#(((((-:

It was "fancy lounge day." And there he was, of course - the suit. The unhinged criminal of a man, no doubt. The connection to her brother's death - with a glass of what she knew was a martini before him. Anya by know even knew how he held the glass, how he swirled it three times counterclockwise before drinking.

She was obsessed with knowing everything she could – enough to potentially dissect him.

Dissect. She scowled at the word, though she ultimately decided it sounded perfect, really. She was, along with her work, studying nursing as well (keeping busy was good for her). Maybe the medical terms were just running loose in her head now, she thought.

It was 21:00, and not many people were at the lounge. Probably because this place reeked of exclusivity.

Anya was barely dressed well enough, and her face was red and tired - but she adjusted her skirt and blouse, put up her hair neatly, and apparently, she was deemed passable enough to welcome inside.

She sat right next to the mysterious man at the bar.

He turned to her with raised eyebrows, apparently honestly surprised by her sudden appearance.

"Miss Kari," he smiled softly. "I wasn't expecting to see you again."

"My brother is dead."

"Ah," he turned away, took a sip of his drink. "My condolences."

"My brother is dead and you had something to do with it, didn't you."

"That's a hasty accusation."

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong," he obeyed, in a tone so mocking she imagined gutting him right there on the counter. She could even picture the blood of it.

She inhaled sharply and mentally reminded herself not to make anything close to any rash movements.

"Hello, Miss," interrupted a voice behind the counter. The bartender beamed a smile at her, obviously hoping to sell to her multiple expensive drinks. She was not looking to buy a thing, but Anya was a little glad for the interruption as it allowed her time to collect herself.

"Is it your first time here? I haven't seen you around before and I think I would remember a lovely customer like yourself. Can I get you something-"

"She'll have a glass of bokbunja. That's all for now," the suited man said, shooting a polite smile that somewhat seemed to intimidate the bartender. "Thank you, you can go now."

"Oh. Yes, I'll be right back with that drink, sir. Ma'am," the bartender said before leaving.

"My treat," the man smiled politely.

“Right.” Anya decided to get to the point, ignoring the reminder that this man knew her usual choice of drink. "I know you give out business cards to get people to join some sort of big game," she continued. "Is that what my brother did? Or was he working for the organization? Some underground drug ring or cult..."

"Ms. Kari," he sighed a little. "I have been considerate. I have been very considerate with you..."

The bartender brought her drink over and, to their mutual unspoken relief, left them alone again.

"Your brother made a choice. He needed the opportunity," the man said, turning back to his drink. "And he took it. His death was an unfortunate accident, I'm sure."

He finished his glass.

Anya took a deep breath and swallowed down her drink in less than 10 seconds before asking her next question.

She exhaled and looked at the counter as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Did you kill him?" she finally asked, shoulders slumping slightly.

"Me? I didn't kill anyone," he said calmly. "So why don't you let it go. This is beyond you."

She looked at him again. Definitely in some sort of gang or cult.

"It's beyond me? Is that why you didn't recruit me...?"

Another idea occurred to her, and she decided to ask earnestly. "Or is it because I'm a woman? Is it a male-only thing?"

"Oh, that has nothing to do with it, I promise," he smirked. "I go both ways."

She scoffed. "Then what is it?"

"You're just not my type."

"Your type?"

"Privileged. Successful." he said, looking down at her empty drink. "Do you want another?"

Privileged? Successful? She really wasn’t…

"If I find out you or your shitty cult killed my brother -"

"Miss Kari. If I killed your brother, then so did you."

Anya froze at the statement. He caught the attention of the bartender and ordered her the second drink, which was brought over relatively quickly.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she felt herself grow heated with infuriation.

"I learned so much about you, and yet...I admit didn't even know you had a brother until you told me that day at the park. It's not in your records. The last name is a different name, even. You must have completely cut off any remnants of your earlier life - including family. Now, I don't blame you. A person with promise has to separate themselves from the scum. But maybe...just maybe...if you had kept your brother around, helped him, acknowledged him he wouldn't have needed the money. And he wouldn't be dead."

He allowed her a moment to think this over.

"But that's just one way of looking at it, of course," he shrugged. "Now, you should drink that and go. Consider that my final act of gratuity for you. I'd like to have my last drink in peace."

Impulse completely possessing her, Anya slapped him - hard. He seemed surprised, reaching to touch his cheek to fully register her act. It gave her time to throw her drink over his dress shirt - the reddish purple color's resemblance to blood clinging on to him and giving her some sort of twisted satisfaction.

"There's your last drink,” she huffed, and threw cash on the counter.

"And that's your tip," she called out to the bartender, as she walked away. "I bet he's cheap."

The bartender went to the counter and took the cash, looking confused as his customer walked out the door in a hurry. He turned to see the man in the suit looking disheveled and drenched in wine.

He was wiping some of the stain from his dress shirt with a napkin.

"Bad date?" the bartender asked.

The man simply gave him a deadly, silencing glare before he stood to leave, tossing the napkin on the table.

"Hey, are you going to pay for those drinks? She said that was just the -"

The man loudly smacked some money down on the counter. He ran his fingers through his slick hair and left the restaurant without a look back.

"Cheapskate," nodded the bartender.

..