04-14-2014, 09:36 PM
Takeo walked the dim stretch of road in silent contemplation. His head hung slightly in his hood, but he was well aware of his surroundings. He may have been circling the Sphere for months now without relief, but that was no excuse for letting down his guard. And it was long past time he remedied that.
Letting some whim guide him, Takeo took another turn and found himself confronted with an ugly facade of mostly abandoned storefronts. Mostly, but not all.
There was a door with some light glinting from the threshold. A few outdated flyers were pinned to a shabby corkboard where they weren't just stapled directly to the wall. Takeo idly plucked one from its peers to have a look.
Cyanide and the Pills were performing at the old Majestic - eight months ago. Other than the charming dancing pills - anatomically correct, or incorrect, as they were - the flyer was hardly noteworthy. A few hand-scrawled dates and times, a pirated logo or two. And it was sticky with recently-spilled beer. Takeo crumpled the offending flyer and dropped it in the gutter next to a wad of indistinguishable muck and one lonely rubber. This place would do.
Lowering his hood, Takeo stepped into the bar.
He would not look out of place in this dive. The obviously Asian man - Japanese to the discerning eye - was dressed in snug black jeans, scuffed and scarred but flexible, a black hoodie with some red and grey faded tribal designs, and well-worn black sneakers. From his build, he was lean, but that could have been the result of any substance, least likely being exercise. His hair was tossed roughly across his forehead, and looked a little damp. The most striking thing about him was a red scratch at his chin and what might have been a tattoo on his right cheek that was now just an unattractive scar. He was dirty, in a way, and dull black eyes only took in the room briefly before seeking out the bar.
Takeo stepped over, a bit unsteady on his feet, and took a seat for himself a few stools away from the girl with the skull shirt and the uneven bangs. He ignored her as she ordered, waiting his turn, and made use of the mirror behind the bar to case the room around his own reflection. Another woman at a pool table, a couple grim-looking regulars, not much to see ... except, that woman. He didn't look directly at her, but studied a bottle of scotch while raking his memories for where he'd seen her face before.
A quiet chime, one that only he could hear, interrupted his thoughts, but he ignored it. Jun would be checking in about now - making sure he made it without incident. Almost, but not his concern for the moment. He knew he recognized the girl at the pool table ... which meant he probably needed to leave.
Letting some whim guide him, Takeo took another turn and found himself confronted with an ugly facade of mostly abandoned storefronts. Mostly, but not all.
There was a door with some light glinting from the threshold. A few outdated flyers were pinned to a shabby corkboard where they weren't just stapled directly to the wall. Takeo idly plucked one from its peers to have a look.
Cyanide and the Pills were performing at the old Majestic - eight months ago. Other than the charming dancing pills - anatomically correct, or incorrect, as they were - the flyer was hardly noteworthy. A few hand-scrawled dates and times, a pirated logo or two. And it was sticky with recently-spilled beer. Takeo crumpled the offending flyer and dropped it in the gutter next to a wad of indistinguishable muck and one lonely rubber. This place would do.
Lowering his hood, Takeo stepped into the bar.
He would not look out of place in this dive. The obviously Asian man - Japanese to the discerning eye - was dressed in snug black jeans, scuffed and scarred but flexible, a black hoodie with some red and grey faded tribal designs, and well-worn black sneakers. From his build, he was lean, but that could have been the result of any substance, least likely being exercise. His hair was tossed roughly across his forehead, and looked a little damp. The most striking thing about him was a red scratch at his chin and what might have been a tattoo on his right cheek that was now just an unattractive scar. He was dirty, in a way, and dull black eyes only took in the room briefly before seeking out the bar.
Takeo stepped over, a bit unsteady on his feet, and took a seat for himself a few stools away from the girl with the skull shirt and the uneven bangs. He ignored her as she ordered, waiting his turn, and made use of the mirror behind the bar to case the room around his own reflection. Another woman at a pool table, a couple grim-looking regulars, not much to see ... except, that woman. He didn't look directly at her, but studied a bottle of scotch while raking his memories for where he'd seen her face before.
A quiet chime, one that only he could hear, interrupted his thoughts, but he ignored it. Jun would be checking in about now - making sure he made it without incident. Almost, but not his concern for the moment. He knew he recognized the girl at the pool table ... which meant he probably needed to leave.