Milliways Bar, for Clint and Asya

In Vienna, there has just been a car crash. Quite a nasty one, really; the driver had been speeding, distracted by his twenty-years-younger girlfriend when one of the front tires had blown out.

Not that the woman who walks in knows anything about that, oh no. She - blonde, slightly taller than average, attractive - is clearly just a normal worman. Heavy coat, hat, scarf and gloves all due to the chill outside - jeans for comfort, flat-heeled boots still stylish. She's carrying a black briefcase, but she could be a casual office worker.

If you know what to look for, then the woman is not so normal. Her balance is perfect, and the flare of her jeans hides a knife strapped to her calf. The briefcase is a little broader than normal, and it's far more sturdy than an actual briefcase because it's really a case for her dismantled sniper rifle.

Olya smiles as she sees the bar, and strolls over to the Bar. Coat off and neatly dropped over her guncase, she takes a seat and orders a cup of tea.

No alcohol until she's taken out her second target and is safely out of the city - she is not needlessly reckless, thank you very much.