Nicky returned his grin; her's was crooked and mischievous, the kind of expression she used for situations like this. Her heart thumped. She was excited about this, about him - everything about the man so far promised a quick tumble, which was exactly what she'd wanted when she walked into the Hog's Head. He didn't look like the sort of person she could steal from, She took a sip of her drink and held the glass in her right hand.
"I might be able to help you there," Nicky said. She slid her left arm over the bar and closer to him; it was an awkward position, but it enabled her to rest her fingers on his wrist. "I'm Nicky."
After all, why would she use a pseudonym here? She recognized none of the men. This had never been her crowd. And she was dead.
"I might be able to help you there," Nicky said. She slid her left arm over the bar and closer to him; it was an awkward position, but it enabled her to rest her fingers on his wrist. "I'm Nicky."
After all, why would she use a pseudonym here? She recognized none of the men. This had never been her crowd. And she was dead.
Nicky has been out of the UK since 1881; you probably don't recognize her, but talk to me if you think your character might!
She is currently living in the Three Broomsticks, pretending to be a middle class Afrikaner from South Africa.