whiskey, smoke and aces high

RONIN

the darkstar

light is easy to love.

Yeesh, but it's not Ronin's vibe. Wrinkling his nose and turning back to the bar (but keeping one eye on the band, because the music is absolutely not the thing he's interested in), he's only vaguely aware that the bartender is hitting on him when she slides her number beneath the next drink he receives. The smile he flashes her makes his eyes look like glass, and he tucks away the number. She's not bad looking, and so he might go home with her later.

Or he might not. Who knows?

The first set ends and Ronin abandons his barstool to head out for that promised cigarette, fishing in his pocket for his phone along the way. His legs haven't informed his brain yet that they're getting kind of buzzed, and so when he shoulders past some guy with a too clean shirt and a tattoo of a bunch of Chinese characters that probably means "angry soup" or some shit, it's obviously his fault.

"Watch your fucking step," he mutters, pushing open the door and slouching against the wall around the side of the building. Head down against the wind, he sparks up with an old Zippo, then turns his attention to his phone.

Finding the number he's looking for, he smiles around the cigarette and sends a swift message.

Was the bra your size?

show me your darkness.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!