@petitlionfidele (closed starter/drabble)
Beside him, a tall, tall man with strawberry blond hair and pale blue eyes takes residence at the bar with him, flipping a coin across the back of his hand as he sat, blatantly unamused as he listened to the Hunter ramble on with his story
“Where do they get off anyhow?! Practically fucking in the open like that, where everyone could see! Nearly lost my damn dinner right on the bloody floor!” He slams his flagon down onto the table and gives another disgusted sigh. The man -- or rather Lycan at his left, Trip as he has come to call him, merely chuckles. He was far too used to this behavior of his, it seemed.
“It seems they would’ve gotten off on the floor then, by the sounds of it.” Trevor doesn’t even need to turn to know that there’s a satisfied and pleased grin spread ‘cross the other’s face. The Belmont gently shuts his eyes and looks up towards the decrepit ceiling.
On second hand, don’t: he’d merely use it to strangle the Lycan.
“Neither of them were lookers, either! Made it even worse! Looked like the ass end of two mules fused together at their crotches rolling around of the God forsaken floor!” Now he was just sloshing the rest of his ale around in his flagon for no good reason.
Trip merely nods. Trevor clicked his tongue. “Couples. Ugh.”
“But you have a partner too, do you not? That pretty Vampire of yours. He’s certainly a looker.”
Immediately, Trevor flushes and snaps his mouth shut. Then opens it again, snaps it shut, then turns to Trip, lip scrunched up in a pout. “Well, yeah, but we’re pretty to look at. We don’t make random by-passers lose their lunch.”
Trip, amused by his answer, merely shakes his head. “Is there a sin that you do not embody, Belmont.” It’s less an inquiry and more a statement, and, just as amused, Trevor turns back to his flagon and finishes off his ale.
“No. I suppose not. Seven fucking Hells, where did I go wrong.”
