A pair of heels sounding the rhythm of footsteps on the wet pavement echoes off the concrete and metal walls down the alleyway surrounding the entrance to Some Run Down Bar. Through the misting fall rain a figure cuts a silhouette. As she draws nearer, the details come through: a long red satin, definitely not silk, dress, a dusty fur stole, a cigarette burning at the tip of an opera length holder in one hand and a bundle wrapped in paper nestled in the other, weary eyes rimmed with eyeliner and mascara and underlined by dark circles, and perched on top to complete it - a black fascinator draped with black netting. She stops short of the entrance to the bar, unsure about entering and studies the exterior. It's been years since she last laid foot here.
Lights are off, there's dust in the windows and cobwebs can be seen in the corners and under the awning outside. Is anyone even in there? (Do I want anyone to be in there? Did that gnome just move?) Taped up in the window she can see someone left a note years ago expressing something similar to what she was feeling. Good memories during very dark times. Some bad memories too, some mistakes. (God, but we were just kids then, really.) Smiling slightly at the thoughts, she tapped the note lightly. It was for the memories of roleplaying with friends that she decided to dabble in it again for this visit. It had been years, after all.
Crushing the cigarette underfoot and stowing the holder away, she gathered the paper bundle in both hands, folding down the paper to reveal a bouquet of sunflowers for friendship, and one dusty bottle of bree. Reaching in her clutch, she pulls out two notes and examines them for a second before choosing one to stuff in the bouquet, then gently she sets the bouquet on the front mat, resting on the door so the sunflowers can be seen. Reaching back into her pocket, she pulls out a lighter and sets fire to the other note, letting it burn until it comes dangerously close to singing her gloves, she lets the remaining small corner of the note flutter to the wet asphalt. After another long look at the darkened windows, she pulls out another cigarette and holder, lighting it with that same lighter. Tossing the lighter in, she closes her clutch with a satisfying SNAP that's made louder by the empty alleyway. (Well, that's that) And so, she walks away back where she came from.
The wind gently rustles the paper around the bouquet, and the note can be seen peeking between sunflowers. It reads "Happy 20 years SRDB! Can't believe this place is still here. Thank you for all the great memories friends, and thank you for being there when I needed. - <3 daz (aka bunny)"