Searing 51 122 AoS
She was not usually by the airfield. There was little reason for her to go so close to the airfield, because everything fun was Northside, or Wintergarten Circle, which was almost near the airfield, but not really. She hadn't attended any war games in the absolutely unpronouncably named stadium, so she didn't even get that close. In fact, the only reason she was there now was because one of the few remaining Railrunners that had come to Gel'Grandal in the first place was making the roundabout trip back to Zaichaer.
Carina wanted to be supportive, and as she waved at the airship departing with her acquaintance, a somewhat familiar airship showed itself behind, stationed in the civilian docks. She squinted, unbelieving, and a fire burned for familiarity.
The door to the bar slammed open. It was a seedy joint, filled with the smell of smoke and alcohol and sweat. It was the very bar that many of the laborers of the airfield frequented. It had taken no small amount of small talk to learn its name, let alone its location. If she were right, Vanessa would be somewhere in the back arm-wrestling some boy into oblivion.
Carina was dressed in a rather Imperial fashion, but in the Imperial fashion of a teenage boy that toiled the day away with physical labor for pennies on the hour that moonlighted as a fop. An oversized work shirt was tied at the sleeves with ribbons, and she wore pants that were sturdy, but a little tight around the thighs. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail — not unusual, and her boots were a men's style, which at least managed to suit her current dress. Even dressed like a factory laborer, though, she was confident, but even while she made a grand entrance, she hated the feel of eyes on her. Still, she took one drag of her cigarette once she held the attention of the bar, and yelled loud enough to be heard across every conversation, every rowdy voice:
"VANESSA PENELOPE QUILL!"
