As the smaller woman leaned over the man in the pinstripe suit to take hold of the lighter, she could hear someone come in behind her, exchange a few words with the hostess, and then get settled in. She didn't spare a glance, however, taking the lighter before sitting back down and flicking the lighter open. Her thumb stroked the yellow sapphires embedded into the casing after she'd struck a light against her cigarette. She took a long, luxurious drag on her cigarette through its smoking instrument before exhaling the visible smoke up into the air. She slid her gaze back to the older woman as she gave her name. 

She smiled, hopping back over to where the 'bimbo' sat, taking a seat right beside him in order to be closer to where the old woman sat. The young woman plucked the smoking instrument from her lips, holding it in a rather practiced and lavis manner in her thin, pale hand, before extending her arm across the pinstripe suit man and shaking Marion's with a hollywood grin.

[color=springgreen]"Virginia. Virginia Ford."[/color] She leaned back, crossing her legs with her chin held high. [color=springgreen]"You might have heard of me from the pictures. As for us women stickin' together, Miss Marion,"[/color] She paused to take another drag on her cigarette, then leaned back, exhaling her smoke with a pout and her eyebrows arched. [color=springgreen]"I'd agree but I gotta admit, I'm a little lackin' and in need of a fella. It's true what they say..."[/color] She spun around in her chair, leaning her elbows back against the bar. Her eyes traced the room at a lazy and slow pace as she tapped the ash of her cigarette onto the ground. It wasn't as though it would make the floor that much dirtier anyways. She slowly uncrossed and recrossed her legs, her voice taking on a somber tone. [color=springgreen]"It's lonely at the top."[/color]

Just then, there was another knock at the door. The hostess, looking a bit surprised, bustled over to the entrance and opened it slowly. From the other side, a dark haired young man stumbled in. Upon seeing the hostess he immediately began to shout at her in a slurred, drunken manner. Whoever he was, he seemed rather unhappy. He dressed and talked like a mobster, a thick Brooklyn accent painting all of his skewed and slurred words. Virginia watched this with a slowly raised eyebrow as the hostess struggled to death with them. She averted her gaze, making eye contact immediately with [b]The Pessimist[/b] who sat on one side of the room. 

Her eyes flicked between the fight, then to him. She gestured with her head toward the fight before taking a drag on her cigarette and closing her eyes. [color=springgreen]"Won't [i]someone[/i] be a white knight deal with that hood?"[/color]