@torchwiickâ continued from here
It wasnât as if Romanâs life was in any real danger--the fool who had tried to kill him was completely inept, showing his entire hand of cards without realizing that his eyes had given everything away. He moved too obviously, stuck out from the crowd of people that otherwise occupied the bar across itâs filled tables and chairs.Â
Tyrian and Roman were at one together, sipping at drinks in a habit that they could have almost called a tradition--it was at least something more substantial than what Tyrian had ever experienced with an employer. It was nice to sit and talk, though their conversation constantly fluttered about useless topics and half-truths (though he could hardly call himself surprised).
He was buzzed, hurrying his way to being drunk when the two of them were on their way out of the bar. The man, so stupid, so incredibly foolish, followed them. Tyrian was no idiot even if he was intoxicated--he saw the flash of an unfamiliar aura out of the corner of his eye and knew precisely the intention of it. He bided time for half a minute, letting Roman step out of the doorway as his thoughts bubbled up of how to deal with the situation.
Kill him? Despite the fact that he was coming at Tyrianâs employer with intent of harm, there was a distinct pause to such a thought. The man was young, obviously new and, more than likely working off the prospect that Roman was simply a man with plenty of money (there was a flash of some lien at the table as the two of them drank, after all). He wasnât connected with any larger group that Tyrian was familiar with--there was no point to kill him, no lesson to teach and no message to toss out into the dark, crime-filled sea.
If anything, the only thing on the manâs mind was robbing Roman--did he not see that Tyrian was with him? Did he perhaps only catch a glimpse of the redhead on his own, the few seconds that he had waltzed to the bar for the first round of drinks?
God, amateur, completely amateur--Tyrian could have worked through such a challenge at half the manâs age. Regardless, there was a problem and Tyrian was the man hired to solve it.
He let Roman lead the way down the street for a time, the unknown assailant just a dozen steps back, attention solely focused on the redhead. When the two of them came up to an alley Tyrian thought perfectly of a plan--one that was rushed and perhaps a little selfish, a plan that could have been done so much simply but, well, he was feeling the heat and heaviness of the alcohol rushing through his veins and he certainly couldnât help himself.
He quickened his pace just enough to wrap his arm around Romanâs waist and turn them both around the corner, deftly pressing the man against the wall and smothering any noise of protest or confusion with a hot, hard kiss.
It wouldnât take but a few moments for the man to see the two of them in the alley--he would see the redhead pressed to the wall by Tyrian, scarred and marked with countless fights he had won, a glint of blades on his wrists and, clearly, a moment of hard, daring gold eyes peaking out and near-glowing from the dimming light of the setting sun.
Suffice to say the man didnât stick around, quickly changing his course of action and his choice of victim as he ran off into the streets, leaving Tyrian at last to pull away, a mischievous smirk on his face.
â...Thatâs one way to scare off a would-be thief,â he whispered, only partially to himself, then winked slyly at Roman. âSorry âbout that. Didnât want to deal with a dead body if I could spare it.â
