#b4rredteeth

Cyrus works a lot - it’s always easy to pick up an extra shift and by now he’s used to the slog of late-night drunks and old queens that hover at the bar when the performances are done. It’s almost cathartic to watch the world slow down. The drinks go from long islands to beers and ciders. An occasional end-of-the-night glass of wine... 

Tonight is a sleeveless shirt kind of night. An almost-a-crop-top kind of night. An “if Cyrus decides to stretch, you might just see a happy trail” kind of night. His dirty blond hair is in its usual sort-of mullet and piercing blue eyes catch on someone new a little down the bar-top. He slides into view, easily, with the grace of someone who's done this a few times before, perhaps. “Bit late to be getting started, don’t you think?” Not that Cyrus can judge. He shoots the other a lopsided grin. “What’s your pleasure then?” He’s already eyeing the spirits waiting to be turned into a fruity mixed drink, wondering if he can guess this guy's libation of choice.