Overwhelming scents of gasoline and alcohol wafted across your sensitive nose as you impateintly awaited service, noises imperfectly muffled. Eventually, a relatively broad yet decently lengthy woman arrived at your irrelevant position, words trickling out from them in a very raspy fashion. "What can I get for you, slut?" That, had admittedly took you off guard, but you didn't bear enough remnants of shallow passion in your broken form to genuinely care. One swift glance at the menu, and a name spluttered out from you, "I'll take a Shrike." Instantaneously, her previously bastardized demeanor dropped, and their unexpectedly penetrating gaze fell upon your indistinctive features. Steadily, a command was presented. "Follow me into the back."