"Afternoon, Marty! Need a hand?" Liliana's smooth contra-alto echoed off the brick and stucco walls forming the wide alleyway. The surrounding buildings were at least eight stories in height. Many were apartments and condominiums on top of commercial establishments of sorts. She came up to the back loading dock of a dark-green, wood paneled, and brick building. The intersection it sat on was busy at most times of the day and continued to bustle into the night. In a classy iron-rod design, the establishment read "McKellan's Pub". A small delivery truck was backed up into the dock; it's overhead door opened, and a woman and man moved crates of glass bottles off. The man, aged with a rough mustache graying on his face, waved at her quickly approaching figure after he leaned to stretch his back muscles.<br/><br/>It was late afternoon and the sun was still out, beating strong for its last moments before it began to fall to the horizon. Even in the shadowed alleyway, though, enough light came through to shine the odd blend of Liliana's very light blond hair. Her hair came to her shoulder in gentle waves that curled into loose ringlets at the ends. She was dressed simply in dark tight jeans and a black collared shirt unbuttoned to show a bright green tank top underneath. Her clothing was just<em>slightly</em>too big, as if to purposefully detract from her tight form and lean muscles. The attire for her workplace was very lax, though, which was not uncommon for certain sections of the computer industry. Many of her coworkers would roll out of bed and throw on last Friday's T-shirt and pants and come to work. The substandard personal hygiene sometimes bothered her, but the same coworkers were near genius in their programming and very efficient in their work. Liliana Stafford worked for Firebird Omnivision Incorporated, a large video game company, and its headquarters was based in this bustling metropolis. Its towering building was just a few blocks from McKellen's. There, the young twenty-five year old, worked as an underpaid and overworked intern in a software programming team. The hours were brutal for the meager pay, but the company was held in high regard and those who managed to work their way into the system were well rewarded. That would be still a couple of years off for Stafford though, but she knew being a female in a mostly male work environment tended to work in her favor. Overtime usually came in the form of early-morning hours, which, in her opinion, beat the late-night work hours. She preferred something less...dreary to pass her time in evenings.<br/><br/>McKellen's was a place she had frequented often in her last three years of working at Firebird, due to its proximity and popularity among her coworkers. She would drop by a few times a week, usually towards the weekend. The back alley was also part of a shortcut she took to get to and from her residence— still a handful of blocks off. It was not really the average man's tavern and catered to a more white-collared crowd from the surrounding business and commercial skyscrapers. Still, like its owners, it was warmly welcoming to any and all patrons. Liliana rolled up the sleeves to her black collared shirt and grabbed one of the crates pushed to the edge of the truck's ramp. Marty, the portly older man, stepped back and took a breather. Twelve to fifteen large bottles per crate added to quite a bit of weight, but it was effortless to Stafford. The young woman also unloading was Marty's daughter, Becca, who delivered merchandise to all of Marty's four well known bars and nightclubs. Even she was breathing heavily and in obvious physical exhaustion. No doubt she had been at this all day. It made Stafford feel good to be able to help. It may have been somewhat corny to others, but acts of good helped Stafford feel more rejuvenated, especially after a long day of work.<br/><br/>"Excited for that three day weekend coming up?" Becca asked jovially as they unloaded the last few crates into McKellen's where Marty would take inventory once more. Stafford closed the delivery truck's overhead door with one swift movement and looked up to the cloudy sky above the brick buildings overhead. Swiping her hand over her brow in a feigned gesture of being exhausted, she laughed and said, "I have absolutely nothing planned. Though, I'll find enough trouble to get into, I'm sure."<br/><br/>It was a light joke but not far from the truth. She was rarely bored in a metropolis filled with problems and trouble. Marty, who never really spoke much, just waved her in as Becca departed for her next destination. Following him into the actual establishment, McKellens was filled with dim lighting and the heady scent of rich foreign cigars. There were several areas, including a more private dinning area and a smoking lounge, but the area occupying the bar was the largest and most popular. People were just getting off work and beginning to line the bar for the early happy hour. Marty let his other barkeeps tend the patrons as he quickly put together a drink Stafford knew all too well.<em>Blood and Sand</em>, a mix of whiskey, brandy, vermouth, and orange juice. Placing it in front of her, he smiled and grunted before moving along to other business. Taking the drink to the corner of the bar, she moved to where she could see most of the other patrons in one glance. It was just a habit of hers not to have her back openly exposed, if she could help it.<br/><br/>Just as the heat of the first sip of her cocktail slipped down her throat, a presence entered McKellens. It was a man in a skillfully tailored black suit. Stafford thought it was the suit, the detailing giving its high price-tag away, that initially drew her attention. With each second she continued to watch him as he entered McKellens, her attention was less fixated on the suit but more on the man. His dark and sharp features had her forgetting her drink, as she subtly watched him. She couldn't place her finger on what intrigued her so much about him and that was, quite frankly, annoying.<br/>