Lubomír was staring, it wasn't wrong of him to do so, but he wasn't shy about it at all across the bar front. This wasn't the usual place to mingle and stand out, but it was a place to come for requests, certain things that weren't so savoury in public houses with family pubs running a normal business. This place was rotten, the smell of highballs and piss in the corners, the sight of half nude sex workers in the lap of a filthy braggart with money in the rolls. It was a place of raw and real but it was also the best place to find…. Creatures. Monsters of their own talents with fist, tongue and contracts.
Lubo' had his own dealings, a lot of dealings really - but he was here for the freedom of a six-hour drinking session for one, fighting the urge to light one up for the family's getting together near-ish the next month, and he did promise to quit the addiction. So, his only vice now was the liquor in his glass but even that was hitting it right… no, it wasn't until he smelt the dreadful smell of death. It was a smell that you either knew or didn't, and Lubo knew it a lot. His fists used to stink of it, stained with the slain under his own strength but at current, even that was faint.
Business was booming, but he wasn't doing much due to other commitments, but anyway, enough of that - he was instead looking at them again. Gaze hard and wonder high but too lazy to step over to start something so, like most drunks in this place, he rose his voice without caring for the room. It was just part of the furniture; "How'd ya kill 'em?"
Lip curls into a sneer as another body brushes up against his wings. Hidden though they are, partially removed from this realm and settled halfway between here and Hades, there's still a faint lingering of them, of sensation passed along his spine. Mortals brushing against them sets his teeth on edge with the want to bite. Curses quietly under his breath and wishes death upon his contractor for having to leave the country on business. Left his pay at the bar he said, should all be there.
If it's not, Grave is going to take great pleasure in peeling the tattoo from his back and eating it in front of him.
A bitten back snarl as another body jostles into him, reeking of stale alcohol and that chemical tang of cut cocaine.
The shout is almost ignored. Almost missed over the din, but he's felt eyes on him since he entered, and not the usual kind when they're checking out the size of him and making fantasies in their heads. Golden gaze scans over heads until he finds the one looking back. He's over by the bar, already his destination, so Grave changes course ever so slightly to bring himself up beside.
"Dropped him from a height so he couldn't move then took bits of him that never should have been introduced to another person without consent. Heart gave out before I was finished." He doesn't say how he fed it to the stray dogs lingering around the warehouse. Or how he ate the rest before handing the soul over to his mother with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to visit later in the week.
Grave flags down the bar tender, eyes narrowing a little when he grows nervous at the sight of him. If they've been skimming his pay he'll set the whole place on fire.
