[Why Petre's here by his lonesome is no big mystery. This is just a city of thousands out there where one god or another is worshiped; Diana and Petre have therefore swooped in for information and to search for a Messiah, Saint, possibly even a God itself to lock 'n load and blow some brains out. The Devil's Messiah and her trusty Demon sidekick deserve a break every now and then, so they part ways for the night and he makes his jolly old way to the nicest looking bar he can find.
He's got a cigarette in his hands. He's just about one of a million in this bar, if the smoke fogging up the air's anything to go by, neon lights humming in the dimly lit environment, just about inviting people to go to one another and -
Well. Abruptly kiss them wasn't what he was thinking, more along the lines of hitting up an inanely friendly conversation in hopes of exchanging numbers and fluids.
(Ew, Petre.)
Petre doesn't jerk, he just makes a face like he's been asked to choose between two oddly looking dresses for the night, blinking at Beau while the cigarette burns away between two fingers, elbow resting on the counter.
Someone tastes like drunk. He likes that very much. Makes them all the more suggestible. Makes him all the more suggestive.]
No. [His lips are neutral, slowly curling into a small smile. It makes him look like a schoolboy, honey-gold hair slicked to the side.] You should buy me a drink.
ew
He's got a cigarette in his hands. He's just about one of a million in this bar, if the smoke fogging up the air's anything to go by, neon lights humming in the dimly lit environment, just about inviting people to go to one another and -
Well. Abruptly kiss them wasn't what he was thinking, more along the lines of hitting up an inanely friendly conversation in hopes of exchanging numbers and fluids.
(Ew, Petre.)
Petre doesn't jerk, he just makes a face like he's been asked to choose between two oddly looking dresses for the night, blinking at Beau while the cigarette burns away between two fingers, elbow resting on the counter.
Someone tastes like drunk. He likes that very much. Makes them all the more suggestible. Makes him all the more suggestive.]
No. [His lips are neutral, slowly curling into a small smile. It makes him look like a schoolboy, honey-gold hair slicked to the side.] You should buy me a drink.