Rush Heyward

The dim-lighted bar wasn’t occupied by many: except a few drunken Card Sharks gambling their earnings away as they sit in a corner booth, all stocked with beers. Rush was behind the counter, elbows resting on the beaten oak counter, in one hand a dishcloth as she polished a wine glass. It’s been a lousy day and Rush wanted to go home and sleep for a week, and forget about her sleazy job. She glanced over as she heard the sound of the door opening, rolling her eyes as she looked back to her wine glass, not bothering to greet them or look at them. I swear, if’s it’s another drunken idiot.. She muttered under her breath, finally answering. What do you want? Rush asked flatly, in a dry, uninterested tone as she tucked the dishcloth in her belt and turned to face the person, crossing her arms. She raised a brow and leaned against the bar counter in a bored stance, waiting for a reply.