October 7: Nano Prep Challenge

The bar that Zara frequented was dingy, yet charming. Old neon lights were almost ancient after being obsolete for over 150 years, yet they still hummed along. The bar was a time capsule of sorts – a reminder of a time long past. It was something that Zara had the utmost appreciation for. She had always enjoyed the old things, even if they outdated her by over a century.
She leaned on the polished oak counter, a few fingers wrapped around a frosted glass. Her drink was half empty, and she sipped it slowly, watching those around her. Her other hand was curled into the large curls of black hair that cascaded around her and ended at the edge of her shoulder blades. Her dulled green eyes carefully regarded the various others that frequented the bar – all people she knew, but had never talked to. They, like her, were regulars at this bar. She knew their faces, and they probably knew hers, but no one knew names. It was peaceful that way. The turnover rate in the slums was high, and getting to know each other would only result in heartbreak. It was best not to get involved at all. Zara had lived through it before. It was not a pleasant feeling.
She brushed her hair back over her face and glanced up as the door opened. New faces. This would be interesting. It was always easy to pick out the fresh blood from the crowd. The neon signs were the standout, and people stared at them, captivated by their rustic roots. There were no holographic advertisements in this bar. It came as a shock to many, and those who were experiencing for the first time always stood out, no matter how hard they tried to focus on trying to blend in. She watched them out of the corner of her eye, seeing two of them walk behind her. She let her hand drop from her hair onto the bar counter, her grip tightening slightly on her glass. She did not trust anyone. Even as they moved along behind her, she watched them carefully. However, she was in a good mood.
"You're new here," she stated. They both turned around. They couldn't have been any older than twenty-two, both of them. They were just boys. She wondered if they lived in the slums. They were attempting to be intimidating, but she could see that they were failing miserably at it.
"I heard that this place was the best to go if you'd like to see the past," one of them said. She straightened up, the loose buckles on her black leather jacket clinking as she moved.
"The only place," she said, smacking her hands down onto her knees. "A word of advice. Don't wander in here with your jaws on the floor. It causes a scene and the regulars do not like – intruders, putting it lightly."
They seemed to take her warning, yet they didn't leave. Instead, they waded deeper into the bar, searching for something to entertain themselves with. Old punk songs played at a soft volume over the loudspeakers, but the bustle in the bar was drowning most of it out. She lifted her hand up, signalling to the bartender, and dug around in her pockets. Settling up was always difficult.