Graffiti had watched the woman emerge from the graveyard and approach the diner as she munched on her sandwich. The woman didn't seem like a threat, and Graffiti had a semi-biased personal rule that women always got the benefit of the doubt, even in Ankora. If anything, Graffiti admired the woman's bravery, walking alone in this neighborhood with what Graffiti guessed was a dead phone, from the looks of it. And, hell, she [i]was[/i] her type. Graffiti closed her eyes, simultaneously blessing and cursing whatever god made her gay in a world with such few women to reciprocate. This was a song and dance she was all too familiar with; there had been enough women in the past for her to know that her chances of striking out early were high. She did the quick math - Graffiti was [i]maybe[/i] batting just under 0.100. She'd keep herself low-key; besides, nobody appreciated any kind of romantic advance at this kind of night. That shit was just rude.

It took Graffiti a few seconds to realize her little dive into her relationship history had distracted her; the woman was knocking on the door of the diner. That was a first. Usually people steered well clear of others in the area around the Blocks. She looked a little shaken, too, now that Graffiti had a closer look at her. She jumped up from her seat, grabbing the key to the door from behind the counter and rushing to open the door. 

"Honey, are you alright? Can I help you?" Graffiti questioned, concern in her voice as she gave the woman a once-over. "Is that blood in your hair? Come inside and take a seat, let's get you put back together, yeah?" Graffiti stepped back, holding the door open and her arm out in an offer inside. By no means did Graffiti have the right to invite guests into Arthur's Diner, but Arthur would understand, she was sure. Well, he'd never know, and that was just about the same thing.