<span style="font-style: italic">Jab, upper-cut, cross, knee, jab-jab-jab...</span><br/><br/>Panting, she imagined that she was obliterating the battered canvas bag hanging from the ceiling. Chains bolting the bag to the floor creaked as she attacked it relentlessly. When at last she broke away from her violent onslaught, she was sweating, breathing heavily... and feeling much better. This seemed to be the only way to vent the emotions that she so often threatened to overwhelm her. The discipline of martial arts helped her maintain a clarity that she'd not felt since...<br/><br/>But she didn't like to think about that.<br/><br/>As she crossed the gym, heading toward the locker room, a glance at her watch caused her to gasp. It was later than she'd thought. She'd been at it a while, longer than she'd meant to. If she didn't rush to the locker room, shower, and dress, she'd be late for work. It was a very hurried shower, but she managed to make up for the lost time.<br/><br/>When she emerged from the gym onto the street, her hair was still wet, tied back into a braid that hung down her back. She lifted her water bottle to her lips, drank deeply, then set off at a brisk walk toward the subway station. The color of her braid was dark brown currently, but as it dried, she knew it would lighten to the normal dish-water blonde color. It was only in the bright sunlight of summer that the faint hints of red in her hair were noticeable. She wore short black shorts, a heavy denim jacket to fight against the autumn chill, and carried a battered old backpack over one shoulder. Her eyes, hidden behind dark, thick-rimmed sunglasses, were piercing and expressive. The deep sapphire blue always ellicited comments from those she met.<br/><br/>Her sneakers caused a repulsive squeaking noise as she entered through the employee's entrance of the bar where she spent so many hours of her life waitressing. The floor was always wet back here. She'd decided that the manager, Jerry, would likely get around to hiring a plumber to fix the leak right around the same time she won the lottery and never had to work another day in her life. Strapping the apron over her short black shorts, she pulled off her battered denim jacket to expose a small, tight white t-shirt sporting the bar's logo.<br/><br/>Muggs was a honky-tonk bar in downtown New York. It was a popular social scene for the locals, which meant her usual customers were the sort that would attack a random stranger for wearing the wrong color... or<span style="font-style: italic">being</span>the wrong color. She endured a lot of gropes, insults and leers, but she was good at her job, so long as she kept her focus.<br/><br/>The music was loud, and there was already a gathering crowd as she dropped a pad of paper and a few pens into her apron, backing through the swinging door labeled "Employees Only" and emerged into the bar. She hit the ground running, moving from table to table, taking orders for drinks, onion rings, chicken fingers, and hamburgers. She placed orders, delivered orders, took orders, and smiled warmly. It was what she was best at.<br/><br/>It was just another night... no different from the hundreds she'd already endured here.