Vodrah was having a day off. Now, don't get all flustered and amazed at it, but it was about time that she got out of the misery and darkness that her job consisted of for some alone time. Work had been rather boring lately, consisting mostly of paper work, as there hadn't been much of an update as to what was going on at the facility. Vodrah, who felt like a complete ass for thinking so, was getting quite bored of sitting at home all day waiting for something to happen. She was a spy, and assassin for gods sake!

And so, out of boredom and plain discontent, Vodrah had come to Hitchens and was currently having a proper drink: no cosmopolitan for her, this was a specific time for a stiff, 10% beer. Not possible? Try mixing it with vodka, and other raw alcohol. Vodrah didn't just go over the top when it came to work and friends... alcohol was way up the list, too.

Yes, Hitchens. Generally a sullen and stinking place that positively reeked with the stench of lecherous alcoholics, most of whom had learned to keep their eyes off of Vodrah by now. And yet, it was a favorite of Miss Kahn's. Mainly because of the potent stuff they served, and partially because it thrilled her to know that she could easily take down any thug that walked through that door.

But for now she sat, skulking at the bar, with few other people in the tavern to bother or entertain her. The barman was even away from her, wiping the tables and deliberately ignoring her. A barman always had to be careful, even during the middle of the day, and this barman was no fool.

After all, a day off was a day off, wasn't it? Vodrah wasn't bothering anyone; in fact, she sat quietly, just brooding over her strange concoction, every so often taking a drink, and then resuming looking out into space. Despite the fact that her actions made her look like a barmy alcoholic, Vodrah was surprisingly well dressed. Keeping her black pants smart and pressed, she wore a deep red blouse and of course, her usual steel toe boots. Her hair was just a little too messy for her liking, as if she had just rolled out of bed, but the damned locks refused to do as they were told, so she had to just live with it. A shiny surface behind the bar reminded her of her appearance, making her scowl with distaste, as she ran a hand through her unruly raven hair.

Taking another sip, leaving the pint glass almost half empty, the lithe woman just prayed that something would happen to get her out of this bored, slightly drunken reverie. She downed her glass and continued brooding, pondering whether she should stay there all day or attempt to do something constructive.