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คใ
คใ
คHe leans against the doorway of the dimly lit seedy bar, the faint glow of the flickering neon sign above them casting wicked, jagged shadows over his leisure sharp frameใ
ค[ low hum & murmurs of conversation, clink of glasses & just the ever faint twang of a busted up, out-of-tune jukebox; all these fill the air, nothing more than background noise ]ใ
คGolden slits gleam like a vice under the brim of his hat as he scans the room, a predator sizing up the herd, ready for his next kill; what he finds is not disappointing:ใ
คthe horns are a dead giveaway. The cowboyโs lips curl into a slow / dangerous smirk as he steps inside; jingle of his spurs deliberate as they cut through the shit-noise with every step. Thereโs no rush in his steps โใ
คheโs savoring this moment,
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คใ
คใ
คSliding up next to the bar, leaning one arm against it as he takes the stool next to rodeo-clown imp,ใ
คitโs second nature, how casual it all is, the way he moves. For a moment, Striker says nothingใ
ค[ his presence should be enough; & isnโt it always? ]ใ
คa calculated silence,ใ
คโ Funny to run into you again, Blitzyโฆ โใ
คhe drawls out, voice oozing poison & syrup, thick with Hellโs equivalent of Southern charm.ใ
คAs if in a show of good faith & a temporary cease-fire, he tips his hat back, eyes locking onto Blitzo / @blitzs with a sharpness meant to cut that hardest stone ( & this, folks, is him being friendlyโฆ )ใ
คโ Drowninโ your sorrows hereโฆใ
คI guess even clowns gotta take the face-paint off sometime, yeah? โใ
คhe picks up a glass of whiskey that slides his way with practiced grace, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow, measure slip.ใ
คNot once does his smirk falter, instead somehow growing sharper as he continues,ใ
คโ Whatโs the matter? Did a job go sour? โใ
คHis tone is laced with mockery, but thereโs an edge of something darker beneath it, something that hints at unfinished business, voice dropping down to a murmur,ใ
คโ Or is it problems in the sack; cainโt satisfy the blue-blood shit-stain? โ
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คใ
คใ
คHe laughs, claws to the chalkboard, screechy & raspy, like heโs said the funniest shit in all of Hell,ใ
คโ Donโt mind me; I ainโt here to spoil your drinkโฆ โใ
คnot at this moment, anyway.ใ
คโ Youโre a hard imp to pin down; slippery like piss-stank grease on a hell-hog. I mean, you werenโt hard to find, but you sure put up a fight. Anyway,ใ
คcheers; lifeโs a cruel bitch, but damn if she donโt make things interestinโ... โใ
คhe raises his glass in a mock toast before drowning it in one smooth motion,