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<li data-xf-list-type="ul">Third person past-tense only, please</li>
<li data-xf-list-type="ul">Be able to craft several well-written descriptive paragraphs per post.</li>
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<li data-xf-list-type="ul">Come prepared with ideas of your own.  I have provided the start but we can come up with the rest of the ideas together.  That said, I do have some thoughts but am open to what a partner brings to the table.</li>
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<span>Spoiler: <span class="bbCodeSpoiler-button-title">Rosalie duPont</span></span>
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</div><br/>The Silver Sip was a place a person went to be seen.  It was a place where shady business went down in dark corners.  It was a place where a heavily muscled goon in a suit might suddenly appear at your side, wrap his beefy hand around your upper arm, and haul you to your feet for a “talking to” in the back.  It was a place where the bartenders and the cocktail waitresses knew how to keep secrets and were tipped handsomely for their silence.<br/><br/>Smoke hung thickly in the air, concentrated over occupied tables where well-groomed men in tailored suits sat and enjoyed strong drinks.  The door opened and a draft of fresh air sent the smoke swirling in its wake.  The tell-tale sound of high heels on the hardwood floor announced the arrival of the evening’s newest patron.  The bartender glanced up to size up the newcomer.  A little grin twisted one side of his mouth.  This wasn’t her first time here and he doubted it would be her last.<br/><br/>Confident steps carried her to the stool that was two seats down from dead center of the bar.  “A martini, please,” she requested in a smoky sultry voice.  Only after the bartender nodded did she settle herself on her chosen stool.  A small beaded clutch purse was set on the bar near her right hand.<br/><br/>Her drink was delivered quickly, three olives skewered on a toothpick leaning against the side of the glass.  The bartender remembered that she preferred three, not two.  He set an ashtray near her left hand before disappearing to mix more drinks for the table of men sitting in the farthest corner of the room.<br/><br/>A manicured hand slid the ashtray closer before she reached into her purse for her enameled cigarette case.  Long fingers, sure in their movements, extracted a cigarette from the case.  The cigarette was set carefully in a long black holder that was then placed between her red lips.  Before she could even reach for her lighter, the bartender was there, offering her a light.  She leaned forward to touch the end of the cigarette to the flame, inhaled, then leaned back with a hint of a smile.  “Thank you.”  She exhaled toward the ceiling.<br/><br/>In the mirror behind the bar, she could see her reflection.  She could also see the men at the table in the corner.  Honey brown eyes lingered on one man in particular before moving to her own reflection.  She had chosen her dress for this evening on purpose.  He watched her in the mirror more when she wore this kind of dress, the kind that was modest in the front, the kind that didn’t reveal too much of her chest or her rear end.  The kind that showed creamy smooth skin all the way down to the curve at the small of her back.<br/><br/>She took another drag from her cigarette then tapped it lightly against the side of the ashtray before lifting the glass to her lips for a sip.  They made good martinis here.  Her eyes lifted to the mirror, watching him in the reflection for a moment before lowering.<br/><br/>He was watching her again tonight.