With a casual swagger and a bloodstained mallet tucked into the loop on the side of...'her' coveralls, the one and only Furry saunters into the establishment. Eyes obscured with a set of jaunty goggles and her hair pinned back into a loose explosion that could be, in the loosest terms, considered a ponytail, the tall, lanky drink of water made her way up to the barkeep. Looking over the assembled patrons, her nostrils curled at the obvious perfume of equal parts desperation, machismo, and misappropriated flamer fuel.
Putting her hands palms-down on the counter, she barked a gruff laugh, then cast her gaze over at the tender. "You got cider here, chum? If y'do, I'll take two pints, and a packet of cracklin's."