Raza
I ain’t one to pry, (lies, Raz, you totally are) but it isn’t every day that there’s a hot lady with a dragon hangin’ around the Slagveld. And I aint one to claim that I know everyone in Haulani, but I’d bet Hoa that I’ve never seen this person before. She don’t come up in my memory, an’ I got a knack fer rememberin’ faces. An’ dragons. There definitely ain’t a gold dragon in Haulani. Drawn first to it, then the woman, I let myself appreciate her with a bold hunger born of too many dry seasons, of jealousy at the pairings around me and the distraction that is the Hanged Man. Gods, if I don’t care who or what she is, I’d be perfectly alright with a mystery woman right now. I’d been bound for the boxing ring anyway an’ look like it, wearing enough to be decent yet as little as possible. The sun may be going down but the heat lingers, never quite dissipating until Leafchange an’ Haulani seems to collect it, even with the Arclight breeze.
Making as if to enter the ring, I pause at the door with a half smile, the kind perfected by a bartender that’s open to conversation, pleasant, and yet not too invasive. “Ain’t seen you here before.”
Yes, it’s that obvious. At least to me.
reppin' a district of obvious misfits
