NOCT OVERFLOW

[swordhardy]

OVERFLOW & EVENTS

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[swordhardy]

[ Eyes gone narrow in suspicion of that clear lie quickly widen again when Stiles hefts the box onto the bar. Weaving back through scattered chairs and tables, Rokurou leans against the counter and reaches in to shuffle through the goods. Not without giving Stiles another glance, attention flickering to the folded clothing tucked beneath his elbow. ]

Yours? [ hey, if he's a rogue, he could just steal a decent outfit from lost and found, ] So we did meet here. Maybe you were dropping loads of cash on strippers after all, Mr. Regular.

[ The wad of clothing in the box proves to not be any of Rokurou's, not so much as a sandal, and it's soon clear that there are no swords wedged in. Disappointment is palpable; the daemon's bottom lip juts out in quiet sulk as he gives the box's contents another quicker rifle through.

Alas: it's not meant to be. A long-suffering sigh drags from his chest as he pushes the box back, a little bit mad at it for not housing his beloved weapons. ]

You're really not going to tell me what you remember? [ a probing question as he drops his ass down onto a stool and props his elbow onto the bar, resting hand beneath chin. hello, bartender. ] C'mon, c'mon. Was it me being so charming that you couldn't help but be drawn in?

[ Complete with absurd eyebrow waggle. ]

Or did I choke on a potato again?

[mensrea]

[ A snort of amusement is all the answer that Rokurou receives in response to the title of “Mr. Regular.” This kind of place doesn’t interest him in the least; he’s watched one too many dramas about the harrowing lives of single-mother sex workers to ever be comfortable at a strip club. Not to mention, the idea of popping a chub over someone dancing for a room full of drunk assholes? Horrifying, in his opinion. Now, unless Itachi were up on stage – doing an exotic dance meant to tease Stiles and Stiles alone – strip clubs just aren’t his cup of tea. It’s almost a relief that he can’t remember his experience at this one, really. Though it does beg the question of what he was doing here.

The box seems not to have Rokurou’s belongings. Offering the daemon an apologetic quirk of the mouth, he returns the box to where he found it before turning back to the man. ]

What do you mean, again? Did you try shoving a whole potato in your face or something? Never mind, I don’t want to know.

[ While it’s tempting to serve a hair of the dog, Stiles instead fills two glasses with water, pushing the first over the bar’s surface to his companion before greedily knocking back most of his. ]

I don’t remember anything important, anyway. And there’s no guarantee that we met here – we might’ve come to the club together from somewhere else. We could try the tattoo place next. They might be open by now, and someone working there would definitely remember if you came in with swords last night.