<strong>Carol Neathawk.</strong><br/><br/>A semi-flip in her stomache, and she was in.<em> Pocket worlds, ick, hate 'em.</em>And at the bar, somebody she didn't dare hate.  Yet.  Hate got in the way of thinking, and Carol absolutely had to be on her game when dealing with a.... woman who knew so much about her.<br/><br/>The tall rangy brunette settled at a a table near a wall, a table with a good view of the room, the exits.  The physical exits anyway.  That's why she didn't get a booth, or sit with a back to a wall.  A portal might open just long enough in a blank surface for something to yank her through.<br/><br/>It had happened to her once.  She still bore a few faint scars from what had followed.  And when that sort of thing happened and you survived it, you made damn sure it didn't happen again.<br/><br/>A couple of peoole had started to approach her, then shied off.  Her thoughts were likely showing on her face, then.  She didn't close her eyes, not in a place like this, but she did compose herself, her features relaxing into a blank mask of concentrated attention on her surroundings.