She's twitchy enough already here before the door comes slamming open and the little girl goes pelting through the bar like someone lit her hair on fire. It's not that she hates being in a place where she doesn't recognize anyone -- that happens often enough -- and it's got nothing to do with feeling close to invisible, watching the room from behind a veil of long blonde hair and lowered eyelashes. That's fine, too, makes it easier, even, if someone's got something maybe worth lifting.

No, she's twitchy because there are fish in the fireplace, and because she's pretty sure the rat that just scurried over her foot did so because it was trying to take her order and just misgauged the correct level of personal space.

This place is beyond weird.



But sprinting, out-of-breath children with faces red and hair flying and the unmistakable flush of triumph mixed with guilt on their cheeks isn't, and, besides, her eyes are caught by the swinging door, tipping a clear line of sight back into the kitchen, where --

Holy jeez, it's a whole pack of them, and is that -- "Hey!"

She half-stands from her spot at the bar, half-drunk hot chocolate forgotten (along with the cute boy a few stools down, who she definitely hadn't been watching out of the corner of her eye) at the sight of yet another tiny blonde girl hog-tying a tiny blonde boy with what seems like really kind of excessive gusto, while another girl leaps on his back. "Knock it off!"

Spoken as she's sliding off her stool and heading towards the kitchen door. It's just like the system all over again; isn't she done with babysitting yet?