[center][h3]Amanda Smith[/h3][/center]
[center]Physical state: Healthy, no notable symptoms
Mental state: Nervous[/center]

Arkham certainly had its upsides, in Amanda's opinion, and who was she to name them all? There was the beautiful architecture with the kind of diversity begotten only by the forces of humanity battling the forces of time and decay; the way the sun turned the river multi-hued, from glittering orange at sunrise, to the brown of the riverbed and blue of the water and white of the light on cloudless days, to the brilliant shade of red that accompanied every sunset; or even the, ah, [i]colorful[/i] rumors that flitted about the city with the speed of a hummingbird, the duration of a fruit fly, and the intensity of an oil fire. She supposed if she wanted to, she could settle in Arkham, make her position at the [i]Arkham Sun[/i] more permanent, and declare the city her new home. It would be a welcome reprieve from the months of travel and anxiety and guilt, and the city surely had room for another storyteller in its streets to chronicle the lives its inhabitants lived. But no, a patch was not the same as a cure and so, as much as the streets' tales called to her, it was just another stop. Another stop, and another story to pursue for her employer. 

This was a good one, though. She could feel it in her bones, to borrow the cliche. It wouldn't be easy by any means, and when her boss agreed to publish her results, she ended up vomiting in the women's bathroom shortly thereafter. A week had passed though and the sickening anxiety passed with it. She had chatted with a few beat cops, but it was time to find those directly involved. 

The business was formerly a bar, but Amanda was so sure they were still being supplied that she didn't feel comfortable calling it anything else in her mind. Not that she was going to ask directly. Things like this, trust had to be made, promises of anonymity ensured, and then maybe she could ask how they were being supplied. She nudged the door experimentally, hearing a faint ringing, and then pushed the door open and entered. Despite the fact it was still early day, the establishment was poorly lit. Even with sunlight streaming in, the dark wood tables and seats looked almost black. She counted three people - a man behind the polished countertop that most certainly no longer had any alcoholic bottles beneath it, the man sitting at the counter drinking what looked like a carbonated drink that could've been tonic water, and a woman sitting at a table near the front with a glass of her own and a small plate of stuffed mushrooms. When she let the door swing shut behind her and her eyes adjust to the dim lighting, Amanda realized there was one more gentleman near the very back, reading a newspaper. She wondered if he was a regular. That would be answered with simple observation. For now, best to adjust to the place. None of them looked dangerous, and only the man sitting at the counter seemed confused by her arrival. She straightened her stance and approached the counter, shoulders straight, expression blank, and doing her best to look braver than she felt. She just had to remember, she needed to first act like she belonged. No odd stares could wilt her composure, no raised eyebrows would catch the words in her throat, she was here for a tonic water, bitter lemon if the man knew how, and there was nothing wrong with that.

As she leaned against the counter, she glanced towards the back until she saw the sign for the restrooms hanging over the entrance to a corridor with an end she could not see from her position. Right then. She cleared her throat.

"Tonic water, splash of lemon, sir." The man behind the counter raised his eyebrow, and Amanda kept from attempting to sink through the floor. Instead, she cleared her throat. "I was informed it was served here?" She couldn't keep the words from coming out as a question, though. The man stared a few moments longer before ducking down beneath the counter and slamming a glass down that nearly shattered her nerves. Bit too quick, bit too loud. She wasn't ready to quit yet, but the world sure didn't seem interested in helping her succeed. Though she suspected she shouldn't expect anything less.