He’d glimpsed it upon so many faces ever since the sheriff had stopped by and put on his little show– people were rattled, and perhaps understandably so. The mayor had just been murdered, after all. The crowd had dispersed, forming little pockets here and there with distinction– there were the bikers, the cowboys, members of his own organization, and then of course, the select few who had no idea where to turn. Looking at everyone now, Hakan managed a smirk– they’d all existed under one roof well enough for the bulk of the night, but it was an entirely different scene now that the script had been flipped. It wasn’t all fun and games anymore, and the suspicion they’d all lightly regarded one another with felt more like an iron hammer. If he hadn’t been wrapped up in the middle of it, Hakan might have been more amused, and more keen to just sit back and watch. But that option had flown out the window the moment he reminded himself of where he was, and who he was.
Approaching the bar, he noted one patron helping themselves to a refill, and his smirk widened for a moment before his expression flattened, nearly turning stern. “Didn’t you hear the good sheriff?” He started, gesturing between the bottle and their freshly filled glass, “Party’s over.” He held that look for just half a heartbeat longer before his crooked smirk returned and he reached for a clean glass, only to pour himself a mouthful from the same bottle. He’d only been joking– at this point, he didn’t give a shit who drank what. Raising his glass to his lips, he sipped at it, his expression turning contemplative as he shifted towards his newfound company, “So,” he drawled, a brow lifting, “who do you think did it?”
