<div class="floatleft">(https://static.wixstatic.com/media/991d95_d844c1422d6d48cd9fa850da8fa47f47~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_342,h_457,al_c,q_90/991d95_d844c1422d6d48cd9fa850da8fa47f47~mv2.webp)</div><div class="floatright">(https://static.wixstatic.com/media/991d95_6b79abde832e4be4bb37b76db73786a9~mv2.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Belladonna<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Lola's / Bar<br/><strong>Time of Day</strong>: Night<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>All, Desmond<br/><strong>Dress:</strong><br/><hr/><br/>It was time to get to work, and Nandy walked in, hair piled high atop her head, a few artfully disarrayed tendrils curling downward from her temples and the nape of her neck.  A smile touched her lips as she moved through the room, the brush of a hand across a shoulder given here and there, as well as a whispered word of greeting as she made her way to the bar.   She carried herself with poise and grace, the sway of many layers of cloth the only indication that there was a near prowl to her gait.  She was the picture of demure sensuality.  A contradiction that tended to draw gazes.<br/><br/>Once at the bar, she smiled to the tender, that Scottish accent forcibly mellowed so that the poor man could understand her.   "A whiskey, please."    Yes, she would buy the first round, if no one stepped up to the bar to do it for her.  Turning, she rested back against the mahogany and watched the room, and the man making his way from the bar to the card table.   She didn't know where he was from, but they obviously fed them well there.<br/><br/>Watching as the first hand was dealt, she paid attention to the players, watching their mannerisms as they played, marking them to memory.   It paid to pay attention to such things while playing poker.  One never knew when such information would come in handy.<br/>