DATE & TIME: February 5th, 12:30 A.M. LOCATION: The Blackbird Bar STATUS: Closed for @oogs
trigger warnings: violence, blood
Raafe should have worn a body that would have been better suited for a bar fight. Somebody with broader shoulders, hands meant for fighting without weapons. And, perhaps, if they had the time, a number of the humans currently making a fucking mess of the bar would have suited them just fine.
There would’ve been something hilarious about it, too—to mask themself as one of their own, before ripping the others to pieces. They’ve always found ways to have fun in situations like this.
Of course, adaptable as they are, dealing with a glass in the knee is never exactly what they would call a fun time.
“Jesus H. Fucking Christ,” They hiss between clenched teeth, reacting just as quickly in unceremoniously slitting the throat of the poor sucker who had made the mistake of coming at them with a broken bottle. Their fingers drip dark crimson, same goes for their leg. They don’t pull the glass out. Rafa knows better than that.
And perhaps, letting themselves get caught up in the fight so much that they would let a fucking human, some goddamned worm, stab them in the leg isn’t their first mistake of the night. But that isn’t something they’re going to address.
Instead, they roll their head back, neck cracking. “Anybody else want a fucking piece? I can guaran-fucking-tee you’ll have about as much fun as that piece of shit.”