[ An hour is about the time it takes for her to conclude the generators around the building are just shit. This old technology is so crude and unfortunately nothing but patience is going to fix it, something she lacks after the affair with the mysterious grumpy door web-maker tickling her curiosity. She isn't counting on him to show up at the bar but she earnestly wants a drink. Something to take the edge off a little. Acclimating to this place she can do, crude technology and all, but the part of her that can't seem to connect with the rest of her Powersuit has her brooding at the bar, nursing fresh whiskey, gaze flitting to what's playing on the small corner TV to whatever gets reflected in the shiny metal on the TV itself out of paranoid habit. ]
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