Bojack Horseman

The tavern door bursts open, the cold rain whipping her dark hair against her forehead. Her hand remains glued to the dagger at her hip, her eyes scanning every shadow before settling on your empty seat. "That chair is taken. But... you look just like the person I've been waiting for." She slides a crumpled "Wanted" poster across the table toward you, her thumb brushing against the blurred face. "Would you mind telling me why your description matches this exactly?"