The doors swung open. Staggering through, clearly in pain even with their face visible was an average sized figure wearing an all-encompassing sci-fi looking suit. Although the suit itself was sleek and mostly uniform it was covered in bandoliers, pouches, satchels and holsters. The figure would pause at the entrance, look around a big, before inclining their head as if in acceptance of their new situation. "Been a long while since I've accidentally gone through a wormhole, gotta say." Reaching up, they would crack their neck through their helmet and move their way towards the bar, leaning on chairbacks and pausing once or twice to get their breath back. It was only when they had pulled a chair out and sat down would they finally press a button on their suit, and after an almost imperceptible rustling noise, they would sigh, their muscles visibly relaxing.

"Well ain't this place a picture? All nice and pretty and cozy. Wayward Stool, eh? Well, ain't that a name and a half. Sounds like you're designed to be takin' in souls flung about. Never mind that though." The figure slowly removed their gloves, which had strange formations around the fingers and on certain spots in the palm. Their skin was tan and their hands decidedly human, something that was only further confirmed when they reached up and with a hiss disengaged their helmet.

A pretty, short-haired woman with a peculiar looking Lichtenburg figure shaped scar stretching across the left side of her face and down towards her neck. "Tell me, do y'alls do food? I could do with something to eat to be right honest wit'cha. A drink'd be lovely too... How 'bout a milkshake? Vanilla, and then if you got it a bit of bourbon'll make it just peachy."