He has to remember why he's here. It's all to buy more time, to give Jesse a chance to fight for ownership of his own soul once more. Whatever discomfort he feels in a place like this has to be pushed down, suffocated swiftly. He can't afford to show weakness in a place like this.
They exist in other places. Clubs, casinos, dens of inequity all. They are refuges for many denizens of the night, neutral ground for most. This is what becomes of those orphans of the darkness who lose everything and crave that most basic of desires: somewhere to belong. And once they find that place? They are not very kind towards outsiders who threaten that newfound sense of belonging.
He keeps his mind, his ears, and his eyes open as he moves towards the bar, with the intention of getting a drink. Or at least a good place to quietly survey what he has to work with.
Though the room at large doesn’t react to the presence of an unknown face, there are certainly eyes on Hanzo if he takes the time to look for them. Casual glances out of the corner of eyes that linger too long. The bartender’s stare, too intent to be comfortable. But when Hanzo approaches, he lets his eyes drop to the counter in a parody of nonchalance.
Hanzo may not be strictly unwelcome yet, but he’s definitely not going unnoticed.
“Will you be wanting somethin’ bottled, or somethin’ fresh from a vein?” the bartender asks, but the words are barely out of his mouth before the front door swings open again. This time, there’s a hush that sweeps the room, and plenty of faces turn towards the woman that enters. Although her clothes are covered in dust and grit from the desert, her sleeve torn and speckled with blood, she has an air of regality about her. The sharp angle of her short white hair frames a face fit with blood red eyes and lips to match.
She’s human. No mistaking that. She’s also very visibly, almost palpably pissed off. Her gaze sweeps the room, taking in every face along the way before snagging on Hanzo.
"Might want to make your order quick," the bartender mutters.
He holds up a hand to the bartender, indicating that he'll be with him in short order. It's the woman who's drawn his interest. She's not just someone off the street, obviously someone with weight around these parts, and she's looking for him, specifically.
Which begs the question of why. Does she know why he's here?
He doesn't act immediately, appearing instead to ease slightly in his seat, waiting for whatever action comes next. He can move at a moment's notice, and even a den of potential enemies he doesn't know anything quite like fear.
Not here. Not after what he's seen in his lifetime.
The woman watches him right back, the tension in the room ratcheting up the longer the staredown goes on. Finally, just when it seems like the room can’t stand any more of the suspense, she waves a hand—and just like that, the other patrons shift back into some semblance of normal. The conversations are still lower than before, and the sense of trouble isn’t totally gone. But at least it seems like there won’t be an all-out brawl just now.
She starts walking straight towards Hanzo, while behind her a hulking stone behemoth ducks as it passes through the doorway. It stops, at one point, to veer off a bit to the side and straighten one of the decorative items littering the walls. But it doesn’t stray far from the woman, its green glowing eyes staring either at her, or at Hanzo, or at the two of them together. Hard to tell exactly without pupils.
She settles herself into the seat beside Hanzo, seemingly either not knowing or caring what he is. A glass of whiskey over ice is set down for her without her having to order, and she spares the bartender a nod before fixing those burgundy eyes right back on the newcomer.
“You want to tell me how you got into my bar, stranger?”
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no subject
They exist in other places. Clubs, casinos, dens of inequity all. They are refuges for many denizens of the night, neutral ground for most. This is what becomes of those orphans of the darkness who lose everything and crave that most basic of desires: somewhere to belong. And once they find that place? They are not very kind towards outsiders who threaten that newfound sense of belonging.
He keeps his mind, his ears, and his eyes open as he moves towards the bar, with the intention of getting a drink. Or at least a good place to quietly survey what he has to work with.
no subject
Hanzo may not be strictly unwelcome yet, but he’s definitely not going unnoticed.
“Will you be wanting somethin’ bottled, or somethin’ fresh from a vein?” the bartender asks, but the words are barely out of his mouth before the front door swings open again. This time, there’s a hush that sweeps the room, and plenty of faces turn towards the woman that enters. Although her clothes are covered in dust and grit from the desert, her sleeve torn and speckled with blood, she has an air of regality about her. The sharp angle of her short white hair frames a face fit with blood red eyes and lips to match.
She’s human. No mistaking that. She’s also very visibly, almost palpably pissed off. Her gaze sweeps the room, taking in every face along the way before snagging on Hanzo.
"Might want to make your order quick," the bartender mutters.
no subject
He holds up a hand to the bartender, indicating that he'll be with him in short order. It's the woman who's drawn his interest. She's not just someone off the street, obviously someone with weight around these parts, and she's looking for him, specifically.
Which begs the question of why. Does she know why he's here?
He doesn't act immediately, appearing instead to ease slightly in his seat, waiting for whatever action comes next. He can move at a moment's notice, and even a den of potential enemies he doesn't know anything quite like fear.
Not here. Not after what he's seen in his lifetime.
no subject
She starts walking straight towards Hanzo, while behind her a hulking stone behemoth ducks as it passes through the doorway. It stops, at one point, to veer off a bit to the side and straighten one of the decorative items littering the walls. But it doesn’t stray far from the woman, its green glowing eyes staring either at her, or at Hanzo, or at the two of them together. Hard to tell exactly without pupils.
She settles herself into the seat beside Hanzo, seemingly either not knowing or caring what he is. A glass of whiskey over ice is set down for her without her having to order, and she spares the bartender a nod before fixing those burgundy eyes right back on the newcomer.
“You want to tell me how you got into my bar, stranger?”