J
jyncka
Guest
Original poster
"Something strong," Violin tried to keep the quaver out of his voice as he looked over his shoulder, watching the entrance to the port bar just a hair longer than normal before looking back at the bartender. "And cheap. Please." He added, mentally going over the paltry balance in his account. The four-armed amphibian behind the bar croaked at him indifferently and moved to start mixing something. Resisting the urge to look over his shoulder again, Violin tried to act natural. That was the key here, just act like he was getting off a shift and grabbing a drink before going home. Act like nothing else was going on. Like he wasn't hiding from a very powerful, very scary loan shark.
Another croak/belch from the bartender and he was handed a large, looping glass full of something cloudy and green. It was smoking slightly, too. With an uncertain smile, Violin pressed his thumb to the payment plate on the bar and muttered something like "thanks". He raised the glass carefully to his mouth and took a sip. It tasted, weirdly, like cinnamon and was slightly bubbly. Giving in to his paranoia, he turned in his seat to have a clearer view of the rest of the shabby bar and doorway, wincing when he felt the slimy aftertaste of the drink in the back of his throat.
He was a lean man, his face and clothes were battered from a less than respectable lifestyle and his jacket hung loosely on him as if it had been made for someone bigger. He scratched his temple, not bothering to try and fix his scruffy brown hair sitting in a tangled nest on his crown. Dark eyes scanned the room with something of a nervous, practiced quality and the back of the hand he used to wipe his mouth had an ugly scar running over its back.
Just keep drinking. That was the best thing to do. Keep acting natural and relaxed. Loose, even. Just keep drinking the weird green drink that was actually not as slimy as it had first tasted. If the guy looking for him did come into the bar, he'd figure it out then. For now, he just had to act like nothing was wrong.
Another croak/belch from the bartender and he was handed a large, looping glass full of something cloudy and green. It was smoking slightly, too. With an uncertain smile, Violin pressed his thumb to the payment plate on the bar and muttered something like "thanks". He raised the glass carefully to his mouth and took a sip. It tasted, weirdly, like cinnamon and was slightly bubbly. Giving in to his paranoia, he turned in his seat to have a clearer view of the rest of the shabby bar and doorway, wincing when he felt the slimy aftertaste of the drink in the back of his throat.
He was a lean man, his face and clothes were battered from a less than respectable lifestyle and his jacket hung loosely on him as if it had been made for someone bigger. He scratched his temple, not bothering to try and fix his scruffy brown hair sitting in a tangled nest on his crown. Dark eyes scanned the room with something of a nervous, practiced quality and the back of the hand he used to wipe his mouth had an ugly scar running over its back.
Just keep drinking. That was the best thing to do. Keep acting natural and relaxed. Loose, even. Just keep drinking the weird green drink that was actually not as slimy as it had first tasted. If the guy looking for him did come into the bar, he'd figure it out then. For now, he just had to act like nothing was wrong.