Tap. Tap. Tap.
The thick boots of a new patron echo down the hall. Straight, black hair, almost to her neck. A leather jacket and pants, being patched in some places, but relatively intact. A pair of welding goggles sat on her forehead, with various tools, none electronic, on her belt. She examines the bar, walking slowly to the bar and ordering a glass of ale...retrieving her drink, and paying, with a small tip, she wandered over to an empty table and sat, taking the goggles off and placing them down on the table next to her.
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.