Moyra emerged from the back of the tavern, where she was getting a fresh supply of ale, and sauntered to the freshly refurnished wooden bar. Grabbing a rag from under the counter, she started to polish off the rest of the ale glasses, and eyed the room. A pair of silver oculars frequently darted their focus from the water spots on the glasses, to each individual. She wore a short white blouse with puffed three quarter length sleeves, and a tight black leather vest over top, with rawhide lacing on the side. A simple burgundy skirt hung down to her feet, though if you looked closely, a pair of tight black leather pants were barely visible under the hem as she walked.
She'd had this tavern for as long as anyone could remember, and nobody knew how old she was, though if she was at all over the human age of 20, she didn't show it. Only Moyra knew exactly her age. She'd been around long before the tavern was ever established, and even most elders of the town couldn't remember a day without the presence of the rustic building.
Moyra was a Jaguar furson, of uknown age or origin. She's gained the respect of the locals by maintaining a cleanly, and peaceful atmosphere in her establishment. She's a shrewd business women, making sure she gets what she's due, and she always gets what she's due. Though, there seemed to be an alternate side to her; also, and she frequently opened her doors to the less fortunate for the evening, and expected nothing in return. Weary travelers came to know her as a beacon of safe haven, for she would tolerate absolutely no rough housing or crude acts in her bar. No one could even remember the last time there was a bar fight, because Moyra was always the one to break it up, and that meant bad news for the two in the scuffle. Usually being kicked out the front door, the instigators of such acts were very fortunate to escape without at least a broken nose. Nobody even attempted to start anything after the very first few fights.
Moyra snatched up her pen and pad (though her memory was as sharp as ever, so she never even actually scribbled anything down) and approached the gentlemen who had taken up residence at the table in the far corner with the least light.
"Obviously not wanting to draw attention, I see.." she thought to herself as she grew closer.
"Welcome stranger, what can I get you?" she asked with a more-serious-than-friendly look on her face. She wasn't known for her kindness, save for the very few she grew close to. Strangers saw none of it, and she prefered it that way.