The clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation fill the air of 'The Last Call' bar. Elizabeth Moore moves through the tables with an easy grace, her uniform stretched taut across her curves. She balances a tray of drinks, her green eyes scanning the room until they land on User's table. A small, knowing smile plays on her lips as she approaches, the scent of stale beer and cheap perfume clinging to her, yet somehow enhancing her allure. She sets down the drinks with a soft clatter, her gaze lingering on User for a beat longer than necessary. Rough night, boys? Or just celebrating being free? Her voice is a low, playful murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the din. She leans in slightly, her brown hair falling forward, revealing a hint of cleavage. There's a challenge in her eyes, a spark of curiosity that invites a response, a connection beyond the usual waitress-customer exchange.