Hi everyone! New story here. This is basically a major rewrite of my last story so I hope you enjoy it and yeah, here goes.

Please let me know if you like/hate it because I kinda wanna know now whether it's worth continuing with this story – so please review!

Every day it was the same for Daria. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Long story short, Daria's life was dull. Which was surprising seeing as she lived in Gotham City, home to dark, vigilante, Batman and had played theatre so some of the country's most notorious criminals – such as the Joker and of course, the mob.

She had lived alone since she was 17, after her mom died. Her mother had been a true Gothamite but after she had married Daria's father – a Russian scientist – they had lived in Russia for most of Daria's life. Just after her tenth birthday her mother took her away from Russia and her father and moved back to Gotham and Daria hadn't seen her father since then. But a few years later, Daria's mother got cancer and Daria was left alone. She didn't mind being alone but she missed her mother.

She lived a lonely life, in the Narrows and working the night shift at one of the bars in downtown Gotham had taught her well how to stay out of trouble. At around 3am she would return to the dull, grey apartment building she called home. Not in the 2 years that she had lived there had she ever spoken to a single other resident. She hated the hours she worked, but after two years of it, she got used to going to sleep at 4am and waking up exactly 12 hours later.

The shrill beep of her alarm shocked Daria out of a deep sleep at 4pm. And when she groggily fumbled for the off button and after the high-pitched beeping had ceased to be, she stretched up and out of bed feeling very indifferent, as always, about the coming day.

"Jesus Christ." She grumbled to herself as she slumped towards the bathroom in nothing but her panties and a big t-shirt that hung past mid-thigh. She stripped off her nightwear and turned the shower on before returning to the sink to brush her teeth whilst the water warmed up. The lack of heating in her apartment sent shivers over skin as she continued to brush her teeth. Daria made her way over to the shower and stepped under the now hot water and breathed a sigh of relief, as the hot water ran down over her hair and body. She reached for her shampoo and took time to properly wash and rinse her hair. Stepping out of the shower, she dried her body and began to brush through her hair before walking over to the mirror. She looked over her reflection in the full-length mirror. She had never considered herself to be outstandingly beautiful; she wasn't a particularly vain person. She stood at a height of 5'3", was a size 4, a C-cup and had a distinct lack of notable assets to be proud of. Her attention turned to her face; she didn't have striking features like some girls had. She hated the colour of her eyes; they were dark brown, so dark that they could easily be mistaken for black. She had a heart-shaped face, with subtle cheekbones and plump lips. Her eyelashes were thick but short and she had a tanned complexion. She didn't remember all that much about her father, other than that he was always working but she did know that he was of middle-eastern descent – which she supposed was the reasoning behind her slightly exotic looks. The one quality she was proud of was her hair; it was long and wavy and reached to the middle of her back in dark brown tresses.

She began applying her make up: foundation, powder, bronzer, smoky grey eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara and her favourite perfume. If there was anything her mum had taught her, it was how to look good. Her mum had always looked beautiful and glamorous, even if she nowhere fancy to go, she would always be wearing makeup and perfume. She proceeded to put on some slightly sheer black tights, distressed black denim shorts and a silver and black tank top as well as her patent black Doc Martens. Her job at Exotica – one of Gotham's most well-known nightclubs – required her to dress in something 'easy on the eye'. It just meant that men tipped a little bit more if you handed their drinks to them wearing something hot. She didn't mind being a bargirl but the men could sometimes get a little out of hand. She grabbed her parka and headed outside to her car. She usually left for work just after 5pm and as her shift started at 6pm it gave her a good amount of time to set up before the usual first round of partyers would drop in ordering their usual 10 shots and 10 beers or whatever girly, fruity cocktail they could come up with. If there was one thing Daria hated about her job it was the uptight, bitchy little sluts who came to the bar and stuck their noses up at her just because of what side of the bar she was standing on.

"Hey, Kelly," said Daria as she greeted her fellow barmaid.

"Hey, Daria, what's up?" replied Kelly. Kelly was most guys' definition of an ideal girlfriend. She was blonde, bubbly and confident – with very noticeable assets.

"Nothing much, as per usual."

"Ey, don't worry, you'll find Prince Charming one day. And he'll whisk you away from the evil land of Gotham on his noble steed to a land far, far away and you'll never have to serve drinks to lairy old men ever again!" Laughed Kelly in her All-American cheerleader voice.

"Hahaha, well I certainly hope so, Kel." Joked back Daria.

There were three of them working the bar that night and the night was going well, as it always did on a Saturday night, and people were tipping heavily. Daria was busy pouring out 12 shots of tequila when she heard a voice to her left.

"I'll be with you in a second, sweetie," she half-yelled.

She handed the group of party girls their shots and took their money before turning to the man who had called her.

"Yes, hon, how can I help you?" She asked, raising her eyes to his face and stopping short.

This guy was…hot. There was no other word for it. He had lightly tanned skin, blue-grey eyes and short dark hair. And in the dim light of the bar she could see clearly his handsome chiseled face.

"Hey…hey...you there? I said can I get three Coronas?" His voice brought her back to Earth.

"Uh, yeah, sure, um," She felt hot and flustered and struggled to regain her composure. She ducked down and retrieved three bottles of beer before setting them on the counter and telling him how much they were.

He handed her a $20 bill and told her to 'keep the change' before giving her a smile and heading back to the main part of the bar with the beers in hand.

The night went on and after a shot with Kelly and the other bargirl Sophie, she began to feel relaxed and confident, flirting with the customers and swaying her hips to the music. After about an hour, the man from earlier made another appearance on her side of the bar.

"Well, hey," she said with as much confidence as she could manage. "You here for more beers I take it?" This time taking an opportunity to look at what he was wearing. He had a dark, fitted tshirt on and from what she could tell, dark jeans too. He had a black jacket in his hand and she noticed silver ID tags around his neck.

"No actually," he replied, in an accent Daria couldn't quite place. Was it Irish? Scottish? European? At a guess she'd make a bet on European.

"Well then, what can I help you with, sugar?" she said, flirtatiously.

"Well, my friends are about to leave and the person I'm meeting here won't be here for a while so I thought what better way to kill time than to talk to the extremely pretty barmaid," he said, smiling.

"Ahh , well, then, what's your name?"

"Barsad. Barsad Nazarenko."

"Nazarenko? That's an interesting name. Whereabouts are you from?"

"I was born in Ukraine but I grew up mainly in South Africa, before moving to South America."

"Ahh, so you're a man of the world, huh?" Daria said, as she gave two beers to a guy on Barsad's left and charged him.

"You could say that…" He said, with a smile. "Tell me about you, what's your name?"

"Daria. Daria Pavel."

"And where are you from Miss Daria Pavel?"

"I was born in Russia but my mom and I moved here when I was ten. She was born here, you see. I've lived here for nine years."

"So, you're 19 then?"

"Hey, Daria!" shouted Kelly from across the bar, "you can take your break now."

"Cool, thanks, Kel!" replied Daria, turning her attention back to the man in front of her.

"Yup," she said.

"That's pretty young to be working here in a seedy bar full of creepy men," he said, obviously joking. "Does your mother know that you're out?"

"My mother," she said, looking him in the eye, "is dead."

Barsad looking surprised, opened and closed his mouth. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Daria replied, with a small smile. "It was two years ago. Anyway, tell me more about you." She said, changing the subject.

"Me? Well I-" he was suddenly interrupted by the vibrating of his phone. He looked down at the caller ID, "Sorry, I'd better take this outside."

"Okay," she said. Watching as he exited the bar, holding his phone to his ear.

A whole hour had passed and Barsad still hadn't returned and it was nearing the end of Daria's shift.

"Boy, I sure am glad we only have to do 3 nights a week of this." sighed Kelly, walking over to Daria.

"Ugh, I know right, doing every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday is plenty enough for me."

"Amen to that," said Kelly, mixing some complicated and fruity cocktail for a supermodel wannabe who was slurring her words and rolling her eyes at everyone. "Hey, Dar, where's the cute guy you were talking to earlier?"

"I dunno, Kel, he kinda rushed off. OH well, he was kinda outta my league anyway…"

"Girl, are you serious, I practically just planned your wedding right there and then!"

Daria laughed it off and told Kelly not to worry about it because she wasn't really bothered – not really. Why should he should he have said goodbye anyway? I'm just another girl to guys like him, she thought to herself.

At last, her shift ended just before 3am and she was free to go. After helping pack up and saying goodbye to everyone, including her slightly lewd boss, Joey, she walked quickly to her car and drove home. And when she got home she stripped off and went straight to bed, dreaming of men with smoky blue eyes and exotic accents.