Late December, 2022
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We are a post potter site now rolling into the end of the year 2022. We welcome each and every one of you with open arms, eager to create many fun filled plots! As of currently, we have battled two site plots and are moving onward to our third! So please be sure to read all the plot updates and check on the rules! We are pleased that you have stopped on in and are more than eager for you to climb aboard the chaotic train! Also do note that we are an 18 years and older site! Level is shown below, as well as in our rules!

PLEASE MAKE SURE TO CLICK THE TOPSITES BUTTON IN OUR AFFILIATES TO VOTE FOR US, AS WELL AS LOG IN WITH ALL YOUR ACCOUNTS EVERY TIME YOU LOG ON!

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 kill the light, open @ mercy shots
Halfblood // werewolf // Bartender // Member // currently Offline
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Elaine
California // 24 // PST // She/Her // mature? Yes // 7 posts // 40 house points
i am a fighter
Falling back into a civilized routine hadn't been as hard as she'd feared it would be. It'd taken a few months to build up her wardrobe again, sure, but getting dressed wasn't something that had taken too long to fall back into. Makeup, though, was something she was still experimenting with. She felt like she'd done well today - deep red lips, statement eyes, hell, even her eyeliner was straight. Blonde hair pulled up into a high tail at the back of her head, jacket still on but unzipped to bare the light blue halter. She found her way to Mercy Shots easily - it was a well-worn path she took, after all, one she knew well and followed pretty much every afternoon. The bag over her shoulder contained a few simple things - necessities, really. The latest book she was reading, something racy and suspenseful from Christine Feehan, was tucked inside, of course.

She never went anywhere without a book in her bag.

When she reached the bar, she tucked her bag into a space beneath the counter and started for the bottles, turning any that were out of place to face out. This was her starting routine, something she did every day that she was here, sometimes even on days she wasn't scheduled to work. Organization and clear display made it simpler for the patrons to select their poisons when they were in the mood for something different.

Lottie was never in the mood for something different. It was always too simple to grab a glass and pour her preference. Irish whiskey was something her family had always indulged in - her father had been the first one to introduce her to it, after all, and it'd been her first alcoholic drink. Not many people would stick with the first thing they'd ever drunk, but Lottie had. Lottie would.

She didn't drink on or before a shift, though. Thus, rather than a glass of whiskey, Lottie poured herself a glass of water, drinking a quarter of it before she set the glass aside. "Another day," she murmured, tugging at the hem of her jacket to straighten it out. "Today'll be a good one."

She started most of her days like this. She was still assimilating back into being in the city. Civilization was better for her sanity, she reasoned. So why did she struggle as often as she did?
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