Amidst the dimly lit and smoky ambiance of the bar, Israel sat hunched over in a secluded booth. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and various chatter, but he was lost in his own world, oblivious to the outside distractions. His shoulders were tense, and his features were obscured in shadows as he stared deeply into the swirling liquid in his glass. In his intoxicated state, Israel's emotions were a tangled web. Frustration gnawed at him like a relentless predator, while confusion danced like shadows on the periphery of his thoughts. He had walked into this bar hoping to find solace, but now it seemed that the numbing effects of the alcohol only served to amplify the cacophony of emotions within him. He couldn’t even recall when or how he got here. Or whose tab his drinks were on... why did his right hand hurt? Staring down at his bruised knuckles, he frowned to himself softly in confusion.
As he swirled the drink in his glass absentmindedly, a hint of vulnerability crept into his otherwise stoic expression. The bar around him bustled with life, patrons laughing, glasses clinking, but for Israel, it was as if time stood still. Looking up at the shadow cast over him, he gestured hesitantly, his hands clumsily forming signs as he looked to the detective as he sat down in front of him. You’re not going to arrest me... right? He paused, playing with the glass before him. Vaguely he recalled a scuffle breaking out between him and another prisoner... knuckles cracking against the other wolf’s jaw... he had touched his face... no one touched his face...
My hand... slipped... and fell into his face... Israel's thoughts seemed to tumble out of him like a cascading waterfall, each sentence flowing seamlessly into the next. Self-defense.. he touched me first... I could show you a magic trick with your cuffs you wanna see Richard?
@ricky-pride
