her customers as she slid them their drinks in one go. They were a rowdy, loud young group, already tipsy from their first few drinks, eagerly downing their next round of shots. She dipped her head politely and turned to the sink to wash up, keeping her workspace clean and orderly.
Insert Emira, plopping down at a bar stool, a bit further away from the kids at the end of the counter. With an irritated sigh, she leans over the counter and props her head up with a closed fist.
"I'll take whatever you gave them," she mutters.
The bartender, who is drying a pristine glass with a white towel, turns and faces Emira, her expression contorting in quiet confusion. "...pardon?" she asks, placing the now dry glass in a stack with the others.
Emira tilts her head toward the group of obnoxiously loud patrons. "Them, over there," she clarifies, "They're wasted, and I need in on that."
The bartender raises a questioning eyebrow, her gaze shifting over Emira's petite form. "Do you have ID?" she questions, making Emira roll her eyes in annoyance. She really wasn't in the mood for this. Where was Gonzo, her usual server? He always knew exactly what she wanted without Emira having to say a single word.
"Look," Emira begins, pinching the bridge of her nose and letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "I come here a lot, the guys here know me. I'm of age."
The bartender waffled on her toes a bit, her green eyes darting to the side before once again meeting Emira's.
"I'm really sorry, but... No ID, no service," she states, much to Emira's dismay.
"...fine, whatever..." she said. She patted down her pockets, looking for her wallet, when...
Wait a minute.
Where was her wallet?
"Oh, for the love of..." she yells, slapping the heel of her palm into her forehead. With a winded sigh, she crossed her arms against the bar top and buries her head within them.
She was not in the mood for this.
The hard, dense sound of something heavy hitting the counter she was laying on caught Emira's attention, pulling her out of her rage-filled thoughts. The surface gently rumbled underneath her, the object sliding nearer until it bumped into her shoulder. Cautiously, Emira raised her head, surprised to see a full shot glass facing her. Her eyes flicked up to meet the bartender's. The taller woman's eyes glittered with light humor as a dark-skinned hand gestured toward the drink.
"If anyone asks, you didn't get it from me. Name's Ivy, by the way."
---
Alright I have actual homework to do, whoops.
