[center][b][h1][color=39b54a]Azrael Foster[/color][/h1][/b][/center]
As the form of digits form around him, he stood still. Been there, done that many times before, except, this seemed different. He approached the bar doors, and swung them open, eyes baggy, wanting to relax. The bar, surprisingly barren, was a luxury not usually experienced, and he sauntered over to a seat next to the bar. He took off his backpack and cloaking device behind him, leaving the sniper slung around his shoulders. He peered 2 seats over, and noticed a rather strange, but quite attractive and young face. He motioned for the robot barman to come over and said blankly, still looking at this woman, "Get me a Pincer Vodka, on the rocks, and add some lime to it. Full Glass. Oh, and just add it to my tab." The harder he looked at this woman, the more he perplexed over her. Her gentle face, and young eyes, yet also the wings and tail. The robot came back, and slid the cold glass over. His eyes yearned for such a treat, and now it was face to face with him. He took a deep swig, and coughed a little as he slammed it down. The corners of his eyes blackened for a second, but he collected himself. He had forgotten how such a strong vodka kicked. He suddenly realized, "This is a simulation, and I can get as wasted as I want, and i'll still be sober when i get out." He remembered the woman that had perplexed him so much before, and looked at her across a few chairs. He flicked his head up, a sort of premature greeting, and crossed the two seat gap. "It's just a simulation, if I really fuck this up, I can just port out and leave, kinda a waste of a good vodka though, eh." he thought as he sat down. He stared into her eyes and managed to get the clog in his throat out and managed to say a, "Hello there."