what dies in vegas, stays in vegas ☠ hiolet
"Something wrong with being pale?" Violet snipped and ran her finger along the freezing glass of her water, letting the condensation trickle down her finger as he murmured and abandoned her at the table. The world went on usually around her. People walked by and sent longful glances. Chatter happened around her. Chairs scraped against concrete. Yet the was a lingering chill under Violet’s skin, like something — anything, would happen.
Rubbing the water on her finger, she looked up to the man. “Why?” she asked bitterly, “We just got here.”
Harry let a piece of ice slide into his mouth, sucking on it as it melted. He then caught it with his teeth and crunched down on it. Clearing his throat, he moved to stand behind Violet. He yanked her chair away from the table, leaning down to her ear, "We need. To leave," he said sternly. He stood up straight, glancing away from the building and towards the street. "Now."
He wrenched his hands off the cold wire chair, digging into his pocket for his wallet and pulling out a few bills to tuck under his glass on the table. He waited until Violet stood up, his hand on her back again, but pushing her with more urgency this time. Harry followed her to the exit as commotion began to form behind him, his face cold. He did his job, and now he was focused on what else he was supposed to do: keeping Violet oblivious to the violence he caused.
