A girl with a scythe walked in the city streets late at night. She looked at cars that came in her direction, making the people scream in terror and drive off the road and crash, killing themselves. *oh tonight gonna be a good night!* she grinned, her left eye glinting while her right eye socket widened as if it knew what was happening. She dashed over to a bar and took a seat at the counter. "What'll you have?" asked the bar tender. She pointed at the beer without speaking for all that could really come out was a muffle due to the bandages over her mouth. She caught the beer when the bar tender pushed down the counter to her. She ripped her bandages off and gulped it down. Her bloodied teeth turned the beer redish and she put it back down on the counter, empty in a matter of minutes. There were blood marks on the rim of the mug and she leaned back. "Best thing i've hand in weeks! Get me a dozen mugs of this!" She said pointing at the beer. "Or you'll suffer the choice of not doing what i say!" HE gave what she asked and she gulped them down.
"... so zhat's zhe rivt-ravt zhey're letting in vor drinks zhese days?"
Off in the corner of the bar like some cliché stereotype of a bad boy sits a lone woman. She's got a cane with a fancy black orb sitting ontop, currently leaned up against the left side of the chair she's sitting in. Otherwise she doesn't really stand out from anyone else who comes in; dressed in black clothing, but most certainly not a goth, she seems pretty ordinary.
Well... if you can ignore the obviously foreign Funetik Aksent, then she's pretty ordinary. She sits not too far away from the bar's counter, sipping on a beer as she watches Scar down the twelve order drinks-- with a threat to the tender, no less. She believes that threat too: with a scythe like that, who wouldn't?
"She probably doesn't even haff zhe money vor it; not like it matters, but..."
Off in the corner of the bar like some cliché stereotype of a bad boy sits a lone woman. She's got a cane with a fancy black orb sitting ontop, currently leaned up against the left side of the chair she's sitting in. Otherwise she doesn't really stand out from anyone else who comes in; dressed in black clothing, but most certainly not a goth, she seems pretty ordinary.
Well... if you can ignore the obviously foreign Funetik Aksent, then she's pretty ordinary. She sits not too far away from the bar's counter, sipping on a beer as she watches Scar down the twelve order drinks-- with a threat to the tender, no less. She believes that threat too: with a scythe like that, who wouldn't?
"She probably doesn't even haff zhe money vor it; not like it matters, but..."
A man in regular street clothes whistled a happy little tune, content to la-de-da around the place. He sat down next to a... veeery appealing woman, and asked the bartender for a, "Scotch on the rocks."
He was, of course, not served said scotch. Underage drinking? BAD. But, you already knew that. So, he moved from his seat and sat near the girl with a scythe instead.
"You can call me Mel, and what, pray tell, is your poison?" he asked, leaned over the counter. "Love? Lust? ...or something else?" The last part was said with a sly smile across his face. "Which are you here for, hm?"
He was, of course, not served said scotch. Underage drinking? BAD. But, you already knew that. So, he moved from his seat and sat near the girl with a scythe instead.
"You can call me Mel, and what, pray tell, is your poison?" he asked, leaned over the counter. "Love? Lust? ...or something else?" The last part was said with a sly smile across his face. "Which are you here for, hm?"
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