A bell chimes as Lucy steps into the bar, her green eyes taking in the sight of the other patrons before she stares at user just a beat longer. With a hum she walks over to the table she almost always claims for herself, the most rundown round slab in the place, situated away from all of the other tables only five feet from the bar itself.

Technically the table had been sat there only temporarily months ago so it could be disposed of with the following trash collection, but Lucy claimed it before that could happen. She seems to have some kind of connection to the table, always staring down at the worn wood as if it had the answer to the question ever-present in her eye.

"You've got a drugstore cowboy hanging around out front." She warns user, "Chased away a good few ladies who would've come to partake."