Caroline stood in the distance, a frown on her pretty, porcelain face. She had walked for what seemed like days, and now sitting in front of her was just what she needed. "The Broken Bottle," She muttered to herself, tilting her head a bit to the side to sweep a strand of brown hair from her eyes. It was good enough for now.<br/><br/>Her clothes were  mostly clean except for some dust, and several drops of dried blood. She carried nothing in her hands, and she looked rather tired, but every step she took toward the bar was filled with determination. She was young, only in her early twenties, but she looked like everyone else around here did: haunted.<br/><br/>Caroline pushed open the door and looked around, seeing bikers and gang members around the pool tables, and the older man behind the counter speaking to a lovely young woman. She gulped a little, but walked in further and toward the counter, sliding into a stool near the two of them, eavesdropping innocently on their conversation.