"You'd have to talk to my uncle." Pipes up a young woman sitting at the bar. Victoria Rock was in her early 20s, with honey colored curls pulled back in a high ponytail. She was dressed in a white skirt and a pink halter top. She also had a pair of red feathered wings, and a set of small horns to match. Her left wing was damaged, sticking out at an odd angle, instead of being neatly folded behind her back. She was also reading a biology textbook, while enjoying a steaming cup of coffee. "He owns the place."